I don't remember the year, but it was when I lived on Franklin street, in a converted loft with roof access. It was an amazing time. That street… that roof… Food was an infrequent visitor to that apartment, so I would often go out to hunt for sustenance. There was a bar next door, where I convinced myself beer and brats was a nutritious meal. It was a small place, where all the regulars knew each other.
That’s where I met Bingo. He got his name because he was always shouting “Bingo” to everything. Be it beer or a shot of whiskey. To be honest, I can’t even remember his real name. It’s not important. He was my age but taller than me, narrow in the shoulders but with a much broader mindset. He thought in centuries. Once we were having drinks on Irving Place.
“I was thinking; do you ever wonder if Washington Irving cares about how much he means to us? For real, he’s probably busy drinking it up with someone important up there.” “Why do you care?” “Why do you think?” “I don’t know.” “It would make my life simpler. If Irving doesn’t care about his legacy why should I try to leave a footprint in the sand?”
He downed a double whiskey. I skipped this round. I suddenly felt uncomfortable talking about leaving something behind.
“You want to go down in history?” “It has occurred to me.” “Since when? “Since this morning.” “Tough morning?” “No, the opposite, and that’s the problem. People should have tough mornings. It was an ordinary morning, before I encountered this old man. I’m looking to rent one of my rooms… he was interested.”
I was surprised. Bingo inherited a great two-bedroom apartment from his grandmother. For a 25-year-old failed historian, this place was a dream come true.
“You want to rent out your apartment?” “No, just one room.” “But then you’ll have to deal with a roommate. Are you cracked?” “I was walking home, when I saw this old man. He was wearing a tweed jacket, glasses and had a cane. He saw me and asked if anyone was renting a room in this neighborhood. He needed a room for a couple of hours a day. He’s married and needs… a safe place to fool around. I guess a hotel’s too expensive.” “Did he say that?” “I asked if it was about a woman and he said yes. She comes around often, apparently. He asked me to keep it on the down low.” “Good job with that.” “Come on, you’re the only one I told. Who cares about an old man’s affair? Anyway, I thought why not rent it out for a couple of hours during the day. I could use the money and it would make the old man happy. We had a few drinks, talked it over, how could I resist, it’s a “win-win.” “Okay, but what’s all that got to do with our discussion about posterity?”
Bingo got serious.
“Me and the old man talked a lot in my kitchen, after I showed him the apartment. Turns out he’s an inventor. One of his creations is still in use. As I understood it, this thing will outlive him, me and you. He was so proud that other than children, he’s given the world that doohickey. And me? What am I gonna leave behind? I mean, hopefully children but other than that… Judging by today my footprint will be like a mosquito bite, short-lived and irritating. That’s what’s been bothering me… I think I might skip work tomorrow.”
I decided that I didn’t ever want to meet the old man. He could be a drag on my life. But I did meet him once. And those moments remain unforgettable. As you might’ve figured out, Bingo rented one of his rooms to the lusty old man. Boris would show up for his liaisons twice or three times a week. Mostly around the same time. He would notify Bingo a day or two before and would always leave the place spotless. His tidiness put our housekeeping skills to shame. Only a few rinsed out cups, an occasional wine glass and the curtains left open would provide any evidence of his visits. We were dying to know who his lady-friend was. It didn’t add up; the cane, the glasses and the three times a week. We didn’t sink low enough to become peeping Toms, but fate intervened.
Boris was an exceptionally meticulous man. If he said he would vacate the room by 6pm, you’d find it clean and empty at 6:01. Bingo and I became good friends, so we traded the bar for his or my kitchen. Once, let’s say at around 6:30 pm, we were walking to his place, knowing that Boris was supposed to have left thirty minutes ago. As we walked into the building, a lady around thirty, approached. She was plain, you wouldn’t notice her in a crowd. She walked up with us and arrived at the same door. It was awkward to say the least.
We immediately began to study the tenant’s object of affection. At second glance, she was kind of striking, especially for an old man. But her confidence was what struck us the most. The expression on her face remained the same, even when we ended up at the same door. If only we could disappear, let Romeo do his thing, but we didn’t get the chance. The door opened. Boris was standing in front of us with his shirt undone, he looked pale and exhausted.
“Faith, thanks for coming. Boys, I’m sorry about this. I’ll be gone as soon as I get my injection. I’m not feeling well. Please wait in the kitchen.”
Boris was alone. There was one glass of water on the table.
“Boris, this will kill you. How many times have I told you, you’ve got to stop this? You’re too old for this much stress.”
We had the same thought. The set up wasn’t looking all that appealing. To Hell with love. We decided that we’d have to party seriously hard before a plain Jane like her would come to rescue us with a needle. Faith pulled out some pills, a cuff to measure blood pressure with, a syringe and took the old man into the bedroom. They came out shortly after.
“This is it, Boris! As your doctor and your friend, I forbid you from doing this! You could die right here, and she needs you. It’ll all work out.”
Boris looked at the floor.
“Please, I promise, it’s the last time…”
He moved to the window and stood there motionless, staring down at the courtyard. I couldn’t figure out what he was focused on. I asked Faith quietly: “What’s he looking at?”
“Can I tell them?”
The old man gave us a sad look and nodded.
“Why not? I’m leaving anyway.” “It’s his granddaughter down there. There’s a pre-school in the courtyard. He comes here to watch her. After her parents’ bitter divorce, he and his wife can only visit her if the child’s mother is present to supervise. Even then, the Mom comes up with a reason to cancel. That’s why he comes here all the time. Sits in front of the window for hours… watching her.”
I’ve never heard my heart beat this loud. So loud and hard, that it echoed in every capillary. And shame… this dull drill feeling of shame. I couldn’t stop myself…
“Boris, why…it must be so…. so painful…”
Boris looked out of the window once again, put his tweed jacket on, and gave us a warm look.
“What’s your name, young man?” “Alex.” “Painful, Alex, is when you look out a window and see nothing, this… this is only hard. Goodbye, boys. Faith, shall we walk to the subway together?”
Boris left the apartment and never came back. Bingo didn’t say anything for a long time. And then one night, he said out loud what was in my head: “how can they do this – assholes!”
Every time I go by that courtyard, I look at the window. The panes have been yellowed by the sun, like children’s hair. Kids run around under the sharp summer light. They don’t know where the heat comes from. They don’t care. It’s warm and it feels good.
And the sun… sooner or later it will burn out, trying to keep us warm.