The Reeburgh – Part II

I loved being out there alone at suppertime, smelling the good smells and listening to the sounds of family coming together at the end of the day. Everything large or small, important or not so important that happened that day was shared. All that went on at school, at work, in the laundry room, at the market, on the “El”. Metal lunch boxes being emptied, washed out and turned up on the drain to dry. Thermos bottles rinsed and placed on the counter to await the next morning’s coffee. Babies crying, kids playing, daddies scolding and mothers begging for quiet.

I felt just a little guilty, like I was eavesdropping on private matters, but it really was unavoidable, especially if the transom above the door happened to be open. In that case, the sounds escaping the small cramped rooms would rush up to meet me and take on the form of recognizable words and phrases. The dialogue would begin to pull me in as I approached the door and sometimes I would slow my pace beneath an open transom in order to follow a conversation to its end, often able to put faces with the voices drifting toward me. I knew that was eavesdropping.

The light escaping from beneath a few of the doors had a rhythmic flicker to it signaling the lucky families who had a television set, something I could only dream of. I felt a melancholy warmth as I quietly made my way through the halls, like being part of a big family and feeling safe and accepted. It didn’t matter to me that they spoke differently or dressed differently, or that I didn’t recognize some of the food they ate… I loved it all, and felt a part of it all. The voices, the pots and pans clanging together in the kitchen, the soft murmur of a television set or the occasional cry of a baby gave me a sense of all being right in the world.

We were four flights up and as I rounded the corner after the second flight, I checked behind the hissing radiator under the window to make sure my perfume bottle was still there. Yep, right where I put it. My grandmother, who lived on the second floor saved her Evening in Paris bottles for me. Each time she gave me a new one, I promptly filled it with water and stored it tightly covered behind the radiator in the hall. The heat of the old radiator seemed to speed the process and after a week or so, I had perfume! I initially tried doing this at home, but the little blue bottle was just eye level to my brother as he crawled around on the floor, so the hallway became my laboratory.

I quickly decided I’d better not take the time to stop in to see my grandparents and so rushed on by their floor. I hit the first floor landing at a run as I realized that I was taking far too long and Daddy would begin to worry where I was. It began to get chilly as I hit the ground floor and it was eerily quiet on this level. The stairway ended in a vestibule which was not too brightly lit and contained row after row of brass mailboxes, each with a name neatly typed on a small slip of paper and slid into an opening just above the keyhole. I didn’t have to read the names to know which one was ours…eight rows down (just about even with the spider shaped paint chip in the wall) and four boxes in. Daddy usually liked to get the mail, but on those few occasions when I was sent down, I had to move the milk crate over and stand on it to be able to reach the keyhole. I never could quite reach my hand to touch the back of the box, and was always worried I had left something important in there. I stood on tiptoe and stretched my arm until my shoulder was flat against the opening as I carefully scooped out the contents.

Making sure the box was tightly locked again, I tucked the mail under my arm and bent to return the milk crate to its place by the door. Just as I turned to the front door, Mr. Keys emerged from another door sporting a sign that said “Storeroom”. I often saw him coming out of this room and there was never a light behind him to let me get a glimpse of what lay beyond. I had decided early-on that this was a scary room and one which I had no desire to explore. Mr. Keys was the building Super and ironically had a huge iron ring attached to his side belt loop which must have contained a hundred keys! You could hear him jangling two floors away, so we always had warning when he was nearby. He never really spoke to me, just grunted by way of recognition and dipped his bald head in unison. “Goodnight Mr. Keys” I said as I turned too quickly to ascend back into the warmth and familiarity of the upper floors. Surely he suspected I was afraid of him.

I was to have many adventures in this place and many things would befall my family, both immediate and extended. I would learn some things about prejudice here and poverty. I would be exposed to betrayal and learn something about love and trust. I would make a friend whose memory I would carry with me always. I would learn about loss and have my first encounter with death. All of these things were in the future and I had no hint what lay in wait. This particular night all I knew was that I felt safe once again as I climbed back up the stairs to be swallowed up in the wonderful aromas and friendly voices of my world. My tenement world.