The Featherbed. Джон Миллер

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СКАЧАТЬ ahead of her sister, Anna pulled her weight up the first few steps by grasping the banister. It was also made of solid oak, and it had always been the sturdiest thing in the building — an aberration in the poorly constructed tenement.

      The walls of the stairwell were papered with a dusty floral print, which was peeling where it met the ceiling, revealing pressed tin. Flickering electric lamps shone weakly at the landings, in a style that imitated the gas lanterns from the turn of the century. Anna could hear that climbing the stairs was not easy for Sadie either, and they were both wheezing by the second flight. It never ceased to amaze her how their ninety-year-old mother had managed this every day.

      When she reached the top of the stairs on the third floor, she stopped to wait for Sadie and to catch her breath. She looked at the carpeting and saw that it was threadbare, beginning to expose thin wooden floorboards. She made a mental note to tell the landlady. Sadie reached the landing and looked at the door to the broom closet. It was ajar, and she pulled it open. There were a few brooms and pails and rags thrown in any which way.

      “They took the toilet out years ago,” Anna explained, “and thank God. It stank to high heaven, do you remember?”

      Sadie nodded.

      “The landlady’s made improvements, but it’s the bare minimum, believe me. It’s still very shabby, as you can see.” She wiped her finger against the wall and showed her the dust.

      Sadie grunted. “The sad thing is how much worse it used to be. Compared to then, this seems fancy.”

      Anna went to the end of the hall and unlocked the apartment door. Sadie followed her over the threshold and they stood for a second, contemplating the room. Anna was used to how small and cramped it was, how economically it was furnished for its many functions. She wondered what her sister must be feeling.

      Next to the front door there was a rectangular wood-framed mirror and some 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 СКАЧАТЬ