Flowers for Algernon

Algernon is a pleasant companion. At mealtimes he takes his place at the small gateleg table. He likes pretzels, and today he took a sip of beer while we watched the ball game on TV. I think he rooted for the Yankees. I’m going to move most of the furniture out of the secand bedroom and use the room for Algernon. I plan to build him a three-dimensional maze out of scrap plastic that I can pick up cheaply downtown. There are some complex maze variations I’d like him to learn to be sure he, keeps in shape. But I’m going to see if I can find some motivation other than food. There must be other rewards that will induce him to solve problems. Solitude gives me a chance to read and think, and now that the memories are coming through again-to rediscover my past, to find out who and what I really am. If anything should go wrong, I’ll have at least that.

June 19-Met Fay Lillman, my neighbor across the hall. When I came back with an armful of groceries, I discovered I had locked myself out, and I remembered that the front fire escape connected my living room window and the apartment directly across the hall.

The radio was on loud and brassy, so I knockedsoftly at first, and then louder.

“Come on in! Door’s open!” I pushed the door, and froze, because standing in front 120 of an easel, painting, was a slender blonde in pink bra and panties. “Sorryl” I gasped, closing the door again. From outside, I shouted. “I’m your neighbor across the hall. I locked myself out, and I wanted to use the fire escape to get over to my window.”

The door swung open and she faced me, still in her underwear, a brush in each hand and hands on her hips.

“Didn’t you hear me say come in?” She waved me into the apartment, pushing away a carton full of trash. “Just step over that pile of junk there.” I thought she must have forgotten-or not realized-she was undressed, and I didn’t know which way to look. I kept my eyes averted, looking at the walls, ceiling, everywhere but at her.

The place was a shambles. There were dozens of little folding snack-tables, all covered with twisted tubes of paint, most of them crusted dry like shriveled snakes, but some of them alive and oozing ribbons of color. Tubes, brushes, cans, rags, and parts of frames and canvas were strewn everywhere. The place was thick with the odor compounded of paint, linseed oil, and turpentine-and after a few moments the subtle aroma of stale beer. Three overstuffed chairs and a mangy green couch were piled high with discarded clothing, and on the floor lay shoes, stockings and underthings, as if she were in the habit of undressing as she walked and flinging her clothes as she went. A fine layer of dust covered everything.

“Well, you’re Mr. Gordon,” she said, looking me over. “I’ve been dying to get a peek at you ever since you moved in. Have a seat.” She scooped up a pile of clothing from one of the chairs and dumped it onto the crowded sofa. “So you finally decided to visit your neighbors. Get you a drink?”

“You’re a painter,” I burbled, for want of something to say. I was unnerved by the thought that any moment she would realize she was undressed and would scream and dash for the bedroom. I tried to keep my eyes moving, looking everywhere but at her.

“Beer or ale? Nothing else in the place right now except cooking sherry. You don’t want cooking sherry, do you?”

“I can’t stay,” I said, getting hold of myself and fixing 121 my gaze at the beauty mark on the left side of her chin. “I’ve locked myself out of my apartment. I wanted to go across the fire escape. It connects our windows.”

“Any time,” she assured me. “Those lousy patent locks are a pain in the ass. I locked myself out of this place three times the first week I lived here-and once I was out in the hall stark naked for half an hour. Stepped out to get the milk, and the goddamned door swung shut behind me. I ripped the goddamned lock off and I haven’t had one on my door since.”

I must have frowned, because she laughed. “Well, you see what the damned locks do. They lock you out, and they don’t protect much, do they? Fifteen burglaries in this goddamned building in the past year and every one of them in apartments that were locked. No one ever broke in here, even though the door was always open. They’d have a rotten time finding anything valuable here anyway.”