2.(50-52) The Bronx from the Subway El

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50. Da Bronx is Up

With Kimura trying to keep up, Ali hurries sunrise, striding along snow-covered East 76th Street toward Lexington Avenue, 2 blocks east of the Hotel Carlyle’s Madison Avenue. At Lexington, she leads him down the Subway Station stairs to a sleepy clerk for coin change. Pausing, she holds up a 5-Cent coin. “You did time at Harvard, Kim, but maybe you forgot about the new 1939 nickel. See? Front has buffalo, flip side Indian chief!” 

   Kimura puts the shiny new coin in his wallet and Ali drops two old Nickels in the entry slot and pushing twice through they enter the subway platform.

   Kimura muses that New York subways are a bargain. For 5 cents just to go in you can travel the 5 city boroughs; while in Tokyo you must buy a ticket at entry point, and its price is based on where you exit so they check you coming and going.    

   Ali takes Kimura’s hand and guides him to edge above train tracks, pointing. “See there! A rat! They come out at night when humans are scarce.”  Kimura comments. “In Tokyo it would not be allowed!” and Ali replies, “It’s a home for our New York rats!” She believes lower animals should have humane human respect.

   At the sound of a train approaching, Kimura sees two lights getting brighter and larger as the train gets nearer and his scientific mind thinks: If they were twin stars heading toward Earth at accelerating near-light speed, their colors would be changing wave lengths, from the longer red to the shorter blue as the behind wave photons catch up and narrow the distance to the front photons.

   The arriving train with seven cars has "#6 Pelham Local" on its front and on some side windows. They enter and Ali instructs Kimura to be ready to change at 86^th Street for the #4 Woodlawn Express. A ledge seat on each side allows maximum central standing space. Ali indicates they should sit mid car on left. A lone drunken man lies on his back across from them. Ali sits to Kimura’s right, partly facing him so they can hear each other over the subway noise.
    “It’s a better view from this side, which is west, because we are hurtling north now. I love to figure my orientation with Gaea’s help – y’know the ancient Greek Earth goddess.”

   “Did you say view? But this is subway, n’est-ce pas?”

   “Kim, you’re in America now; stop using frog French!”

   Ali’s sassy talk is a nice contrast to what Kimura experiences from a Japanese.

From 86^th Street they stop at 125^th and then 149^th. After their train pulls out of 149^th, in the first minute of surfacing, Kimura does not realize they are no longer underground because it is still dark, but the change in sound alerts him. Glancing out the window he sees by the faint lightening that the train is now running on elevated tracks. On both sides are dark windows of Bronx apartment buildings. Ali punctuates his thought: “Subways are for snoozing like yon drunk, but the El is for sightseeing. Welcome to Jerome Avenue, da Bronx!”

51. Jerome Avenue Elevated – the El

 

Ali, having fallen into a girl-guide mode, continues commentary as train approaches 161^st Street: “Tokyo trains an’t like this, huh, Kim? This is the IRT – the Interboro Rapid Transit, from the 1890s when building underground was tres trop for a primitive technology.” She taps Kimura on right shoulder and points left out windows where, in dawn light, can be seen a modern version of Roman Coliseum. “Yankee Stadium, Kim, and look!” The train slows and Kimura notes that the southward downtown end of the platform allows one to see the playing field through a gap in the Stadium's wall. As the train stops for passengers then pulls away continuing its northerly route, she continues: “Two years ago I saw the last inning of a World Series from that platform with fifty other fans with opera glasses. And when Mel Ott hit a homer for the Giants – Wow! Whadda t’rill!” Ali lapses into Bronx accent every once in a while and she gives Kimura a hug as is her wont when she is emotional. Then, separating and her face close to his, she says: “My pal! I do want to show you places I been, t’ings I done and now we’ll do togedda.” A bright idea widens her eyes' irises, “Yeah! We gotta see da Yankees here in da house Root built.  And dat an’t me ole Auntie – it’s da Babe!”

   Meanwhile back on the track, their train has left 167^th Street and is slowing into next station. A middle-aged Negro woman gets on. Probably, Ali guesses, she is on morning journey from low-rent apartment to work for rich Jewish client high on the Grand Concourse – the wide north-south Bronx boulevard modeled after Paris’s famed Avenue Des Champs Elysees. After, comes a boy with black prayer cap on head and gilt-edge cream-covered prayer book in hand, certainly a Jewish bar mitzvah boy going to Saturday services.

   Kimura watches and Ali notices and does some more girl guide in low voce: “Da Bronx is melted pot – oy whadda pun!” She softly pokes him in ribs but he does not smile. She continues: “Most colored people live in Harlem, and Jews are numerous up here.”

   Kimura interrupts: “In my collection of quaint idiom, Ali san, I ran across the geographic descriptive ‘Jew York’ I know it is a play-on-words but tell me as one who has lived among them what is your frank opinion?”

   Ali notes Kimura’s expression, his Mona Lisa smile, and she senses she is being tested. The cliché answer for nice young American college girl, Ali knows, is to go into the ‘What wonderful folks! Some of my best friends …!’ but she feels aggressive and says “I t’ink dey stink! Not literally but irritatingly. I mean dey are so show-offish and let you know how brilliant dey t’ink dey are! So much so dat sometime I wish I could press a button an’ make ’em disappear or be like we.” Then she looks at him coolly. “And dat go for Japs too, Buster!” Leaning over and kissing him on the brow, she adds: “Except for one happy Jappy chappy, Hon.”

   Outside the sun is up, shining in the window across the aisle as the train pulls out of the Fordham Road Station, and Kimura notes blocks of 6-storey apartment houses; the buildings dull browns with differing fronts, as if a thousand minor architects had been set loose on low-budget.”

   Ali laughs. “It an’t really ugly, Hon, it’s eye-alerting; I mean it don’t bore like Bohr bored Boers in Johannesburg in 1905."
   That joke does not get a rise.

   The train stops at Kingsbridge Road Station and as it pulls out, Ali taps Kimura on shoulder and directs attention out the window. “Here comes Hunter College, Ye Olde Alma Mater!”

   It is a nice campus, judges Kimura, scanning the stretch of crisply kept lawn with pleasantly spaced campus in modern Gothic style, now white in snow. “Did you say it is women’s college, Ali-san?” Kimura, as a 1939 Japanese, disapproves of coeducation. 
   “Yeah, da nickname ‘Cunter’ sez it.”
    Sounding serious, he replies“Was this Miss Cunter a famous American feminist?” Ali is on to him. “Certainly was! She was America’s leading nympho and set the world’s record in the four-minute orgy.” She laughs.    “You dope! Maybe you don’ know cunt when you’re in it – as you were four times in an hour last night – but you better Gotterdammerung well know it when you hear it.” She jumps up. “We get out in a sec, Hon.” The train is slowing and shortly he reads “Mosholu Parkway” on the station platform.

52. Alfonze

On white slushy snow, melting in morning sun, Ali pulls Kimura to an edge of the overpass that the El makes over Mosholu Parkway. Looking west can be seen park benches and on south border in distance a large Gothic-style school building. “DeWitt Clinton High School, all boys,” Ali explains. She takes Kimura’s hand and starts walking up Jerome Avenue under the El and they cross the East 209^th Street. On the street corner they are approaching, Kimura sees one brightly lit storefront with plate glass window displaying in big pink letters ALFONZE’S on the plate facing E. 209^th Street and POTLUCK facing Jerome Avenue. It is the only store open at 6 AM.
   “Wunnerful!” exclaims Ali and pulling Kimura by hand she enters the store.

   His impression is of a bright friendly place with rear shelves and aisles packed with every kind of ware. Along the E. 209^th Street front is an eating counter with high stools and, behind the counter are soda faucets, a griddle and a coffee maker, as well as salami, bologna, ham and other cold cuts; also loaves of bread, rolls and bagels. On the eating counter are jelly doughnuts, sponge cakes and small-size baby pies. In the seating area along the Jerome Avenue side are small round-top, single-leg tables with chairs arranged so customers can look out on street or be seen from it as they eat and drink. Kimura notes the man behind the counter. Ali wordlessly runs up and jumps into the man’s hairy strong arms, and they kiss passionately.

   “Where ya been Babe?" The man booms, setting her down and glancing at Kimura.

   “I’m working in Tokyo now. Geeze, Alfonze, sorry I didn’t write but y’know …” She indicates Kimura with hand, “Here’s m’good fren, Kim.”
   Kimura steps forward right hand extended and Alfonze shakes it firmly. He thinks Alfonze would have made a good sports man, from his big hands and six feet (1.78 m.) height. He guesses him to be between forty-five and fifty-five. A bristly gray beard covers Alfonze's face and curly gray-black hair lends an informal feeling that goes with the joviality suggested by his booming voice. He is dressed in clean gray apron over workman’s shirt and pants.

   Ali explains they want to do morning hike and cookout and then stay nearby overnight. Alfonze begins their outfitting with coffee pot and ground-up coffee beans. “Jus put snow in an’ perk it over da fire, and you gonna get da best coffee dis side a Brazil.” He selects a blackened skillet and before their eyes prepares his special mix for quick fry: Shredded potato, onion and bacon pieces laid flat on the fry pan with a cover held on by thick rubber-band. Handing it to Ali he says, “All ya gotta do, Babe, is put it on da fire and five minutes and ya gonna have da best hobo breakfast.”

   Ali remembers the taste of good pork & beans and asks for a can of Campbell's Pork & Beans. Alfonze reaches up with a mechanical grasper and, instead of using it the way it was meant to be, knocks a can off the top shelf, expertly catching it and in the same motion dropping it into their bag and adds a can opener. Then he sells them two 10-cent baby pies – apple and blueberry - to have with the coffee, and adds silverware. “You gonna need strong gloves fo’ makin fire and findin’ firewood; and scissors too.” He reaches up to the shelves for the items. “And here’s fo' lightin’ a fire.” He winks at Ali. “Hey Babe, I like a light yo fire!”  She gives a mock slap on his cheek. He reaches down below his counter and comes up with folds of a newspaper. “Last Sunday’s Times ya use for da fire.”

   “And find us a place to sack tonight?” Ali orders then picks up the carry-bag now filled with their buys, the other end held by Kimura, and, giving voice to a ‘See ya later Alligator!’ over her shoulder, responded to by Alfonze’s replying “Like yo style crocodile!”, she walks out of the store with Kimura and they turn left and head up Jerome Avenue north under the El on the now sunny bright street with melting slushy snow and dripping water from the overhead rusty tracks.
To read next, click 2.(53-54) Cookout in Forest Primeval