There were several middle-age men, single, either recently divorced or widowed, who lived a suspended life for a few months before setting a new course.
Don came to me one Saturday and said he though the guy, Ike, in room number twelve, was dead. He had went in to change sheets that morning and quietly closed the door when he saw him lying in bed. He was still there in late afternoon in the same position, an arm hanging extended over the edge of the bed. Don went in to take a closer look and noticed an odor of decay. Ike had been dead for several days. No one missed the man, and it had been left to us to find him.
Most of the names have escaped me. There were two women, friends, that rented adjoining rooms on the third floor overlooking the street. Each carried a small suitcase, the apparent entirety of their possessions, and they stayed only a few weeks. Neither seemed to work. I would guess they were in their late forties. I only remember what one looked like because of a photo that set on her dresser. It was of her as a young woman, pretty, and sitting on the rail of a ship with a sailor standing beside. Maybe it was during World War II, maybe earlier.
That was then. Now she was broken, and had difficulty speaking, as if she had a mouth full of marbles. After they moved we found her dresser drawers full of empty booze bottles. I’ve always wondered what paths she followed to end up on our doorstep. I felt a great sympathy for this woman I hardly knew, and could barely understand. She was a human wreckage, a lost soul, that had landed on our shore for a brief time and then drifted back to sea.
Don was convinced the fellow in room number one was a cat-burglar. He took frequent trips out of town, and had a small bag of tools that he kept at the foot of his bed. They were the type a burglar would use - a least according to Don. The guy added suspicion one Saturday. He was drinking, a bit tipsy, happy, and wanted to talk. He kept starting to tell us something, a secret, but each time he would back off at the last minute, giggling to himself that he had better keep his mouth shut. I never heard whether he ever got caught, assuming that burglary was, indeed, his sideline.
GO TO: Part 6, More Renters
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