A Begonia for Miss Applebaum Read online

  exclaimed, “Oh, do let’s ride the carousel!” She rushed down a small hill and across a field. Within minutes, Miss Applebaum had us on the Central Park carousel,whichisveryfamousandveryreal.

  “Isthiswhatyoumeantbytherollercoaster?”Henryasked.

  “Oh, heavens, no,” Miss Applebaum said, sitting atop a white-and-silver

  woodenhorsethatwentupanddownasthecarouselspun.“Therollercoasteris

  entirely different.” Miss Applebaum laughed, and then grabbed the reins as though she were riding a horse at Belmont. Her homburg hat flipped up and downaswewentaround.

  Riding the carousel brought back memories of my mother taking me to the carouselwhenIwaslittle.Ofcourse,thatwasalongtimeago,beforeeveryone

  thoughttheparkhadbecomeadangerousplace.BackthenIusedtosingalong

  with the music. My favorite songs were “Rock-a-bye Your Baby,” “Georgie

  Girl,”and“RaindropsKeepFallingonMyHead.”Thecalliopewassoloud,we

  couldn’t even talk to each other, but it was clear from Miss Applebaum’s sparkling eyes she was very much, joyously, alive. She was the most alive personI’deverseen,wavingtoHenryandmeonourhorses.Myhaircrackledin

  thewind.Butitwasstrange,too.IguessIhadneverdreamedthatonedayI’d

  endupridingacarouselwithoneofmyteachers.

  When the ride was over, Miss Applebaum jumped off her horse and called,

  “Hurryup!IwantyoutomeettheFiddlerontheHoof!”

  “Youmean,FiddlerontheRoof?”Henryasked.

  “No—Hoof!”MissApplebaumrepeated.

  MissApplebaumdarted downapromenade thatwaslined withsnowfences

  setuptostopanyseriousdriftingthatmightcomeduringthewinter.Therewere

  statues on both sides of us now as Miss Applebaum cried out, “Oh, there’s Columbus! And there’s Shakespeare! There’s Robert Burns, and Einstein!”

  TherewasonegeniusaftertheotherasMissApplebaumturnedfromlefttoright

  withherbigbriefcaseswinginginherhandlikeabell.“Thatmandiscoveredthe

  NewWorld!And he wrote Hamlet!Andthisgentlemanwrotesymphonies!And Schiller was one of the greatest German poets that ever lived! Aren’t they wonderful!” she cried. She let out a particularly enthusiastic cry whenever she passedascientist.“Oh,there’s Morse!HeinventedtheMorseCode!Andthere’s Newton with his laws of motion! And Madame Curie with her radium! Isn’t it fantastic!Doesn’titmakeyourheadspin?Justspin!”

  Miss Applebaum was showing us a whole new world here that Henry and I hadneverreallyseen,evenwhenweusedtogotosomeoftheverysameparts

  ofthepark!

  A statue of Mother Goose marked the beginning of another section of the park.

  MissApplebaumdashedstraightonwardnow,rightbyAliceinWonderland

  sitting on a toadstool and Hans Christian Andersen reading a story to a bronze duck.Asusual,Henrykepthiseyesgluedtothegroundseeingotherthingsfrom

  his perspective such as a fallen notice about a lost dog handled by an agency called “Sherlock Bones.” Farther on there was an empty bandshell. Then more hot-dog stands. Another commercial was being filmed from a van with a sign announcing “JACKIE’S LOCATION SHOOTING.” Beyond that, we finally

  glimpsed children and full-grown men standing at the edge of a shallow pond sailingtoyboatsofallkinds.Mostofthemhadsailsoverthreefeethigh.There wasaminiatureradio-controlledtugboat.Andatinysubmarine.Onlytwoofthe

  boatswerenormalsmallonesownedbyordinarykids.

  “Thisismyfavoritespot!”MissApplebaumcalled,rushingupagrassyknoll

  toabenchandspinningjoyously.“TheLandoftheChildren,Icallit.TheLand

  forChildrenofAllAges!”AtleasttwocolliesandaSchnauzernowseemedto

  notice Miss Applebaum, but every other living soul just seemed to be busy

  having fun. We heard a violin. Miss Applebaum turned. “That song is from

  Camelot!”shesaidhappily,andweranafterhertowardamanplayingaviolin andaccompaniedbyaportablestereo.Themanlookedaboutninety-sevenand

  woreatuxedowithasoiledfrillywhiteshirtandfancybowtieasthoughhewere

  playingforaking.Hisviolincasewasopenonthewalkwayinfrontofhim,and

  all sorts of people and kids sat around listening and eating ice cream from a stand called the Ice Cream Cafe. Some would walk up and put a dollar in the case.MissApplebaumkepttellingusthiswasthefamousFiddlerontheHoof.

  Betweennumbers,MissApplebaumhurriedusuptotheoldmanandintroduced

  us,whilehesmokedathincigar.

  “Oh, maestro, I want you to meet Henry and Zelda,” she beamed, floating a dollarintohiscase.

  “Hello,”Isaid,smiling.

  “Hello,”Henrysaid.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” the maestro said, shaking our hands. Then, he tookabigpuffonhiscigarandturnedtoMissApplebaum.“Wouldyouliketo

  hear‘TalesfromtheViennaWoods’?”theFiddlerontheHoofasked.

  “Oh,yes!”MissApplebaumnodded.

  Asheplayed,MissApplebaumhadusretreatupthegrassyknolltothebench.

  “Isn’t it enchanting? Isn’t it just enchanting?” Miss Applebaum said. “This bench!Thisspot!Thisisthemostwondrousplaceintheworld!Fromhere,you

  can see everything beautiful. Everything! Do you know what I mean?” she asked.

  “Yes,”HenryandIsaid.“Weknowwhatyoumean.”

  Wehadtoadmitthis was theprettiestplacewehadeverseeninthepark.Not only were there the Fiddler on the Hoof and toy boats and children catching crawfish and beautiful statues, but there were babies and rabbits and water fountains and clowns and magicians. All sorts of happy people! Other parts of theparkwereniceenough,butitwaseasytoseewhyherewasaspecialplace

  forMissApplebaum.

  “Thisiswhereallofcivilizationcomestogetherand means something!”Miss Applebaum exclaimed. “Where it means something important! Profound! The

  best of all the spirit of the world that has ever existed triumphs here and lives on,”shesangout.Thensheopenedherbriefcaseandtookfromitahugebagof

  apples.Inaflash,shewasonherfeetrunningabouttheboatpondpassingout

  freeapples.HenryandIjustsatonthebenchandwatched,bedazzled.Itwasat this moment that I happened to turn my head and notice a tremendously long ditchandalotofconstructionmenandmachinerynotveryfaraway.Theywere

  digging a trench that looked like a very long grave, and it was headed straight towardMissApplebaum’sfavoritebench.WhenMissApplebaumcameback,I

  askedherwhattheyweredoing.

  “Oh,they’relayinganewwaterpipe,”shesaid.

  “Oh,”Isaid.

  “Whentheyfinish,theparkwillbeasgoodasnew.”

  “Isee,”Isaid,butsomehowtheonlyimageIcouldthinkofwasagrave.

  “Do you mind if Henry and I leave now?” I asked Miss Applebaum. “I told mymotherI’dhelphercleanthehousetoday.”

  “Ofcourse,”MissApplebaumsaid,standingupimmediatelyandclosingher

  briefcase.

  “Wedon’t really havetogo,”Henrysaid.

  “Yes,wedo,”Isaid,givinghimanangrylook.

  “Butwha
tabouttheCentralParkrollercoaster?”Henrymoaned.Thistime,I

  really did kickhim.

  “Oh, yes—we must go on the roller coaster,” Miss Applebaum cried out, dartingoff.

  We ran after her across a roadway and west, past another section of the construction. A wire fence had been put up, but there was one spot where we wereabletogoslipthroughandclimbupaslopeoverlookingalargelake.

  “Oh, there’s the Angel of the Waters,” Miss Applebaum shouted. “Isn’t she beautiful?”

  WhenwereachedMissApplebaum’sside,wecouldseewhatshewastalking

  about. There was a sign proclaiming Bethesda Terrace and a very large ornate fountain.Watersquirtedoutatallsortsofanglesfromthebaseofatremendous

  wingedangelsuspendedbyfourcherubs,andallthewaterfelldownwardintoa

  circularpool.Aswehurriedtowardit,MissApplebaumtoldusaboutthestatue.

  “Itismeanttobeanangelwhooncevisitedaverytroubledearthandbrought

  magicalwaterstohealeveryone.Thisisanangelofmiracles!”

  “I thought we were going to the Central Park roller coaster,” Henry

  complained,likeacompleteinfant.

  “We are! We are!” Miss Applebaum assured him. “It’s right next to the fountain!”

  Myheartbegantobeatnervously.

  “Idon’tseearollercoaster,”Henrysaid.

  “Justholdyourhorses,”MissApplebaumlaughed.

  Shemarchedusrightpastthefountain.Agentlebreezeblewsprayacrossour

  faces.Itwascooling,andIcouldn’thelpwishingtherewasarealangelonearth who had come down with a fountain of healing waters. It was a lovely, comfortingthoughtevenifitwasunscientific.

  Just past the fountain was a tremendous lawn sloping upward. Rosebushes

  wereplantedinformaldesigns.Therewasarising,dazzlingterraceconsistingof beautifulstaircasesandintricatelycarvedarchways.Studentssatattheedgeof

  the lake reading. Painters worked on canvases. Photographers snapped away.

  There were beds of late-blooming marigolds. Miss Applebaum rushed up the stairsononeside.“Here’stherollercoaster!”shecalledouttous.“Here’swhere yougeton!”

  IlookedatHenryandIcouldseeevenhewasworriednowthatthemoment

  wasathand.

  At the top of the stairs, Miss Applebaum darted out onto the lawn. We followedher,andbythetimewereachedher,shewassittingonthegrassand

  hadsetherhatandbriefcaseonastump.

  “Hurry!Liedown!Therollercoaster’sabouttoleave.Hurry!”

  Itwascrazy,butHenrymademedoasshesaid.Allweweredoingwassitting

  ontopofagrasshilloverlookingthegreatfountain.

  “Don’tweneedaticket?”Henryasked.

  “No!”MissApplebaumshouted,stretchingherselfout.

  “MissApplebaum...”Itriedtospeak,butcouldn’tquitefindwords.

  “Herewego!”shecried.

  Andthenshedidit.

  Shebegantoroll.

  Sherolledandsherolledandsherolled.AndIheardherlaugh.Shelaughed

  assherolledoverandoverandover.

  AndthenHenrybegantorollafterher,shoutingtome,“Comeon!Comeon!”

  SothenIstartedrolling.

  It was only seconds before all three of us were rolling and laughing, rolling down,down,downontheCentralParkrollercoaster.

  7

  Idon’tagreewitheverythingZeldasaidaboutCentralPark;therefore,I’m

  drawing a map so I can introduce more of a reality factor. Reality factors havealwaysbeenmyjobwhenZelda sublimates andtriestopaintanything betterthanitreallyis.Itwasauniqueexperience,havingMissApplebaumshow

  us her statuary and favorite botanic haunts, but it’s my duty to put things into better perspective. These additional reality factors are: 1) Zelda told you I was wearingawackysweatshirt,butshedidn’ttellyoushewaswearingabluesuit

  jacketwithsixpiecesofgaudycostumejewelrystuckonit.Shewearssomuch

  jewelry, you’d think she was always opening at Radio City Music Hall. 2) By thetimewehadleftCentralPark,ZeldaletMissApplebaumbuyheroneMilk

  Duds,oneFrescalemonsoda,andafrozenchocolate-coveredbanana.Itwasn’t

  that she was taking advantage of Miss Applebaum, but Miss Applebaum

  insisted. Besides my first Fudgsicle I had one salted pretzel, one Clark bar, a second Fudgsicle, and a small Sugar Daddy. I mean, Miss Applebaum just

  pushedthestuffonus.WesawMissApplebaumbeginningtowheezeagain,so

  we let her buy us the stuff so she could rest while we ate. Also, when we left MissApplebauminfrontofherapartmenthouse,shementionedDr.Obitcheck

  was coming over in the afternoon to give her another treatment, and we knew whatthatmeant.

  ZeldaandIwenttoschoolonMonday,anditwasstrangethatneitheroneof

  usmentionedMissApplebaum.Zeldawouldexplainthatphenomenonbysaying

  thatwehad“thanatophobia,”whichmeans“thefearofdeath.”Zeldalovesthe

  word“thanatophobia”andtheonlyreasonIlearneditwasbecausesheusesitin

  almosteverybookreportshewrites.ButZeldaandIeachhaveadifferentkind

  of fear about the Grim Reaper. For the most part, Zelda is worried about the regular death that happens when you grow too old. I’m worried about death cominginmoreuniqueways,butIdon’tletitreallyhangmeup.Forinstance,

  myworstfearisthatwhenI’mwalkingdownastreetsomeone’sCrazyEddieair

  conditionerisgoingtofallonme.OtherfallingobjectsIwatchoutforarelarge cranes, bricks, planks, pianos, and pennies. Some kid once told me that if someonethrewapennyoffathirty-storybuilding,itwouldgainenoughspeedto

  sink four inches into a passerby’s brain. There are other passing thoughts of

  dangerIhave,suchaskeepinganeyeouteverytimeIpassasewer.Alotofkids IknowgotovisitDisneyWorldinFloridaandcomebackwithbabyalligators,

  andthentheygetboredwiththemandflushthemdowntheirtoilets.Also,some

  peoplelosetheirpetpythonsandiguanasandyouneverknowwhatdrain-pipe

  they’regoingtopopoutof.I’venevertoldthistoanyonebefore,butsometimes

  justbeforeIgotosleepIwonderifwhenIdie,Ishouldbecrematedorburiedin acasket.TheonethingIknowis,Idon’twanttobesealedupinanornateurnor have my body preserved in a cement crypt like Nat King Cole or Marilyn Monroe.Ihateallthosemodernhigh-risecemeterieswithallthebodiesstacked

  incubiclesduetoescalatingrealestateprices.It’sbadenoughthatwehaveto

  live in fairly small apartments when we’re alive. And I have very special feelings about what I want my casket made of, if I don’t choose to go up in smoke.Iwantitmadeofthecheapestwoodsothatitwilldisintegrateasfastas possible.Ihavethistheorythatthesoonerallmyatomsarereleasedbackinto

  the world, then the sooner I will drift around and become parts of other living things. Parts of me could end up in raspberry bushes, trout streams, weeping willowtrees,andallsortsofpleasantthings.Icouldbeswallowedbyenergetic

  fishandmunchedonbygood-naturedcowsandotherdomesticanimalsandthen

  start moving all over the place in unusual bloodstreams and lymph nodes.

  Eventually,Icould
betransferredovergreatdistancesandbecomepartofsteaks

  and vegetables eaten by people in Westchester, Liverpool, or Bombay. My

  atomscouldbebouncedandtransformedbybaldeaglesandmunchingchildren

  and chirping chickens and devout priests. I could become part of famous governors,brilliantwriters,andbenevolentpresidents.Icoulddrifttothemoon and Uranus and back again! Sometimes, after I’ve drifted off to sleep, I even dreamthatallmyatomsandmoleculeseventuallycouldmeetupwitheachother

  againintheexactcombinationoftheoriginalspermandeggthatmademe,and

  thenHenryMaximilianLednizwouldbebornagain.Whichisasgoodatimeas

  anytotellyouaboutmyberserkparents.

  1TheDakotawhereJohnLennonwasshot

  2CentralParkWest

  3Mostdrugsellers

  4DanielWebsterstatue

  5Mostdogwaste

  6Mostratsononerock

  7CentralParkSouth

  8Mostgarbage

  9Copsdressedaswomen

  10Boringcarousel

  11Mostmuggers

  12Mostbums

  13Ugliestplayground

  14Zelda’sapartment

  15Myapartment

  16MissApplebaum’splace

  17MissApplebaum’sfavoritebench

  18FifthAvenuesnobs

  AsIalreadytoldyou,mymotheristheFreudianOctopusandmyfatheristhe CockaloonyBird.Mymotherhasherpsychoanalyticpracticeinanofficein26G

  in the same building where we live. She sees all her patients there. The only thingis,isthatmymotherisnuttierthananyofherpatients,soIcan’tbelieve people actually pay money for her to treat them. And my father is one of the mostself-centeredpeople I’veeverknown. Actually,bothmy parentsareonly

  really interested in themselves. It’s the Eighth Wonder of the World they ever gottogetherenoughtohaveme.TheFreudianOctopushidesoutinherofficeall

  day and the Cockaloony Bird is constantly commuting to Princeton, where he teachesequationswheneverhehasto.Usually,hetellsusabouthowengrossed

  he is in reading the latest mystery novel like Death Wore Pantyhose, and he stops at New Jersey Turnpike rest areas to devour whole chapters. My parents