Know Thy Neighbor
By ELISABETH R. LEWIS
Illustrated by Tom Beecham
[Transcriber Note: This etext was produced from Galaxy Science FictionFebruary 1953. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that theU.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
It began with the dead cat on the fire escape and ended with the greenmonster in the incinerator chute, but still, it wouldn't be quite fairto blame it all on the neighborhood....
The apartment house was in the heart of the district that is known as"The Tenderloin"—that section of San Francisco from Ellis to Market andeast from Leavenworth to Mason Street. Not the best section.
To Ellen's mind, it was an unsavory neighborhood, but with apartments sohard to get and this one only $38.00 a month and in a regular apartmentbuilding with an elevator and all—well, as she often told the girls atthe office, you can't be too particular these days.
Nevertheless, it was an ordeal to walk up the two blocks from MarketStreet, particularly at night when the noise of juke boxes dinned fromthe garish bars, when the sidewalks spilled over with soldiers andsailors, with peroxided, blowsy-looking women and the furtive gamblerswho haunted the back rooms of the innocent-appearing cigar stores thatlined the street. She walked very fast then, never looking to left orright, and her heart would pound when a passing male whistled.
But once inside the apartment house lobby, she relaxed. In spite of itslocation, the place seemed very respectable. She seldom met anyone inthe lobby or the elevator and, except on rare occasions like last night,the halls were as silent as those in the swanky apartment houses on NobHill.
She knew by sight only two of her neighbors—the short, stocky young manwho lived in 410, and Mrs. Moffatt, in 404. Mrs. Moffatt was the essenceof lavender and old lace, and the young man—he was all right, really;you couldn't honestly say he was shady-looking.
On this particular morning, the man from 410 was waiting for theelevator when Ellen came out to get her paper. He glanced up at thesound of the door and stared. Quickly, she shut the door again. Shedidn't like the way he looked at her. She was wearing a housecoat overher nightgown, and a scarf wrapped around her head to cover thebobbypins—a costume as unrevealing as a nun's—but she felt as thoughhe had invaded her privacy with his stare, like surprising her in thebathtub.
She waited until she heard the elevator start down before opening herdoor again. The boy must have aimed from the stairs; her paper wasseveral yards down the hall, almost in front of 404. She went down toget it.
Mrs. Moffatt must have heard Ellen's footsteps in the hall. An old ladywith a small income (from her late husband, as she had explained toEllen) and little to do, she was intensely interested in her neighbors.She opened the door of her apartment and peered out. Her thin white hairwas done up in tight kid curlers. With her round faded-blue eyes andround wrinkled-apple cheeks, she looked like an inquisitive aged baby.
"Good morning," said Ellen pleasantly.
"Good morning, my dear," the old lady answered. "You're up early for aSaturday."
"Well, I thought I might as well get up and start my house-cleaning. Ididn't sleep a wink