The Zero Hour

Saturday morning, and Sarah took Jared to the St. Luke’s-Roosevelt emergency room to have his stitches removed. By late morning they were back at home. Sarah was about to call Brea, the babysitter, and return to the MINOTAUR headquarters, when Brian called.

“You’re home,” he said, surprised. “I was wondering if you and Jared might want to take a walk around the city.”

“A walk?”

“I want to show you two my favorite place in New York.”

“Let me make a few calls,” Sarah said, “and see how much time I can spare this afternoon. But I should warn you-”

“I know, I know. The beeper.”

He met them in front of their apartment building and took them downtown on the subway at West Seventy-second and Broadway.

“Where are you from?” Jared asked Baumann on the ride downtown.

“Canada.”

“But where?”

“A town called Edmonton.”

“Where’s that?”

“It’s in Alberta. It’s the capital.”

“Is that a state?”

“Well, we call it a province. It’s five times the size of New York State.”

“Edmonton,” Jared mused. His eyes suddenly widened. “That’s where the Edmonton Oilers are from!”

“Right.”

“You ever meet Wayne Gretzky?”

“Never met him.”

“Oh,” Jared said, disappointed.

Sarah watched the two of them sitting next to one another, noticing that Jared had started to become relaxed around Brian, that there was a chemistry there.

Baumann said, “You know, basketball was invented by a Canadian, a hundred years ago. The first basket was a bushel basket used for peaches.”

“Uh huh,” Jared said, unimpressed by Canada and its legacy. “Can you throw a pass?”

“As in American football?” Baumann asked.

“Yep.”

“No, I can’t. Sorry, I can’t play football with you. I’m a klutz. Do you like football?”

Jared hesitated. “Not really.”

“What do you like?”

“Tennis. Softball.”

“You play ball with your dad?”

“Yeah. You play ball?”

“Not so well, Jared. But I can show you buildings. Maybe you can show me how to throw a pass someday.”

As they walked to the Woolworth Building, Baumann said, more to Jared than to Sarah, “This was once the tallest building in the world.”

“Oh, yeah?” Jared objected. “What about the Empire State Building?”

“That wasn’t built yet. This building was completed in 1913. Only the Eiffel Tower was taller, but that doesn’t count.”

“Do planes ever crash into the tall buildings?”

“Once in a while,” Baumann said. “A plane once crashed into the Empire State Building. And I know that once a helicopter trying to land on the roof of the Pan Am building broke apart, killing a lot of people.”

“A helicopter! Helicopters can land on the Pan Am building?”

“No more. They used to, but since that horrible accident, helicopters can only land in officially designated heliports.”

He brought them up to the main entrance on Broadway, with its ornately carved depressed arch, and pointed out the apex of the arch, the figure of an owl.

“That’s supposed to symbolize wisdom and industry and night,” Baumann said. He had always been an architecture buff; his time in Pollsmoor had given him ample time to read architectural histories. As a cover it was natural.

“How come those are empty?” Jared asked, pointing at two long niches flanking the portal.

“Excellent question. A well-known American sculptor was supposed to carve a statue of Frank W. Woolworth for one of those spaces, but for some reason it never got done.”

“Who was supposed to be in the other one?”

“They say Napoleon, but no one knows for sure.”

In the lobby, Baumann pointed out a plaster bracket near the ceiling, which he called a corbel. Jared could see only that it was a figure of a man with a mustache holding his knees, coins in both hands.

“Who’s that, do you think?” Baumann asked.

“Some old guy,” Jared said. “I don’t know. Weird-looking.”

“It is sort of weird-looking, you’re right. That’s old Mr. Woolworth,” Baumann said, “paying for his building with nickels and dimes. Because he paid all cash for the building. Mr. Woolworth’s office was modeled on Napoleon’s palace, with walls of green marble from Italy and gilded Corinthian capitals.” Jared didn’t know what Corinthian capitals were, but it sounded impressive.

“Where do you want to eat supper? McDonald’s?”

“Definitely,” Jared said.

“What do you know about the Manhattan Bank Building?” Sarah said suddenly.

Baumann was suddenly very alert. He turned to her casually, shrugged. “What do I know? I know it’s second-rate. Why do you ask?”

“Isn’t it designed by some famous architect?”

“Pelli, but not good Pelli. Now, you want to see good Pelli, take a look at the World Financial Center in Battery Park City. Look at the four towers-how, as the buildings rise, the proportion of windows to granite increases until the top is all reflecting glass. You can see the clouds float by in the tops of the towers. It’s amazing. Why are you so interested in the Manhattan Bank Building?”

“Just curious.”

“Hmm.” Baumann nodded contemplatively. “Say, listen,” he suddenly exclaimed, putting a hand on Jared’s shoulder. “I’ve got an idea. Jared, do you think you could teach me how to throw a pass?”

“Me? Sure,” Jared said. “When?”