Fundvogel

Andrea Woyland found the flowers in her room when she came back to the hotel late that evening. After her visit to Central Trust bank she had gone to Columbus Circle, then wanted to go past the park on her way back to the Plaza so she walked down 59th Street.

She still felt restless and nervous, so she took a taxi out to Riverside Drive and even further along the Hudson over to Fordham and Spuyten Duivel Creek to Abby Inn. She dismissed the taxi, went into the Inn and drank some tea.

She wanted to think things over, to consider them. But her thoughts were disordered, confused and wandering, running crazy.

She paid and walked back toward New York on the Highway hoping to meet a taxi on the way. There were none so she remained on foot. She was tired; the October air was unusually fresh and gripped her making her head ache.

She cried out to every auto going into the city, but they were all full and didn’t stop. Bitterness welled up within her. She had been in this land now for over five years and never once had a single auto stopped for her!

Finally one stopped. Loud noises and yells were coming out of it as it pulled up to her.

“Take me with you!” She cried.

“Where are you going?” The man at the wheel asked.

“The Plaza”, she replied.

“Good, the Plaza,” he laughed good-naturedly. “There is always room for one more!”

It was apparently a booze party, a cheerful company that was going somewhere to party some more. There were three boys and four girls in the car and they were all drunk. She crushed in between them and one grabbed her knee laughing. She grasped some body part as well. Everyone was singing and bellowing, two females were abusing each other, quarreling and nagging. The fellow at the wheel drove like a madman.

They were stepping unintentionally on her feet and she couldn’t get out of the way, grabbing her unintentionally where she couldn’t protect herself. The girl next to her slung an arm around her neck slurring, “Kiss me Sissie!”

A boy in the front by the driver began to yell, demanding to be let out of the car, and then he threw up. Oh, it was nasty.

They stopped somewhere in Washington Heights. She climbed out, finally found a taxi and drove to the hotel. She ran straight to her room, ordered the evening meal, bathed, put on her kimono and unpacked her things.

She ate very little and sent the rest of the food away, opened the window, and looked out into the clear October night over the dead park. Shivering, she closed the window and let herself fall into an armchair. She stood up again, searched for some cigarettes and lit one. It didn’t taste good to her and she threw it away.

No, today just wasn’t her day.

She couldn’t concentrate. If only she had someone that she could talk to about all this! Just one, someone that she knew well, someone that she could leave her notes with. But who in the world would that be? She thought of all the people that she knew in the city. Who should she call? There was no one, no one!

There was her cousin naturally, Jan Olieslagers. She could speak with him. Where in the world was he? She took out his letters, the ones she had put in her purse. She read through them both, then tore them up with fierce emotion.

She sprang up very agitated and strode back and forth across the room. What now? She only knew the last letter contained news out of Germany from their Grandmother, his and hers. News that her, Andrea Woyland’s, daughter had gotten engaged and married to a former Navy Officer, a Commander, now a capable and wealthy farmer in Allgäu in Baveria near the alps. He had taken possession of land Woyland and it was now private. He had brought a new splendor to the property.

Her cousin had written three lines about it, three entire lines! That was a year ago, over a year. What about the girl, what about her daughter? What was her name? Wasn’t it Gabriele? No, that wasn’t it. She had never known the name of her baby.

It had been a year since the child had gotten married. Ah and there was a strong possibility, a very strong possibility, that she had a child by now as well! That would make Andrea Woyland a grandmother!

She calculated. She had been sixteen years old when she gave birth to this girl, this young woman that was now probably a mother. That was almost twenty years ago, twenty long years. That meant she would be thirty-six years old in less than a week!

She couldn’t sleep, searched around and finally found some sleeping pills. She put them in her mouth and washed them down with water. Then she walked up to the mirror and laughed.

What was it Parker Briscoe had said? That she was a beautiful woman, perhaps clever and most certainly valuable.

Valuable, valuable, where was her value then? Why was her life so valuable? Clever? Wouldn’t she be a lot more intelligent if she was clever?

And beautiful too! That which was standing before her, that which grinned out from the mirror, that was the real Andrea Woyland! Only that. Not what Briscoe and little Gwinnie saw!

There was no color anywhere. Her face was pale. Her skin was no longer smooth and firm. A couple of crow’s feet showed around her eyes. Light wrinkles appeared around her ears and the corners of her mouth.

There were no gray hairs. Hadn’t she carefully pulled them all out this morning before Briscoe came? But more would come and more, everyday more of them. Her breasts would sag and her neck-

She walked away from the mirror and sat down on the bed, covered her face with her hands. Then she took a deep breath and she felt good. She had done the right thing when she had told Briscoe “Yes” and shook hands with him, when she had declared that she was ready to do it, to do what he asked of her.

Andrea Woyland was ready, entirely and completely ready. Andrea Woyland had outlived her life and it was time to step away from this monkey show. Time to let go and let it happen, Andrea Woyland would disappear, would be no more. That would be good, so very good!

She stood up again, took a scissors and cut the long plaits of hair from her head. You need to begin somewhere, she thought. Then she went to the desk, picked up the writing quill and wrote with small timid letters at the top of a sheet of paper:

Andrea Woyland

She considered awhile and then thought, “I will write down everything that I know about her!” But she let the feather fall. She suddenly felt very tired, completely drunk with sleep. The sleeping pills were working. She got up, staggered to her bed, fell into it and pulled the covers up. Soon she was asleep.