kittens."
Dorothea set the bowl in a corner, and Judy watched mewing little balls of fur squirming in a cardboard box. How kindhearted of this woman to take in strays, she thought.
The tour continued. Besides the parlor and kitchen, the upstairs included a dining room, the landlady's bedroom, a guest bedroom, and a bathroom. Downstairs, where the boarders mainly stayed, cheap paneling covered the walls, but the furnishings were sturdy and clean. It was far from luxurious, yet there were plenty of televisions and even a downstairs refrigerator for the boarders to use.
Outside, they saw that the yard was remarkably well kept, with flowering plants and shrubs, even a small vegetable garden. Here was an ornamental cherub, there a small windmill, and in the front, a religious figurine—almost a shrine.
The threesome was soon back in the parlor, and when the conversation drifted to chitchat, Judy asked to use the phone. Leaving Beth and Dorothea, she used this opportunity to take another look around. Magazines and a big stack of mail, mostly bills, sat near the phone. Normal enough. She noticed the liquor cabinet was unusually well stocked . . . but this somehow made the place seem homey. Overall, the house was remarkably clean and well cared for, more than sufficient.
The two VOA co-workers were soon saying their good-byes. Judy waited until they were back in the van before venturing, "Well, Beth, what do you think?"
Without hesitation, Beth answered, "I think Bert would really like it here."
"Oh good," Judy said, flashing her wide smile. "I'm glad it's not just me."
After so much delay, Judy and Beth felt the system was finally working for Bert. There seemed no reason to wait, so they decided to bring him by that very afternoon.
If Bert Montoya had any reservations about meeting this stranger, they melted within minutes of his arrival. He spoke little, his reactions always filtered through his innate shyness, but Mrs. Puente was thoroughly disarming, speaking Spanish with him, showing him around, patting him as if he were a son.
"You know, if you move in here, I like cooking Mexican meals," Dorothea told him. "At the moment, no one here is Mexican, but I like Mexican food, and I would be real happy to cook some for you. Wouldn't you like that?"
Bert probably couldn't remember the last time someone had offered to cook a meal especially for him. A blush of pleasure showed on his face.
Dorothea showed him the room that could be his if he decided to move in. It was small and tidy, with just the essentials, really, but private, and with his very own TV. To anyone accustomed to first-class treatment, it would seem a dump; but to someone used to a vinyl mat on a concrete floor, it was a palace.
By the time they were ready to leave, Bert seemed utterly enamored of this Hispanic landlady with the big house. He let them know that he was ready to move in that same day.
But, knowing how easily he was swayed, Judy and Beth cautioned him to take a couple of days to think about it. This was the first place he'd seen, after all, and he might like another boardinghouse even better.
This was Monday. On Wednesday, February 8, Bert Montoya moved into 1426 F Street. Leaving behind the corrugated metal warehouse on Front Street and saying good-bye to his friends at Detox, he moved to a cozy, storybook house of blue and white near the heart of downtown. After years of living in a shelter meant as a last resort for the woefully down-and-out, Bert finally had a home. That night, for the first time in years, he would lay his head on a real pillow and sleep in a real bed.
PART II: F IS FOR FATAL
Dorothea was a woman you just didn't question. . . . She was Dr. Jekyll and Mrs. Hyde as far as I could tell.
— John Sharp, Tenant
CHAPTER 4
From the moment Bert moved into Dorothea Puente’s boardinghouse, the texture of his life changed. He was no longer ignored, isolated, an outcast among outcasts. Rather, he became
Dorothea set the bowl in a corner, and Judy watched mewing little balls of fur squirming in a cardboard box. How kindhearted of this woman to take in strays, she thought.
The tour continued. Besides the parlor and kitchen, the upstairs included a dining room, the landlady's bedroom, a guest bedroom, and a bathroom. Downstairs, where the boarders mainly stayed, cheap paneling covered the walls, but the furnishings were sturdy and clean. It was far from luxurious, yet there were plenty of televisions and even a downstairs refrigerator for the boarders to use.
Outside, they saw that the yard was remarkably well kept, with flowering plants and shrubs, even a small vegetable garden. Here was an ornamental cherub, there a small windmill, and in the front, a religious figurine—almost a shrine.
The threesome was soon back in the parlor, and when the conversation drifted to chitchat, Judy asked to use the phone. Leaving Beth and Dorothea, she used this opportunity to take another look around. Magazines and a big stack of mail, mostly bills, sat near the phone. Normal enough. She noticed the liquor cabinet was unusually well stocked . . . but this somehow made the place seem homey. Overall, the house was remarkably clean and well cared for, more than sufficient.
The two VOA co-workers were soon saying their good-byes. Judy waited until they were back in the van before venturing, "Well, Beth, what do you think?"
Without hesitation, Beth answered, "I think Bert would really like it here."
"Oh good," Judy said, flashing her wide smile. "I'm glad it's not just me."
After so much delay, Judy and Beth felt the system was finally working for Bert. There seemed no reason to wait, so they decided to bring him by that very afternoon.
If Bert Montoya had any reservations about meeting this stranger, they melted within minutes of his arrival. He spoke little, his reactions always filtered through his innate shyness, but Mrs. Puente was thoroughly disarming, speaking Spanish with him, showing him around, patting him as if he were a son.
"You know, if you move in here, I like cooking Mexican meals," Dorothea told him. "At the moment, no one here is Mexican, but I like Mexican food, and I would be real happy to cook some for you. Wouldn't you like that?"
Bert probably couldn't remember the last time someone had offered to cook a meal especially for him. A blush of pleasure showed on his face.
Dorothea showed him the room that could be his if he decided to move in. It was small and tidy, with just the essentials, really, but private, and with his very own TV. To anyone accustomed to first-class treatment, it would seem a dump; but to someone used to a vinyl mat on a concrete floor, it was a palace.
By the time they were ready to leave, Bert seemed utterly enamored of this Hispanic landlady with the big house. He let them know that he was ready to move in that same day.
But, knowing how easily he was swayed, Judy and Beth cautioned him to take a couple of days to think about it. This was the first place he'd seen, after all, and he might like another boardinghouse even better.
This was Monday. On Wednesday, February 8, Bert Montoya moved into 1426 F Street. Leaving behind the corrugated metal warehouse on Front Street and saying good-bye to his friends at Detox, he moved to a cozy, storybook house of blue and white near the heart of downtown. After years of living in a shelter meant as a last resort for the woefully down-and-out, Bert finally had a home. That night, for the first time in years, he would lay his head on a real pillow and sleep in a real bed.
PART II: F IS FOR FATAL
Dorothea was a woman you just didn't question. . . . She was Dr. Jekyll and Mrs. Hyde as far as I could tell.
— John Sharp, Tenant
CHAPTER 4
From the moment Bert moved into Dorothea Puente’s boardinghouse, the texture of his life changed. He was no longer ignored, isolated, an outcast among outcasts. Rather, he became
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