89
Band of Angels
Emil Rem
It was almost one o'clock in the afternoon. His family was still sound asleep after attending the opening, midnight showing, of 'Into the Woods' with Meryl Streep at a cinema around the corner. That left him a couple of hours to himself. He peered out the window of their hotel at the gigantic skyscrapers of Manhattan invading the light. Thankfully the snow had stopped.
He stepped out of Essex House, bid Frank the bellboy (in his seventies) a "good afternoon" and turned left towards Columbus Circle. Finally, no biting wind to fight through and the sun shone brightly above Central Park across the road. Cars flew back and forth cutting through slush and mud.
In the week he'd been there, the surrounding area had become his parish. He remembered Petrossian and took a detour. Two brothers, Melcoum and Mouchegh, refugees from Armenia had founded their first store in Paris in 1920. They established trading relations with Russia and specialised in caviar and spices. He came for their French pastries that melted in his mouth. If the weather cooperated, he would eat them in the Park.
As usual, there was a lineup. The recent inclement weather had done nothing to improve his health. He was wheezing and coughing into the crook of his elbow when the lady behind him proffered a Kleenex. Then, from the depths of a cavernous pocket in her fur coat, she fished out a tin of cough drops and offered him some.
"Every Saturday, I come here from Brooklyn for my order of smoked salmon. They fly it in from Paris." She looked as majestic as the building, Alwyn Court, they were in. Built in the French Renaissance style, the entire facade was made up of elaborate terracotta, like a poorer neighbour of Notre Dame Cathedral.
He bowed his head in gratitude, too scared to start a conversation for fear of his hacking cough. Once started, it wouldn't stop.