more of the wall, and soon he had torn enough for him to slip through.
"Be careful." I said as he started. "Don't scratch yourself or step on anything sharp."
He didn't have a shirt on or any shoes or socks.
"Okay, okay," he said, anxious, and worked himself through the opening onto the other side.
He was so quiet for a while. I became very nervous. "Harley?"
"It's all right," he said. "This is very strange. I'm looking for some kind of light, but it looks like I'm in an old living room or something. Wait."
There was a flicker and then some light.
"Electricity works," he cried.
I poked my head through the opening and gazed around. It did look like an old living room. There was a thick-cushioned light brown sofa and a matching settee across from it with a table in between. Beside the sofa was a pole lamp with a flowery shade, and on the far right of the settee was the small lamp Harley had lit.
"It s more than just a living room,' Harley called back from behind another wall, "There's a kitchenette back here and a bathroom, too.
"The water runs!" he cried."Ill let it run a while and we can drink this without worrying."
I decided to slip through the opening, too, and did so. I tried to keep off my bad ankle as I hopped to the sofa. It was very dusty. Our movement stirred up the layers of dust on the concrete floor, making the air even more murk,,... There was a very musty odor. Water had seeped in around the foundation from time to time, staining the walls and the floor.
Someone had once tried to turn this into some kind of a retreat. I thought. There were some weak attempts to give the room warmth. Although there were no windows, a curtain had been hung to make it seem as if there was a window. Half of the curtain drooped. It was once white and blue, but now looked gray and very dirty. Here and there were framed prints of rustic scenes: farmhouses, woods and fields. There was a clock lodged in what was a hand-carved Swiss house with figures of milkmaids and farmers on a small platform in front. The little door looked like it opened on the hour. I touched the chimes and to my surprise, they began swinging steadily back and forth, the clock beginning to tick as if it had never stopped.
On the table next to the sofa were the remnants of someone's efforts to knit what looked like a dark blue sweater. There was a bag of wool, more knitting needles and some more completed knitting beside it. On the wall behind the settee. I saw a table upon which was an old phonograph and a pile of what looked like antiques to me... the large. 33 rpm records I had seen in our house, records once collected by my great-grandparents.
Harley had crossed the room and turned on another lamp. It was beside a convertible bed pulled from another sofa. There was still a blanket, pillows and a sheet on the bed. At the foot of it was a trunk. He lifted the lid and peered down.
"More bedding," he said. "and another pillow."
Over to the right of the bed was an armoire. I limped over to it, opened it and saw the clothes. They were all women's clothes. There were about a halfdozen or so pairs of shoes at the bottom. too.
"Who lived here?" I asked Harley. He shook his head.
"No one said anything to me." He remembered the running water and went back to the kitchenette to get me a glass. "Cold," he said handing it to me. "It comes from a submersible well. Good water." He drank a glass himself.
I couldn't believe how thirsty I was. He returned to get me another glass while I continued to explore the room, looking at the contents. I found a stack of old books and some very faded, sepia photographs of a woman and a man. The man looked very serious, almost angry, but the woman was pleasant looking, pretty with an enigmatic smile, one that could mean happiness or could mean a deep sadness.
"There's no door out of here," Harley reported with disappointment after inspecting every inch of the room. "The entrance and the exit must have been that short stairway. The foundation of the house is deep, which explains why there are no windows."
"It must have always been damp and dark here then. Harley. Why would anyone want to stay here?"
"I don't know," he said."A hideaway of sorts. I guess."
The clock that I had started suddenly struck the hour and the doors opened to release a couple of dancers, a man and a woman, who spun for a few moments and then retreated back into the clock.
Harley laughed. He had his arms folded across his naked chest.
"You're going to get sick with all this dampness and no shirt and shoes on. Harley." I said.
I returned to the armoire and searched through the clothes until I found a light blue cotton pullover sweater. I held it up.
"It'll be tight, but it's something," I said.
"I'm not putting that on. That's a woman's sweater."
"Harley Arnold, I'm not going to let you get sick down here. Put it on."