One Way: Do Not Enter

CHAPTER ONE

Arlene

August 1958

August is not the greatest month to come to Brooklyn, thought Eddie Todd as the no. 14 bus turned off Eastern Parkway and onto Ralph Avenue. He leaned against the frame of the open window and watched the haze rise off the sweltering city streets. The bus eased down the hill and took a wide left turn onto East New York Avenue. Eddie squirmed uncomfortably in his seat, the beads of nervous sweat mixing with the moisture that had already permeated his tan Air Force shirt. He reached for his tie and loosened the knot. He unbuttoned the top button of his shirt and leaned back against the seat, eyes half closed. He knew that he was out of uniform, but the heat was too unbearable for him to adhere to the dress code.

Peering out the window, he watched the familiar sights come into view as the bus turned onto Pitkin Avenue. Beholding Loew’s Pitkin movie house, Wu Han Chinese Restaurant, the Little Oriental, and Hoffman’s Cafeteria, he determined that not much had changed since he had left four years ago.

Hey, flyboy, your stop is next, the driver called loudly. Eddie picked up his duffel bag and suitcase from the seat behind him and moved slowly toward the back door. As the bus stopped, a green light blinked above the door. Eddie leaned awkwardly against the door and pushed. The driver watched through the rearview mirror as Eddie reached back and dragged his luggage off the bus. No sooner had the door closed than the bus roared away from the curb.

Eddie stood at the street corner and reviewed his plan. He had just been discharged from the service. He thought he would go back to college in Florida. His plan had gone awry when his buddy George received a letter telling him that his father had died and that his stepmother didn’t want him or his friends living with her. With nowhere else to go, Eddie went home.

Home at last, Eddie thought facetiously. What the hell am I doing here? The back of his shirt clung to his body, and two huge circles of sweat lined his underarms. He shifted nervously, reached into his shirt pocket, and withdrew a pack of cigarettes. Tapping one on the side of the pack, he placed the cigarette into his mouth and reached into his pants for his lighter. It was silver, with the 32nd Air Defense wing etched onto its face. He flipped open the cover and lit the cigarette. Drawing deeply, he held his breath and then blew the smoke out of his nostrils. He glanced at the four corners of the intersection, looking for things he recognized. The two stores on the opposite side of the street were the same, but the bank and the clothing store were different. The sign above the bank alternately flashed the time and temperature. The temperature was a ghastly ninety-five degrees, but he felt even warmer. He stood for a moment and drew another puff. Well, here goes. He flipped the lit cigarette toward the gutter, picked up his bags, and started the long and inevitable walk to the apartment building.

He hefted the duffel bag across his shoulder and, carrying the flight bag in his hand, turned the corner and walked slowly down Herzl Street. Most of the buildings were in a state of disrepair, with clothes hanging out many of the windows. The old synagogue was boarded up, and most of the stores on one side of the street had been converted to apartments. Those retail establishments that did remain bore large iron gates standing like sentries at the side of each store window. Garbage cans were overflowing, and half-naked children were running between the cars parked along the street. Many of the apartment windows were protected by iron bars, and there were more junk cars than usable ones. Partway down the street, a water hydrant was open. Another group of youngsters was laughing and screaming loudly as an older man held a wooden milk crate against the rushing water, causing a large spray to cascade down on the kids in the middle of the street. What the fuck happened here? This place looks like a war zone, he thought to himself. I can’t believe there isn’t a white face in the group. Shit, how in Christ’s name can my folks live here?

Halfway down the block, Eddie found his destination, 81 Herzl. The building needed paint and the door had a broken pane of glass, but the brick face looked decent. He pushed open the right side of the door. He was not prepared for what followed. The stench of urine flooded his nostrils. He gasped as the bile from his stomach rose into his throat. He forced himself to swallow the sour taste, which gave rise to nausea. Instinctively, he dropped the bags and moved back onto the sidewalk. He coughed, brought up a mouthful of phlegm, and spit it out. What kind of animals live here? Eddie reached into the doorway and pulled his bags back onto the sidewalk. He repositioned his duffel bag across his right shoulder and held it with his left hand, pressing his nose against the shirt crease in his elbow. Leaning against the door, he took a deep breath, picked up the flight bag, and moved rapidly up the hallway. The corridor was dark, with peeling paint and garbage bags lining the walls. Graffiti was scrawled in spray paint and crayon: Theresa fucks anything; Maria gives blow jobs; Angel is queer; Jimmy has a big, black cock. Sheer poetry, he thought as he climbed the flight of stairs at the end of the hall. The second floor was a near replica of the first, and the third landing was the same, minus the garbage bags. On the next floor, there was no graffiti. The floor was clean. The landing was an anomaly: the walls were scrubbed clean, the floor was washed, and a light glowed brightly in its uncovered fixture. Looking at the signs above the buzzers, he realized that the names were all familiar to him.

He stood in front of his parents’ door and held his breath. He was afraid to lift his arm to knock on the door. As silently as possible, he slipped out a pack of cigarettes and lit up one of his Luckies. He inhaled deeply and let the smoke escape slowly. I can’t do it, he thought, standing there shaking his head. Eddie closed his eyes and trembled. Go on, schmuck, he castigated himself, this was your home for twenty years. He dropped the butt and stamped it out, picked it up, fieldstripped it, and put the residue in his shirt pocket. He breathed deeply and knocked quietly on the door. An eternity passed. His sweat made him uncomfortable. Then he heard someone at the door.

Who’s there? a familiar voice asked.

Mrs. Abramson. It’s me, Eddie.

Oy, Gott, it’s Eddileh, she replied as the chain came away from the door and the lock unlatched. Come in, already, she said, tears coming swiftly to her eyes. Gott sei Dank, Anna will be so happy to see you. She leaned forward and hugged him fiercely. You know, Eddileh, your momma is not so good. She’s sleeping now, but when she sees you, she’ll be better. Mrs. Abramson tugged at his sleeve and pulled him into the kitchen.

One second, I need to get my bags. He turned to the hallway and pulled the bags into the apartment. He glanced around quickly to readjust to his once-familiar surroundings. A cockroach scampered under the stove. The Sabbath candlesticks were still sitting on the old refrigerator. He viewed a large crack that had traveled the length of the oft-painted wall. The only new items were the new sink and a Formica cabinet near the window. Eddie moved to the sink and turned on the water. His parched throat needed lubrication. He reached up to grab an empty Yahrzeit glass. After filling it, he drank hurriedly.

Moments later, Mrs. Abramson took his arm and towed him to the living room. The furniture showed its thirty-five years of use, and nothing had been added since he had left four years earlier. Sit down, Eddileh, your mama will be up soon.

He chose the large armchair his dad used and sat down in it. It was a defiant move because his father always sat there and guarded it as his domain.

Mrs. Abramson sat on the couch. Are you home from the service? What will you do? Will you stay here? It was a one-sided conversation; she did not let Eddie speak.

Sophie, who’s there? a very weak voice called out from the bedroom. Mrs. Abramson moved quickly toward the bedroom and opened the door. She stood in the doorway and said, Anna, don’t be too excited. It’s your Eddileh, he’s home. Eddie came into the doorway as Mrs. Abramson moved toward the window.

Eddie stood frozen and stared for a moment at the woman lying in the bed. He was sure it was his mother, but he did not recognize her immediately. She had thin, graying hair and was gaunt. Her skin was colorless and full of wrinkles. Her voice was the only thing he recognized, and even that was very weak.

My baby, my baby, she cried, holding out her thin arms. She was too weak to pull herself up. Come here, let me see you. Eddie approached the bed, and his mother vainly tried to prop herself up. Mrs. Abramson rushed to her side and pushed a pillow under her head. Eddie leaned over and kissed his mother’s forehead.

Easy, Mom, he pleaded. You rest. I’ll sit here at the edge. Don’t try to get up. He could feel the tears welling up in his eyes as he reached out to hug her. A warm, secure feeling came over him—the first time in many years. Tears rolled down his cheeks as he rocked her gently. Mom, I’m sorry it had to be this way, please forgive me.

It’s all right, baby, it’s all right, she said. They both sat and wept openly. Eddie spoke and Anna nodded. It was a difficult conversation. It drained Eddie. When Anna nodded off, Eddie went to the bathroom. Then he returned to sit at his mother’s side. Memories of the years he spent growing up on Herzl Street lingered in his mind. He recalled his friends, all long gone; playing stoopball; joining a team for Johnny on the pony; playing kick the can and participating in daylong stickball games.

The sound of the front door unlocking startled Eddie. He felt panic as he heard footsteps approaching the bedroom. All of his fears materialized as he gazed at the doorway. There stood Morris Todd, a little older but still straight and proud. A full head of black hair topped his trim, 5'10 frame. Morris’ face reddened. Before Eddie had a chance to get up, his father started shouting, Get the hell out of here, you bastard. You’re no son of mine. I won’t have you in this house. You killed your mother."

Morris, sha, Mrs. Abramson said. Anna is not sick enough. Why are you yelling like a lunatic? He’s home now, so let well enough alone. You are making Anna feel bad.

No, God damn it, I won’t stop, Morris raged. He left to join the Air Force, so let them keep him. Look what it did to Anna. I have no use for him. He rambled on. A big shot, he wanted to wear an officer’s uniform. He wouldn’t stay home when his mother begged him to. If he had stayed, then we wouldn’t live here now. His voice cracked and his face reddened. No, it killed her, and I wouldn’t spit on his grave.

Morris, please stop it, pleaded Anna, who had suddenly awakened. You’ll get sick. Eddie looked with admiration at his mother. There she was lying in bed and dying of cancer, and she was worried about her husband’s health.

Momma, don’t fight over me, it wouldn’t do any good, said Eddie, Pop is not going to change. He didn’t understand why I needed to leave then, and he doesn’t understand now.

Morris walked to the window and stared, through the venetian blinds, at the backyard.

Where will you go, Eddie? Morris, please let him stay, he’s my only child, Anna pleaded.

Not turning around to look at his wife, Morris replied, He managed for the last four years without us, so he’ll manage now.

Morris, I beg you, why are you like this? cried Anna.

Mom, please don’t beg him. I’m old enough to take care of myself. He can’t browbeat me like he did when I was a child. I’ll be okay. Eddie leaned over to kiss her cheek. He turned toward the living room and heard her crying. Mrs. Abramson caught up to him as he reached the kitchen. I need to get out of here. He doesn’t get it that going into the garment business is not what I want.

Don’t worry about your momma. I’ll keep an eye on her. Take care of yourself, Eddileh.

Thank you, Mrs. Abramson. Eddie kissed her on the forehead. He lifted the duffel bag, picked up the suitcase, and walked into the hall. The door closed gently behind him. He heard the lock shut for the last time.

CHAPTER TWO

August 1958

Eddie left the building and crossed the street to Sam’s Grocery. He was grappling with the thought of not seeing his mother again. It saddened him. But he had an immediate need: Where should he go?

Dusk had settled on the street. It didn’t look nearly as bad in the dim light. He felt more at home now that he couldn’t see the garbage strewn all over the sidewalks. The intense heat of the day had subsided, so most people’s windows were open. Latin music was blaring. The odor of paella and rice and beans permeated the air.

Sam’s Grocery was exactly as he remembered it. It was the last bastion of normality in the obviously changing neighborhood. The small grocery store looked the same except for the new soda storage refrigerator. Eddie turned immediately to the right and approached the phone booth in the front corner. Old man Sam was at the end of the counter preparing some cold cuts for a customer.

Eddie reached into his pocket, took out some change, and spread it on the shelf beneath the phone. He dropped a dime in the slot and dialed the operator. After the phone rang twice, the operator answered. What number, please?

Ah, operator, he said nervously, can you get me a number for a family by the name of Brody, Sidney Brody, on Eastern Parkway?

Certainly. Is that b-r-o-d-y? she replied.

Yes, that’s it, thank you. Eddie took out a cigarette, lit it, and waited.

Eddie, please, stay with me.

I’m sorry. I can’t change the situation now.

Don’t leave me, Eddie.

The operator startled him. The number is Ulster one, two three seven one.

Excuse me, can you repeat that? said Eddie.

Ulster. One, two three seven one, she repeated.

Thank you, operator. He replaced the receiver on the hook, took another drag on the cigarette, and dropped a coin into the phone. He heard it ring; his palm was moist and clammy. After the third ring, Mrs. Brody answered. Hello, who’s calling?

Hi, Mrs. Brody, this is Eddie Todd. Is Arlene home?

Eddie, the one from Herzl Street, was her reply. How are you? We haven’t heard from you in a long time. She asked, Are you still in the service?

No, Mrs. Brody, I just got my discharge, and I’m in New York, he answered nervously. Can I speak to Arlene?

She’s not here. Her voice seemed strained. Arlene doesn’t live at home anymore. She took an apartment at the airport. She’s a stewardess now. Didn’t she write to tell you?

No, we haven’t really been in touch for a long time. I’ve been moving around a lot, he lied. Do you have a number where I can reach her?

Sure. … Oh my God, I never remember. I have to look it up. One second, I’ll get my book. She dropped the receiver and left Eddie holding.

Why are you crying? Are you all right?

I thought I would have handled it better.

Let’s get married when I come back from basic training in December.

Hello, Eddie, here it is, Mrs. Brody interrupted his train of thought. It’s W-Y nine, two one five seven. I thought I had her address, but it’s not in my book. As an afterthought, she asked, By the way, how are your folks?

They’re okay, he lied, not wanting to prolong the conversation. He added, And how’s Mr. Brody? although he didn’t really want an answer.

As good as can be. He’s glued to the television. As soon as wrestling comes on, there he is, she replied.

Well, give him my regards. And thanks for the number.

Mrs. Brody said, If you talk to her, tell her it’s okay to call her mother. I haven’t heard from her in two weeks.

Good-bye, Mrs. Brody. Eddie hung up. He was puzzled. That didn’t sound like Arlene. She was always close to her mother, sometimes too close.

He picked up another coin and hesitated before making the call. He took a drag on the cigarette and opened the phone booth door to allow the smoke to dissipate before he deposited the coin. He dialed the number slowly and waited for the buzz.

A voice came over the receiver, loud and bubbly. Hi, who’s calling? Arlene’s voice was reminiscent of her mother’s, but with a youthful lilt. After a few seconds of silence, she said, Hello, who is this? Then she said, I haven’t got time for games.

Eddie realized that he had not answered her and tried to play it cool. Hi, beautiful, it’s me, Eddie. He tried to sound as if he had spoken to her last night.

Eddie, where are you?

Back in Brooklyn. I got my discharge and headed home.

Arlene asked, Where are you staying? I can’t believe you’re back with your folks.

I really tried to go back. I needed to see my mom, but you know my old man, Eddie answered sheepishly. I wanted to call you before I looked for a place to stay. I called your mom, and she gave me your number.

Uh-huh. So where are you going to stay?

I don’t know, Eddie said. Artie’s. The Y. I’ll figure it out.

Why don’t you crash at my place? Look, I’m leaving on a flight to Boston in a few minutes, but you can sleep on the couch.

Are you sure it wouldn’t be too much trouble?

Arlene laughed. No trouble at all. I’ll leave a key with the doorman. I’m at ninety-four oh seven Astoria Boulevard, apartment four-L. She repeated the address. Make yourself at home. I have to run.

The phone went dead. He heard the click on the other end of the line. He sat there frozen with the receiver in his hand and then placed it on the cradle. He leaned his head on the wall of the booth and closed his eyes.

I know you’ll never understand, and I’m not ready to explain it. Eddie, it’s best for both of us if we don’t see each other again. I just couldn’t write. I needed to call you. Someday I’ll explain.

That call was almost three years ago, thought Eddie. He picked up his bags and left the store without saying a word to Sam. With both bags in hand, he headed toward the same corner on the route that he had traversed only a few