saw our bellman dithering over the best route to get around all of us. “Can you clear a path so the bellman can get through?”
They dutifully scattered to left and right, forming two orderly contra lines that the bellman trudged between, wheeling a huge tartan plaid suitcase behind him. “That’s Bill’s suitcase,” Stella observed from behind me, “but”—she had the grace to lower her voice—“how’s that poor schnook going to drag it up three flights of stairs with only one arm?”
“Say.” Dick Teig stopped the bellman as he passed. “Can you tell us where the nearest camera shop is?”
“Aye,” said the bellman, letting go the luggage handle to free up his hand for direction giving. “Ye hae nae sookie”—he gestured toward the town center—“and goon ma hook fer loony.”
“Right,” said Dick with a hesitant nod. “Everyone got that?”
Self-conscious looks. Desperate glances.
Margi plugged a finger into her ear and rattled it around for a couple of seconds. “Would you ask him to repeat it? I think my eardrum is punctured.”
“Ye hae nae sookie,” he repeated pleasantly, “and goon ma hook fer loony.”
“Okay,” said Margi, “it’s not my eardrum.”
“Could he draw us a map?” asked Alice.
The bellman shook his head. “Oi nae sinne doonan,” he said, rotating his lone hand in the air.
“What’d he say?” asked Nana.
“He says he can’t write with his left hand,” volunteered a glum voice from the lobby.
I stared at the gang. The gang stared at me. We all turned around to stare at Dad, who was still huddled in an armchair in the far corner of the now vacated room.
“You can understand him?” I asked with no small degree of astonishment.
“Sure,” he said without pomp. “Can’t you?”
“Uhhh—No?”
“Dick understood him, didn’t you, Dick?” prodded Helen Teig.
“Quiet, Helen,” he grumbled under his breath.
The bellman smiled cheerfully as he bobbed his head. “Dooky ma poon,” he said as he flexed his misshapen fingers.
Nana lengthened her eyes to tiny slits. “Are you sure he’s not speakin’ in tongues?”
“He says he could never hold a pen correctly in his left hand, so he gave up trying decades ago,” Dad translated.
“He said all that in three words?” gaped Osmond.
Dad looked slightly sheepish. “Well, I added a few prepositions for clarity.”
“Aww,” Margi commiserated, offering the man a sympathetic look. “The old Palmer handwriting method was a bear to learn, wasn’t it? I hear they’re not teaching it anymore, and people are so happy to be rid of it, they’re not even complaining about being illiterate.”
“So what’d he say about the camera shop?” urged Dick Stolee.
Dad boosted himself out of his chair and walked over to us with the hint of a spring in his step. “Out the front entrance, left to High Street, then a right. The camera shop is halfway down the block, next to the jewelry store, and they’ll be open late tonight. And if you tell them you’re guests of the hotel, they’ll give you an extra discount on all sale merchandise.” He made eye contact with the bellman. “Sound about right?”
“Dung ma hooey fer tootie poo tae glaum an furk a loon ma fanny.”
“What’d he say?” asked Nana.
“He said, ‘Yup.’”
“All right then,” Dick Stolee announced. “Let’s hit the road. If we hurry, we’ll be able to make it back in time for dinner.”
“How much time before dinner’s served?” Alice called out as they rushed the front doors.
“Two n’ a half hours,” said George.
“Dang,” Nana wailed as they shot out the doors. “That don’t give us no time at all.”
“That suitcase belongs in room 312,” Stella told the bellman with an air of condescension in her voice, “and it’s filled with some irreplaceable stuff, so you better take extra care. My husband will have a bird if you damage anything on your way up.”
Irreplaceable stuff ? Irreplaceable, as in, a three-hundred-year-old dagger?
I fired a glance at the suitcase, noting the easy-glide zipper and absence of a security lock or TSA strap. Gee. Unimpeded access. How handy was that? “I’ll help him,” I offered, trying unsuccessfully to hide my excitement.
Stella regarded me, deadpan. “If I were you, I wouldn’t be so thrilled about the prospect of tearing your shoulder out of its socket. I hear the surgery to repair it is a bitch.” Hoisting the strap of her pocketbook higher up her arm, she marched through the outer lobby and out the front door, leaving me in sole charge of Bill’s luggage.
Almost.
“How about I give you a hand?” I chirped at the bellman as I gripped the handle of the bag. “This’ll