Box Camera Chronicles: Stories of the 20^Th Century

By Pearl Atkins Schwartz

The characters in Box Camera Chronicles reflect the noble dreams of people who confront the conflicts between the old and the new worlds. The stories take place in the 20th century. Several are about immigrants who arrived in New York City around the turn of the century; others are set in such diverse places as Mexico and Egypt and capture the allure of different cultures.

"These are in large measure gritty, evocative, insightful stories, capturing with some powerful effect a time and culture with the grainy honesty of black-and-white photography."
-Shelley Lowenkopf, author and lecturer University of Southern California

"There is a marvelous sensitivity to the understated drama of real life, conveyed here in finely-crafted scenes, arresting characters, and vivid description evocative of a past world."
-Leonard Tourney, lecturer in the Writing Program at UC Santa Barbara.

"Pearl Atkins Schwartz has an exquisite eye for detail. In the story, Brooklyn Days, the plot twists ironically, and we watch Jewish immigrants emerge from their struggle and despair and attain tragic splendor. Brooklyn Days, is one of the best stories I have read anywhere-ever. But select your own favorite in Box Camera Chronicles. These are amazing stories. You will never forget them."
-Mary H. Webb, The God Hustlers

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Dec 10, 2005
• ISBN: 9780595815104

Pearl Atkins Schwartz

Pearl Atkins Schwartz was born of immigrant parents and raised in a mixed ethnic New York City neighborhood where she was inspired by the intriguing characters and rich material surrounding her. She was educated at Queens College and the New School for Social Research in New York City. Her short stories have been published in various periodicals, and her story Wing-Tips, won second prize in the 1999 Writers Digest competition. Pearl is working on a second collection of short stories. She has also written two children?s books, and a novel.

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All Rights Reserved © 2005 by Pearl Atkins Schwartz

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Printed in the United States of America

Contents

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

GOODMAN’S CORNER

WING-TIPS

WEAPONS OF WAR

HERE IN AMERICA

VOODOO MAN

THE HOLIDAYS

THE BARN

LITTLE DOVE

CHANGES

A DISTANT PLACE

BURNT OFFERING

BROOKLYN DAYS

DON BOSCO’S BOY

PLAYING THE GAME

To my children and grandchildren who

enrich every minute of my life, And to Jules who provides the laughs.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I want to thank my friend and teacher, Mary Webb whose constant encouragement gave me impetus; my friend, Sue Clark, who took a chance on me; and my buddies, Patricia Mills, Janet Oman, and Carla Thornton, who always raised the bar and hauled me over the top.

GOODMAN’S CORNER

Bessie hurried down the street in her waddling gait, head pushed forward, fat breasts bouncing under her print dress. Her black shoes flapped on the pavement, toes pointing outward like the flippers of a seal. She held a thin white sweater together around her waist and clutched a change purse in her other hand. She stopped to tug at one of her white socks, almost losing her balance as she bent over.

As she approached Mr. Goodman’s grocery store, she saw Eddie and Manny and Anthony sitting on the wooden storage box against the storefront where Goodman received his milk deliveries. The boys watched her, their heads together, laughing. Manny and Anthony got up and disappeared around the corner. Eddie took a few steps toward her.

Bessie slowed her pace and turned her head away. Eddie grabbed her upper arm as she passed, forcing her to stop.

Bessie’s heart lurched. She didn’t like Eddie. He always called her the dummy. Bessie knew what that meant. Her mother told her she wasn’t a dummy. She was just a little slow.

What’s your hurry, Bessie? Eddie said. Where’re you rushing to?

She fixed her eyes on the sidewalk. I hafta buy three potatoes for my mother, she mumbled without looking up.

I have something to tell you, Eddie said. When you come out of the store, I got some real good news for ya.

Bessie felt her face flush. My mother said I shouldn’t talk to you and the other boys. She pushed her face close to his and said, She knows what you all done to me the other time when you got me down on the milk box and tore my dress.

Aw, that was nothin’, Bessie. I’m sorry. We won’t do that no more.

You tore my buttons off. My mother was mad. She hit me a lotta times…with my father’s strap. She said I shouldn’t talk to no boys no more.

Bessie pulled her arm from his grasp and hurried into Goodman’s store. When she came out carrying a brown paper bag, Eddie was waiting for her. He grabbed her arm again.

Hey, Bessie, Manny told me he likes you.

She stopped and looked at him.

Yeah, I mean it, he said. He really likes you.

Her mouth dropped open. Her breath came up fast like small explosions deep in her throat. She swallowed.

I know you like him, Eddie teased. Dontcha? Manny says he wants you to go on a date with him.

Yeah? Manny. Manny Delgado. In her mind she drew up his dark swarthy face, his tight wavy hair slicked back.his liquid black eyes.and a feeling rose up in her that made her scared and happy at the same time…a tumble of strange feelings rolling around inside her.

Bessie had felt that way once before, the night she hid behind the shrubs at the window of the boys’ basement clubroom and watched Manny dance with Marie Bono. His full pink lips were buried in Marie’s hair, his muscular arms around her and his hands clasped behind her, just above her slim buttocks. His eyes were half-closed, and his nostrils moved as if he was breathing something good. He looked sad. Bessie wanted to hold his face on her chest. She imagined how it would feel to dance with him and how his cool slender fingers would feel in hers.

She squatted there for a long time, peering at Manny and Marie, and Eddie and Mitch and some girls from Flatbush she

didn’t know. They passed around a pack of Luckies and Mitch stood near the Victrola and changed the records from time to time. The others sat on the grimy sofa and chairs, smoking and talking.

Bessie’s knees ached as she knelt, but she could not take her eyes away. Manny, she mumbled. Manny…

Someone came up behind her and yelled, Boo! Bessie fell back, landing on her seat. Anthony started to laugh and hoot.

What were you looking at, Bessie? What was that you were saying? Manny, Manny, Manny, he mimicked.

Bessie got up and ran. She heard Anthony laughing as he opened the door to the clubroom.

The incident worried her. She hoped Anthony wouldn’t tell the others what happened, because on summer evenings Bessie liked to come to Goodman’s corner to be with the boys and girls to watch them as they hung around the milk box, flirting and smoking cigarettes. There was always a portable radio, and sometimes they danced the Lindyhop to Glen Miller or Tommy Dorsey.

On those evenings, Bessie’s eyes and all her senses focused on Manny—her thoughts muddled, as she followed his slim frame milling around the little group.

Once, she sat on the milk box next to him, aware of his bare arm next to hers. She wanted to stroke the silky hairs on his arm, but she was afraid. She knew they would laugh at her. Sometimes the boys tried to touch her boobies and she would run away. But she was grateful when they let her hang around, so she tried not to be conspicuous.

Now, outside Goodman’s store, Eddie still had his hand on Bessie’s arm. Yeah, Manny told me he really likes you, he said.

Bessie pulled away from his grasp and started to walk toward her house past the old red brick facades of the tenements on the street.

Wait a minute, Bessie. I wanna tell you something. Manny told me he wants to take you to the movies. Then, after, he’s gonna take you to JUDY’s for ice-cream. He really likes you, Bessie. What d’ya say? Do you want to have a date with him?

She walked faster and Eddie half-ran along after her, talking into her ear as she tried to keep ahead of him.

He wants to meet you Saturday night at the corner. Will you be there?

Her heart pounded as if it were going to break out of her body. Manny.a date with Manny Delgado. Her head flooded with thoughts of how it would be…to sit with Manny in the movies. He would pay with his own money…and she would feel his arm next to hers in the dark and feel the warmth of him.and then he would buy her ice-cream, and everyone in JUDY’s would see them.and Marie would see. Marie.A surge of alarm jolted her.

What d’ya say? Eddie said.

She stopped and lowered her gaze. Manny has a girl-friend, she mumbled. Marie Bono.

What? What’s that you said? Marie Bono?

Yeah, Manny’s girl-friend.

Nah, Manny likes you better’n Marie. He told me, honest.

They were silent for a moment. What d’ya say, Bessie? Will you meet him? Saturday night, eight o’clock, on the corner.

They stood before the heavy wrought iron door of her building. She turned the latch.

Bessie, c’mon. What d’ya say?

She pushed the door open and went in. Eddie followed. Bessie hurried through the hall and up the steps.

Bessie, he yelled up the stairwell. C’mon!

She waited a few seconds. Yeah, she called down from the landing.

Saturday arrived. Wild emotions thrashed around in Bessie all day. Her cheeks flushed in waves. Her shoulders and arms twitched.

While drying the dishes after supper, her eyes followed her mother’s every move in the kitchen. She watched for the start of the Saturday night routine as her mother prepared to go to play Bingo and her father to his pinochle game. At last, her father, who was reading at the kitchen table, folded his newspaper, put on his jacket and felt in his pockets for his cigarettes and keys. I’m going, Sarah, he called to Bessie’s mother. Goodnight, Bessie. Go to sleep early.

Bessie stood in the doorway of the bedroom and watched her mother change her dress. In the closet, Bessie spotted the box with the silver shoes her mother had worn last year to cousin Sylvia’s wedding. The silk stockings, she knew, were rolled up in a ball in one of the shoes. Her mother’s dress with the silver beads hung on a special hanger next to her father’s blue suit.

You didn’t eat much for supper, Bessie, her mother said. What’s the matter? You don’t feel good? Maybe you need a bicarbonate?

No, Mama. I feel good.

Her mother gathered her Bingo paraphernalia in a black tote bag. Bessie looked at the kitchen clock and frowned. That business with the big hand and the little hand of the clock confounded her.

What time is it, Mama? she said as her mother was leaving.

It’s ten minutes to eight. Turn on the radio. In ten minutes Fred Allen will be on. Don’t stay up to hear the ‘Witch’s Tale,’ you hear? Go to sleep early. You hear, Bessie? Lock the door.

G’night, Mama.

As soon as the door closed, Bessie rushed to the bedroom. She took her mother’s beaded dress from the closet, held it against her body, and looked in the mirror over the dresser. I’ll be beautiful, she thought. Everybody will see how nice I look. She put the dress on, kicking her discarded clothes under the bed. The back zipper closed up to her waist and would go no further. She found a safety pin in her mother’s sewing box and fastened the dress at the back of the neck. That’s all right, she thought. I’ll wear my sweater so they won’t see my brassiere.

Now the shoes. She opened the box and ran her fingers across the shiny leather. She put the stockings on, tugging at the seams. She twisted and pulled until a hole appeared and a fat run crept up one stocking toward her knee. She found a pair of her mother’s circular garters on the bathroom doorknob. The shoes were stiff and pinched her toes as she balanced herself on the heels. She hobbled around the living room a few times, enjoying the sound of the heels on the linoleum floor.

Her mother’s lipstick and rouge were in the mirrored medicine cabinet. Leaning over the sink, she drew a curvy red mouth with the lipstick and two circles of rouge on her cheeks.

In one of the dresser drawers she found the Evening in Paris bottle in its white satin compartment in the original box. She opened the cologne and poured some into the dress and giggled as the liquid slid down between her breasts.

The familiar radio commercial came on. Soon it would be eight o’clock. Manny would be waiting for her. Manny.

On the street, Bessie hurried toward Goodman’s corner, through the fading summer light and the golden spread of the street lamps. She ignored the quizzical looks of the neighbors who sat on their folding chairs along the brick sides of the buildings. As she approached Goodman’s corner, her heart sank. She didn’t see Manny. There were about eight kids around the milk box, but he was not there. Then one of the girls spotted her.

Hey, Bessie, Wow! Where’d you get that dress? Hey everybody, get a load of Bessie.

One of the boys crowed, Bessie, you’re gorgeous!

Bessie blushed and allowed a small smile. She took a deep breath. Where’s Manny?

Anthony stepped out of the group and, taking her arm, led her toward the curb.

Manny told me to tell you to meet him in his father’s store. He’s waiting there for you.

Bessie looked across the street at the glass front of Delgado’s Dry Cleaning. A broad window shade covered the inside expanse of glass. It’s closed, she said.

I know, Anthony said. But Manny got his father’s key and he’s in there, waiting for you.

It’s dark, Bessie said.

Anthony started to pull her across the street, but she resisted.

It’s too dark, Bessie said. I’m afraid to go there.

Don’t be afraid. I tell you, he’s waiting there for you. When you go inside he’ll put the lights on.

She glanced back at the crowd at the milk box. They were all watching.

Anthony coaxed and chided her across the street to the door of the shop. He pressed the latch and pushed her inside, closing the door behind her.

She stood in the darkness, her heart racing. She did not move, except for her eyes as she scanned every side of the room. She turned to face the sewing machine in the corner.