Hope: A Tragedy by Shalom Auslander Read Free Book Online

to use a toilet—and she’s judging me.
    Don’t make me laugh.
    The sun was getting higher now, and Kugel shielded his eyes against it as he tried to see if he could spot her there through the attic windows. He couldn’t, but he held up his middle finger just in case she was there, just in case she was watching him, and turned back to his chore.
    It ruined it, being watched like this.
    What did she know, anyway?
    Pain in the ass.
    She wasn’t going to dictate what he did or when he did it; she wasn’t calling the shots here.
    This is
my
goddamned house, he thought.
    He should just throw her out. Damn everyone else and their judgments to hell, he should just go inside and throw her decrepit ass out.
    He made one more pass along the garden, dropping the remaining fruits and vegetables from his bag, all but the last apple, which he tucked in his jacket pocket before heading back to the house.
    She’s probably hungry, he thought.

7.
     
    WHERE WERE YOU? asked Bree as Kugel entered the kitchen.
    What? he asked, hiding the vegetable bag behind his back.
    Where were you?
    Where was I?
    I was calling you.
    You were . . .
    Shh!
she said. Listen!
    She was in the middle of scrambling eggs for Jonah and the tenant, both of whom were already sitting at the kitchen table. She pressed a finger up to her lips and held the spatula aloft.
    There, she said at last. You hear that?
    He heard it. A metallic tapping sound, coming from the floor vent.
    He shook his head.
    No, he said. I don’t hear anything.
    Wait, said Bree, wait.
    Tap, tap-tap.
    There, she said.
    She was tapping on the vents, thought Kugel. The crazy old bitch was up there tapping on the vents—tap, tap-tap, tap, tap-tap—trying to signal him, to get his attention.
    That? asked Kugel.
    Do you hear it? Bree asked.
    I think so, he said. It’s very . . . That?
    Bree nodded.
    That, she said.
    The tenant stood.
    Mr. Kugel, he said firmly.
    Kugel didn’t like the tenant. The man was tall and dark-skinned, with an arrogant air, and a day had yet to pass without some complaint: the house smelled, the room was too cold, the closet was too small. Bree was doing her best to keep him happy, and Kugel was doing his best to avoid him. Something had happened in recent years, Kugel thought, something had changed. He remembered as a child, after Father disappeared and they were forced to move from their comfortable white house in the lush suburbs to an uncomfortable brown apartment in the barren city, how deferential Mother had been to their new landlord, how careful she had always been not to upset him in any way. Yes, Mr. Rosner; I’m sorry, Mr. Rosner; it’s no problem, Mr. Rosner. It angered Kugel to see his mother brought low before such a man, so he sometimes snuck down the stairs after dark, crept onto the sidewalk, and tipped over the garbage pails Mr. Rosner had so neatly lined up alongside the curb; then he would hurry upstairs and watch from the living room window as Mr. Rosner, red-faced and swearing, bent to clean up Mother’s trash. These days, though, the relationship had reversed: it was the landlord who lived on his knees, answering to every complaint, heeding every call. So this morning, as angry as he was at the old woman for tapping on his vents, he appreciated the distraction from the tenant.
    It’s probably the heater, said Kugel.
    The heater? asked Bree.
    Kugel knew almost nothing about mechanical issues, but Bree knew even less.
    Blower fan, said Kugel.
    Is that bad?
    Mr. Kugel, the tenant interjected. Mr. Kugel, it really is important that we speak.
    Folks, said Kugel, honestly, I had a hell of a night last night, and I don’t know that—
    There! said Bree. Again I heard it.
    Pity for everyone but me, thought Kugel. I should put some damned numbers on my arm.
    The blades, Kugel said, that’s what it sounds like to me. Fan blades. They’re probably bumping up against the exhaust flange.
    Mr. Kugel, the tenant interrupted again, his voice rising, is