A Begonia for Miss Applebaum

by Paul Zindel

WelookedatMissApplebaum.Shelookedatus.Ithinkthatwasthemoment

  allthreeofusknewitwouldsoonbeover.

  15

  Ican’tputalltheresponsibilityonHenrytowriteaboutMissApplebaum’slast

  days, although there aren’t too many more details about Miss Applebaum’s stayatthehospitalanyonehastoknow.HenryandIdidbuyMissApplebaum

  thesmallplasticfanshewanted,butsheneverreallyusedit.Byherforty-fifth dayatthehospital,theystoppedherchemotherapyandMissApplebaumrefused

  totakeanymoreofthepillsintendedtohelpkeepherheartgoing.Theevening

  of that forty-fifth day, Henry and I arrived at Miss Applebaum’s bedside, and shesimplysaid,“Pleasetakemehome.”

  Ittookusuntilthenextmorning,whichwasaSaturday,beforewecouldrent

  a wheelchair from Delancy’s Hospital Supplies on West 81st Street, and bring over winter clothes, including Miss Applebaum’s mouton lamb coat, and

  blankets. Miss Applebaum insisted that we shouldn’t hire an ambulance or orderlyorevenavisitingnurse.HeadnurseRuthPerez,Dr.HarrietSilver,and

  the doctor of the week for the ninth floor, Dr. Manley, all tried to talk Miss Applebaumoutofleaving,butshetoldthemtherewerealotoflovingfriends

  waitingforheratherapartmentandthatshewantedtobewiththem.By11:15

  A.M., Miss Applebaum was in the wheelchair and signed out of Parkview

  Hospital,andHenryandIandNursePerezbroughtherdowntothelobby.The

  one rule the hospital insisted upon so that no one could sue them was that the patienthadtobeescortedbyastaffnursetothelobbybeforebeingentrustedto anyone else’s care. Henry gave Nurse Perez a ten-dollar tip, we all said good-bye,andHenrypushedMissApplebaumouttoFifthAvenuewhileIcarriedthe

  overnightbagpackedwithhernightgownsandnotions.

  “We’dbettertakeacab,”Henrysaid.

  “No,please,”MissApplebaumsaid.“Pleasetakemehomethroughthepark.”

  Henry and I looked at each other and really didn’t know what to do. In the cold December light of day, we had to admit the Miss Applebaum we were takinghomefromthehospitalwasverydifferentphysicallythantheonewehad

  broughttothehospital.Evenwrappedinhercoatandblankets,shelookedtoo

  sicktobeout.Someofthepeopleonthestreetstaredatheraswewentby.Miss Applebaumliftedacornerofoneblankettopartlyhideherface.

  “Throughthepark,please,”sherepeated.

  “Yes,”Henrysaid.

  Togetintothepark,wehadtopushMissApplebaumalittlewaysdownFifth

  Avenue past the Metropolitan Museum. As we went by the museum entrance, thegargoylefacesofancientgodslookedliketheyreallywerestaringdownat

  us,andIrememberedourvisit.MissApplebaum,Henry,andIwalkingthrough

  thegalleriesoflifeanddeathinancientEgypt.TheRosettaStone.Hugeflagsin front of the museum snapped like whips, and the water still gushed from the frontfountains.

  Oncewewerepastthemuseum,thewindhurtledagainstusasitrushedoutof

  thecementcanyonstotheeast.Buthere,thesunwasshiningbrightagainstour

  faces,andtheskyitselfwasastartlingwinterblue.Attheentrancetothepark,a solitary old man was trying to sell hot pretzels and chestnuts, cans of Sunkist orangesoda,andMott’sapplejuice.Butthesidewalksweredeserted.

  We turned in to Central Park at a point where the sidewalk sloped steeply downhill. Henry had to hold back the wheelchair or it and Miss Applebaum wouldhavepickeduptremendousspeed.Themostobviouschangeinthepark

  sincewehadlaststrolledthroughwithMissApplebaumwasthatthetreeshad

  lostalltheirleaves.OnlyanoccasionalevergreenstoodoutlikealostChristmas tree.Wewalkedbyahugestoneslabthatwassupposedtobeaworkofartbya

  man called Randolph Gans. At least, he had the good sense to call it

  “Unidentified Object,” which is what it looked like. There were posters

  announcing upcoming activities in the park such as the “Belvedere Castle Family Workshop: Making Holiday Cards” and “The Dairy Children’s Class”

  about “Shiny Shapes and Bright Balloons.” Soon, all about us the branches of thehugetreeslookedlikemonstrousbonyfingersreachingoverusforthesky.

  Deadleaveswereunderfootandsomoistandcrushedthattheylookedlikethey

  had been already well transformed into earth. The smell of near winter dilated the nostrils, and despite the barrenness and complete death of the leaves, the fragrance was strangely exhilarating. The park now looked like vast English moors,rollinglandlyingnakedforthewindtoplay.Theblacklamppostsstood

  out like burned stakes from the ground. Construction and playground repairs weregoingonintheparkwithahaste,becausemorethananyone,theworkers

  knewadeepfreezecouldn’tbefaroff.Masonryworkersrepairedanoverpass.

  Cobblestoneswerebeingreplacedalongapath.Parkcrewsrushedtogetthelast

  ofsnowfencesintoplacebeforeitwouldbetoolate.Alldeedsthatneededtobe

  finished while the earth was still moist and soft were being done. Mothers pushedtheirbabiesinstrollers.Ascantfewchildrenplayedaboutthestatueof

  AliceinWonderland.Wereachedthetoyboatpond.HenryandIwereshocked.

  “They’vedrainedthepond.”

  “Yes,”MissApplebaumsaid.

  Deadleavesandmudwereallthatwasleftofthepond.Goneweretheyoung

  and old weekend sailors with their remote controls. No miniature tugboat or submarine.Ahugeflockofseagullsandwildduckshadgatheredinthecenter,

  whereafewsmallpuddleslay.Thebirdswereexcited,pickingoverthelastof

  anytrappedsmallfishandcrayfishwhohadn’tthegoodsensetodigdeepinto

  themudforthewinter.

  “Takemetomybench,”MissApplebaumsaid.

  WepushedMissApplebaumuptheknolltoherfavoritespot.Fromhere,all

  Henry and I could see was without magic. The cafe was closed. There was no violintobeheard.Nocarouselcalliopeinthedistance.Tractorsandbulldozers

  weremovingearth.Thepipelinehadbeenlaiddownlikeahugedarkartery,and

  its open trench still split the hillside like a wound. The beauty of the spot was gone for Henry and me. All was desolate. Depressing. The entire area behind Miss Applebaum’s bench was still being ravaged by men with shovels. A

  cementmixerwasnoisilyforminganewcurbinthedistance.HenryturnedMiss

  Applebaum’s wheelchair so she could see whatever she wanted to see. Henry andIlookedateachother.MissApplebaumglancedupandcaughtourpainful

  exchange.

  “Don’tbesad,”shesmiled.“Winterhasapurpose,too.”

  Shelookedatthelongtrenchandseeminglyendlessstretchofblackpipethat

  layatitsbottom.

  “Takemehomenow,”shesaid,cheerfully.“There’ssomuchtodo.”

  16

  ZeldatookthekeysandopenedthedownstairsdoorofMissApplebaum’s

  building. I gently pushed the wheelchair with Miss Applebaum into the

  lobby. What was really weird was that Zelda looked like she was ready to cry andIwasscaredstiff,butMissApplebaumseemedtobeinthebestmoodI’d

  seen her in since we had last played Elevator Roulette! In spite o
f her fragile appearance and our knowledge that she was close to death now, Miss

  Applebaumactuallymadeperfectsense.Shetoldusexactlywhattodo.Wegot

  herintotheelevatoranduptotheeighthfloor,andthesecondwerolledherinto herapartmentshestartedsinging,“Hello,plants!Hello,plants!”Shedidn’tbelt itlikeTinaTurneroranyonelikethat,butshewasveryfocusedandclear.She

  couldn’thaveweighedmorethaneightypoundsbynow,butsheactedlikeshe

  wasgoingtoaparty.ShehadmestarttheflowerFerriswheelandaskedmeto

  roll her around to a couple of dozen of the larger pots while she checked their moisture.“Youreallyhavetobeespeciallycarefulwithficuses,”shesaid.“You

  andZeldahavedoneawonderfuljob!Wonderful!”

  Zelda went straight into the bedroom to turn down Miss Applebaum’s bed, andwhenIrolledinMissApplebaum,itwasveryeasytoliftherintoherbed.

  MissApplebaumlookedcompletelyexhausted,butvery,veryhappy.Allalong

  shewashavingtroublebreathing,yetitdidn’tseemtointerferewithherjoyat

  being back in her home. She just kept looking around the room and nodding happilytoalltheplantsandfurniture.

  “Weshouldorderahospitalbed,”Isaid.

  “Oh,no,”MissApplebaumsaid.

  “Theyrentniceoneswithairmattressesandalltypesofequipmentlikethey

  have at the hospital,” Zelda said. “Delancy’s said they would even send over oxygenandwhateveryouneeded.”

  MissApplebaumsmiled.“Iwon’tneedanything,”shesaid.

  MissApplebaumlaywithherheadagainstabigwhitepillow.Shelookedlike

  ababybirdthathadfallenoutofitsnest.Wewantedtodoeverythingwecould,

  butwedidn’tknowhowtohelphernow.ShelookedatZeldaandme.Ithought

  Isawsorrowinherface.Ididn’tgettheimpressionshewassadaboutanything

  thatwashappeningtoher.Ithinkforthatmomentshewasfeelingsorryfor us.

  “Would you please get paper and pen?” Miss Applebaum requested. “In my

  desk,”sheadded.“Inthedesk.”

  “Ofcourse,”Isaid.

  “Wouldyoulikesomethingtoeatordrink?”Zeldawantedtoknow.

  “No,thankyou,”MissApplebaumsaid.

  “Maybeyogurt?”

  “No.”

  I found a pad and a pen and scooted back to the foot of Miss Applebaum’s bed.

  “Pullchairsover,”MissApplebaumrequested.

  ZeldafoundasmallswivelchairandsatatMissApplebaum’sleftside,andI

  movedawickerchairsoIwassittingattherightsideofthebed.

  Miss Applebaum spoke slowly, almost in a whisper. “I’m going to be

  leaving,”shesaid.

  Zelda and I didn’t know what to say. Zelda looked at the floor and I found myself mumbling and turning a Papermate ballpoint pen over and over in my hand. “There’s over ten thousand dollars left in the skull,” I said. I was really babbling nonsequiturs. I hadn’t even told Miss Applebaum I was keeping her moneyintheskeleton,soImumbledsomemoreandtoldhernow.“There’sover

  tenthousanddollarsleftintheskull.”

  “Averygoodbank,”MissApplebaumsmiled.Thenshetookafullminuteto

  catch her breath, and continued. “You and Zelda use the money to keep my friendsuntilspring.Wouldyoudothat?KeepHelenandalltheothersalive?”

  “Yes,”Isaid.

  “Yes,”Zeldasaid.

  “Just keep them until spring. It will be warm then and they’ll find someone elsetohelpthem.Iknowthat.Justdon’tletBernicetakeit.She’sanicegirlbut toomuchofapragmatist.Andtomorrow,callthecockroachlady.”

  IthoughtIwashearingthings.

  “Whatcockroachlady?”

  “Call the museum. Tell them you want to talk to the cockroach lady. She works in one of the turrets. She’s a naturalist . . . very old . . . and she works

  there studying cockroaches and centipedes. She’s very famous. They write articles about her. She loves living things. Just ask for the cockroach lady. I don’trememberhername.Ican’tremembernow....”

  “We’llcallher,”Isaid,jottingdownthewords,“cockroachlady.”

  “She’llknowwhoshouldhavemyplants.Tellherabouttheplants....They

  need to be picked up. They need a new home. Probably the botanical garden.

  She’ll probably say that—the botanical garden. They’ll come. Take the plants.

  ButgiveoneofthelittleplantsontheFerriswheeltoeachoftheapartmentsin this building. Just leave one in front of each door. No note. There are a lot of caringpeopleinthebuilding.They’llloveaplant.Didyoumakeanoteofwhat

  Isaid?”MissApplebaumasked.

  “Yes,”Isaid,scribblingawayatamileaminute.

  “The cockroach lady will also tell you who should get the scientific

  apparatus.”

  “Won’tthemuseumwantit?”Zeldaasked.

  “The city museums don’t have much space left,” Miss Applebaum said.

  “Boston University. Or a museum in Philadelphia. They send students in vans.

  Callthem.Butaskthecockroachladyfirst....”

  “Wewill,”Zeldasaid.

  “And you,”MissApplebaumsaid,liftingafingertopointfirstatZelda,and thenatme.“Youbothtakeafavoriteplant.Theylikeyou.Youarechildrenwho

  lovelivingthings.Youtakesomeofthemandthemagnetsandsomethingsto

  rememberme.Takesomethingyoulike.Takewhatyoulike....”

  “MayIhavetheskeleton?”Iasked,andthenIwantedtoyankmytongueout.

  “Idon’tmeanthemoney.Idon’thavetotaketheskeleton.”Idrifted.“Icould

  stillhidethemoneyinit,ofcourse,butIdon’tneedtheskeleton,Icouldtake thewindtunnel....”

  “Please take them.” Miss Applebaum smiled. She slowly turned her head to lookatZelda.“Whatwouldyoulike?”

  Zeldacouldn’tanswer.Shebegantospeakandhervoicecracked.Finallyshe

  wasabletosay,“MayIhavethemodeloftheflower?”

  “Yes,” Miss Applebaum said. “Yes. That would be perfect.” She started to cough.

  Zelda hurried to the kitchen for a glass of water. I pulled tissues out of a

  Kleenex box. Zelda rushed back practically spilling the water on Miss Applebaum,butMissApplebaumdidn’tseemtonotice.Iwasn’tsureshecould

  even recognize what a tissue was anymore. Finally, Miss Applebaum stopped coughing.Zeldapattedherlipsdry.

  “Ithinkweshouldcalladoctor,”Zeldasaidsoftlytoher.

  “No,”MissApplebaumsaid.“Getthetypewriter....”

  “Thewhat?”weasked.

  MissApplebaumstartedpointingtowardalargepottedbush.“My...Smith-

  Corona...typewriter...”sheclarified.

  I got up and had to go straight over to the bush before I could see a small whitetableagainstthewallwithanextremelyoldtypewriteronit.Itlookedlike somethingyou’dseeinasilentmovie.MissApplebaumtoldmetobringitover.

  Ipickedupthewholetable,typewriterandall.Irememberfeelingveryqueasy

  because I was certain Miss Applebaum was going to make us type up her last willandtestament.

  “That’sright...bringithere,”shesaid.“Putapieceofpaperinit..
..”

  IputthetypewritersmackinfrontofZelda.

  “Youwantmetotype?”Zeldaasked.

  “Yes,”MissApplebaumsaid.

  “Type what?”Iasked.

  “Aletter...”

  “Towho?”

  “To Bernice,” Miss Applebaum wheezed. Just the mention of her niece’s nameagainwasenoughtosummonuptheknotofguiltthatlayever-presentin

  ourstomachssincetheeveningwhenBerniceyelledatusatthehospital.Even

  so,wereallyhadnoideaofwhatMissApplebaumwouldwanttotellheratthis

  point.

  MissApplebaumbeganspeaking.

  Zeldabegantyping.

  Thewordscameslowly.Whenitwasfinished,MissApplebaum’sletterreally

  shockedus.

  MissApplebaumsignedtheletterusingthePapermatepenandhadmeleave

  it on her nightstand. “Bernice will find it . . . sometime . . .” Miss Applebaum

  said.

  “Yes,” we agreed, but I didn’t know what we were agreeing to. Miss

  Applebaumclosedhereyes.Shebegantomoveherfingers,asthoughshewere

  countinginadream.Itturnedoutshewasrestingbeforeshewouldmakeafinal

  request of us. Her eyes opened. Now every motion of her body became

  diminished. Her fingers moved slower. I wished Miss Applebaum would have diedatthatverymoment.IfZeldaandIhadtobewithherfortheveryend,I

  wantedittobelikesleeping.Ifdeathwasmerelygoingtosleep,IfeltZeldaand I would be able to live without our own fear of it. Death as sleep. It would be okay.Butitwasn’ttoendthatway.

  Nolies.

  Notnow.

  MissApplebaumopenedhereyeswide.Herlipsbegantomove.ZeldaandI

  moved closer to hear. Miss Applebaum wasn’t trying to speak. She was

  trembling.Wemovedtositonthebed.MissApplebaumcouldlookupnowand

  seeusbothwithoutturningherhead.

  “I’m frightened,”MissApplebaumsaid.

  Wecouldn’tspeak.Wedidn’tknowwhattosay.Wedidn’twantittoendlike

  this.OursmartandbraveMissApplebaumsayingshewasafraid.Ididn’tthink