“The man presenting me with my honor today at the luncheon was the representative from the Workmen’s Circle. When your name came up in regard to Hannah Weiss, he told me your father’s story. The bosses sent some thugs after your father and his friends. If you hadn’t been there with him, your father would have stayed and fought; instead he saw that you had disobeyed when he told you to run. He went after you to ensure your safety and bring you home, but one of the henchmen sent to disrupt the union meeting came after him. Your back was to him when he was pushed into the river.”
I had always been convinced of my father’s weakness because he was in mourning for my mother, because he had cried in the forest in Russia. I couldn’t stand to hear him weep. I’d covered my ears every evening. I had assumed he had leapt, a lost and helpless man. Never had I thought he’d meant to rescue me.
“You can say I don’t have the power to see the future,” Hochman went on, “but when you stopped me all those years ago on the same corner where we ran into each other today, I saw that we would meet again, and that the river would run through your life. I knew I’d be the one to tell you the truth about your father, although I didn’t know what that was until just a few days ago, when your name came up in conversation.”
I called for another drink. Without my resentment toward my father, the hatred I’d been carrying around was now directed at myself. The terrified boy in the forest who thought the owls could carry him away. The boy who believed there were ghosts in the grass. I was the coward who had cried in the forest. I was the one who could not stop mourning my mother.
Because I could not endure who I was, I had changed my name so that I might be someone brand new. I had placed upon my father’s shoulders my many flaws and faults.
“Maybe you’ll understand why he would risk everything for you now that you’ve known love,” Hochman said. He laughed when I gazed at him with surprise. “There’s no need of psychic powers to see that. I can spot desire after all these years.”
“Unfortunately she doesn’t feel as I do.” I had the letter I’d been given in my jacket, which I’d read over and over again, a wound I couldn’t help but revisit. “She’s sent me away.”
“Don’t walk away too fast,” the Wizard said. “She may change her mind.” Hochman toasted my health and wished me good fortune. “Love is the one thing that’s not easy to find. It’s an achievement, Eddie, to feel such a glorious emotion, whether it’s returned or not. Some men never do. Though I’m not surprised to hear you have a passion. I saw it inside you, even when you didn’t know it was there. Why do you think I hired you? I saw exactly who you were.”
THE NEXT DAY, I went looking for my father. I knew I owed him an apology. If I were to be honest, I owed him more than that. I had brought Mitts and North with me, knowing they needed the walk, and they were quiet, tempered by my mood. Once I’d climbed the steps, however, I found I couldn’t knock on the door. I stood there in the hallway where I had been a hundred times before, and yet I was not the same person who had lived here. The corridor appeared smaller and more narrow than I had remembered. There was the scent of cooking from other flats, onions and chicken, and the dim lighting that turned shadows blue. I imagined my father on the other side of the door, his prayer book open as he said the evening prayers, the photograph of my mother on the table propped up beside an empty soup bowl. I had looked to find what I was missing in Moses Levy, in the hermit, in Hochman, in Mr. Weiss, but all along it had been here, at the end of this corridor.
Still, I could not go farther. I couldn’t imagine asking for his forgiveness. My throat had closed up. Could words burn you? Could they tear you to pieces? I stood with my back against the wall that was streaked with cheap green paint. Mitts and North were beside me, on edge. Did I bring them for protection or merely for company? Or was there another reason? I had met an old woman on the dock the day I rescued Mitts, and she’d told me that it was easy enough to judge a man by the way he treated his dogs. Perhaps I wanted my father to see that I was not a wretched, thankless person, the sort of man who would walk away without a look back, a son who would judge his father and fail to rescue him when he was drowning. I had a heart after all, not straw inside me, but blood and bone and flesh.
I did the only thing I knew how to do. I had the rest of my savings with me, all I had. I slipped the envelope of money under the door. I thought I spied a shadow. I thought I felt him near. I bowed my head and said the evening prayers. I was grateful for the teachers I’d had, though I now recognized myself to be a slow and unexceptional student. I finally understood what Mr. Weiss had given me in return for finding his daughter, for, like the angels who are said to follow men’s lives on earth, he’d sent me a message. I was my father’s son, no matter what my name was.
Soon after, I returned to the mansion on Sixty-second Street. It was the day when all New York pulsed with excitement, for President Taft had come to preside at the dedication ceremony of the New York Public Library on Fifth Avenue. The building had cost more than nine million dollars and boasted a collection of over a million volumes. The huge lions that fronted the staircase to Fifth Avenue, sculpted by Edward Clark Potter, were nicknamed Leo Astor and Leo Lenox, for the library’s founders, John Jacob Astor and James Lenox. I avoided the crowds and slipped into a tavern, where I took my time over some warm gin till evening closed in. Then I went on to my destination. I stood in the dark, a shadow from my own past yet again. I looked up into the window I knew to be Juliet’s bedroom, but it was dark. I wished to thank her for her help. She was so bright, I thought she could help me grasp why the one woman I wanted would run from me. Juliet was an advocate for women’s rights. I, too, believed each woman had the right to follow her own destiny, but I hadn’t paid attention to the personal liberties women were lacking. Perhaps there was much more I hadn’t understood.
I saw a fellow bring a carriage round. He was a liveryman I’d heard his employers call Marcus. I walked over casually and paid attention to the horse.
“Keep away then,” the fellow said to me. “This horse is worth more than you are.”
The wondrous specimen was an Andalusian, sent from Spain, one of the finest carriage horses in New York. He was so spirited Marcus said he had to be ridden at a full gallop along the bridle path in Central Park on Sundays to ensure he burned off steam and therefore would be less likely to spook and run off with the carriage.
“Is Miss Block at home?” I asked.
At first he refused to answer, but I wouldn’t let it go, and finally, most likely to be rid of me, he said, “We’ve been told not to bring up her name.”
“Who gave you those instructions?”
Marcus shrugged. “We are to act as if she was never a member of the family.”
It was a curious pronouncement, but I could not bring him to say any more. I decided to wait until the maids went out, hoping to have better luck with them. I’d watched the town house often enough to know they went out walking each day, and I recognized them right away. Sarah and Agnes had Juliet’s poodles with them. The dogs saw me and strained to get to me, leaping up as if I were a long-lost friend.
“I never knew Jasper to be so friendly,” Agnes said of the larger poodle’s reaction to me. “He’s a snobby thing.”
“I’m a friend of Miss Block’s,” I said, which was not so far from the truth. “I’m here to visit her.” The maids exchanged a look. “I take it she’s not at home?”
“We have to walk the dogs,” Sarah said, wanting to get away. She grabbed Agnes by the sleeve, steering her toward the park.
I followed along. I was still the same stubborn fellow I’d been from the start, unwilling to give in. “Will she be home later?” I focused on Agnes, the maid who seemed more willing to engage.
She shook her head sadly. “They were going to send her to a hospital in Massachusetts. I myself told her of the plan because I’d overheard them discussing her with the doctor. She was always kind to me, and I thought it evil that they w
ere planning behind her back. I saw the jacket they planned to tie her into if she fought their demands—it was a horrible thing made of leather and canvas. When I saw what they intended, I knew I couldn’t keep quiet.”
“Let’s walk on,” the other maid said, troubled by the turn in the conversation. “Talk is cheap and it makes you seem so.”
But Agnes clearly wished to tell the story of her mistress, and she went on. “It was all for Miss Juliet’s political work and the demonstrations. She’d been arrested again. When I told her what they meant to do, she said they’d never lock her up. She ran away, God bless her.”
“That’s enough,” her companion told her. “It’s nobody’s business, and it’ll be our jobs if they know you’ve talked about her. Don’t say any more!”
“Oh, hush up yourself,” Agnes said. “They don’t give a damn about us, and Miss Juliet always did.”
Sarah was chalk white. I realized that she was truly frightened, for she looked over her shoulder, anxious that they might be spied by a member of the Block family. “I won’t be party to this,” she declared. She turned and left us there in the park.
“Don’t worry about her. Sarah won’t say anything,” Agnes assured me. “She’s afraid of her own shadow.”
We sat on a bench. It was a warm night and the park was crowded. The people here were different from the throngs downtown. We were far enough uptown for the social classes to be separated. And yet, against the wishes of the creators of this great green place that was meant to remain pristine, it was changing. The meadows had been turned into playing fields by groups of young men from downtown who traveled here to play stickball on hot nights.
As Agnes and I sat together, the dogs were very quiet, though clearly happy to see me. They sat at my feet as if they were my own.
“Would you think of taking them?” Agnes asked. “No one gives a damn about them either, and, forgive me for saying so, Miss Block hated them.”
The dogs gazed at me beseechingly. They looked like fools in their clipped haircuts. I wanted nothing less than these silly beasts.
“They’re Jasper and Antoinette,” Agnes went on. “Poor things. They’re ignored in the house, and I suspect that in time they’ll be ill treated. If you have anything like a heart, you’ll take them.”
To placate her I said that at some point I might consider it; perhaps I would take them away once my own life was more settled. I most likely did not mean this, but I had reason to strike a bargain, for I needed something in return: to see Harry. I asked Agnes if she would let me into the town house, and to my surprise she agreed most readily.
“For Miss Juliet’s sake,” she told me. “Since you were her friend and she was mine.”
Agnes was a young, cheerful girl from Ireland, and she resented the way the household help were treated; the saving grace of working for the family had been Miss Block, who regarded the maid as she might have a younger sister. We walked back together and went round the rear of the building. It was paved with cobblestones, and there was a large metal case for the milkman to deposit cream and cheese in the mornings. Agnes unlocked the door that allowed me into the house. She would wait for me on the corner of Sixty-third Street with the poodles until my business was done so she would not be thought to be associated with me in any way. I went through the empty kitchen—larger by ten times than the room my father and I had lived in—and found my way along the corridors, tiled with dark marble that was veined with pink and gold. There was a small sitting room, decorated for ladies, in tones of green and rose.
I continued on to the main hallway, which was shaped like a teardrop, and stood beneath the Tiffany chandelier, steadying myself. Agnes had informed me that the elder Mr. Block was ill and rarely left his bed. Mrs. Block had gone out to a party. Mr. Harry Block would likely be found in the study, for he’d slipped into a state of melancholy ever since his sister had run away. That was where I found him, practicing his chess game with an imaginary partner. I came into the study and closed the sliding walnut doors behind me. Block raised his eyes, and there was a flicker of fear. Perhaps he thought he was about to be robbed, as he had been all those years ago.
“Did Frank Herbert play chess with you?” I asked. “Because he’ll be unavailable to do so for the next twenty years.”
My enemy recognized me and nodded, as if we were old friends.
“Herbert was too much of an imbecile to understand the intricacies of chess. It was Juliet who played a good match.”
I sat down in one of the green velvet chairs. “And yet you were willing to send her off to a hospital for her political views.”
Block glared at me, confused as to how I would gain access to such information. “I would never have brought any harm to my sister if that’s what you’re insinuating. She was placing herself in danger by her choice of companions and activities. She would have soon found herself in jail. I wished to protect her.”
“Now she’s run away from your protection. For her sake I hope she’s found some freedom in doing so.”
“What business is my family to you?”
I was not the man to explain to him how deeply all of the workers had been influenced by the families that had employed them. Nearly every aspect of our daily lives had been affected by people who never knew our names. I picked up one of the chess pieces. It was the queen. “I never had time for games,” I said. “Never learned chess. I was working from the moment I was able.”
“You played the thief quite well.”
“And it seems you played the murderer.”
Block flushed with anger. “That had nothing to do with me. I didn’t tell Herbert to kill her. I never would have. I simply said to scare her off. He didn’t know when enough was enough and took it upon himself.”
“I think the Workmen’s Circle will take it upon themselves to watch you carefully. If you have business dealings that are questionable, if you cover up practices that place workers in danger, it’s likely they’ll know. I think you’ll find yourself spending a good deal of time in court from now on. Good thing you’re an attorney.”
I reached into my waistcoat pocket for the watch. I had not realized the weight of it until that moment. My future had nothing to do with the time it told, nor did it define who I’d been in the past. I placed it on the game table.
“Do you think you returning my own property to me makes you an honest man?” Block asked.
“I think it makes me a man. I’m not sure you can say the same.”
Before I left my old enemy, I took a last look at the watch I had carried for so long. It had never seemed like mine. Whether I was honest or not, I was free from its burden. I went out of the town house and met Agnes on the corner. We walked together speaking of Juliet, who was at that very moment on her way to California. We took the dogs into the park. Mr. Block kept them locked up in the kitchen; because he’d bought them for Juliet he despised them now. I let them off their leashes for once. As it turned out, broken or not, it appeared I had a heart.
MAY 1911
THE STABLE was empty, although several of the liveryman’s pigeons managed to find their way in through gaps in the wooden siding to take shelter for the night. Eddie had taken to spending time in this gloomy place with both Mitts and North, breathing in the scent of hay, remembering how he had come here as a boy and slept beside the horses. After one tiff, when Mitts approached the wolf in an overly friendly fashion, the two got on well enough, if ignoring one another meant there was an uneasy peace. Eddie’s hand was still wrapped, but the pain had eased. He supposed the bones were mending. His heart, however, was not in a similar condition, precisely the problem with having such an organ, for it caused pangs of desire and regret, reminding an individual that he was indeed human, prone to human sorrows and desires.
Eddie had reverted to his old insomniac’s habits, avoiding sleep for as long as possible, existing on a diet of coffee and gin. When he did close his eyes, whether dozing in a chair or resting his head against the sta
ble wall, Coralie came to him in his dreams. She was in the river, in his bed, out of reach and leaving him in a fevered and dejected state. He’d memorized several lines from the note she’d written him. I do not love you and cannot pretend to. I am promised to a man in France, a family friend, and it is to him I now go. Please do not follow me. Forget me if you can.
He wished to do exactly that, but had discovered it wasn’t possible. He’d taken to drinking with serious intent, not for pleasure but for sheer inebriation. He missed the presence of the liveryman, and now held a deeper understanding of why a person might turn to opium, as he, himself, had embraced gin, for it was gin alone that allowed him a deep, black brand of sleep. Eddie tried not to dwell on the fact that he would soon be homeless. In a matter of days, the stable would be rented out to a tenant who had put in an offer to let the entire building. The new renter was an ironmonger who wished to set up a furnace in the alleyway and use Moses Levy’s studio for storage. Eddie was to vacate by the first of June. It was already the end of May, and deciding where to go next loomed as an impossible task, for it was difficult enough to find loft space possessing good light, all the more challenging given his financial situation and the presence of two large canines, one of which was indistinguishable in form and temperament from a wolf. When Eddie was drinking heavily enough, he had half a mind to move onto Beck’s property and build himself a shack. There he would take the hermit’s place, equally embittered and alone, avoiding humankind, but close to the river, comforted by that proximity. Then he thought better of the notion, for what the old man had predicted would surely come true before very long. The woods would disappear, replaced by concrete and bricks. There would be no room for wild creatures, just as there’d be no room for men who wished to escape the concerns of city life.