Unknown, p.8
Unknown, page 8
The house smelled funny from not being aired out and it was very hot inside. Dark too with all the electricity turned off on account of the terrorists. He tried to explain but she only cried louder because the dark frightened her.
Don't be scared, Emery said. Tell me your Mommy's name and I'll phone her to come and get you.
So she told him the name-Mrs. Rubelsky, Sylvia Rubelsky-but she didn't know the address.
It was hard to hear because of the humming in the walls. He got hold of the flashlight he kept in the kitchen for emergencies and then he went into the hall to look up the name in the phone book.
There weren't any Rubelskys listed. He tried other spellingsRubelski, Roubelsky, Rebelsky, Rabelsky-but there was nothing in the book. Are you sure, he asked.
Then she said they didn't have a phone.
That was funny; everybody has a phone. She said it didn't matter because if he just took her over to Sixth Street she could point out the house to him.
Emery wasn't about to go anywhere, let alone Sixth Street. That was a Jewish neighborhood. Come to think of it, Rubelsky was a Jewish name.
Are you Jewish, he asked her.
She stopped crying and stared at him and those big brown eyes got wider and wider. The way she stared made his head hurt more.
What are you looking at, he said.
That thing around your neck, she told him. That iron cross. It's like Nazis wear.
What do you know about Nazis, he asked.
They killed my Grandpa, she said. They killed him at Belsen.
Mommy told me. Nazis are bad.
All at once it came to Emery in a flash, a flash that made his whole head throb.
She was one of them. They'd planted her on the street, knowing he'd let her into the house here. What did they want?
Why do you wear bad things, she said. Take it off.
Now she was reaching out towards the chain around his neck, the chain with the iron cross.
It was like that old movie he saw once long ago, the movie about the Golem. This big stone monster got loose in the Jewish ghetto, wearing the Star of David on its chest. A little girl pulled the star off and the Golem fell down dead.
That's why they sent her here, to pull off the iron cross and kill him.
No way, he said. And he slapped her, not hard, but she started to scream and he couldn't have that, so he put his hands around her neck just to stop the screaming and there was a kind of cracking sound and then What happened then, the lawyer asked.
I don't want to talk about it, Emery said.
But he couldn't stop, he was talking about it. At first, when he didn't find a pulse, he thought he'd killed her. But he hadn't squeezed that hard, so it must have happened when she touched the iron cross.
That meant he'd guessed right, she was one of them.
But he couldn't tell anyone, he knew people would never believe that the terrorists had sent a little Jew-girl here to murder him. And he couldn't let her be found like this. What to do, that was the question.
The Jewish question.
Then he remembered. Hitler had the answer. He knew what to do.
It was hot here and even hotter downstairs. That's where he carried her, downstairs, where the furnace was going. The gas furnace.
Oh my God, said the lawyer. Oh my God.
And then the lawyer stood up fast and went over to the door on the other side of the grille and called the guard.
Come back here, Emery said.
But he didn't listen, he kept whispering to the guard, and then other guards came up behind Emery on his side of the grille and grabbed his arms.
He yelled at them to let him go, not to listen to that Jew lawyer, didn't they understand he must be one of them?
Instead of paying attention they just marched him back down the hall to the rubber room and shoved him inside.
You promised you'd put me in another cell, Emery said. I don't want to stay here. I'm not crazy.
One of the guards said easy does it, the doctor is coming to give you something so you can sleep.
And the door went clang.
Emery was back in the rubber room, but this time he didn't pace and he didn't call out. It wouldn't do any good. Now he knew how Our Saviour had felt, betrayed and waiting for the crucifixion.
Emery had been betrayed too, betrayed by the Jew lawyer, and now all he could do was wait for the Jew doctor to come. Put him to sleep, the guard had said. That was how the conspiracy workedthey'd put him to sleep forever. Only he wouldn't let them, he'd stay awake, demand a fair trial.
But that was impossible. The police would tell about hearing the little girl scream and breaking into the house and finding him. They'd say he was a child-molester and a murderer. And the judge would sentence him to death. He'd believe the Jews just like Pontius Pilate (I-id, just like the Allies did when they killed Our Fhrer.
Emery wasn't dead yet but there was no way out. No way out of the trial, no way out of the rubber room.
Or was there?
The answer came to him just like that.
He'd plead insanity.
Emery knew he wasn't crazy but he could fool them into believing it.
That was no disgrace-some people thought Jesus and the Fhrer were crazy too. All he had to do was pretend.
Yes, that was the answer. And just thinking about it made him feel better. Even if they shut him up in a rubber room like this he'd still be alive. He could walk and talk and eat and sleep and think. Think about how he'd tricked them, all those Jew terrorists who were out to get him.
Emery didn't have to be careful now. He didn't have to lie, the way he'd lied to the lawyer. He could admit the real truth.
Killing that little Jew-girl wasn't an accident, he knew what he was going to do the minute he got his hands around her throat. He squeezed just as hard as he could because that's what he'd always really wanted. To squeeze the necks of those girls who laughed at him, squeeze the guys at work who wouldn't listen when he told them about his collection and yes, say it, he wanted to squeeze Mother too because she'd always squeezed him, smothered him, strangled away his life. But most of all he squeezed the Jews, the dirty kike terrorists who were out to destroy him, destroy the world.
And that's what he had done. He hadn't cracked the little girl's neck, she wasn't dead when he carried her downstairs and opened the furnace door.
What he had really done was solve the Jewish question.
He'd solved it and they couldn't touch him. He was safe now, safe from all the terrorists and evil spirits out for revenge, safe forever here in the rubber room.
The only thing he didn't like was the shadows. He remembered how they'd been before, how the one in the far corner seemed to get darker and thicker.
And now it was happening again.
Don't look at it, he told himself. You're imagining things. Only crazy people see shadows moving. Moving and coiling like a cloud, a cloud of smoke from a gas furnace.
But he had to look because it was changing now, taking on a shape. Emery could see it standing in the corner, the figure of a man.
A man in a black suit, with a black face.
And it was moving forward.
Emery backed away as the figure glided towards him softly and silently across the padded floor, and he opened his mouth to scream.
But the scream wouldn't come, nothing was coming except the figure looming up before Emery as he pressed against the wall of the rubber room. He could see the black face quite clearly now-only it wasn't a face.
It was a ski-mask.
The figure's arms rose and the hands splayed out and he saw little black droplets oozing from the smoky wrists as the fingers curled around his throat. Emery struck out at the ski-mask, thrusting his fingers through the eye-holes, stabbing at the eyes behind them. But there was nothing under the mask, nothing at all.
It was then that Emery really went mad.
When they opened the door of the rubber room the shadow was gone. All they found was Emery and he was dead.
Apoplexyl, they said. Heart failure. Better write up a medical report fast and close the case. Close the rubber room too while they were at it.
Just a coincidence of course, but people might get funny ideas if they found out. Two deaths in the same cell-Emery, and that other nut last week who bit open his own wrists, the crazy terrorist guy in the ski-mask.
6 - T.E.D. Klein - Petey
'Let's face it, Doctor, if an inmate's suicidal there ain't a hell of a lot you can do. Sure, you can take away his shoes so he don't strangle himself with his shoelaces, and you take away his clothes for the same reason-I once seen a man hanging from the bars on his window by his T-shirt-and maybe just to be safe you take the cot out of his room, since last year we had a broad who slashed her wrists on the spyings....
"But you can't do everything. I mean, if they want to kill themselves they're gonna figure out a way to do it. We once had a guy who ran against the wall with his head A nine-by-seven cell, that's all it was, so he couldn't build up much speed… Still, he gave himself a pretty nice concussion. Put a nice dent in the plaster, too. Now, of course, we keep the place padded And another one we had, I swear to God he just held his breath till he croaked. I mean it, if they've got the will they can do it.
"Now the guy you're gonna see, he had us fooled We thought we'd took every precaution with him, you know? But we should've used a straitjacket. Christ, the guy really tore hell out of his throat. With his bare hands yet.
"George, I've got to admit it: I'm jealous, I really am. This place is fantastic." Milton raised his glass." Here's to you, you old son of a bitch! And to your new house."
He was about to down his Scotch, but Ellie stayed his hand.
"Honey, wait. Let's let everybody in on it." She turned to the other guests, who were gathered in little clumps of conversation throughout the living room." Hey, everybody! Can I have your attention, please?
My husband has just proposed a toast to our charming host and hostess.
.." She waited for silence." And to their bountiful kindness in letting us peasants "Peons, Ellie, peons!" shouted Walter. Like the rest of them, he was already rather drunk.
"Yeah," echoed Harold, "us miserable peons!"
"Okay," Ellie laughed." To their bountiful kindness in opening their new home-"
"Their stately new home."
"Their mansion!"
"For opening their mansion to us poor miserable downtrodden peons. And furthermore-"
"Hey," interrupted her husband, "I thought I was going to make the toast!" They all laughed." I mean I've been practicing for this all week!" He turned to the rest, milking the joke." I tell you, the old lady doesn't let me get a word in edgewise anymore!"
"Yeah, come on, El," shouted Walter, "give the poor guy a chance, and then you can put the muzzle back on!"
Everyone laughed except Walter's wife, Joyce, who whispered, "Really, honey, I sometimes think it's you that needs-"
"Ladies and gentlemen." Milton spoke with mock gravity." I hereby propose a toast to our esteemed host-"
All eyes turned toward George, who grinned and made a low bow. ,,-and to Phyllis, our equally esteemed hostess-"
"Gee, Ellie, you've really got him trained, haven't you!"
"I freely admit it," said Milton, placing the hand with the drink over his heart." After twenty-eight years "Twenty-seven."
"It just feels like twenty-eight!"
" Oh, Waltie, hush up."
"After twenty-seven years of wedded bliss, she's finally done it.
She's even got me making my own bed!" He paused for the cheers and the groans, then turned toward Phyllis." But as I was saying, I would like to pay tribute to that gracious, charming, ravishingly beauti Phyllis tittered. -stunningly coiered-"
Self-consciously she patted the streaks in her new feathercut. ,-and delightfully sexy woman he calls his wife."
"I'll drink to that!"
"Hear hear!"
"You're allowed to drink to that too, Phyllis."
"Yeah, somebody mix Phyllis a drink."
"Oh, that's silly!" squealed Phyllis." I'm not supposed to drink to myseIL"
"Nonsense, my dear." George handed her a vodka and tonic, then seized his own.
"And finally," continued Milton, raising his voice and his glass, "to the reason we're all gathered here tonight, the cause of all our celebration-"
" And jealousy," added his wife.
"To this beautiful, beautiful house, this rustic retreat nestled amidst the wilds of Connecticut, this find of a lifetime, which makes our own split-levels look like something out of Levittown "You're laying it on a bit thick," said George. He winked at the others ." I think Milt missed his true calling. He should have been a poe, not a stockbroker."
"Or a real estate salesman!" cried Walter.
Milton continued undaunted." This museum-"
"Museum?" George winced; all this congratulation embarrassed him. He could sense the envy in it, and the bitterness." Mausoleum is more like it!" ontaining room after room of the rarest antiquities-"
"Junk! Nothing but junk!"
" -this magnificent Colonial mansion-"
"Aw, come on, Milt! It's just an old barn, for Chrissake!"
"-in which George can play country squire and Phyllis lady of the manor, to their hearts' content-"
George laughed." I've still g t to drive to work every day!"
"-this baronial hall, this playground of the landed gentry, this irrefutable testament to the smartest real estate finagling this side of Manhattan Island-"
George's smile faded.
"-this glorious old homestead, now a new home for George and Phyllis, in the hope that their years are blessed with just as much luck as they've had in acquiring it."
There was a moment's uneasy silence.
" Are you done, Milt?" said George.
"That's right, old buddy." Milton downed his Scotch. The others followed with a round of applause, but it was a feeble one; George's embarrassment embarrassed them all. Then Walter yelled out, "And in the hope that you'll give lots more parties like this one! How about every weekend, for starters?" And that relaxed them into laughter, though a little too loud, a little too long.
"When are you gonna show us the rest of this place?" cried Sidney Gerdts.
"Yeah, when do we get a tour of the estate? That's what we came for!"
"Come on, Phyl, you promised."
"She's been talking about this place for the last six months!"
"Yeah, you really had us drooling."
"So what does she do now? Keeps us cooped up in this living room like a bunch of kids!"
"How about it, Phyl? What're you ashamed of?"
Phyllis smiled." The tour starts when everybody gets here."
"Isn't everybody here?"
"Who's missing?"
"Herb and Tammie Rosenzweig haven't shown up yet," said George." They told me they'd be able to make it…
"I think maybe they were having some trouble finding a sitter," said Doris, Sidney's wife." I spoke to them this morning."
Harold made a face." Aw, they're always late. It takes Tammie two hours to put on her makeup." He shuffled toward the bar and poured himself another whiskey and soda.
" Let's start without'em, then."
"Now, Sid, really," said Doris, taking him by the hand, "you know that wouldn't be fair. Come on, let's go over and look at these." She pulled him toward a wall of bookshelves." Maybe you can reach the ones on the top. They're too high for me."
"Aw, gee, honey, they're just a lot of old books. Kid stuff, too, from the look of them. Fairy tales. Probably came with the house."
"But they look interesting, those big ones up there. Maybe they're worth a lot of money."
Grunting, he stood on tiptoe and removed one, a heavy volume shedding flakes of leather when he opened it, like a dead man's skin.
"Here, you take it. I can't read this stuff." He handed the book to his wife and turned away, bored.
Squinting at the text, Doris frowned in disappointment." oh, damn," she muttered, "wouldn't you just know it?"
George left off talking business with Fred Weingast and ambled over, glass in hand." Having trouble, Dorie?"
She grimaced." This really makes me feel my age. I used to be so (I in French-even knew a word or two of Provengal, which I think gOO this book is in-and now I don't remember a thing."
"Never could stand it, myself. All that masculine-feminine stuff, and those goddamn accents…" He took a sip of vodka." Actually, I'd toss all these old books out, only they're a good investment."
Gerdts turned back to them." Investment, did you say? You mean those things are really worth something?" ma "Damn right. They're going up all the time." He nodded to the n who stood talking a few feet away." Isn't that right, Fred?"
Weingast walked over, followed by Harold and another guest, Arthur Faschman." Yeah, my accountant told me to get into books, especially with the market the way it is. But you've gotta have the room for'em."
He shrugged." Me, my apartment's much too small."
"Naw, that's not the problem," said Faschman." The problem is keeping them cool and dry. Look at those things up there-they're probably full of mice and silverfish."
George laughed, a little uneasily." Oh, I doubt there's any mice.
We had the place fumigated before moving in. Really fumigated!" He took a sip of vodka." But you know, you're right, those damned things do decay something awful, and when summer comes I bet they'll begin to smell. To tell you the truth, I've been thinking of selling the lot of them to some place down in New Haven. Maybe put in a nice hi-fi unit, or one of those new Betamax things."
"Yeah, that's a good idea," said Faschman." I've been meaning to get one of those myself. And I'll tell you what you do then: you invest in stamps. They're a lot easier to keep."
Weingast nodded." Stamps are okay," he said, "but my accountant says coins are eye etter. With gold prices going up, they're a pretty safe bet."
When George left them, the men were deep into high finance. He returned to the bar and refilled his glass.
Even with the Rosenzweigs' tardiness, and the absence of the Foglers and the Greens, and the fact that Bob Childs was sick and Evelyn Platt was away, it was a big housewarming party. The Brackmans were there, Milt and Ellie, and the Gerdtses, Sid and Doris, and Arthur and Judy Faschman, and Fred and Laura Weingast, and the Stanleys just back from Miami, Dennis and Sarah sporting their new suntans, and Harold and Frances Lazarus, and big Mike Carlinsky with his fiancde, whose name they all kept forgetting, and Phil and Mimi Katz, and the Chasens, Chuck and Cindy, and Walter Applebaum and his new wife, Joyce, and Steve and Janet Mulholland, and Jack and Irene Crystal, and the Fitzgeralds and the Goodhues, and Allen Goldberg and Paul Strauss and poor Cissy Hawkins, who was so homely Allen and Paul wouldn't talk to her, even though she was supposed to be fixed up with one of them.
