The Lonely Hearts Hotel(35)

Pierrot was also the only one who actually missed the old man.

? ? ?

HE WANTED TO CRAWL INTO Irving’s grave and shoot himself in the head. Then he could be buried with Irving. They would meet again in heaven, lying on an enormous bed in the sky.

Pierrot was wandering and stumbling toward the grave so haphazardly that he bumped into a large statue standing between him and the grave. He stepped back to take a look at it. It was an enormous gray stone angel, whose hair was whipped up in a frenzy. He couldn’t say whether it was female or male. Just one of its stone toes could crush him.

But the angel with its enormous sword was blocking his entrance into Paradise. The angel seemed to be clearly informing him that he needed to back away. So he turned around and went the other way.

? ? ?

PIERROT TOOK THE TROLLEY DOWNTOWN. It was a neighborhood where you could loiter properly. A horse clip-clopped by like a little girl wearing wooden clogs. Who could Pierrot turn to now? He thought of all the people at the orphanage he had left behind, but he would never be able to find them now. Too much time had passed. Time was not like physical distance. There was no road map you could acquire to travel over it.

He spotted a piano in the window of a department store. He couldn’t resist. He needed to play it to calm down. He walked through the door, climbed into the window display and began to play. The instrument had a loud and bright sound. He had played a rambunctious piano like this as a child, when touring with Rose. The taut assertive notes had almost seemed to make her mad. She had stomped around to the music like a soldier dancing on the enemy’s grave. She had held out her finger under her nose as though it were a mustache. Remembering that made Pierrot smile.

As he played a young woman with blue eyes and a cloche over red curls stopped on the sidewalk and stared at him. Then she disappeared. The next thing Pierrot knew, she was sitting next to him on the bench. Her eyes were preternaturally big, as if she were looking through magnifying glasses.

“And who are you?” Pierrot asked.

“I’m Poppy. What’s your name?”

When the girl spoke, he could see that one of her front teeth was missing.

“Well, Joseph, actually. But you can call me Pierrot.”

“You have a terrific outfit.”

“Thank you. My father had it tailor-made for me. He passed away today, and I don’t have a cent in the world.”

“You play the piano very well.”

“I was hoping to find work playing it.”

“You’re outta luck. All the piano players used to play for silent movies, and now they’re all laid off. I know a movie theater that needs someone to mop up the sticky floors. Want the address?”

“Yes, absolutely. That would be a dream come true for a newly made pauper like myself.”

“All right—1340 Saint Catherine Street West. Tell them Poppy sent you. Actually, tell the manager the Redhead from Heaven sent you. That’s how he knows me.”

“Thanks. You are an angel.”

“That’s what they say. Hey, I was wondering if you wanted to accompany me to Chinatown. I don’t like to walk alone, and you look like you need some cheering up.”

“Okay.”

They walked together to Chinatown. There were buildings covered in red glazed bricks. The edges of the roofs were curled at the tips like slippers. They sold parts of chicken different from what Pierrot usually ate, like the feet. There was a grocery store that sold different types of delicacies, like pickled eggs. The mannequins in the window displays were wearing silk kimonos decorated with gold dragons and multicolored butterflies. There was a small house of worship with a gold plaque and Asian letters on it. There were chop suey restaurants on every corner.

The girl hopped daintily over the puddles filled with chicken grease and other horrors. There was a room where you could get heroin at the back of the store, where they sold dragon’s beard candy. Everybody came home with a cloudy look on their faces and a pink cardboard box filled with white, stringy candy.

They ducked into an alley and went into a door at the end of it. There was a young Chinese girl sitting on a stool behind a table. She was wearing a gray dress and silver stockings and blue leather high heels that were scuffed at the toes. Her black hair was tucked behind her ears, and she was reading an Agatha Christie novel. There was a bowl on the desk holding a black fancy goldfish that swirled around like a paintbrush dipped in black ink. When they entered the shop, she rang the bell on the desk without even looking up. An older Chinese man dressed in a traditional silk outfit came to lead them to the back.

There were framed prints on the wall. There were couches and daybeds all over the room. For a moment Pierrot was shocked by all the people lying on the thin mattresses on the floor. They still had their coats on. They looked like they had been shot on their way to work. Their foreheads were sweaty. They had their arms around strangers. It wasn’t a sexual thing at all. They were still a little bit conscious. They were trying to peep out of one eye. They were like little kids in their beds, forcing themselves to stay awake so that they could hear more of a fairy tale their mother was reading.

Poppy found a stack of three thin mattresses stacked one on top of the other like a layered sponge cake. She purchased a pipe, lit it up and inhaled from it. Then she handed it to Pierrot to do the same.

? ? ?

HE FELT AN ITCHING on his back right below his shoulder blades. The itch bothered him. He felt that he had to get to it. If he could just touch the tip of his finger to where the itch was, he would be able to stop it. He tried to reach back over his shoulder in order to scratch it, but his fingers couldn’t reach. And then he tried to get at the itch from underneath, but that also proved impossible.