This Old Souse

by Mary Daheim

  “It’s terribly sad,” Judith declared. “It’s not just the feeling of neglect. There’s despair, too, and hopelessness.”

  Renie nodded. “I’m becoming depressed just looking at it. But doesn’t it make you curious?”

  The human element—or lack of it—moved Judith, who was always intrigued by other people. “Yes. Yes, I have to admit it does.”

  Renie turned to watch the mailman come across the street. “Good grief!” she exclaimed under her breath. “I don’t believe it! That’s Morty! I thought he would have retired by now.”

  “Morty?” The name rang a bell with Judith. “The one who always left a trail of mail behind him and read all the magazines before he delivered them?”

  “The very same,” Renie replied. “And here comes his awful dog, Zip Code.”

  “Son or grandson of Zip Code,” Judith murmured.

  Morty stopped at the curb, peering at Renie. “Do I know you?”

  It had been going on forty years since Renie and Morty’s last encounter. Both had been in their early twenties. Renie had bawled out Morty for delivering her copy of Vogue with mustard and ketchup smeared on its summer bathing-suit layout. Drool, too, she’d told him at the time.

  “I don’t think so,” Renie lied. Then she smiled. It was a big mistake.

  “Those teeth!” Morty shouted, recoiling so fast that he dropped several pieces of mail. “You! It’s Fang!”

  Zip Code, a shaggy golden retriever, hid behind his master and growled.

  “Okay, okay,” Renie said in an impatient voice. “Skip the past history. We’re both older and hopefully wiser.” Indeed, Morty’s blond hair was almost white and his ramrod posture had deteriorated into a sorry slouch. “Have you always been on this part of the route?”

  “Why do you care?” Morty shot back. “How many times did you report me to the Langford post office?”

  “I only did that once,” Renie said, “after I found my IRS refund in the hydrangea after the leaves fell off in the fall. It was my folks who called the post office about a dozen times. Dad hit the roof when you tore the fishing-hole maps out of his Northwest Angler magazine.”

  “So I had a hobby on my days off,” Morty shot back. “What did you expect me to do? Play golf and walk eighteen holes? You should see my feet, they look like corncobs.”

  “Please.” Renie put her hands over her eyes. “Why haven’t you retired?”

  “I will,” Morty replied, “end of the month.”

  “Congratulations.” Renie smirked. “To the people on your route, that is.”

  Judith tapped Renie’s arm. “Coz…” None too gently, she pushed Renie out of the way. The ungroomed Zip Code came out from behind Morty and warily approached the cousins. “That’s a”—there were times when Judith couldn’t tell a fib even in a good cause—“a real doggie dog. How long have you had him?”

  “This guy?” Morty leaned forward to pat the dog’s scruffy rump. “Twelve years. Fourth generation. I’ve always taken a Zip Code with me. Keeps the other dogs at bay.”

  “So you’ve had this whole route all these years?” Judith inquired.

  Morty glanced at Renie, then looked back at Judith. “Why are you two asking me these questions?”

  “It’s this place,” Judith replied, gesturing at the house. “Doesn’t it seem kind of spooky to you?”

  Morty, who was now standing on the sidewalk, glanced up the path that led to the front door. “Spooky? Gosh, I’ve never noticed. It’s just another house, another stop on the route, another slot to fill, twenty-five steps to three stairs, back down again, twenty-five to the street, fifty-seven steps to the corner, then—”

  Judith interrupted, though quietly. “Have you ever seen anybody around the house?”

  “Like people?” Morty shook his head. “I don’t see many people. Most of ’em work. Like me. Besides, I’ve only been doing this end of the route for the past year. My supervisor finally decided I’d had enough of that other part of Langford.” He paused to glare at Renie. “What I put up with all those—”

  “So,” Judith said to prevent another monologue from Morty, “whoever lives here does get mail.”

  Zip Code was sniffing at Renie’s shoes. Renie was doing a little dance to get away from the animal.

  “Oh, they get mail,” Morty replied with a shake of his head. “They all get mail, every day, except Sundays and holidays, rain, shine, snow, hail, heat, cold, earthquakes—”

  “Lots of mail?” Judith interjected, ignoring Renie, who had stepped—not too hard—on Zip Code’s paw.

  Apparently, Morty didn’t notice. “Well—no.” The hint of a smile played at his thin lips. “I’ll say that for them. Oh, they get the usual bills—utilities, mostly—and the flyers everybody else gets.” He bent down to retrieve the pieces he’d dropped, but Zip Code had grabbed one of what looked like a personal letter and was chewing it to bits. “Never mind,” Morty said, “that wasn’t for these folks. It was for somebody in the next block.” He stroked the dog’s neck. “Yum-yum, huh, Zippy? What he really likes are those big manila envelopes that look so important but probably aren’t.”

  Renie twirled around and wandered off down the street.

  “At least,” Morty went on, sorting through the rest of the mail he’d picked up, “these people here don’t get all those horrible catalogs. Two years ago, I ended up in traction after I threw my back out. No more of that, I said to myself. I load those blasted things into the van, but I dump ’em off at the nearest recycling bin. Who needs all that junk? I figure I’m saving folks a lot of money. Besides, if they ordered the stuff, guess who’d have to deliver most of it?” He poked himself in the chest with his thumb.

  “So they don’t get actual letters here?” Judith asked, beginning to feel weary.

  Morty scratched his chin, which looked as if it could use a shave. “Once a month, maybe. That’s it.”

  “I assume everything’s addressed to Mr. and Mrs. Bland,” Judith remarked.

  “Oh, yeah. Except for the stuff marked ‘Resident’ or ‘Addressee’ or—here’s the one that really gets me. ‘To Our Friends at…’ Now, you know danged well, they aren’t friends. They don’t even know each other. It’s just a—” This time, Morty interrupted himself. “Hold on. A while back, there was a letter addressed to somebody who wasn’t named Bland. I noticed, ’cause I pay close attention to names and addresses. In fact, I think there’ve been some other letters to whoever it was.”

  Judith spoke loudly and quickly to drown out Renie’s strangled cry of disbelief. “What was the name on the envelope?”

  “I don’t remember offhand,” Morty replied, “but it was the right address.”

  “Maybe someone lives with them,” Judith ventured.

  Morty shrugged. “Could be.” He glanced at his watch. “I’d better be on my way. Don’t want to get behind.” He scrutinized his watch more closely. “Gee, I’m already an hour or so off schedule. Guess I shouldn’t have had that second cup of coffee.”

  Morty sauntered up the path, with Zip Code trailing behind him. Judith joined Renie at the corner.

  “Did you hear that?” Judith asked. “There’s a third party living in the house.”

  “I heard it,” Renie replied grimly. “I heard all of it. I can’t believe that after all these years, I had to run into Morty the Mailman.”

  “I wonder who else is living there,” Judith mused, ignoring Renie’s complaint. “A sister of Mrs. Bland? A child who’s returned after a divorce? A friend?”

  The cousins had turned the corner and reached the unpaved alley. “Any of the above,” Renie said. “Are you coming with me?”

  Judith studied the dirt track. “There are too many potholes and rough spots. I don’t want to risk a fall. Go on without me. I’ll wait here.”

  Renie paused several times during her mission. Upon reaching the garage, she went out of sight, apparently exploring from every angle. It seemed to Judith that the alley wasn’t intended for
communal purposes, but belonged to the Blands. There were tall trees and big shrubs on both sides. Through a thicket of blackberry vines, Judith could make out a wire fence that probably marked the property line.

  All she could see of the garage was part of a red-tiled roof. She shifted her gaze to the house itself. From the side angle, the only windows she could see were two casements upstairs and the one with the grille in the arched wing. Heavy curtains drooped behind the small panes on the second floor; fusty drapes sagged behind the tinted glass at ground level. Judith swore she could almost smell the dust and mold inside the house.

  And then, to her amazement, she saw movement be hind the upstairs curtains. Ever so slowly, they parted. An inch, no more, not enough to allow her to see a person. But someone was there. Judith looked away, turned in every direction, and whistled shrilly.

  “Renie!” she called loudly. “Come, Renie! Come, nice doggie!” Judith moved beyond the alley, toward the adjacent property with its one-story frame house.

  A minute later, Renie came running down to the sidewalk. “What’s up?” she asked, a bit breathless.

  Before Judith could reply, Zip Code came bounding down the street, barking his head off. He leaped on Renie, almost knocking her down and licking her face. “Hey!” she yelled. “Cut it out! You’ve got letter breath!”

  Judith firmly grasped Zip Code’s collar and pulled the animal away from her cousin. “Zippy! Nice doggie! Go find Morty.”

  Panting, Zip Code eyed Judith for a brief moment before trotting away.

  “You should have called for a cat,” Renie said, taking a tissue out of her purse and wiping her face. “What’s up?”

  “Someone’s peeking through the upstairs window,” Judith replied, explaining how she’d seen the curtains move, but couldn’t make out a face or a figure. “We’d better get out of here.” She gazed up at the house on the other side of the wire fence. “Should we call on these neighbors?”

  Renie pointed to the empty attached garage. “Their car’s gone. It doesn’t look as if they’re home. We might have better luck with the guy on Moonfleet that Garth talked to.”

  “But he didn’t know anything,” Judith pointed out.

  “True,” Renie agreed. “I don’t suppose canvassing the entire neighborhood would help, either.”

  It was starting to rain again. The cousins stood on the sidewalk, contemplating their next move.

  “I really should get home,” Judith finally said. “We can always come back.”

  Renie grinned. “You’re hooked, aren’t you?”

  Judith winced. “Well…I guess. Now that we’ve put names to the owners and know that somebody’s inside and the place feels so forlorn and sad—”

  “Ha!” Renie rocked back and forth on her heels. “I knew it. You’re a sucker for a sob story.”

  “Don’t rub it in,” Judith retorted. “We’d better go. I doubt that whoever was watching us is still at the window. They can’t see us from there and won’t know where we parked.”

  “Probably not,” Renie agreed, “unless they’ve been on the lookout all along.”

  The cousins went back down the street and crossed over to the other side. Before getting into the Camry, they both looked back at the house.

  “The mail’s still in the mailbox,” Judith noted. “There’s a milk box on the porch, too.”

  “So I see,” Renie said. “We could wait until somebody comes to get it.”

  “Like Joe on a stakeout?” Judith shook her head. “What do you bet they don’t come out until after dark?”

  “Could be.” With a shrug, Renie got into the driver’s seat.

  “Tell me what the view from the alley was like,” Judith said after they were under way.

  “Not much,” Renie answered with a scowl. “I could hardly see anything of the house. It’s blocked off by the trees and shrubbery. They’ve got rhododendrons that must be ten feet tall. I could just barely make out a small storage shed and what might have been a greenhouse, but it’s in a state of virtual collapse. Near the fence on that side was probably once a fishpond—you can see the rectangular concrete outline, but it’s full of moss and weeds and scilla. There must be a back door, but I couldn’t see it. As for the garage, it’s locked up. There are two small windows, but they’re covered with what looks like cardboard and chicken wire, not to mention cobwebs.”

  “Any sign of car tracks in the dirt alley?” Judith inquired.

  Renie shook her head. “I don’t get it. If these people are old, don’t they ever go to a doctor? That’s what old people do, right?”

  Judith grimaced. “We ought to know.”

  “We’re not that old,” Renie retorted, flipping on the windshield wipers. “We’ve just had some weird medical problems.”

  “More than our share,” Judith conceded. “But we started out as sickly kids.”

  Allergies and asthma had plagued the cousins from early childhood. Renie had suffered severe sinus problems as well. Judith had always been prone to hip troubles, exacerbated by using a pogo stick during a growth spurt. Judith had often thought that their mutual illnesses had helped cement their bond. They had been only children, growing up two blocks away from each other until Renie’s family moved to Langford just before she started junior high. The cousins had always been close, even closer than some sisters. When they quarreled, both of them could retreat to their own homes instead of being forced to share the same roof.

  “I’ll drop you off and then stop in to see Mom,” Renie said as they once again crossed the high bridge over the canal. “As usual, she insists I’m neglecting her.”

  “When were you there last?” Judith asked.

  “Yesterday,” Renie replied. “Twice. And I’ve talked to her on the phone three times since I stopped by. Today she needs ice cubes.”

  “Is Aunt Deb’s refrigerator broken?” Judith inquired.

  “No,” Renie answered, turning onto Heraldsgate Hill. “But she complains that her arthritis is so bad that she can’t get the ice-cube trays out of the freezer compartment. The trays are stuck.”

  “What does she need the ice cubes for?”

  “Her water. You know Mom—she drinks about a gallon of water a day,” Renie said. “And then she wonders why she has to go to the bathroom so often.”

  “Water’s good for you,” Judith declared. “I drink quite a bit myself.”

  “I don’t,” Renie said in a stubborn tone. “I drink Pepsi. Water tastes like…water.”

  Judith didn’t argue. The cousins had had that discussion many times, and neither of them won—or lost. “It’s a blessing that our mothers got those motorized wheelchairs. The walker was okay for my mother as long as she stayed in the toolshed. But when she’d go out, it was getting very hard on her. She almost gave up bridge club.”

  “Heaven help us if Aunt Gert and Mom had to stop playing bridge,” Renie asserted. “Though I’ll have to admit that Mom’s work as a consultant for Wirehoser Timber helps keep her occupied.”

  “Ditto for Mother’s movie script,” Judith said. “I still can’t believe those two old girls have managed to start new careers in their old age.”

  “More power to them,” Renie responded as traffic slowed on Heraldsgate Avenue. “I’m still thanking my lucky stars for sending Mom to that graphic design conference to take my place. All her old-fashioned, commonsense ideas really struck a chord. She still can’t believe she gets a twenty-five-hundred-dollar retainer every month even if she doesn’t have to do anything. But being Mom, she feels she has to earn her keep. Thus Wirehoser gets their money’s worth when she comes up with one of her quaint little ideas. The latest is Bucky Beaver. I think she named it after me.” Renie bared her prominent front teeth.

  “What does Bucky do?”

  “He beaves,” Renie replied, “as in ‘behave.’ ‘Beave Like Bucky’ is her slogan. It’s to promote good manners for campers and hikers. Bucky will wear a napkin around his neck and spats.”

  “Cu
te,” Judith remarked as they started down the steep counterbalance. “Frankly, I think it’s wonderful that our mothers can still contribute. People live so long these days, and the younger generation has always tended to disregard the old folks’ wisdom and ideas. It’s not only a shame, but a waste.”

  “Speaking of the younger generation,” Renie said as she turned onto Judith’s street, “isn’t that your son’s Range Rover pulling into the cul-de-sac?”

  Judith leaned forward. “It looks like it. But there are plenty of Range Rovers and Land Rovers and every other kind of Rover on Heraldsgate Hill these days.”

  However, the beige-and-brown Range Rover had stopped in front of Hillside Manor. Sure enough, as the cousins pulled up behind it, Mike McMonigle got out.

  Hurriedly, Judith removed her seat belt and all but lunged out of the car. “Mike!” she cried, hurrying to embrace her son. “How good to see you! Can you stay for dinner?”

  Mike didn’t answer right away. In fact, he clung to his mother much longer than usual.

  “Hi, Mike,” Renie called as she came toward the pair. “How are you?”

  “Not good,” Mike replied, finally stepping back from Judith. “Kristin and I’ve split up.”

  “What?” Judith cried, a hand at her breast.

  “Mike!” Renie put her arms around her nephew. “What happened?”

  “It’s just not working.” Mike hugged his aunt, then wiped at his eyes.

  Judith was too stunned to speak and suddenly sick to her stomach. She stared at her son, realizing that he was pale and haggard. Even the red hair he’d inherited from Joe seemed to have lost its luster.

  “Let’s go inside,” Renie said as the rain began to come down even harder. “Where are Kristin and the boys?” she asked.

  “They’re still up at our place at the ranger station,” Mike replied in a heavy voice. “They’re packing.”

  The trio entered through the front door. Judith felt dazed as she led the way into the living room. Mother and son sat down across from each other on the new matching navy blue sofas in front of the fireplace. Renie remained standing.