supposed to have happened. He was running around the room so fast he banged into a table and lost his power of concentration.
The Pigman got there in time for us to get the eleven forty-five boat to Manhattan. I just had to go along on this trip to Beekman’s Department Store because John has absolutely no control over himself. If I had let him and Mr. Pignati go alone, John would have charged half the store. He wouldn’t have done it to be mean. He just isn’t used to people giving him stuff, and that’s what Mr. Pignati wanted to do.
When the ferry docked on the other side, we got off on the upper deck, which meant we had to walk down this long, curving ramp that looks like a poor man’s Guggenheim Museum. The subway station is right there, so we went down the stairs and got on the Seventh Avenue Local. When you take the Seventh Avenue Local, you have to switch at Chambers Street for the Seventh Avenue Express. It really can get boring unless you keep your eyes open. There was one woman at Chambers Street who was talking to herself a mile a minute, and I know now it was another omen.
“Death is coming,” she kept repeating. “God told me death is coming. He calls me his little chatty doll… God’s chatty doll….”
It’s sort of spooky how when you’re caught talking to God nowadays everybody thinks you’re nuts. They used to call you a prophet.
We couldn’t get to Thirty-fourth Street quick enough for me, and just as we came up out of the subway, there was Beekman’s—good old Beekman’s.
Mr. Pignati started getting excited when we got inside with all those Saturday shoppers. You could tell right off he was going to show us around as though he owned the place. He took us right to the fancy-food store on the eighth floor. It was probably the only part of Beekman’s he’d ever been to, and I could just picture Conchetta and him pushing the cart up and down the aisles picking out all that vile food.
“Wait until you try these frogs’ legs,” he said happily, “with ricotta cheese.”
I felt sick.
He also picked out three jars of bean soup, bamboo shoots, fish killies with their heads still on, and a lot of other delicious items.
“The killies are tasty in bean soup.”
I guess Conchetta and he had liked the same things.
“Now you pick out some things
you’d
like to try.” He smiled at me. John had already picked out a carton of tiger’s milk and a box of chocolate-covered ants.
Ugh
. Anything to be weird.
“Please,”
Mr. Pignati insisted.
Just then my eye caught a two-pound can of Love’n Nuts, which is a mixture of pecans, almonds, and popcorn. Right next to it was a large container of Jamboree Juicy Jellies, and before I knew what had happened the Pigman had grabbed them and put them into the shopping cart.
“I don’t want you spending all that money, Mr. Pignati,” I said.
“Nonsense,” he insisted.
But I really didn’t. And still it felt good. No one had ever bought me stuff like this before—something I just liked and didn’t need and didn’t even ask for. Now I knew how John felt because I felt the same way.
After we finished with the delicatessen department, we went to the fifth floor. We had to cut through women’s underwear to get to the toy department.
“Hi, doll,” John said to one of the dummies that was wearing only a girdle and a brassiere.
“Can I help you, sir?” a saleslady with too much makeup and an enormous beehive hairdo wanted to know.
“I don’t think so,” I said.
“Nothing for your daughter?” she asked Mr. Pignati. He started to smile.
“I’m not his daughter,” I blurted out, and the Pigman looked depressed. I didn’t mean to say it as though I would be ashamed to be his daughter, but I guess it just came out that way.
“I’m his niece,” I quickly offered, returning the smile to Mr. Pignati’s face.
“Is there something you’d like here?” Mr. Pignati asked, and I knew he meant it. I had no intention of accepting
The Pigman got there in time for us to get the eleven forty-five boat to Manhattan. I just had to go along on this trip to Beekman’s Department Store because John has absolutely no control over himself. If I had let him and Mr. Pignati go alone, John would have charged half the store. He wouldn’t have done it to be mean. He just isn’t used to people giving him stuff, and that’s what Mr. Pignati wanted to do.
When the ferry docked on the other side, we got off on the upper deck, which meant we had to walk down this long, curving ramp that looks like a poor man’s Guggenheim Museum. The subway station is right there, so we went down the stairs and got on the Seventh Avenue Local. When you take the Seventh Avenue Local, you have to switch at Chambers Street for the Seventh Avenue Express. It really can get boring unless you keep your eyes open. There was one woman at Chambers Street who was talking to herself a mile a minute, and I know now it was another omen.
“Death is coming,” she kept repeating. “God told me death is coming. He calls me his little chatty doll… God’s chatty doll….”
It’s sort of spooky how when you’re caught talking to God nowadays everybody thinks you’re nuts. They used to call you a prophet.
We couldn’t get to Thirty-fourth Street quick enough for me, and just as we came up out of the subway, there was Beekman’s—good old Beekman’s.
Mr. Pignati started getting excited when we got inside with all those Saturday shoppers. You could tell right off he was going to show us around as though he owned the place. He took us right to the fancy-food store on the eighth floor. It was probably the only part of Beekman’s he’d ever been to, and I could just picture Conchetta and him pushing the cart up and down the aisles picking out all that vile food.
“Wait until you try these frogs’ legs,” he said happily, “with ricotta cheese.”
I felt sick.
He also picked out three jars of bean soup, bamboo shoots, fish killies with their heads still on, and a lot of other delicious items.
“The killies are tasty in bean soup.”
I guess Conchetta and he had liked the same things.
“Now you pick out some things
you’d
like to try.” He smiled at me. John had already picked out a carton of tiger’s milk and a box of chocolate-covered ants.
Ugh
. Anything to be weird.
“Please,”
Mr. Pignati insisted.
Just then my eye caught a two-pound can of Love’n Nuts, which is a mixture of pecans, almonds, and popcorn. Right next to it was a large container of Jamboree Juicy Jellies, and before I knew what had happened the Pigman had grabbed them and put them into the shopping cart.
“I don’t want you spending all that money, Mr. Pignati,” I said.
“Nonsense,” he insisted.
But I really didn’t. And still it felt good. No one had ever bought me stuff like this before—something I just liked and didn’t need and didn’t even ask for. Now I knew how John felt because I felt the same way.
After we finished with the delicatessen department, we went to the fifth floor. We had to cut through women’s underwear to get to the toy department.
“Hi, doll,” John said to one of the dummies that was wearing only a girdle and a brassiere.
“Can I help you, sir?” a saleslady with too much makeup and an enormous beehive hairdo wanted to know.
“I don’t think so,” I said.
“Nothing for your daughter?” she asked Mr. Pignati. He started to smile.
“I’m not his daughter,” I blurted out, and the Pigman looked depressed. I didn’t mean to say it as though I would be ashamed to be his daughter, but I guess it just came out that way.
“I’m his niece,” I quickly offered, returning the smile to Mr. Pignati’s face.
“Is there something you’d like here?” Mr. Pignati asked, and I knew he meant it. I had no intention of accepting
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