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Authors: Robert Knightly
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the basement floods
every time someone cries, Vin used to joke. But according to the brokers who periodically call, the brick rectangle is now
worth two million easy. Ten thousand was what Rose's daddy
paid for it brand new, back in the '40s.
"Germans came ashore then, did you know that? German
spies in Rockaway!"
Now total strangers regularly stroll up and make offers on
the house over the beach wall.
"But I'm gonna fool them all, Li," Rose all of a sudden
decides. "I'm gonna leave the place to you."
The Good Guys didn't help anyone that much. Other
than a lady who let them load up her car with groceries in the
Waldbaum's parking lot, the Good Guys never really helped
anyone at all. Vin said they tried but no one was interested.
Even the lady with the groceries, Vin said, probably she just
felt sorry for them. So the Good Guys took to drinking instead. Then they'd drag race their mopeds up and down Beach
Channel Drive. Vin would stagger into Sunday dinner to alternately love up and criticize Rose. My favorite flower. You call
this turd a meatball? My soft, fragrant Rose. Lazy bitch can't go to
Bensonhurst for some decent bread!
"It was that and more, and I took it until the day he says,
Rose, he says, dome a favor. Don't serve this grease when my cousins come from Calabria. In front of our Jewish friends, he says
this in front of the Friedmans. He calls my sauce grease."
Li can't possibly understand the story, yet he tilts his head
at its tone of hurt and even stops eating while she speaks. If
Paulie and his atheist wife ever showed her half the deference,
she might have invited them to live here already. If.
"That night, I burned the table leaves," Rose continues.
"This table here. I dragged those two heavy planks one by one
across the floor-see here these long scratches?-that's from
draggin' them, and mind you, by myself, since Paulie's too busy upstairs with Vin watchin' detectives chase each other or professional wrestlin' ... But I know you would have helped me,
Li." At that, he tries to give Rose the wad of bills from his
Ziploc bag and she pretends not to notice.
Once she finally got to the garage, all the chairs and cushions
she'd paid the grandkids to stack at the end of the summer
had been tossed across the dirty floor, and still the officers
were going at it, knocking over beach umbrellas, tossing paint
cans. What would they do if they actually found a person?
Her father had come over just like this, on a boat from Sicily. And Vin had arrived in an Armani suit on a plane. But
the ways they'd been harassed would be nothing compared to
what they'd do to a poor Asian soul stuffed on a freighter, for
months it had to be, now half-drowned and frozen from kicking for his life in the frosty June chop. Just thinking about it
made her sure she heard the croup again, that someone was
there.
"Someone's here," Kevin or Kieran said, but he meant
Rose. "Hey. Hi. Ma'am. Ya really shouldn't be out."
"At my age?"
"At this hour. With that cough." One of his green eyes
was lazy, drifting. Rose thought to cough again to cover for
the stranger. She wondered if the wok she'd long ago ruined
had wound up here in the garage. She'd cleaned it wrong and
it had rusted or
"Let me take you back inside," Kevin or Kieran insisted,
grasping her elbow. Ow. "Mrs.-"
"Don't you even remember me?" The way it came out
sounded like begging. "Paulie's mom?" Of course, it had been
years since she was even that in any meaningful way. She
touched the bulge in her sweatshirt. It had been years since she'd been in her own garage, let alone had a car, driven a car,
ridden a bike, fired a gun. The beachy gas smell pulled her
back to all those sticky cousins of Vin's, of endlessly boiling
pots, gritty towels, crumbs, bones, and water rings that slowly
led her down to the sand dragging those two heavy planks that
signified: Company. Two leaves, two meats, the vegetable side-
Kevin or Kieran claimed
every time someone cries, Vin used to joke. But according to the brokers who periodically call, the brick rectangle is now
worth two million easy. Ten thousand was what Rose's daddy
paid for it brand new, back in the '40s.
"Germans came ashore then, did you know that? German
spies in Rockaway!"
Now total strangers regularly stroll up and make offers on
the house over the beach wall.
"But I'm gonna fool them all, Li," Rose all of a sudden
decides. "I'm gonna leave the place to you."
The Good Guys didn't help anyone that much. Other
than a lady who let them load up her car with groceries in the
Waldbaum's parking lot, the Good Guys never really helped
anyone at all. Vin said they tried but no one was interested.
Even the lady with the groceries, Vin said, probably she just
felt sorry for them. So the Good Guys took to drinking instead. Then they'd drag race their mopeds up and down Beach
Channel Drive. Vin would stagger into Sunday dinner to alternately love up and criticize Rose. My favorite flower. You call
this turd a meatball? My soft, fragrant Rose. Lazy bitch can't go to
Bensonhurst for some decent bread!
"It was that and more, and I took it until the day he says,
Rose, he says, dome a favor. Don't serve this grease when my cousins come from Calabria. In front of our Jewish friends, he says
this in front of the Friedmans. He calls my sauce grease."
Li can't possibly understand the story, yet he tilts his head
at its tone of hurt and even stops eating while she speaks. If
Paulie and his atheist wife ever showed her half the deference,
she might have invited them to live here already. If.
"That night, I burned the table leaves," Rose continues.
"This table here. I dragged those two heavy planks one by one
across the floor-see here these long scratches?-that's from
draggin' them, and mind you, by myself, since Paulie's too busy upstairs with Vin watchin' detectives chase each other or professional wrestlin' ... But I know you would have helped me,
Li." At that, he tries to give Rose the wad of bills from his
Ziploc bag and she pretends not to notice.
Once she finally got to the garage, all the chairs and cushions
she'd paid the grandkids to stack at the end of the summer
had been tossed across the dirty floor, and still the officers
were going at it, knocking over beach umbrellas, tossing paint
cans. What would they do if they actually found a person?
Her father had come over just like this, on a boat from Sicily. And Vin had arrived in an Armani suit on a plane. But
the ways they'd been harassed would be nothing compared to
what they'd do to a poor Asian soul stuffed on a freighter, for
months it had to be, now half-drowned and frozen from kicking for his life in the frosty June chop. Just thinking about it
made her sure she heard the croup again, that someone was
there.
"Someone's here," Kevin or Kieran said, but he meant
Rose. "Hey. Hi. Ma'am. Ya really shouldn't be out."
"At my age?"
"At this hour. With that cough." One of his green eyes
was lazy, drifting. Rose thought to cough again to cover for
the stranger. She wondered if the wok she'd long ago ruined
had wound up here in the garage. She'd cleaned it wrong and
it had rusted or
"Let me take you back inside," Kevin or Kieran insisted,
grasping her elbow. Ow. "Mrs.-"
"Don't you even remember me?" The way it came out
sounded like begging. "Paulie's mom?" Of course, it had been
years since she was even that in any meaningful way. She
touched the bulge in her sweatshirt. It had been years since she'd been in her own garage, let alone had a car, driven a car,
ridden a bike, fired a gun. The beachy gas smell pulled her
back to all those sticky cousins of Vin's, of endlessly boiling
pots, gritty towels, crumbs, bones, and water rings that slowly
led her down to the sand dragging those two heavy planks that
signified: Company. Two leaves, two meats, the vegetable side-
Kevin or Kieran claimed
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