It’s like this, cat - Emily Neville (best non fiction books of all time txt) 📗
- Author: Emily Neville
- Performer: -
Book online «It’s like this, cat - Emily Neville (best non fiction books of all time txt) 📗». Author Emily Neville
“Our science teacher is a dope,” I say, because she is, “so I really never got very interested in science. But I told Mom and Dad I was coming to the aquarium to take notes today, so they wouldn’t kick up such a fuss.”
Mary shakes her head. “We ought to get our mothers together. Mine thinks I’m wasting time if I even go to the aquarium. I do, though, all the time. I love the walrus.”
“What does your pop do?”
“Father? He teaches philosophy at Brooklyn College. So I get it from both sides. Just think, think, think. Father and Nina aren’t hardly even interested in food. Once in a while Nina spends all day cooking some great fish soup or a chicken in wine, but the rest of the time I’m the only one who takes time off from thinking to cook a hamburger. They live on rolls and coffee and sardines.”
Mary puts our cups in the sink and then opens a low cupboard. Instead of pots and pans it has stacks of records in it. She pulls out West Side Story and then I see there’s a record player on a side table. What d’you know? A record player in the kitchen! This Left Bank style of living has its advantages.
“I sit down here and eat and play records while I do my homework,” says Mary, which sounds pretty nice.
I ask her if she has any Belafonte, and she says, “Yes, a couple,” but she puts on something else. It’s slow, but sort of powerful, and it makes you feel kind of powerful yourself, as if you could do anything.
“What’s that?” I ask.
“It’s called ‘The Moldau’—that’s a river in Europe. It’s by a Czech named Smetana.”
I wander around the kitchen and look out the window. The wind’s still howling, but not so hard. I remember the ocean, all gray and powerful, spotted with whitecaps. I’d like to be out on it.
“You know what’d be fun?” I say out loud. “To be out in a boat on the harbor today. If you didn’t sink.”
“We could take the Staten Island ferry,” Mary says.
“Huh?” I hadn’t even thought there was really any boat we could get on. “Really? Where do you get it?”
“Down at Sixty-ninth Street and Fourth Avenue. It’s quite a ways. I’ve always gone there in a car. But maybe we could do it on bikes, if we don’t freeze.”
“We won’t freeze. But what about bikes?”
“You can use my brother’s. He’s away at college. Maybe I can find a windbreaker of his, too.”
She finds the things and we get ready and go into the living room, where Nina is sitting reading and sipping a glass of wine.
“We’re going on our bikes to the ferry and over to Staten Island,” Mary says. She doesn’t even ask.
“Oh-h-h.” It’s a long, low note, faintly questioning.
“We thought with the wind blowing and all, it’d be exciting,” Mary explains, and I think, Uh-o, that’s going to cook it. My mother would have kittens if I said I was going out on a ferry in a storm.
But Nina just says, “I see,” and goes back to reading her book. I say good-bye and she looks up again and smiles, and that’s all.
It’s another funny thing—Nina doesn’t seem to pay any attention to who Mary brings home, like most mothers are always snooping if their daughter brings home a guy. Without stopping to think, I say, “Do you bring home a lot of guys?”
Mary laughs. “Not a lot. Sometimes one of the boys at school comes home when we’re studying for a science test.”
I laugh, too, but what I’m thinking of is how Pop would look if I brought a girl home and said we were studying for a test!
As we ride through Brooklyn the wind belts us around from both sides and right in the teeth. But the sun’s beginning to break through, and it’s easy riding, no hills.
This part of Brooklyn is mostly rows of houses joined together, or low apartment buildings, with little patches of lawn in front of them. There’s lots of trees along the streets. It doesn’t look anything like Manhattan, but not anything like the country, either. It’s just Brooklyn.
All of a sudden we’re circling a golf course. What d’you know? Right in New York City!
“Ever play golf?” The wind snatches the words out of my mouth and carries them back to Mary. I see her mouth shaping like a “No,” but no sound comes my way. I drop back beside her and say, “I’ll show you sometime. My pop’s got a set of clubs I used a couple of times.”
“Probably I better carry the clubs and you play. I can play tennis, though.”
We pass the golf course and head down into a sort of main street. Anyway there’s lots of banks and dime stores and traffic. Mary leads the way. We make a couple of turns and zigzags and then go under the parkway, and there’s the ferry. It’s taken us most of an hour to get from Mary’s house.
I’m hoping the ferry isn’t too expensive, so I’ll have plenty of money left for a good lunch. But while I’m mooning, Mary has wheeled her bike right up and paid her own fare. Well, I guess that’s one of the things I like about her. She’s independent. Still, I’m going to buy lunch.
The ferry is terrific. I’m going to come ride ferries every day it’s windy. The boat doesn’t roll any, but we stand right up in front and the wind blows clouds of spray in our faces. You can pretend you’re on a full-rigged schooner running before a hurricane. But you look down at that choppy gray water, and you know you’d be done if you got blown overboard, even if it is just an old ferryboat in New York harbor.
The ferry ride is fast, only about fifteen minutes. We ride off in Staten Island and start thinking where to go. I know what’s first with me.
I ask Mary, “What do you like, hamburgers or sandwiches?”
“Both. I mean either,” she says.
The first place we see is a delicatessen, which is about my favorite kind of place to eat anyway. I order a hot pastrami, and Mary says she never had one, but she’ll try the same.
“Where could we go on Staten Island?” I say. “I never was here before.”
“About the only place I’ve been is the zoo. I’ve been there lots of times. The vet let me watch her operate on a snake once.”
This is a pretty surprising thing for a girl to tell you in the middle of a mouthful of hot pastrami. The pastrami is great, and they put it on a roll with a lot of olives and onions and relish. Mary likes it too.
“Is the vet a woman? Aren’t you scared of snakes?”
“Uh-un, I never was really. But when you’re watching an operation, you get so interested you don’t think about it being icky or scary. The vet is a woman. She’s been there quite a while.”
I digest this along with the rest of my sandwich. Then we both have a piece of apple pie. You can tell from the way the crust looks—browned and a little uneven—that they make it right here.
“So shall we go to the zoo?” Mary asks.
“O.K.” I get up to get her coat and mine. When I turn around, there she is up by the cashier, getting ready to pay her check.
“Hey, I’m buying lunch,” I say, steaming up with the other check.
“Oh, that’s all right.” She smiles. “I’ve got it.”
I don’t care if she’s got it. I want to pay it. I suppose it’s a silly thing to get sore about, but it sort of annoys me. Anyway, how do you maneuver around to do something for a girl when she doesn’t even know you want to?
The man in the deli gives us directions to get to the zoo, which isn’t far. It’s a low brick building in a nice park. In the lobby there are some fish tanks, then there’s a wing for birds on one side, animals on the other, and snakes straight ahead.
We go for snakes. Mary really seems to like them.
She says, “The vet here likes them, and I guess she got me interested. You know, they don’t really understand how a snake moves? Mechanically, I mean. She’s trying to find out.”
We look at them all, little ones and big ones, and then we go watch the birds. The keeper is just feeding them. The parrot shouts at him, and the pelican and the eagles gobble up their fish and raw meat, but the vulture just sits on his perch looking bored. Probably needs a desert and a dying Legionnaire to whet his appetite.
In the animal wing a strange-looking dame is down at the end, talking to a sleepy tiger.
“Come on, darling, just a little roar. Couldn’t you give me just a soft one today?” she’s cooing at him. The tiger blinks and looks away.
The lady notices us standing there and says, “He’s my baby. I’ve been coming to see him for fourteen years. Some days he roars for me beautifully.”
She has a short conversation with the lion, then moves along with us toward the small cats, a puma and a jaguar. She looks in the next cage, which is empty, and shakes her head mournfully.
“I had the sweetest little leopard. He died last week. Would you believe it? The zoo never let me know he was sick. I could have come and helped take care of him. I might have saved his life.”
She goes on talking, sometimes to herself, sometimes to the puma, and we cross over to look at two otters chasing each other up an underwater tunnel.
“What is she, some kind of nut?” Mary says. “Does she think this is her private zoo?”
I shrug. “I suppose she’s a little off. But so’s my Aunt Kate, the one who gave me Cat. They just happen to like cats better than people. Kate thinks all the stray cats in the world are her children, and I guess this one feels the same way about the big cats here.”
We mosey around a little bit more and then head back to the ferry. I make good and sure I’m ahead, and I get to the ticket office and buy two tickets.
“Would you care for a ride across the harbor in my yacht?” I say.
“Why, of course. I’d be delighted,” says Mary.
A small thing, but it makes me feel good.
Over in Brooklyn I see a clock on a bank, and it says five o’clock. I do some fast calculating and say, “Uh-oh, I better phone. I’ll never make it home by dinnertime.”
I phone and get Pop. He’s home early from work. Just my luck.
“I got to get this bike back to this kid in Coney,” I tell him. “Then I’ll be right home. About seven.”
Comments (0)