An Orphan's Tale by Jay Neugeboren Page A

It’s very Jewish to be a landlord. It’s a tradition.”
    Then Charlie and Mr. Mittleman talked about the project Danny remembered hearing them talk about earlier—buying land for a shopping center, near the George Washington Bridge. Mr. Mittleman said the property was zoned residential now, but that he had assurances, and that it would cost Charlie eight thousand to pay for the assurances. Mr. Mittleman looked at Danny and spoke for his benefit. “Where land is bought at residential prices and rezoned for commercial purposes,” he said, “the benefits are extraordinary. Your friend is into a good thing. The land costs are low in relation to the cost of improvements, so that we have wonderful depreciation built right in—” He turned a loose-leaf book around, for Charlie to look at. “Here are the figures.”
    Charlie waved him away and spoke to Danny. “Come on.”
    â€œYou should look at them,” Mr. Mittleman said.
    Charlie winked at Danny. “What for? I told you a hundred times—I’m a counter, not an accountant.”
    â€œSo?”
    â€œI believe in money, not figures. You know that.” He went to the door, and Danny followed him. “I keep all my money tied up in cash.”
    â€œIt’s one way to do business,” Mr. Mittleman conceded.
    Charlie switched on the light at the top of the stairs and entered the room. From the other side of a large double bed Danny heard a metallic sound, then saw a head rise up. “It’s only me, darling,” Mrs. Mittleman said. She wore a pink flannel nightgown. “I heard you coming and I remembered that I forgot to see if the cot was underneath your bed. It must be in the cellar.”
    â€œForget it,” Charlie said. “We’ll sleep together-like old times at the Home, right?”
    â€œBut wouldn’t you both be more comfortable—? I can get it myself. It won’t be a bother….”
    The room impressed Danny as having been decorated not for a son but for a daughter. The bedspread was robin’s-egg blue, and the curtains, at the far end of the room, were white with blue trim. The furniture was made of shiny blond wood, and the only item that seemed meant especially for Charlie was a modern black leather easy chair. Charlie opened a closet and took out a bridge chair, unfolding it and setting it beside the bed. “Danny can use this for his clothes tonight. We’ll get him some new ones soon. I’ll make room.” He went to his desk, marked the item on a list.
    â€œBut it won’t be any trouble.”
    â€œJust leave us be, all right?” Charlie said sharply, and Mrs. Mittleman backed toward the door. “I told you before that I didn’t like you nosing around in here. I take care of things.”
    â€œI didn’t mean to interfere,” she said. “Wouldn’t I do the same if my son brought a friend home?”
    â€œYou don’t have a son.”
    â€œI just wanted you and—” she hesitated, then spoke coldly “—your friend to be comfortable.”
    â€œYou meant well,” Charlie said. “You always do.”
    Mrs. Mittleman left, and Charlie cursed. “Shit,” he said, “why does she get to me? Why do I let her—?”
    Danny sat on the chair, unlacing his shoes. “What’s depreciation?” he asked.
    â€œI’ll explain tomorrow—it’ll be easier when we can look at real buildings.” He sat at his desk. “I have some things to do first, so you get to sleep now.”
    Danny slipped out of his shirt and climbed into bed. The sheets were cold and smooth. He pulled the cover to his chin. He dozed, then woke, and he watched Charlie at his desk, writing. He was glad he hadn’t fallen asleep completely; he remembered now to say the Shema to himself: Hear O Israel the Lord Our God the Lord is One… . Then he reviewed the things he’d