WE KNEW, BUT WE DIDN'T KNOW

 CHAPTER FOURTEEN—SNAPPY

 

I opened the vivid front door to 329 St. Luke and climbed up the sparkling staircase. The building was so new and clean. Despite my foggy head and unsettled stomach, it made me feel new and clean myself.

I had to jiggle my key to prise the lock. It wasn’t a perfect copy. I made a beeline for the loo, but the heavy bladder pressure was familiarly deceptive. There was a brief trickle which did nothing to relieve the intense sensation, and a moment after the measly drops had passed, I felt a burning wave of pain. I was certain I had a urinary tract infection, but the notion of going to a clinic was repugnant. I would try to flush the bacteria out with water and cranberry juice. I shuddered, wiped my privates gingerly and pulled up my one good pair of stockings, which by then were badly laddered.

In my haste, I had neglected to close the front door, and when I walked back into the living room, I saw a quaint-looking woman in the doorway.

“I hope I haven’t startled you, dearie. I’m your neighbour from across the hall, Snappy.” She pointed at # 15, which had a brass lion’s head knocker on the door.

“A pleasure to meet you, Snappy. I’m Sophie. I haven’t actually moved in yet, but I will within the next week or two. I was just off downstairs to see if Joe was in.”

Snappy was unlike any woman I had ever seen. She must have been at least 60. She had waist-length silver-blond hair and a pale, wrinkled face. Despite the wrinkles, she was a pretty woman — slender and fine-featured with startling turquoise eyes. She was wearing a purple and green wool poncho, a long, thick black skirt and magenta suede boots. Her lips were painted a highly pigmented deep pink.

“Could you be an angel and pick up a pack of Benson and Hedges for me at the convenience store on the corner? I only have large bills, so perhaps you could loan me the money until you’re here next?”

I felt a spasm of resentment, but I didn’t want to get off to a bad start with the first neighbour I met. That would be bad luck, I reckoned. So I forced my tone to sound even and mild. “My pleasure, Snappy. I’ll just stop by Joe’s door first.”

I thought I detected a frown on Snappy’s face, but I ignored it and trotted down the stairs. I rang Joe’s bell twice. No answer. I rapped on his door quite firmly and insistently. No answer.

Toward the end of the walkway on the edge of the pavement, two evenly sized mammals were frozen in shocked stances: a kitten and a squirrel. The squirrel had unusually dark fur, chocolate auburn and the kitten or young cat was a spicy ginger. The cat’s back was arched stiffly. Both animals looked deadlocked and I wondered how long they would stay that way.

When I returned from the store five minutes later, there was no trace of them. The distressing bladder pressure had returned by the time I reached Snappy’s flat. I regretted not buying cranberry juice whilst in the shop. I would have to get some and drink it soon, or a trip to a clinic would be unavoidable.

Snappy answered the door and snapped, “How much?” She fairly grabbed the packet of ciggies out of my hand.

“1.80.”

“What?” she shrieked. “They were 1.65 last week. How is that possible?”

I shrugged my shoulders. “Don’t ask me. I’m a non-smoker. I was surprised the clerk even sold these to me.”

Snappy squinted. “So I suppose our Joe wasn’t at home? If he were, you wouldn’t be back so soon.”

I smiled at her as sweetly as I could, but her rude manners gobsmacked me. I realised that I had been stereotyping the elderly based on my achingly limited experience. Clearly they were not all kind and gracious. I would have to consult Joe about Snappy. I had no intention of permitting her to bully me and spoil my enthusiasm about the building.

I said a hasty goodbye. Going down the citrus-scented staircase, I wondered about the showdown between the marmalade cat and the auburn squirrel. What on earth had they been doing confronting each other like that? What could it mean?

My urinary tract infection was giving me a slight fever. I decided to buy cranberry juice in the convenience store near my current flat, the one that felt like a shipwreck. I could also take a couple of aspirin, and a soak in the bathtub. Cleaning up and changing out of my grubby clothes would do me good; of that I was certain.

There seemed to be even more slogans pasted to shop windows the further northeast I walked. The messages were incomprehensible to me. Nonetheless, they seemed ominous. The more I walked, the more defeated I felt. Everything was so confusing. Maybe Keith had the right idea. It was far easier to submit than struggle. But I scolded myself for being a sissy. ‘I have to get rid of this nasty infection; then I can think clearly and strongly again.’

I had left all the windows open in my flat and it was breathtakingly cold. I knew I had to clean it up thoroughly before vacating it or I would get into a vat of trouble. I downed two glasses of cranberry juice and popped four regular-strength aspirin. The juice was a beautiful colour; it reminded me of stained glass, of ruby jewels. I decided against the bath; the mere idea of undressing made me shiver. I removed only my smelly boots and got under the covers. A thick, soft curtain of sleep fell over me. When I awoke, morning had replaced night. I no longer felt feverish. When I tried to empty my bladder, a thin but long stream of urine was released, and the aftershock was much less severe. I drank more cranberry juice and popped three aspirin. I still couldn’t bear the idea of undressing even though I was embarrassingly ripe. I smiled when I recalled a proverb I had heard somewhere long ago. It went something like this: “you have many problems until you fall sick. Then you have only one problem.”

Over the following three days I did nothing more than spend time with Kathy and fight my infection by drinking cranberry juice, taking aspirin and sleeping. By Wednesday, I was clearly on the mend. The fever and chills had abated, the infection produced only a mild sting and throb when I peed and my appetite had returned. So had my devotion to cleanliness. So when Kathy saw me on Wednesday morning, she exclaimed, “Sophie! You look sparkling new. You’re even wearing makeup.”

“Yes, I feel so much better. I would have hated going to a clinic. Those places freak me out.”

“I rather liked going to clinic myself,” Kathy confessed. “The nurses usually gave me free samples of tooth powder, deodorant, dental floss, and even hand cream. They’d put the items in a little white bag. I used to like that.”

When I told Kathy about Snappy, she commented, “What a peculiar creature. You describe her as being a geriatric child. Do you suppose she’s mentally unbalanced?”

“I don’t know about that. I think she’s merely eccentric and selfish. When I compare her to Mrs. Gold, they seem to be entirely different species. I have to talk to Joe about her. I hope I’ll not be expected to look after her in any way as part of the dual-residency programme. If so, I don’t think that I can bear it. I dislike her intensely.”

Kathy looked concerned. “Well, if that’s the case, I hope you can get out of your lease. Do you have a copy of it — your lease? Maybe we could go over it to see if you’ve agreed to a certain number of hours of cooperative service.”

“No, Joe didn’t give me a copy,” I realised. How stupid of me not to have asked for one. I was beginning to feel paranoid, as though I had been caught in a sticky web.

My discomfort thickened during my walk to Crinoline Lane. The number of garish signs had tripled. I chastised myself for still having nothing to bring to the Golds other than my woebegone company. I was also fearful that like the incomprehensible signs, the number of diseased cats had multiplied. Fortunately for my state my mind, they hadn’t, and sure enough, among the few I spotted, was a calico kitten with a deliciously pink nose. It didn’t look sick at all. On the contrary, it looked plump and frisky and I yearned to pink it up and hide it under my coat. I paused for a moment, and did precisely that. I was just steps away from Goldfinger’s when the inspiration struck me.

Henry was outside the shop, muttering to himself whilst scraping off a gaudy sign:

 

                 

 

“Say, Henry, do you happen to know the meaning of all these weird signs?”

“I haven’t the foggiest notion, Sophie, but they’ve no business being on the shop window. I’ll tell you that much. Eyesores, bleeding eyesores! What do you have tucked inside your coat, lass?”

“I’ll show you when you come inside. Is the door unlocked?”

“It is. I’ll be in presently. Lise finished altering your old coat. I don’t think you’ll recognise it.”

I entered the shop, made my way to the back bedroom and slid open the panel. My heart was beating like a bird on fire. The kitten was purring so loudly it sounded comically raucous. I hoped with all my energy and strength that the Golds would fall in love with it and want to keep it.

I knocked on the door to the secret annex and Hannah called out, “It’s open.”

She had been polishing a tray of jewelry, but stood up eagerly to greet me. I produced the kitten and held it up to her. It stopped purring and began to mewl. We both laughed.

“What a pretty Kätzchen. Did you just rescue it from the street?”

“Yes, I did. It was an impulse. I thought you might like to keep it. No pressure though, if you don’t I will. May I put it down?”

“By all means.”

The kitten seemed happy to be out my hands, but didn’t want to explore straight off. It made a few tentative steps towards the table and then meowed assertively. Mrs. Gold stood beaming at the impudent little creature. She wore a besotted expression on her face.

“He's charming, Sophie, absolutely charming.”

“How do you know it’s a ‘he’? I asked curiously.

“I don’t, but he seems to have a male personality. We’ll find out soon enough. Lise or Henry can take him to the vet for vaccinations and neutering. I’d love to keep him. I’m going to fry up some chicken livers and onions for him right away. And you could use some yourself, pet. I was thinking that you might have iron-poor blood.”

I followed Mrs. Gold into the kitchen and the kitten followed me. “What are you going to name him, Mrs. Gold?”

“Good question. I’ll let Franz pick his name. Franz is much more creative with words than I am. Take off your coat, Sophie. It gets very hot in here when I use the stove.”

Lise entered the kitchen from a side door and said, “Come with me, Sophie. There’s something I want to show you.” I folded my velvet coat over the back of a kitchen chair and followed Lise into a small atelier. A long, rectangular work table was covered in an assortment of colourful fabrics. Two old-fashioned sewing machines stood side by side. A turntable was playing classical music. A cigarette was idling in an amber-coloured glass ashtray.

Lise bent over a bench on the other side of the cluttered table and held up a designer garment. My tattered old coat! Unrecognizable! It sported double-breasted round brass buttons, and a wide, shapely Sherpa collar, cuffs and hem. “Look at the lining,” she trilled while showing it off. It was lovely — a silky looking indigo blue. “Come try it on.”

The kitten was rubbing itself against my legs as though it wished to be the centre of attention. I nearly tripped over it. “What a pest!” Lise said playfully.

Lise held up a large oval hand mirror when I finished buttoning up my redesigned coat. I couldn’t believe my eyes. My face against the luxuriant collar looked nothing like the face of a clone. It was smooth and radiant and enviably young. It was a face anybody could either desire or envy.

“I don’t know how to thank you, Lise. You’re an artist.” Lise beamed. “It was my pleasure, Sophie. Wear it in good health.”

The aroma of Mrs. Gold’s cooking wafted into the atelier. I had never smelled liver before, and I found the odour too strong for my liking. But Mrs. Gold insisted that I eat. “Sophie, Lise, come into the kitchen please. Franz is taking a nap, so I won’t disturb him. He and Henry can eat later.”

Lise dug in enthusiastically. Mrs. Gold ate distractedly. She had placed a frosted green plastic bowl on the floor for the kitten, which sniffed the chicken livers suspiciously and then began to daintily consume them. I was reluctant to taste them, but I took a small bite and was surprised by how rich and tasty they were. I gobbled them up and asked for seconds. I found them so delicious and addictive that I lost interest in the golden chips on the side of my plate. “Your body is telling you that it requires iron. That is why you love them despite yourself. Would you care for something to drink, a tea or soda perhaps?”

I shocked myself by answering, “I’d love a glass of cold milk if it’s not too much trouble.” Mrs. Gold poured me a tall glass of milk, which I downed in a few greedy gulps.

Mr. Gold entered the kitchen looking groggy but content. He noticed the kitten immediately and exclaimed, “What a pretty creature! Is she yours, Sophie?”

Lise asked, “How do you know it’s a she?”

“Calico cats are almost always female.”

“That’s interesting,” I piped in. “Do you know why that is?”

“Not exactly. It has something to do with chromosomes, but beyond that I cannot say. But what about you, Sophie? You must be very warm. Aren’t you going to take off your coat?”

“Never,” I answered and everyone laughed. “Actually, Mr. Gold, I was hoping you and your sister could keep the kitten, that is, if you want to.”

“I want to, Franz if it’s all right with you,” Mrs. Gold chimed in. And I’d like for you to name her.”

“Hmmm… a name? Not so fast. First we must understand her personality and then we can name her appropriately. Otherwise, she could be stuck with an unsuitable or ironic name.” Mr. Gold stood at the counter overseeing his harem.

“Anyone care for dessert?” Mrs. Gold asked. “I have chocolate pudding or blueberry pie.”

Lise and I both answered, “Not for me, thank you” at the same time. I felt gloriously full and happy.

“Please let me do the dishes,” I rose from the table and Mr. Gold handed me a starched white dishcloth. “I’ll dry,” he offered. At that point I had to remove my beautiful new-old coat, and Mrs. Gold suddenly remembered, “What about your party? Pardon me for not asking about it sooner.”

“Please don’t apologise. You have more important things on your mind. It was disappointing, but interesting nonetheless. I haven’t said anything to Joe about you. I don’t know him well enough, at least, not yet. I wouldn’t want to do or say anything that would put you in harm’s way.”

I turned when I heard Henry walk into the kitchen. His face and hands were ruddy from the cold. “I’m going to give you a ride home, Sophie. Tell me whenever you’re ready to leave. You’ll have your hands full with the extra coat. Which one are you going to wear?” He bent down and scooped the kitten from the floor. She closed her eyes in apparent ecstasy. What a friendly little thing she was. She began licking his hands as though to warm them. I was pleased that she was such a big hit.

“Henry, do you know where all these stray cats are coming from?” I asked.

“The cat shelters have been closed. All of the cats that weren’t adopted within a few weeks’ notice were supposed to be euthanised. A few shelters balked at the ruling and set their cats free. I imagine that most of them will be dead before long. The life of a street cat is brutal. You’ve saved a life, Sophie and you’ve certainly added amusement to our lives with this little one.”

I told Henry that I ought to get home as I put on Lise’s recreation. Mrs. Gold, in the meantime, had found a big, beautiful silver bag for me to carry the dressy velvet coat. I kissed everyone good-bye and left the annex with Henry. By car, the trip to my flat took no more than seven minutes.

Before getting out of the black Austin, I asked Henry, “Are they safe?”

“Let’s hope so, dear. Let’s hope so.”

It was during this period, pre-Christmas 1990, that my sense of time started getting muddled. When I reflect on this, I believe it was due to all the new and confusing developments. Suddenly, there were people in my life who were important to me, people whom I often thought about. And of course, there was Kathy. I made an appointment to see my main case worker, Mrs. Ellington. I had several questions, but mainly I wanted to know if she could give me some information about Carla, whom I hadn’t seen for almost ten years.

Mid-week, I think it was a Wednesday but it could have been a Thursday, I had an 8:45 am appointment with Mrs. Ellington. Her lithe and lovely secretary showed me into the austerely decorated office. Mrs. Ellington didn’t stand up when I entered, but she did throw me a brief, tight smile.

“Sophie, hello. It’s been a long time. Please sit down”

“Thank you, Mrs. Ellington. Lately, I’ve been confused by so many rumours. I thought you might be able to explain things to me.”

“Really Sophie? What rumours?” Mrs. Ellington’s expression was strained. For the first time in my dealings with her, I suspected that she might actually dislike me. Her mouth was turned down at the corners, making her look old and sour.

“I’ve heard that the guidelines for clones are changing, being loosened.”

“Could you be more specific?”

“For example, the apartment building where I’ll soon be living. You approved my relocation. Well, it’s a dual-residency accommodation. We’ll be sharing it with seniors.”

“That’s an entirely experimental project, Sophie. I don’t believe it speaks to a generalised loosening of rules. Is there anything else?”

I decided to veer to the subject of Carla. Mrs. Ellington was clearly reluctant to discuss social reforms with me.

“There’s a carer I was hoping you’d be able to help me locate. Her name is Carla G. We were at Ingersoll together from 1970-1985. I’ve lost track of her, and I’d like to see her before my carer contract is terminated.”

“I see. Well, I can’t see any harm in that. I should have Carla’s file  here if it’s still active. I’ll have my secretary locate it now. You can wait in the reception area.”

I rose, beside myself with elation. Mrs. Ellington, however, wasn’t quite done. “Nice coat. Where did you get it?” I momentarily panicked, but forced my voice to sound natural. “In a thrift shop, one of those places that has people and clones as customers. It’s very old, but the prior owner must have been talented with needle and thread.”

But Mrs. Ellington had already lost interest and had lifted the telephone receiver. “Ida, could you please locate the file of Carla G — Ingersoll Property from 1970-1985. If there’s any contact information, I authorise you to give it to Sophie.”

The word “property” struck me like an arrow. Was that the official word for us? It was the first time I had heard it applied to clones and it made me flush fiercely. I felt hideously enraged and ashamed, but the shame flooded me more violently than the rage did.

“Thank you for your time, Mrs. Ellington.” She nodded distractedly without looking up.

I waited hopefully in the reception room. As far as I knew, Carla was still alive and well and working as a carer. If I heard otherwise, I would be devastated. It took Ida only a few minutes to find Carla’s file. Her shoulders were raised tensely until I heard her say, “Stupendous! Excellent news, Sophie. I can give you her civic address and the name of the recovery centre where she’s employed.” Ida looked genuinely happy for me and I found that moving. I began to cry. She handed me a tissue and then copied Carla’s coordinates for me on a slip of paper. She placed the information ion my hand and whispered, “Don’t cry, Sophie. Don’t let that ugly, old witch upset you. There are reforms in the works. Chin up. Keep your eyes and ears open.”