Screams in America
David Caylor
I wasn’t sure when it happened, but an old Cambodian lady had moved in across the hall. I had seen The Killing Fields six times, so I knew she was Cambodian. At first, I felt bad for her. She had come thousands of miles and landed in a one-room efficiency. There she was, packed in with cockroaches. There had to be 100,000 roaches in the building.
My address was 809 1/2 Second Avenue, Apartment 127. She was in apartment 128. The longer the address the worse the place. Nice places have addresses like 29 North Street.
I first saw her one afternoon as I cam back from work. It was warm, ninety-three degrees. The walk home had beaten me. I only wanted to get inside, turn on the air conditioner and read the afternoon newspaper. I went through the buildings’ front door, down a short flight of steps and saw her. She was standing in the hallway leaning up against the door. She looked like an old yellow whore working the building. I assumed I’d be able to walk right past her. As I got closer, she took notice and straightened up. I got out my key and thought I was home.
“Excuse me, sir,” she said. she pulled out a map of the downtown area. It was actually a photocopy of a map. “Do you know where is Land-gon?” I pointed Langdon Street out on the map. It was as hot in the hallway as it was outside. I wasn’t in the mood.
“If I go there will I be a Doctor?” she asked smiling up at me. Half of her teeth were rotten.
“I don’t know if there is a doctor on that street or not.” I turned toward my door and she followed me. She pointed down to Gorham Street.
“What street is this?” Her breath was terrible.
“Gorham.”
“If I go here and to here,” she said moving her finger down Gorham to McKinley Boulevard, “will I be a Master?” I had no idea what she was talking about. She continued, “If I go here and here and here, I’ll be a Doctor?” She seemed to be referencing academic degrees.
“I really don’t know, lady.” I finally got inside and turned on the air conditioning.
The next day wasn’t as bad. She was standing out in the hallway again, but our conversation was brief.
“Where do you work?” she asked.
“At a law firm,” I said.
“You’re already out of law school?” I was surprised she even knew there was such a thing as law school.
“No, I work for the lawyers.” I got past her and went inside. I had a horrible apartment. It was one room and a small shower. The walls were uncovered brick and the carpet was a worn out brown. I was constantly tearing pictures out of magazines to cover the brick. There wasn’t anything else I could do. The place was so small that I had started buying the smallest versions of things. I had a coffee machine that would only make two cups at a time and an ironing board with three inch legs. I used a little toothbrush and those miniature bottles of shampoo. The smallness of everything made me feel like King Kong as I walked around the place.
A few hours after talking to her there was a knock. I walked to the door and looked out the peephole. Her wrinkled face stared back at me. The radio was on, so she knew I was there. I looked through the hole for a minute. She stood and stood and stood. Finally, I went back and sat on my mattress. She knocked a few more times and I ignored her.
The next day I grabbed a bag of trash to toss out and snuck out past her. I got to work, flipped through some spreadsheets and forgot about her.
It hadn’t cooled off. It was ninety-one at 5:00 p.m. My walk home was five blocks, a little up hill. I was about halfway home when she came to mind. I turned a corner, went into the building and checked my mail. There was nothing but advertisements addressed to STUDENT/OCCUPANT. I keyed the main door and went down the hallway. My room was at the end.
I could already see her, a dark little figure with no shape. I became convinced that she was waiting specifically for me. There was no way around her.
“Sir, what does this mean?” She had the newspaper and was pointing at the legal notices. There were tiny paragraphs about people requesting zoning changes and the county was taking bids on truck equipment. “What does this mean?” she smiled as she asked again.
“They’re to let people know what is going on,” I said. She pointed down to a specific section.
“Tom Crawford, owner of property located at 2218 Seminole Hwy., requests a rear yard variance to construct an addition onto his home.”
I tried to explain that someone wanted to add onto his house and needed permission.
“What does this mean?” she asked again, pointing to ‘construct and addition’.
“Make his house bigger.” I could see she didn’t understand.
“What does this mean? Where is it?” I had no choice but to turn away from her. I went inside and turned on the television and air conditioning, as usual.
This was crazy. I was her best friend in America. There were hundreds of rooms in the building and each room had one or two people in it. Still, she was the only person I ever saw. Once in a while I’d hear people shouting at each other or a dog barking, but that was it.
It was Friday and after it got dark I wanted to go get some supplies. I checked the hallway before leaving. It was clear. I did most of my shopping at Bucky’s Corner Market. It was a little place that had one of everything in stock and was a popular even thought the prices were high. I picked up two six packs, a magazine and a $2.39 bag of pistachios. It was a few blocks from the store to home. The streets were filled with cars. Everyone was going out to the bars and clubs. I got to my building. If she tried to stop me, I would ignore her completely. I walked as quickly as possible. My paper bag was rustling. I imagined her sitting in her apartment and hearing me coming down the hall. She’d jump up, run out and start with more ridiculous questions. Maybe she would have a picture of some stranger and demand I tell her who it was.
“Who is this? Who is this? Where are they?”
None of this happened. I got into my room and started my weekend.
Monday morning I bagged some more trash, showered and got dressed for work. The law firm required us to be well dressed. I picked out a black and red tie and a white shirt. I opened the door to leave and she was already standing there. She was holding a bag of something as if she was moving in with me. She looked ugly and insane. It was about seven in the morning and I wasn’t fully awake yet. I thought I might be dreaming. I decided to scream.
“AHHH-AHHHH!” She just stood there. I let another scream fly, “AHHH-AHHHH!” It wasn’t a dream. I slammed and locked the door. I looked out the peephole. she just stood there. I thought she would understand screaming. People in Cambodia must scream. She stood there and I was trapped. I couldn’t go out there and pretend like nothing had happened. Those had been loud screams. Then minutes went by. Every thirty seconds she reached up to gently knock. There wasn’t anything to do. I was going to be late for work. Another ten minutes passed. I stepped back to sit on my mattress. I called work and told them I had an emergency errand to do and I would be an hour or so late.
There was a loud knock.
“This is the Madison Police, open the door.” Someone had heard the screaming. It would be hard to explain why a twenty-four year old blonde man was afraid of a ninety pound, unarmed woman. I got up and answered the door. The cop was in full uniform, cap included.
“What happened here?” he asked. I gave him the truth but stretched it.
“This lady’s been harassing me,” I said pointing at her.
“And?”
“This morning she just burst into my room and started making these sexual comments. I’ve told her to stop. This had been going on for a week, and like I said, this morning she just burst in.”
“What was the screaming for?” he asked.
“I was telling her to get out.” The cop went over and spoke to her. He’d ask a question and she would say “yes” or “no”. We stood out in the hallway for quite some time. I hoped that my story would hold up.
The cop started lecturing her, in English. I’m not sure how much she understood. He was telling her to stay away form me.
“She’s not going to bother you anymore and you aren’t going to scream at her,” the cop said. “I could take you both in next time.” I nodded and agreed to the deal. We went back to our rooms and the cop left the building. I waited a few more minutes and went to work.
I don’t know what she did next, if she cried or if she was angry. I saw her around the building once in a while for a few weeks, and then she was gone. She either died or moved out.
