Ernest Miller Hemingway

      Christ in his manger

it was an Irish mother and daughter from
New Jersey.
they lived in back
and peeked from behind the curtains
and watched all the action in our apartment
building. the girl was 28 and the mother was
in her 50s.
they saw no men.
they walked the streets together at noon.
they were on relief of some kind.
then ownership of the apartment changed
hands
and they were made managers
at $2 a day.
it must have been the first job for
either of them.
they had my phone number.
my nights became more difficult.
the phone would ring:
“say, we hoid screamin’ down there!
is someone gettin’ killed?”
“no, no, it’s all right.”
“we gotta have quiet in dis edifice!”
as the nights went on they called
the police several times.
the police would come to the door and I would
send them away.
the ladies had 2 cats which they
never let outside.
the cats would sit in the window
numbed and crazed while the
ladies watched daytime TV.
each morning I was awakened as
they dragged a large tin tub
down the walk.
they raked and swept and put the
leaves, papers and refuse into the tub
which they dragged along by a rope.
then they watered.
most nights I went to
bed about 3:00 a.m.
they began their operations at
7:00 a.m.
the girl used a nozzle with a
thin hard stream and she liked to
hose down the large banana leaves.
the sound was unbearable. she
believed she was washing away the plant
lice.
one memorable night the girl came over
and with
her mother standing behind her
she said:
“say, we hoid loud laughter! we can’t
have loud yak-yak around here! it’s
afta ten p.m.!”
the owners finally moved the ladies into
another building they owned half-a-block
away and the ladies managed both apartments
for the same $2 a day.
it was better for me with them down there.
I didn’t have to hear them complain:
“de owners tell you can’t pick de flowers!”
“no shoppin’ carts addm-ed on de property!”
or read their signs:
“brake up cartons afore putting in trash!”
“do not step in gardens!”
“no parking! cars will be hauled away!”
“do not pick flowers!”
but best of all
the police calls stopped.
I had to walk half-a-block to
pay the rent.
one Jan. 15 they still had a
cardboard Christmas tree on display and
a cardboard fireplace with
cardboard logs
and a little cardboard
Christ in the manger.
the mother had bought the daughter
a 5-foot stuffed giraffe.
I stood and waited for the
rent receipt.
I got it and then the girl handed me
a soiled piece of paper.
“few people don’t like us. couldja
sign this petition? it’s fa’ the
owners…”
and in the girl’s handwriting:
“I hereby agree that Lucy and Betty are
good managers and doing a well job and I
want them to stay.”
I signed the paper. they thanked me and
I left.
there was a drought in the city
and it continued.
the city put restrictions upon cosmetic
watering.
the ladies didn’t come down to sweep
and water any longer.
but they were busy with the other place
which was littered with bottles, rocks, all
manner of garbage and debris.
a wild bunch of
party-givers lived there.
they were mostly unable
to speak English and they
liked to listen to the music of their
native land at more than full
volume
so the ladies were kept busy.
meanwhile, I didn’t have to stop typing at 10 p.m.
any longer.
I went on merrily typing my poems and
stories until 3 a.m.
but one night they were back. they
knocked on the door. there was the
girl with her mother standing behind
her.
“say, who planted dese
little plants out on here?”
“my girlfriend planted those.”
“fine, de owners say
ya can’t do that!”
“why not?”
“ok, we have dese seeds and ye we’re
gonna landscape in da spring!”
they had bought a few packets of seeds the
year before, stuck them in the ground, put up
little string fences but nothing had grown.
“you’re going to landscape?”
I was in my Ainuic robe and smoking a
mangalore ganeshes beedie.
it was 7:30 p.m. and the first drink
was waiting and the first poem was in the
typer.
“yeah, wev got seeds. we’re waitin’ prior to
spring. so de owners say meantime ya can’t plant
nothin’.”
“ladies, please tell the owners that I will
protect each plant till death. that is final.”
they just ga-aze at me.
“what kinda plants are shote?” the girl asked.
“hell, I really don’t know.”
they turned and side by side they
walked away together
in the moonlight.
it was rather cold for them to still be out on the
street. as I watched they came to a shopping
cart halfway down the block.
they pushed it off the sidewalk and
left it near the curb.
then they headed east
together
I presume
to attend to their other
responsibilities.