"Because of their capitalist greed, you mean.” He made a rude face.
"Your mother would be very ashamed,” Miriam countered. “And trust me, you know nothing of political and economic systems. Besides which, you will ruin your young life if you continue on such a dishonorable path.” The crowds swirled by them while automobile horns honked in the street, and Miriam had to raise her voice to be heard.
"Well, you're smarter than I am, okay,” the boy shot back. “But now I have nothing to sell and won't be able to buy any dinner."
Ah, no dinner. He scored a point with her on that account.
He obviously could see she was vulnerable to such a line of reasoning, and he pressed on. “You'll have to give me a twenty for some food. I could have sold the scarf for a twenty."
"Or you could have wound up in jail,” she argued. “But I'll find someone to help you now. Churches always feed the poor.” She looked around. The only churches visible on Lexington Avenue were to the shopping gods. Her mind wandered back to her mission. This was a wonderful street to look for a watch. But no, she had taken on responsibility for the boy.
Then she saw their salvation. This was good—a nun in traditional habit, collecting money. The nun wanted alms for the poor, and here was the poor. Besides which, nuns always knew what to do in any situation.
Once again Miriam took the boy's wrist and hauled him off.
"Excuse me, Sister,” she said to the nun.
"Yes, my child. Would you like to make a donation to St. Anne's? To the poor?"
"I'm afraid not today, Sister, but can you direct us to a church where this boy can find a meal and some help?” Miriam appealed to the holy woman, who looked both startled and annoyed.
The nun's reaction caused Miriam to examine the woman a bit more closely and observe that she was dressed in the habit of a Carmelite, a contemplative and cloistered order founded by Saint Teresa and having nothing to do, that Miriam knew of, with Saint Anne. Moreover, the woman's wimple had a food stain on it and not a fresh one.
"Ah, you are a Franciscan sister,” she suggested to the nun.
"Yes,” the woman agreed readily.
Miriam, in her girlhood in Ghana spent in a British Catholic school there, had learned all the orders and the saints, among other arcane facts. This woman collecting for “charity” was no nun.
Miriam backed away from the “nun” and turned to retrieve the shoplifting boy ... But he was gone! She couldn't believe it. She'd taken her eyes off him for one careless second, and he'd fled her ministrations. Why? She had intended to help him find food and shelter and a social worker to set him straight. Perhaps his having run off made her life easier, but she was really very disappointed.
"Every dollar you give goes to help the poor,” called out the nun.
Charity is positive in society and maybe giving will do the giver good wherever the money goes. However, what this woman was doing wasn't acceptable. If people found out, they would become even more cynical about donating to those in need.
Miriam located a policeman on the corner. “The nun sitting in the nook by Bloomingdale's collecting for charity is a fake,” Miriam said.
The officer frowned at the West African woman, as if she'd just accused a real nun of something dreadful. “Well, sir, she's dressed as a Carmelite but says she's collecting for St. Anne's. Do you see?"
No, he didn't.
"I asked her if she was a Franciscan, and she agreed,” Miriam clarified. “But she's dressed as a Carmelite. And of course Carmelites—” Miriam held her palms up to demonstrate that her point was quite obvious. “They don't come out into the world."
The policeman seemed finally a little bit interested. “You're sure?” he asked.
"Positive,” insisted Miriam. She didn't bother to mention the old food stain on the portion of the habit that should be spotlessly white. She shuddered to think of a real nun being so slovenly.
"Okay,” said the officer. He went off to handle the matter, and Miriam peeked around for her shoplifter, but the boy was really and truly gone.
Back to the business at hand—Miriam walked downtown a couple of blocks, where she found a small jewelry shop to her liking. Inside, she spotted a watch that appealed to her, and when she asked the clerk, he told her the cost was a hundred and ten dollars. With tax, that would come to almost one-twenty. She had that much with her, so why not splurge? She liked the watch, but still she wavered.
In the meantime, her concentration was broken by a young Hispanic couple looking at a diamond ring. The man was trying to please the woman, always a good sign for the future.
But Miriam couldn't see the diamond very well, and she wanted to take a better look. “What a pretty ring,” she told the couple. “I know something about diamonds.” She had learned a great deal as a girl, when she had worked for a diamond merchant.
The clerk helping the couple smiled tightly when the couple handed the ring over to Miriam. His eyes were fixed rigidly on her. Perhaps he thought she was going to pocket the piece.
First she looked at the price tag on the item, then she took up the jeweler's loupe, which the clerk had set down on the counter. “What a shame,” she said after a moment.
"That's a certified diamond,” the clerk said loudly.
Miriam smiled. “Look,” she said to the young woman and she handed the girl the jeweler's loupe. “See that fracture?” she asked. Under the 10x magnification of the loupe, the flaw, filled with resin so it wouldn't be obvious to the naked eye, was clear.
"Oh,” said the girl, “I do see that."
Miriam again looked at the watch and imagined it on Nana's wrist. The woman put the diamond ring back down on the counter. “I don't think so,” the bride-to-be said.
Miriam decided that she would buy the watch. She opened her purse.
"Get out of my store, all of you,” the clerk began to shout in excitement.
Miriam was startled. What right had he to be so angry? He was the one who was trying to cheat. She backed up as he continued to yell, and she and the young couple fled from the store.
"How unfortunate,” Miriam told the couple meekly. “But in selecting diamonds, one has to be careful."
"Thank you so much,” said the girl.
Miriam gave them a quick primer on buying diamonds and the couple walked off to see what they could find crosstown at the Forty-seventh Street Diamond Exchange.
Miriam continued walking down Lexington, but the neighborhood changed character and she saw no more nice little jewelry stores—only large office buildings. Tired out and chilled, at Forty-second Street, she got on the crosstown bus with a free transfer on her MetroCard.
The bus was crowded, so she had to stand. She watched with interest the several young people of both genders who sat complacently. Of course Miriam herself didn't appear to be as old as she was—she used a henna compound to keep her hair from going gray. When two rather ancient women got on at Fifth Avenue, however, Miriam had to say something to two boys who sat. “You two handsome men have youth on your side. Your muscles are strong. Let these ladies rest. They've worked hard to produce your world and to give birth to you and your brothers."
Those around her who stood nodded their agreement, though the women on whose behalf she spoke said no, no, they were getting off in a couple of blocks.
The boys, both embarrassed and reluctant, simultaneously stood. Miriam persuaded the women to sit, and five minutes later they all got off when the driver called, “Times Square. Broadway."
Once off the bus, the women thanked her. “Such manners of the youth today,” decried Miriam. “Do you know of a store around here where I might find a pretty watch for under one hundred dollars?” The women directed her north to a store called Swat, and Miriam set off up Broadway.
Despite the cold, the day was sunny and the street was mobbed. Miriam, her eyes out for the store the ladies had directed her to, paid attention to nothing else. Suddenly, however, she felt the touch of a small human hand in h
er own and she looked down to see that a black boy no older than five or six had confidently thrust his hand into hers.
"Hello,” Miriam called to him. The boy looked up, startled. He withdrew his cold hand and gazed around in confusion and distress. Well, heavens. Miriam caught up his arm so that he wouldn't get swept away in the crowd and shouted loudly, “Has anyone lost a little boy? Here, mothers, have you lost your child?” She picked up the youngster and held him aloft for his mother to see.
People walked around her, and no eager black woman responded with tears and hysterical thank you's, grabbing her child.
The little boy all the while hadn't stopped crying, so Miriam took a handkerchief from her pocket to dry his tears and wipe his nose.
Standing against the wall of a building, offering the child to the world at large as it passed, Miriam eventually spotted a police venue opposite her in the wide traffic island between uptown and downtown.
She crossed over to give the boy into official custody, and by the time she left, an arrangement was being made to bring the youngster a frozen custard. A bit peculiar, Miriam thought, to offer a child an ice cream as a substitute for his beloved mother, but the police officers were men, warmhearted and clueless.
She found the watch store where the women had told her it was, though the name was Swatch, not Swat, which only min-imally made any more sense. Absolutely hundreds of watches were available and Miriam disliked every single one of them. Not the watches, she supposed, but the bands, which she found ugly.
She sat on a platform near the entrance for a few minutes to rest up for her further exploration. She would buy Nana a proper watch today if it killed her. She surely wasn't coming back downtown, where thieves abounded, young men let old women stand while they rested their sturdy muscles in their seats, and where mothers let go of their children's little hands in a crowd.
Soon Miriam was back up and at her quest. On the sidewalk, however, someone bumped into her, with a quick apology. A man with a hot dog had spread mustard over her coat. Wait a minute! She herself was from a country of experienced and devious thieves. Miriam stepped back quite deliberately and onto someone's stylishly clad foot, giving rise to a sharp cry from a healthy set of female lungs. Instead of apologizing, Miriam crunched down on the foot a little further, while she firmly closed her purse, which someone had begun to unzip. Once she lifted her own foot from the offender's foot, the would-be thief limped off speedily. Miriam was quick enough to whirl on the man who had gotten the condiment on her wool coat and smack him in the face with her now secure handbag.
"You pack of jackals,” she cried out and went to hit him again, but he was gone.
Then, to her satisfaction, she saw an officer running after the pickpockets. How wonderful! She slung her purse across her shoulder and walked south again toward Forty-second Street. Macy's, at Thirty-fourth, was her destination.
Slow as she was, she was able to see the officer return, hauling the man who had dirtied her coat. This wasn't a bad country, after all. “I'll testify against him,” she called out to the policeman. He stopped and gave her his card and she said she'd call. “That's no way to behave,” she told the thief. “What kind of life do you create for yourself? The path you have chosen is a thousand times harder than going to work every day. But God will forgive you if you make amends now."
"Aren't you the woman who brought in the little boy before?” asked the officer.
"Yes, sir. I am."
"He's back with his mother. She was very relieved,” the policeman told her.
"Good,” said Miriam. “Though she must be more careful."
They parted at once, and Miriam continued her stroll. The robbery attempt had shocked her and slowed her down. Also, her feet hurt. If she didn't find the watch today, maybe she'd try again in a day or two. She kept looking to see the stain on her coat. She'd get it out with water and a brush, she supposed.
Then on Forty-second Street, a man accosted Miriam to ask her something. She tried to dodge him, fearing some new scheme against her person. Ready to either listen or flee, she stopped a few feet away from the man and looked into his sad blue eyes. She tried to detect some sign of insincerity, but maybe he really was sad about something. Or very practiced. “I just would like to know where there's a pawn shop, ma'am."
She had passed one and she tried to think of where. At the same time, she kept a wary eye on the man. The collar on his brown wool coat was turned up to ward off the cold, and he hadn't shaved in a couple of days, but his hair was neat.
"Well, I can picture it in my head” she said. “I'll try to take you there because I'm not a hundred percent sure."
"Oh, thanks. Thanks a lot.” He fell into step with Miriam. “I'm going to pawn my watch,” he confided. “It's a good one too. But I'm in a bit of a jam."
"Of course,” she answered. These days everyone was in a bit of a jam.
The man took the watch off his wrist and showed it to her. Funny that he was going to pawn a watch, when she was looking for one. Of course, she didn't want a man's watch with a worn leather strap. “Very nice,” she said.
"It's a Breitling,” he told her proudly. “I bought it secondhand myself, but for sixteen hundred dollars."
The words “secondhand” and “sixteen hundred” didn't seem to her to go together. If this stranger was trying to fabricate a con, she wasn't having any. The pawn shop owner would bear the brunt. Pawnbrokers, however, should know their trade.
"I was beaten up and robbed the other night,” the man continued, “and I need seventy-five dollars to get down to Florida where I have a good job waiting.” So he was trying to sting her for the money, she decided. Oh well.
There. She couldn't believe it. She'd found the pawnshop, which she'd merely glimpsed and hadn't exactly even “noticed."
The man opened the door for Miriam to enter the store along with him, so she did.
He hadn't put his watch back on and he immediately offered it to the clerk, who grunted over his examination.
Miriam should have left, but she was curious, so she stood and watched the pawnbroker work. He set down the watch. “I can give you fifty dollars for it.” Ah, so the watch was worth something, after all.
The owner of the watch looked obviously disappointed. He shook his head. “I need a hundred,” he said.
Miriam turned to the pawnbroker to see his reaction. The man dismissed the idea that he would pay any such incredible amount for the watch.
"I'll give you a seventy-five,” Miriam broke in, though she wasn't quite sure why. Maybe the man was telling the truth about being beaten and robbed—and, anyway, if the watch was worth fifty, surely it was actually worth seventy-five.
The pawnbroker appeared alarmed. “I'll give you eighty-five dollars,” he said.
"I'll sell it to the lady for seventy-five,” said the watch owner. “She was very nice to me."
Well, Miriam hadn't been all that nice. She hadn't trusted him and now she felt bad. She turned her back to the men, reached into her coat, and pulled the money-holding handkerchief out of her dress. She then counted out eighty-five dollars. Yes, she would give him the extra ten. She didn't want to cheat him out of anything.
As to what she was doing, she herself was surely puzzled, since she hadn't come shopping for a secondhand man's watch but for a brand-new, gold-colored woman's watch.
"Great,” said the seller, who gave Miriam the watch. He counted out the bills and offered her back her “extra” ten.
She shook her head. “You might want to get the watch again though,” she said, realizing suddenly how these things usually worked.
He shrugged and backed away toward the door while he tucked his money into his pocket. “Easy come, easy go,” he said. Then he came back into the shop and much to her surprise kissed her on the cheek. She had done nothing for him! He hurried away.
"He stole the watch,” said the pawn shop clerk. “Did you see what a hurry he was in? He sold it to you because he didn't have to give
his name and identification."
"Oh, I don't think so,” said Miriam. “I believe he was an honorable man."
"You'd be surprised,” said the clerk. “Can I see the watch again?"
Miriam gave it to him in trepidation. She had just given away the money with which she was going to buy Nana's present. Now she would find out that she had thrown away the money because she was such a bad judge of character.
"Yeah,” said the clerk. “He must have stolen it. It's a really nice watch. Can I buy it from you? For me, that is."
"Why didn't you buy it from him?” Miriam asked suspiciously. She examined the cases for women's watches. She had just fifteen dollars left.
"That was business, but I'd like the watch for myself. I'll give you a hundred for it. You make fifteen dollars."
As if she couldn't read the shifty look in his eyes. “Good heavens, no,” she said in surprise. “This is an incredible watch. It's a Breitling.” Just then, she caught sight of a lady's watch in the case that was rather handsome, though these all were secondhand. “Can I see this?"
The minute he moved it, she saw the price tag, which read $209, way out of her range. She spent some time examining the watch, anyway, so as not to embarrass herself.
"I'm going to look on the sheets to see if the Breitling was stolen,” the clerk said, picking up some pages from under the counter.
"Yes,” she agreed. She was a bit curious too.
He looked through the papers while she continued to scrutinize the unaffordable watch. She wondered if he would offer her more for the Breitling or whether she might back down and take the hundred dollars.
"Maybe it was his,” said the pawn shop clerk, putting down the pages. “Or maybe it hasn't been reported yet."
Miriam abandoned the woman's watch and looked around the store at many guitars and an old fur or two. But there was nothing cheap as in the thrift shops.
"I'll trade watches with you,” the clerk said after a minute of this. “My boss will kill me, but I'll think of something."
AHMM, September 2008 Page 14
