Curby (6 page)

As soon as she was able to put Curby to bed, she dug into her bag for the cigarette pack.

Empty!

Desperate, she battled with herself over whether or not she should take a quick walk to the store or wait until Curby woke up. She chose the former. She double checked that he was asleep. The apartment door, she left opened in case of an emergency and ran down the steps. At the store, there was a line so she used the time to pick up some of the things she needed besides cigarettes at the back of the store.

(Speaking Russian)

“Olga, how is the new job working?”

“Raisa,” what are you doing here?”

“My client moved.”

“Too bad.”

“No, it’s good. That kid was such a handful. Besides, it gave me a chance to go back to the old country for a visit.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. I mean about the boy you were watching. My little Curby is such an angel. What are you going to do, now?”

“I will find another one. If you hear of anything, Olga, let me know. So, let me tell you about my trip. The flight was delayed and we were diverted to Krakow…”

The bedroom window, left opened halfway, allowed the afternoon breezes to gently flow across the room. A stronger gust lifted blue cotton curtains into L’s, flipped the pages of a magazine and blew it off the edge of the bureau and onto the floor.

Lying in bed, Curby opened his baby blues, blinked and took a deep breath. Alert and well rested, he dropped to the floor and walked into the kitchen. He searched everywhere, but Olga was nowhere around.

Still wearing shorts and a T-shirt, he sat on the floor and put on sneakers, the left one on his right foot and the right on his left. He gingerly stepped down the hallway stairs, the shoelaces untied and trailing behind. The glass knob to the inside door seemed high and almost out of reach. He stretched tall, turned the knob and opened it. He exited the outside door and stood in the middle of the top landing. Looking up and down the street, he saw no sign of Olga. He made a decision to go right, and at the next corner, crossed the blacktop of the avenue to the other side.

Cars swished by behind him. None stopped, leaving him to continue unchallenged deep into the next block. He turned the next corner where he stopped to play with a child slightly older than him. When the boy went inside to use the bathroom,
Curby pressed on with his new adventure, crossed another street and followed a lady walking her dog.

“Where did you come from?” the lady asked.

“Way down there,” Curby answered.

The lady, an elderly woman, asked, “Where, down there?”

Curby scanned the last intersection he had crossed and down the opposite block with none of it appearing familiar. Since he had been looking in this direction when he first arrived, everything that was behind him at the time now seemed completely different.

“I don’t know.”

“Oh, dear!” Let’s get you inside. I’m calling the police.

Inside the grocery store, Olga abruptly ended the conversation. “Oh, my goodness, I have to go.”

At the counter, she added a pack of cigarettes to the rest of the items in the shopping cart, quickly paid for them and headed for the door.

“Why such a rush?” Raisa asked.

Without stopping, Olga pushed the front door open and on the way out, loudly called back, “I’ll talk to you when I get a chance.”

“But, Olga…”

She half walked, half ran to the apartment, raced into the bedroom and was stunned upon seeing the single bed empty. Frantic, she looked in the closets, under the bed and any hiding place she could think of.

“No, this cannot be happening.”

After the hall was checked she began knocking on doors. She inquired about Curby, but no one had seen him. Next, she thoroughly searched the basement. By now, sure he was nowhere
in the building, she ran outside and looked up and down the street. She desperately pounded on doors. Some of those that opened to her had tenants looking back with concern, while others slammed them closed without saying anything.

At 2:40, Nick came home to Olga sitting on the stoop with her head in her hands.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

In tears, she choked on the words. “Curby’s gone.”

Nick straightened erect. “What?”

“I can’t find him.”

“You can’t find Curby?”

At the sound of his loud voice, Olga shook with fear.

“I was washing dishes, thinking that he was inside sleeping and the next thing I knew he was gone. I don’t know how this could have happened.”

Nick ran up the stoop and raced throughout the apartment, looking in every possible place his little boy could squeeze into. He searched the building like a mad man, ran out into the street and around the block.

On his return, he got into his car and drove around the neighborhood. Back at the building, he double checked the halls and talked to some of the neighbors. The roof as well as the basement and courtyard were also searched before he finally resolved to go to the local police station.

68
^th
Precinct

A sergeant behind the front desk looked up from his paperwork. “May I help you?”

“Yes, my son is lost. I looked everywhere, but I can’t find him.”

“Give me a description and his age?”

“Three years and four months…light brown hair and blue eyes.”

“A boy, you said?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

Sergeant Haywood shuffled through the stack of reports. “About what time was it when you knew your child was missing?”

“I’m not sure. When I got home from work around 2:45, my nanny was on the stoop waiting for me. It must have been at least an hour before that.”

“So…around 1:45 or so?”

“That would be my guess.” Still breathing heavily, Nick looked on hopefully as the officer perused the day’s reports.

“Curby?”

“Yes! Yes! Curby! You found him?”

“According to this report, he was with one of our police officers, Margie Silverman. Apparently, she’s the one who answered the call. She’s in a back room right now.”

Nick headed toward the door leading to the rest of the offices.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“To get my son!”

“I can’t buzz you in, yet.”

Returning to the desk perplexed, nick stared at him.

The officer said, “You have a birth certificate or something that shows he’s yours?”

“Birth Certificate?”

“Yes, you got one?”

“No…not on me.”

“Sorry…I can’t release him to just anybody.”

“I’m not just anybody. I’m his father.”

“I understand that, but we have to be careful these days.”

“I don’t think I even know where it is,” Nick lied.

“That shouldn’t be a problem. You can get a copy in the Hall of Records, downtown.”

“Is there another way? I…uh, that would take a while. I want to bring him home today. By the time I get downtown, and all of that, they’ll be closed.”

“Is your wife home?”

“Uh…no! She…recently passed away.”

“I see. I’m sorry to hear that. Hold on!” Sergeant Haywood keyed in the officer’s lounge on the intercom.

“Yes?”

“Is Silverman still there?”

After a few seconds, the same voice answered. “She’s in the back. I’ll go get her.”

A minute later

“This is Silverman.”

“Yes, Silverman…front desk. Is Curby in there with you?”

“Curby? The little boy? Why, no! He’s with Children’s Services. They picked him up a little while ago.”

“I have his father here.”

“Good! Send him in. I want to talk to him.”

“Where’s Children’s Services?” Nick asked.

“Manhattan.”

“Manhattan?”

“I’ll write the address down for you.”

The sergeant scribbled the address and phone number on a yellow note pad, tore the page off and handed it to him.

Nick read it and put it in his top pocket.

“Go on in. She’ll be in room 104 waiting for you.”

BZZZZZZ BZZZZ

Officer Silverman stood by the opened door to a room painted grey. Inside, it was bare except for a desk, two chairs and a black desk phone.

“Come in. I’m glad to see you.”

Nick took off his Sanitation cap and sat on the padded steel chair, rubbed his face and shook his head. “This is my worst nightmare.”

“Mr. Santinelli, I’m Officer Silverman.” She extended her hand.

Nick gently shook it.

“What happened?”

“When I got home from work today, my nanny was outside. She told me she was busy in the kitchen and that my son somehow left the building without her knowing.”

“Mr. Santinelli, when a child, especially one so young, is found wondering the streets, we take that very seriously.”

“Yes, I know. I’m worried sick over this.”

“You won’t have any problem picking him up. All you need is a birth certificate, so make sure you bring it with you. Do you need the address for Children’s Services?”

“No, I have it. The officer out front wrote it down for me.”

As Nick said that, he pulled out the yellow piece of paper.

“He told me the same thing you did, but I don’t have Curby’s birth certificate.”

“You don’t have one, or you don’t know where it is?”

“I never got one.”

Silverman looked hard at him and asked, “Are you the biological father?”

Folding his hands in his lap, Nick lowered his head, his front teeth playing over his lower lip while continuing his silence.

“I’m asking you a question, sir.”

Nick, staring at the floor, replied, “I found him in the street.”

“You found him?”

“Yes.”

“What…what do you mean you found him?”

“Officer Silverman, I drive a street sweeper for the Sanitation Department. Three years ago, I found a cardboard box in the street. I almost ran it over, but thankfully, I decided to check it out first.”

Silverman alertly sat up in the chair.

“You can imagine my surprise when I saw a newborn baby inside.”

Her jaw dropped.

“I brought the baby home and naturally we fell in love with him. At the time, my girlfriend Sandy was diagnosed with terminal cancer.”

Silverman sighed.

“The doctors told her she had three years to live. She wanted so much to be a mother before she died. She…she… She passed away three months ago.”

His eyes, glassy, Nick bent over and covered his face.

“I see.” Officer Silverman got up from the chair and turned away from him. Her eyes opened wide while taking a deep breath, anything to keep her own tears from starting.

She returned and stood before the desk. “Here’s the report. I need you to fill out your full name and address. I’ll make a copy that you can take with you when you go to Children’s Services.” She handed him a pen.

“I’m sorry about your loss, Mr. Santinelli. As far as regaining custody, I’d suggest you find yourself a lawyer and pursue whatever avenues are available to you.”

She opened her purse for a tissue and handed it to him.

“Thanks. Yes, I plan to do that, thanks.”

“I wish you the best.”

He shook her hand, slowly stood and exited the station. He thought to go to Children’s Services right then and there, but felt it wouldn’t do any good. There had to be another way.

An hour and a half later

The plain steel and glass front to 110 Williams Street looked like many of the other office buildings towering from both sides of the narrow Manhattan street. Nick entered the automatic double doors and found Children’s Services on the second floor. He entered the office and approached the front desk.

“May I help you?” said a pleasant sounding black woman, her long finger wave Indian hair weave, reaching to her shoulders. As she talked, she touched up newly acquired black and purple nail additions with clear polish.

“I was told my son was here?”

The woman looked up from her nails. “Let me have your name and address first and then I can help you.”

“Yes, it’s Nick Santinelli, 454 62nd Street, Brooklyn.”

“The Zip?”

“11209.”

“And…a phone number, and I’ll also need some ID.”

He handed her a driver’s license and gave her the cell phone number. “Oh, I almost forgot. I’m supposed to give you this. It’s the police report. In fact, all of my information is right there.”

“I’ll be right back.”

Returning ten minutes later, she asked, “Do you have a birth certificate for the child?”

“No, I don’t. Is he here?”

“I don’t know, Mr. Santinelli. I can’t do anything else until I have that certificate.”

“His name is Curby. Could you at least confirm that he’s here?”

“I can’t tell you anything without that birth certificate, sir.”

Defeated, Nick looked at her with a hopeful gaze. ”Please, Miss, can’t you help me?”

“I’m sorry, sir. There’s nothing I can do…unless…”

“Yes? Unless what?”

“Unless you have a Baptismal Certificate. That would also be acceptable.”

Nick’s lips pressed tightly together. “I don’t have that either.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Santinelli, then there’s nothing else I can do.”

(Sigh) “Thanks anyway,” he mumbled.