“So, Mrs. James, how’s it going with the twins?” Gervase and Mrs. James were having a chat. “Keeping you on your toes?” he asked.
“Funny how mothering comes back to you after all that time.” she chuckled. “All those questions they ask! And that reminds me, I have two for you—questions, not twins.”
“Fire away!” he responded. 
“Number one, would it be alright with you, sometimes when everyone’s schedules work out, if we were to go out dog-walking with you? The girls are hoping to meet some of the resident pets because their father has vetoed having one of their own here.”
“More the merrier, I say. We could figure something out. I’ll just have to remember to not tell the dogs secrets out loud, as I often do. Mum will be my word too…and the second?”
“This is silly but, after your confession just now, perhaps not so inappropriate. I was explaining the word ‘menagerie’ to them, and that you didn’t run one. But it occurred to me to ask you if, in private, sometimes you thought you did? Some of the things that one finds out,” she editorialized, “and I’m only the secretary! Not that I’m asking to share secrets with you at all.” she continued. “When I lived in my house, over time we got to know the neighbors and some of their business; mostly only what they told us, on occasion what we observed. It’s so different here.”
“It sure is. But not everyone is like you. A few of the residents keep pretty much to themselves. They come and go a lot for sure but don’t really treat this building as their neighborhood. This building is well sound-proofed too. Imagine the secrets if it were not!”
“Of course, many areas and things are owned in common by association members, so we’re bound to be in each others paths more of the time, those of us who use them at least. And we see each other regularly at association meetings to consider our joint affairs as well.” she reflected. ” At least we are self-contained and needn’t deal with hoi polloi, anybody wandering up to our front doors anymore.”
“Because of me do you mean? The keeper of the keys? The guardian at the gate?”
“The worst were the ones Mr. James used to call ‘the soul savers’. ‘”Here come ‘the soul savers’ again, Ivy.” he would call out, “Quick, close the door!”"she recounted.
“Who do you mean, Mrs. James?” Gervase looked puzzled.
“Why, haven’t you ever seen them out? Walking up and down the sidewalks, knocking on doors, interrupting people, and presuming to preach to them?”
“Oh, them…” nodded Gervase. “You can rest assured I wouldn’t let them or anyone else in who had no business here. Or their stuff either. There was a group of them once asked me if I would display their magazines in the lobby. Right…”
“Mr. James always had a theory about them, that they were out casing houses. He used to say,”"Look at them Ivy, they walk so slowly they almost look like they are going in reverse.”" Like the Red Queen in Alice in Wonderland. You remember her, Gervase?”
“Something about running in place, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, that’s right. She and Alice had to run very hard just to keep in the same place. To get ahead, they had to run twice as fast. Anyway, Mr. James was fascinated that, even though there was a different group each time, they all invariably walked at this same slow pace. Certainly no urgency about the soul saving, he remarked. So he was convinced they had an ulterior motive, snooping around, looking in yards and windows, and lingering in doorways figuring out which houses would be easiest to come back and rob.”
“Compared to the delivery truck drivers, it’s true, they appear to be walking through treacle— that’s molasses to you.” adding, “Maybe they walk slowly so we can admire their finery. They sure do all get decked out.”
“I used to picture them as fore-runners of the trick-or-treaters at Halloween but somehow there was some mistake, a switch, because the really colorful costumes are on those kids out joyously celebrating and, though they are unaware that they are, recreating the souls of the dead. And instead, dark suits and ponderous costumes are worn by those halting, joyless bearers of salvation.”
“Quite the philosopher, aren’t you? Well, rest assured, I don’t let in any trick-or-treaters either, of any age, unless they have a key. We are more insulated in here than in a house, as you were saying.”
“No more siding and gutter salesman.”
“No more save the whales.”
“No more candidates.”
“It’s a long list, Mrs. James.”
Late the following Friday afternoon, when the girls were dropped off after school, Gervase stopped by to collect them, along with Mrs. James, and they all went up to the Pardoes’. Rosie, an experienced hostess, made them all feel at home. When everyone had been properly introduced, and or petted, they set off on their pre-arranged outing. Poppy and Pansy each took a turn holding the leash, with a watchful Gervase at her side, and each a turn carrying the pooper scooper, with Mrs. James coaching mindfulness as to its correct position.
“Keep it pointed down, my dear, always down.”
Rosie led the way. The girls took in the fine points of going around trees and other obstacles, untwisting her leash when tangled with the leash of another passing dog, and learning how long to pause at each stopping place. They were on their homeward journey when they encountered an older couple walking behind a boy riding his tricycle. As children do, he stopped and stared at them.
“Good afternoon.” said the gentleman to Mrs. James. “Now you must get off from your trike, Keki, and let the people and the dog go past.” he instructed.
It was Poppy’s turn with the dog. “Poppy,” similarly cautioned Gervase, “now you must pull up tight on the leash—not that tight!—and hold on so Rosie can’t jump up, when you go past a child. Some kids are frightened of dogs and won’t go past you, so you have to go first.”
“Oh, Keki’s not afraid of dogs, quite the reverse. He always wants to pet them. May he pet your dog?” asked the woman. “I am his grandmother.”
“Sure. Now Poppy, tell Rosie to sit. When she does, tell Keki her name and hold out your hand like this. Show him how to hold his hand for Rosie to sniff. Then he can pet her. Nicely done.”
Keki said to Poppy, “I live in that building over there. Where do you live?”
“In that one.” She pointed across the street.
“Say thank you,” coaxed the grandmother, “that’s enough now Keki.”
Keki retrieved his trike and waving goodbye, called back, “Bye Rosie, see you soon.”
“Ooh,” cooed Pansy, “that little boy is soo cute.”