The Featherbed. Джон МиллерЧитать онлайн книгу.
hooks on the wall to compensate for the lack of a vestibule. On the left, beside the door to her mother’s bedroom, a mauve loveseat and a round pine side table were set off against the wall for when her mother used the room for reading. The side table displayed a tall lamp with a blue columnar shade and some old framed photographs. There was one of her and Sadie as children, an even older one of her mother and grandparents, another of Anna’s son when he was a teenager, being crushed in a sandwich hug by his parents.
Anna removed her jacket, put it on the arm of the loveseat, and went to run some water to cool herself off. The sink was against the back wall, a deep old white porcelain tub with a gooseneck faucet and daisy-handled taps. Cupboards and drawers above and below were painted blue to match the lampshade, and to the left of them was a pink stove and refrigerator set from General Electric. She closed her eyes while the water soothed her hands, then wet a cloth to dab at her forehead, careful not to wipe away her makeup. She knew one wasn’t supposed to wear make-up, but she would anyhow. A touch-up would be required before they covered the mirrors.
A narrow kitchen table and two wicker-backed chairs hugged the right wall between the door to the back bedroom and the door to the toilet. In the middle of the table a bowl of sugar, a napkin holder, and salt and pepper shakers huddled together atop a stack of pink and green plastic placemats.
Anna looked back at Sadie. She was looking in the front bedroom, but she turned around, hung her coat on a hook, and went to sit at the table.
“How does it look?”
“Pretty much the same, some new appliances. I think I’d forgotten how small this place is. Did we ever know how big it was?”
“Five hundred square feet.”
“It’s shocking. It feels even smaller now that there’s the toilet over there where the pantry was.”
“I know — I wish Mama had moved out of here, but I could never convince her.”
“Do you remember the old stove that used to be here?” She pointed to the electric oven.
They were interrupted by a knock on the door.
“Halloo!” came a voice from the other side.
“It’s the landlady. Just a minute.”
Sadie left her chair to retreat into the back bedroom while Anna opened the door. Mrs. Huang thrust a plate of almond cakes into the opening.
“Don’t want to bother you, I’ll just give this to you now. So you can get ready.”
“Oh, how lovely, Mrs. Huang. They look delicious. What a sweetheart you are. Come in for a second.”
Mrs. Huang adjusted the shoulder of her sleeveless cotton dress and stepped into the apartment. “It’s nothing. Least of what I could do.
You need anything else?”
“Actually, some extra chairs if you have any. Perhaps my sister and I can come down to get some.”
“I have a long bench. Only needs two of us to carry. You come, leave your sister to prepare things.”
“All right. Sadie, we’re going down to get a bench. There’s a box here beside the oven that I took out. There are some pictures in it, maybe you can arrange them on Mama’s dresser in her bedroom. And there’s a broom beside the fridge if you have time to sweep up. Oh, and don’t forget to cover the mirrors and set out the bowl of water.”
“Yes, yes. Go, it’s okay,” she called from the bedroom.
“I’m sure I’ll be back to help you by the time you get to that.”
“It’s fine. Go ahead.”
Anna set off down the stairs, following the landlady.
They reached the ground floor and went to the back of the building to Mrs. Huang’s apartment. The curry smell had died down somewhat. Mrs. Huang let Anna into her apartment and squeezed past her to move from her hallway into the kitchen. The apartment was much bigger than her mother’s, but no less cluttered. Stacks of newspapers were piled on both sides of the hallway, framing shelves crammed with knick-knacks and photographs. The air in the apartment made Anna’s nostrils curl. It was tangy, probably some cleaning solution, but it made her think of formaldehyde.
Mrs. Huang’s husband called from the bedroom. “Daisy?”
“It’s me. Just getting a bench for Mrs. Cooperman. For her ma’s shee-va.”
Anna waited in the hallway until she heard the bench being scraped along the floor in the kitchen. She rushed in to help Mrs. Huang pick it up, and they set off up the stairs.
Mrs. Huang chattered all the way up, appearing to be only mildly out of breath.
“Your ma, she was a special person. Always paid her rent on time, always greeted me with news, how much fruit cost that day, or fish and vegetables. Was always polite even when she was a little melancholy. Never complained about anything. I hope I’ll be like that when I’m ninety.”
“Yes,” said Anna. It was all she could manage to say through her heavy breathing. Sweat was beading her forehead.
“My Donnie says you could set your clock by the woman, and it was true. I notice everybody who comes and goes in this building, but with your ma, you knew the day of the week just by where she was going. On Mondays, to the market on Canal Street. On Tuesdays, the library. Wednesdays, her Mah Jong game at the Bialystoker Home. Thursdays, the book club, and Fridays she worked in the back garden in the morning, then her constitutional in the afternoon. Always wearing that nice beige jump suit you bought her, Mrs. Cooperman. You remember?”
“I...,” Anna gasped and yanked the bench up another step, “remember.”
“And your ma, she was wise, knew the ways of the world, like me. She knew when you were suffering. Sometimes, just when Donnie was driving me crazy, there would be a knock on the door and there would be your ma with some chicken soup or a piece of spice cake. She would come in, and I’d put out some tea and almond cakes. Your ma — such a sweet woman, Mrs. Cooperman. So good to my husband, you know?”
Anna smiled with jaw clenched as she pulled the bench up to the second floor landing. Mrs. Huang pushed from underneath, almost knocking her off balance. Still hardly breaking a sweat.
Anna sat on the bench and waited to catch her breath before continuing. Perspiration was now pouring down her forehead. Mrs. Huang sat next to her and put her hand on Anna’s knee.
“Ha ha! You need exercise, Mrs. Cooperman! Your ma, she hardly got out of breath even with ninety years old.” She chuckled and pulled a tissue out of her brassiere, offered it to Anna.
“Is that so?” Anna nodded politely. She was less than thrilled at the idea of wiping her face with something that had been stuffed down Mrs. Huang’s chest, but she took her offering so as not to offend and dabbed lightly at her brow.
“Ya-siree! Only the day before the stroke, from my apartment I heard her go up and down the stairs many times that day.”
People were always telling Anna about her mother’s physical fitness. They talked about how she carried her groceries effortlessly up to the third floor. Since they shopped together, she knew it was an exaggeration, but it was true that her mother was in better shape than most people thirty years her junior.
“That day I remember — three times up and down. The last time, I came out of my apartment and said, ‘Mrs. Kalish, do you keep forgetting something?’ but she paid no attention, just moved out to the backyard. ‘You’ll pick me some vegetables to make a nice soup, Mrs. Kalish?’ I joked with her. Then she laughed. Said she would make me some soup in the morning, but not from her garden. Too bad.”
Mrs. Huang got up to rub a spot on the wall with a rag she pulled out of her pocket. Anna was thinking about calling Sadie down to help when she heard the stairs creaking and her sister appeared around the corner.
“Thank