“I wore gloves.”
There was a silence of perhaps five minutes.
“I have it,” she said finally. “The police can give you a lie-detector test.”
“The findings of lie detectors are not accepted as evidence in this state.”
“Well, you can’t just sit there and give up so easily. You’ve got to think of something that will put you in jail.”
“Madam,” I said, “at this moment, I intend to do nothing more than take a nap.” I lay down on the couch and put the newspaper over my face.
“You’re not fooling me,” she said firmly. “You slept until ten this morning. You couldn’t possibly be ready for a nap.”
She resumed her oral vendetta, dwelling on the subject of perseverance over obstacles. However, she gradually glissandoed into the narrative of her trip to Yellowstone National Park the year before, claiming she had slides in her apartment to prove it.
Actually, her voice was rather soothing. I found myself nodding, and finally I dropped off to sleep behind the newspaper.
I don’t know how long I napped, but when I awakened I heard:
“Voltaire has remarked that King William never appeared to full advantage but in difficulties and in action. The same remark may be made on General Washington, for the character fits him.”
I removed the newspaper from my face.
Bridget sat in an easy chair, a faraway look in her eyes. “There is a natural firmness in some minds which cannot be unlocked by trifles, but which, when unlocked, discovers a cabinet of fortitude...”
“Bridget,” I said, “what the devil are you talking about?”
She smiled. “I’m filibustering.”
“Filibustering?”
“Yes. Like in Congress when there’s some bill a senator doesn’t want passed, so he gets up and talks and talks. He talks about the bill for as long as he can, but there’s only so much you can say on any subject. Still, he doesn’t want to give up the floor, so he begins to read things aloud — like his hometown newspaper, or a government bulletin, or Gone With the Wind. It doesn’t really matter what it is, and he can go on for days.”
“And so you are filibustering because you have run out of original words?”
“From The Writings of Thomas Paine. I’m reading the pamphlet, The American Crisis.”
“I don’t remember owning or borrowing the book.”
“It’s in the next apartment, being used to prop up the corner of a dresser.”
I lay there while she finished The American Crisis and moved on to The Rights of Man.
At eight o’clock I sat up. “Well, Bridget, I’m going to hit the hay.”
She stopped reading. “This early?”
I went to the bathroom and got into my pajamas. When I returned, I pulled down the Murphy bed. “I’ve had a long day and I’m really quite tired. I should pop off to sleep immediately.”
She thought it over. “Well, perhaps you’re right. I’m beginning to get a little hoarse.”
I got into bed and closed my eyes. After five minutes I opened them. Bridget was gone. I waited another fifteen minutes, thinking she might return to check up on me, then I got up and dressed, put on my topcoat and hat, and left the apartment.
It was a long walk, but eventually I stood in the middle of the harbor bridge. I reached into my pocket and pulled out my last three pennies. What the devil could three pennies buy these days anyway? I tossed them over the railing.
I took off my hat. Why had I worn it anyway? It would only blow off. I wedged it into an interstice of the railing. Perhaps someone else could use it. I took off my topcoat, folded it neatly, and put it on the walk beside the hat.
I looked down into the blackness. I had always been a bit nervous about heights. I closed my eyes and was ready.
“Oliver,” Bridget said sharply, “put on your damn hat. And the topcoat too.”
We entered the supermarket at approximately twenty minutes to nine, and Bridget showed me a nook where I could hide. I remained concealed until nine-thirty, when Bridget informed me that the store was now closed and empty of all personnel.
She led me to the safe in the manager’s small office.
“I really should have done some research before I started haunting you,” she said. “I didn’t know that you were once nearly rich, but your financial adviser absconded to Costa Rica with all your money. Why didn’t you just get a job like ordinary people do?”
“At the age of fifty-three? Frankly, I’m unemployable, Bridget. I possess no marketable skills.”
“And your pride prevented you from accepting charity, so you decided to steal.”
“It was my first attempt,” I said. Bridget had provided me with the safe’s combination, and I now proceeded to open it. “I thought you were going to be my lookout.”
“I am,” Bridget said. “The nearest police car is parked three and a half blocks away. At this moment one of the officers is napping and the other is crunching an antacid tablet.”
I removed the packets of bills from the safe.
“You’d better fill a bag with groceries before you leave,” she advised. “I know your cupboard is bare. I should have known you were actually starving when you didn’t eat anything all day. And those library books. You were taking them back even though you hadn’t finished some of them because you wanted to put your affairs in order.”
When we left the store, I had the money and my groceries in a heavy brown paper bag.
“You might just as well move into my apartment,” Bridget said. “It’s sunny and cheerful. I don’t know how long it will take to settle my estate so you can move in officially, but in the meantime get the superintendent to let you see the apartment and I’ll show you where there’s an extra key you can palm.”
“Why would I want to palm the key?”
“Because until you move in permanently you’ll have to slip in every few days or so to water my plants. And you might as well empty the refrigerator. The food will spoil if it stays there too long. My niece Annie gets everything I have and I can’t change that, but I think she’ll jump at the chance to sell you my furniture if you make her a fair offer. And there are three poinsettias in the closet. They have to have a period of dormancy so you can get them to bloom on Christmas, and a dark closet is an ideal place to put them, but in thirty-two more days, take them out, put them in a sunny place, and give them a long drink of water. And dust gets on the leaves of my rubber plants, so take a damp cloth and...”
“Bridget,” I said. “For a little while — at least until I’ve eaten — would you please shut up?”
There was a two-second silence. “Yes, dear.”
Yes, dear?
I shrugged. Well, why not?
As it was, I would have forgotten about the poinsettias entirely if Bridget hadn’t been there to remind me.
Three Weeks in a Spanish Town
by Edward D. Hoch
To Arthur, the accommodations sounded primitive...
“Three weeks in a Spanish town!” Edna had exclaimed when she saw the little classified ad in the back of the travel magazine. “Doesn’t that sound romantic?”
To her husband Arthur it had sounded downright primitive, especially after they wrote for details and received back a letter written in bad English explaining that the town in question was in a remote section of the country more than a hundred miles from Madrid or any other large city. “What’ll I do there for three weeks?” he groaned.