notebooks of gabriel s.

two: nesting dolls

He followed her along the vestibule. Shedding pools of light, candles glowed throughout the house. The furniture bulky, antique, often covered with drop-cloth. Despite the doors being ajar, the rooms appeared little used with other doors shut and perhaps locked.

The house appeared much larger inside than outside, though the only rooms available were upstairs, Mary said, the woman he was following. She limped, one leg shorter than the other, Nathaniel mused, or perhaps she was otherwise lame, a wooden leg, though her gait so quickened he couldn’t keep up.

Of course, his luggage weighed him down. Also, his hand spasmed and his back ached, making him fear he’d become permanently maimed.

They entered a parlor. Candles flickered along the shelves and mantlepiece. The room cold, gloomy. A fire would have helped, but only dust and ash stirred in the fireplace.

On a narrow chaise longue draped with macacassars, two women perched. They looked identical to Mary and introduced themselves as sisters—triplets—each a head taller than the other and, unlike Mary, showing no apparent disability. Their names were Edna and Louisa.

He leaned forward, the portmanteau in his lap. (Why he’d set it there, he wasn’t sure; suddenly he’d felt very protective toward it or momentarily forgotten he no longer had his smaller briefcase.)

The wallpaper faded and flaking: primrose, foxglove, iris.

The kitchen must have been close by, he heard voices, pots and pans clanging, then crockery shattering, two people arguing loudly. Then a slap, a scream.

The three siblings paid no attention, sitting like Russian nesting dolls next to each other, rouged, plump, interchangeable, Mary soon joining them at the end of the chaise longue.

“How did you hear about us?” said Louisa, the tallest and perhaps most comely. Though how he could judge her so, he wasn’t sure, unless her added height, in Nathan’s eyes, made her more beautiful, or because he now noticed that Edna, the middle sister, had a mildly pockmarked face, as if as a child she’d been afflicted by chicken pox or smallpox.

It was as if, he thought further, this set of nesting dolls, once identical and pristine, endured the fate of all persons, whether toy or human, to age, wither, and ultimately perish.

“A colleague of mine recommended your establishment.”

Though he no longer recalled how he’d heard about the Fox and Weasel. Fidgeting in his chair, the portmanteau sliding in his lap. Nathan set it down on the floor. Still, the sisters didn’t notice his discomfort nor even flinch when a young woman (the kitchen maid?) hurried, red-faced and tearful, past the parlor and up the stairwell.

“Yes, yes,” said Edna, the middle sister. “Mr. Halzer, I believe.”

“You believe,” Louisa mocked. “It’s why we’ve consented to interview Mr. Bachmann. Really, Edna, you’ve grown so forgetful.”

Mary silent, scribbling in a notepad as if taking minutes.

Another woman, aproned, rotund—cook? housekeeper?—clambered by in pursuit presumably of the kitchen maid. Stopping momentarily at the parlor entryway, shaking her head at the sisters, who ignored her too.

Mr. Halzer, he thought, brow furrowed. But they’d just met on the train, though technically he was a colleague. Might he soon join Nathan at the Fox and Weasel? Swap out briefcases? Perhaps he’d accuse him of stealing his.

He couldn’t quite recall the tenor of their conversation other than Nathan’s profound and obvious admiration for the portmanteau, thrice as large as his own briefcase: black monogram leather, polished magnetic clasp and lock, triple gusset design.

The kind of object offered as a prize or token of another promotion, Halzer a prosperous, much admired salesman judging also by his clothes: cashmere suit, gold cufflinks and watch, diamond tie clasp. But what possible connection might he have with a rundown, cheap boarding house?

The other “Fox and Weasel,” its mysterious, fluctuating appearance: the cellar tavern and the portmanteau were the connection.

Suddenly, Mary rose. She clicked shut her retractable pen and set the notepad on the chaise longue.

“Edna, Louisa, let me show the gentleman which rooms we have available.”

“Yes, perhaps so,” said Louisa, also rising. “We can continue the conversation later if necessary.”

Edna, brow furrowed, mouth agape, stared at her two sisters.

“If we must,” she murmured.

Nathan and Mary left the parlor. From the hallway, they saw the two servants had returned, both kneeling on the kitchen floor to gather the broken crockery, the younger woman flushed and crying, the older woman muttering under her breath.

Mary shook her head.

“I must talk to the girl. Nora, the cook, can be trying, but Catherine must stand up for herself.”

Nathan wondered how the two servants had returned so quickly without his notice. A back stairwell, perhaps? Another mystery to ponder.

Reaching the staircase, Mary gave Nathan her arm. They left the suitcase and portmanteau in the parlor.

“Catherine will see to them.”

As they climbed, the stairs appeared warped, askew, the walls curving like an arch or vault. Mary took the changes in stride, gripping his arm as if she were assisting him rather than he her. Oil portraits, aslant, graced the walls. They might have been the same person as an infant, adolescent, a young adult, an old woman. Regardless of age, the faces were nearly identical. Ageless. Yet they resembled not the three sisters but another creature altogether, feral and not quite human, chin, jaw, and nose elongated as if sculpted from pliable clay and eyes narrow, hollow, pupilless: blind, yet somehow still staring.

Each time they passed a portrait, Mary crossed herself.

They reached the second floor landing. The sisters lived on the second floor, Mary said, the lodgers on the third and fourth. Above were the garret and attic, the only two rooms available.

“You may have both attic and garret, the extra cost is negligible. Very quiet and peaceful. A private telephone is included, we’ve brought one up, not every room has one. You can thank Mr. Halzer, he mentioned you were a salesman like himself and needed a private telephone to call customers and prospective leads.”

Reaching the fourth landing, Mary gave Nathan two keys and pointed to a narrow stairwell at the end of the passageway.

“Come down later with the keys should you prefer to seek another establishment.”

“I believe I’ll find the rooms satisfactory.”

“You must be exhausted after so long a train ride. We can discuss rates tomorrow, a discount will be applied if you pay by the week or month rather than by the day, and Mr. Halzer has already paid for one night.”

His eyes welled with tears, he’d sorely misjudged the other salesman.

“Thank you.”

She smiled and squeezed his hand.

“Your luggage will be retrieved presently.”