Read Online Two-Part Inventions by Lynne Sharon Schwartz - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Lynne Sharon Schwartz
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audacity: If not for Eva, she might not have met Richard, and then her childhood would have been very different.)
âWe can see what his house looks like. Maybe itâs a torture chamber with chains and stuff. Or maybe he likes to feel up girls. We can see if he tries anything. Nothing can happen with four of us. We can always scream and run away.â
Suzanne, who had a well-deserved reputation for naiveté, didnât know what âfeeling upâ meant, so Eva demonstrated by lunging forward, her hands spread wide to grab at Suzanneâs flat chest. Suzanne shrieked and sprang back before Eva could touch her.
âHeâs all alone in the house,â Alison said. âHe could have dead bodies in the basement.â
âMaybe he was the robber,â Paula suggested.
The robbery, an unusual event for the placid street, had occurred a week ago at number 18, home to a young couple with a small boy. When the boy went to wake his parents in the morning, Sam Reichenthal found his wallet gone from the dresser top where he customarily left it. After a thorough search, the only explanation was that a burglar had slipped in through an open casement window on the ground floor that Sam had forgotten to lock, though he denied this. At any rate, the window was found ajar and part of the rug below was bunched up as if the couch had been moved. The intruder must have crept up the stairs and into the bedroom without waking either Sam or Dora and made off with the wallet containing $60. Credit cards, in the mid-1950s, were far from ubiquitous.
Life in Brooklyn was benignâeven the burglars were mild-mannered.
âPeople donât rob their neighbors,â Suzanne said. âThey go out of the neighborhood, where no one knows them.â About this she was not naive; she watched Perry Mason on TV with her older brothers, who explained the more elusive points of the plot.
One by one, the girls climbed the low brick wall over to Richard Penzerâs porch. The front casement windows were covered by shades, so they couldnât peer in. Without waiting for the others to assent, Eva knocked. The door opened promptly and a tall, lanky man appeared, wearing jeans and a black T-shirt, his longish dark hair drooping over his eyes, a slender lit cigar between his fingers. To Suzanne the acrid smell of the cigar was familiar and reassuring; her father smoked them, too, but greener, fatter ones, and gave her their paper gold rings to wear.He left smoldering butts in ashtrays all over the house, which she had learned to stub out.
âWell, good evening. What have we here, a delegation? Iâve never had the honor before, though Iâve seen you playing in the street. To what do I owe this visit?â
Eva told him about the March of Dimes and the paralyzed children while Paula and Alison, huddled behind her, giggled at the way he spoke.
âThatâs very good of you. Why donât you come in while I go and find some change.â He held the door wide for them to pass.
No one else had invited them in. They hesitated, looking at Eva, who after a moment strode inside. The others followed.
âWait here and Iâll be right back,â he said.
Suzanne gazed around the room. There was a red figured Persian rug on the floor, quite unlike the wall-to-wall beige carpeting of her own living room. There were cylindrical hanging Japanese paper lampshades in different colors, and several huge pillows scattered on the floor. On the wall hung paintings with shapes she couldnât identifyâthey looked like scribbles, or planets, or freakish fish gliding underwater. One wall was painted dark green; another held a large corkboard with slips of paper pinned to it. In one corner stood a large grand piano, bigger than her own, with music on the rack. Near it, propped up against the wall, was the narrow leather case she had seen Richard Penzer carrying from his car: That must be the bassoon. She had
âWe can see what his house looks like. Maybe itâs a torture chamber with chains and stuff. Or maybe he likes to feel up girls. We can see if he tries anything. Nothing can happen with four of us. We can always scream and run away.â
Suzanne, who had a well-deserved reputation for naiveté, didnât know what âfeeling upâ meant, so Eva demonstrated by lunging forward, her hands spread wide to grab at Suzanneâs flat chest. Suzanne shrieked and sprang back before Eva could touch her.
âHeâs all alone in the house,â Alison said. âHe could have dead bodies in the basement.â
âMaybe he was the robber,â Paula suggested.
The robbery, an unusual event for the placid street, had occurred a week ago at number 18, home to a young couple with a small boy. When the boy went to wake his parents in the morning, Sam Reichenthal found his wallet gone from the dresser top where he customarily left it. After a thorough search, the only explanation was that a burglar had slipped in through an open casement window on the ground floor that Sam had forgotten to lock, though he denied this. At any rate, the window was found ajar and part of the rug below was bunched up as if the couch had been moved. The intruder must have crept up the stairs and into the bedroom without waking either Sam or Dora and made off with the wallet containing $60. Credit cards, in the mid-1950s, were far from ubiquitous.
Life in Brooklyn was benignâeven the burglars were mild-mannered.
âPeople donât rob their neighbors,â Suzanne said. âThey go out of the neighborhood, where no one knows them.â About this she was not naive; she watched Perry Mason on TV with her older brothers, who explained the more elusive points of the plot.
One by one, the girls climbed the low brick wall over to Richard Penzerâs porch. The front casement windows were covered by shades, so they couldnât peer in. Without waiting for the others to assent, Eva knocked. The door opened promptly and a tall, lanky man appeared, wearing jeans and a black T-shirt, his longish dark hair drooping over his eyes, a slender lit cigar between his fingers. To Suzanne the acrid smell of the cigar was familiar and reassuring; her father smoked them, too, but greener, fatter ones, and gave her their paper gold rings to wear.He left smoldering butts in ashtrays all over the house, which she had learned to stub out.
âWell, good evening. What have we here, a delegation? Iâve never had the honor before, though Iâve seen you playing in the street. To what do I owe this visit?â
Eva told him about the March of Dimes and the paralyzed children while Paula and Alison, huddled behind her, giggled at the way he spoke.
âThatâs very good of you. Why donât you come in while I go and find some change.â He held the door wide for them to pass.
No one else had invited them in. They hesitated, looking at Eva, who after a moment strode inside. The others followed.
âWait here and Iâll be right back,â he said.
Suzanne gazed around the room. There was a red figured Persian rug on the floor, quite unlike the wall-to-wall beige carpeting of her own living room. There were cylindrical hanging Japanese paper lampshades in different colors, and several huge pillows scattered on the floor. On the wall hung paintings with shapes she couldnât identifyâthey looked like scribbles, or planets, or freakish fish gliding underwater. One wall was painted dark green; another held a large corkboard with slips of paper pinned to it. In one corner stood a large grand piano, bigger than her own, with music on the rack. Near it, propped up against the wall, was the narrow leather case she had seen Richard Penzer carrying from his car: That must be the bassoon. She had
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