“I know cause I know. He never talked to nobody else. Unfriendly dude.” So you never really spoke to him.
“Hell naw, man. What we suppose to talk about, the Ns-daq?” What did he say when he talked to himself ? “He had, like. Different voices.” Voices.
“You know, different kinds of voices.” Different accents?
“Like. Like a high one. Yiiii yiii yiii. Then low. Like hrmahrmahrmm. Yiii yiii yiii, hrmmhrmmhrmm …” So you couldn’t understand him. “No. But he sounded mad.” Mad about what?
“All I hear’s him screaming at t’top of his mufuckin lungs. Sounds mad to me.”
He was screaming. “Sometimes, yeah.”
What about a job? Do you know what he did? [laughs]
Why’s that funny?
“Who’s gonna give him a job? I wouldn’t.”
Why not?
“You want some crazy-ass crazy-lookin dude running around your restaurant scaring the fuck out the customers?”
Someone said he was a cabdriver.
“Shit. All I know, I get in a cab and it’s him, I’m gettin out.”
ELIZABETH FORSYTHE, apartment C-1155: “He was lovely, just a lovely, gentle man. Always he said hello to me when I saw him in the hall or the elevator. He used help me carry my groceries. I may be an old woman don’t shake your head, you don’t think I believe you, now do you? Well aren’t you a flirt… . What was I saying? Oh, yes, well, however old I may be, he was hardly in a position to help me, at his age. He lived in that apartment longer than I can remember. I moved in in 1969, and he was already living here, so that should give you an idea. My husband passed in 84. He wanted to leave because he said the neighborhood wasn’t the same anymore. But I used to teach right around the cornerat the high school? Math. So we stayed put.”
Do you know how old he was?
“My husband? He wasoh, you mean Victor. Well. Around my age.” [sees questioning look] “You’re not supposed to ask a lady that, you should know that.” [smiles] “Now let me see. Well, I remember on V-E Day, going with my sister to meet her boyfriend, who had just come home from the Navy. She left me alone, right there in the middle of the street, so they could go off and neck. Sally was five years older than me, so you can figure it out. But I never knew exactly how old Victor was. He wasn’t too chatty, if you get me. It took a while for him to warm up to us. Years, I imagine it was. But once he became familiar with us, we came to see that he was very gentle, not at all the person that he seemed at first.”
How could you tell?
“Oh, well, you should have seen him. You know things about a person
the first time you look at them. You just look at their hands. Victor had the smallest hands, like a boy’s. He wasn’t much bigger than a boy, only an inch or two taller than I am. He wouldn’t hurt a fly. And he was very religious, you know.”
Was he?
“Oh yes. He went to church all the time. Three times a day.”
That’s a lot.
“I know. Three times a day, for Mass. Sometimes more! I go to the First African Methodist on Sundays, but before I knew Victor I wasn’t aware you could go that often, that they would keep on admitting you. When you buy a ticket for the movies you can only go to one show, after all. My husband and I used to watch the double features, back when they still had them.” [sighs] “Well. What was I saying?”
About church.
“Yes, church. Victor liked to go to church. That’s where he was headed, darn near every time I saw him. ‘Where are you off to, Victor?’ ‘Church.’ ” [laughs] “Our Lady of Hope, I believe that’s where he went. It’s near here. He had that look that Catholics have, you know the look? Like they’re about to be punished.”
Guilty.
“Yes, guilty, but also resigned. And afraid. Like his own shadow might jump up and bite him. I think the world was a bit much for him.”
Does he have a job?
“Well, I’m sure he must have, but I don’t know what it is. Is he all right? Has something happened to him? From the way you were talking before, I thought he might have passed, but now you’re making it sound as though he’s still around. Is he? I haven’t seen him for months.”
It’s not terribly clear.
“Well, you find something out, you let me know. Cause I liked Victor.”
One more question, if you don’t mind.
“Go right on ahead. You can stay as long as you want. But you have to leave at six, that’s when my girls come over. We play Scrabble.”
Did you ever hear him talking to himself ?
“Victor? Goodness, no. Who told you that?”
Your neighbor across the hall.
[makes face] “He’s one to talk, with the music that he plays. He plays it so loud that I can hear it, and I’m half deaf. It’s true.” [indicates hearing aids] “I complain to the superintendent, but they never show up. You know, my husband was probably right: we probably should have left a long time ago. I keep hoping things might get back to the way they used to be. But. They never do.”
PATRICK SHAUGHNESSY, superintendent: “Quiet. Never complained and I never had a complaint about him. That’s the kind of tenant you like to have, although he was so damn quiet you have to wonder how a person could stand to hold it in for so long. When I saw the state of the place, that’s when I figured it out. I said to myself, ‘Patrick, that’s where all his talk is going.’ Sight to behold, I tell you.” [spreads hands three feet apart] “Incredible.”
Yes.
“I said to myself, ‘Patrick, what you’re looking at is art. You can’t g’wan and throw it out like it’s garbage.’ I know it when I see it, am I right? You’re the art dealer, so you tell me: am I right?”
You’re right.
“Right, then. Hey, now: do you think those paintings are worth anything?”
Do you?
“I would think so. I would think so. But you tell me. You’re the expert.”
It’s impossible to say just yet.
“I sure hope so.”
Do you know where he went?
[shakes head] “The poor fellah might’ve gone off anywhere. He might be dead. What do you think, he’s dead?”
Well
“How do you know, you’re not the police, right?”
No.
“Okay, then. That’s who you should be talking to, if you want to find him.”
Would the police know?
“They’d know better than I would. That’s their job, isn’t it?”
Well
“You want to know what I think, I think he decided he didn’t like it here anymore. Can you blame him? Got his money saved up and went to Florida. That’s where I’m going. I’m getting prepared. The nest egg and more coming, I tell you. If that’s what he did, then good for him. More power. I hope he has a good time. He never seemed too happy, I will say that.”
Unhappy in what way. Depressed, or guilty, or
“Most of the time I remember him looking at the ground. Straight down at the ground, bent-over-like, weight of the world n’so forth. I used to see him and think that he wanted to look up but couldn’t stand what he’d see. Some people might keep quiet but get along fine, cause they don’t have anything to stay. Him, though. He had a lot to say and no way to say it.”
DAVID PHILADELPHIA, upstairs neighbor: “Who?”
MARTIN NAVARRO, Rosario Quintana’s ex-husband, now moved eight flights below: “I can tell you what I remember. Wait a minute, though, you talked to Kenny?”
Kenny?
“My son. You said you talked to him.”
Yes.
“What did he look like?” Like
“I mean did he look happy. I know what he looks like. He looks like me, you don’t need to tell me that. She keeps saying that he looks like her father but, trust me, she doesn’t know what end it’s coming out of. Not a clue. So whatever she told you about your guy, you can bet it’s wrong. What did she tell you?”
That he was a taxi driver.
“Okay, first of all, first of all, that is wrong. No way that guy could drive. He couldn’t even see. He was always bumping into the walls. That’s what used to drive us crazy, because he was always dropping things and bumping into the walls at two in the morning. You should ask the neighbor downstairs, I’m sure they can tell you about that.” So what was he, then?