Since the shipyard is soon laying Hendrick off, he was recently informed at a company meeting; Hayam is inviting the family to move in with him, and Hendrick will be employed to manage his many rental complexes. Hendrick accepts this kind invitation only the previous day before, with an ever-ready eagerness.
The ride to Richmond from Norfolk was indeed a pleasant one, and one not to be forgotten for years to come. The family never traveled to the city of Richmond before. The place seems to be ancient, and alive with living history. Everywhere are signs informing passersby that this place, or that place, was once a military hospital, or a large fortress of some sort. Once in a while a group of wheeled artillery pieces from the mid-nineteenth century, and even much earlier, stood on guard by the roadside. To the young child, this feeling of antiquity is more a sensation of some spiritual presence, since he does not bear any perception of history at this point in his young life.
The large Oldsmobile the child traveled in with his family, turns and twists down a number of narrow roads and back streets, until it finally enters a housing complex filled with very large, ancient wood framed homes, seemingly having many spacious rooms. Finally, the car pauses before one of these vast antiquated homes, on a right-hand side corner where the street is shaped like the letter T.
When the child gazes out the car window toward the new home where he would be living, he sees a huge wood framed structure, with what appears as four round wooden red roofed towers. Up five red bricked stairs with thick wooden rails, is a porch. The stairs appear huge to the young child. At the center of this large porch is the doorway entrance to the home. A black iron hanging lamp with golden trim swings gently from a sable chain immediately above this doorway, anchored onto the ceiling of this porch by a golden cap, with six legs on cat paws. The general feeling emanating from this residential complex, is one of timeless comfort.
The long car of Hayam soon pulls up beside them. The car door opens on the driver's side, and upward stands this huge frame of a man. Hendrick opens his own door on the driver's side, intending to greet Solomon.
"Have we stopped at the right home? I thought that this was it, from my understanding of your directions," the child's father chuckles.
"Yes indeed, sir, you have made it to the right home," pleasantly rumbles this massive hulk of a man in an accent unfamiliar to the child as he slams his own car door, then turns toward the father.
This man stands some six foot, eight inches tall, and must weigh at least three hundred pounds. His arms, shoulders, and legs appear to be of cut muscle, rippling through his clothes. He wears a tailor made black, double breasted Gucci dress suit, purchased in the south of its native land. His thick dark, chest length beard, parts, revealing a seemingly warm, welcoming broad smile.
On the surface this deeply creased face appears as a personality hardened by years of struggle. The first assumption was one of very little compassion and friendliness to be found inside the heart. A broad pearly smile soon shatters that brash assumption.
"Welcome to your new home," he says as he thrusts both hands forward from his body. "You may remain as long as you like. Our home is yours!"
The father bows in humble politeness, then quickly replies.
"And good sir, we are deeply grateful for your generosity during this difficult time for us."
"Difficult time?" replies the large man with great warmth in his voice, as he smiles broadly, "who ever said this time was going to be one of difficulty? I tell you we are all going to have great fun. This time will certainly be one of the most memorable in our lives. Come good sir, let us eat, drink and be merry! For today we have homes, food, and are in excellent health!"
"You are so right," replies Hendrick, "we have no real reason to be anxious or uneasy."
"I tell you I was in Poland when the blitzkrieg raged through like an abrupt tornado," informs Solomon, "destroying everything in its path. I walked the great refugee trail, when all anyone had were the clothes on their backs, and one another, and at times we were even forced to fight each other for what little food we could get," Solomon affirms with a hard face of conviction.
"I relocated into Hungary, was fairly prosperous and secure some ten years later, when the blood-soaked flag of the sickle and hammer flew from cruel tanks, that seemingly took perverse pleasure in destroying our much-belabored homes on a later occasion, putting all of us once more again, out on what was becoming a foot worn, refugee roadway.
"I tell you in sincere honesty, I know what it is like to want, desperately, and have not. I can also tell anyone no person present here has anything whatsoever to worry about now. We are all in extraordinarily fine shape! Welcome one, welcome all, into my spacious home," he cheerfully announces, as he opens his door toward the family while they all stand facing him on the porch.
As they enter into the home, the air inside is one of Victorian elegance. The floors are constructed of heartwood pine, blackjack oak, and black walnut. The winding staircases have large rails of oak, continuing upward for what seemed like an elegant infinity. Each floor has ten spacious rooms.
The mother wonders how all of the cleaning inside the structure was accomplished by only a single woman. She offers to assist before bedtime that evening, but is instructed by Olga, wife of the host, to relax and jettison aside all anxiety, reassuring the couple such measures were already attended to.
The doorbell rings dutifully at 1000 hours the following morning, revealing four very well-mannered neatly dressed, fleshy negro women of middle age, who are eager to labor on behalf of the Solomon family. According to Mrs. Olga Solomon, their fees are reasonable, and the quality of their work, exceptionable. These four women are very loyal, trustworthy servants of the Solomon family, for many long years.
Upon both legs, from the thighs downward, the new babe now wears plaster casts, preventing him from walking. Though the child was born handicapped, during these days while at this house, he learns to crawl with a certain skillfulness simply beyond exception. He rambles up and down the stairway, crawling with an astonishing briskness. He carefully explores every hidden corner, every closet, every secret drawer or hidden room he happens upon.
The Solomon couple have two daughters, one only a recently born baby, the other is a girl around Hansel's age, named Tammy. Little Hansel, who only recently began to speak, refers to her as Whammy. Whammy must have been a year or so older than Hansel, since she could already speak with a certain clearness Hansel understood perfectly well.
"What is his name?" she asks his mother.
"His name is Hansel or Leon, take your pick, but we call him Lanker Doolez sometimes as a playful nickname.
"Hansel Dolittle, hmm, Doolezz…?" she pauses for a moment before breaking out into a laugh. "I like Doolezz. Can I call him Lanker Doolezz?"
His mom laughs.
"Well, that sounds fine to me. You may call him Lanker Doolez, if that makes you happy. The name sounds perfectly acceptable, don't you think so, Hansel?"
The young child smiles broadly as he nods his head up and down.
"So come on Lanker," the young girl says to him, "let's play. Look, I found some cardboard boxes that have been smashed. We can make sleds and slide down the stairs. Come here, and I will show you!"
The child crawls toward the young girl, stopping in front of her.
"Look, see? Take the box like this," she says as she gets on it at the top of the staircase, "and push it down the stairs, like this!" she instructs, as she pushes from the sides of the walls, sliding away down the staircase quickly as a spring puff of spring air.
Lanker grabs his flattened box and is very quick to do the same as the girl, zooming down the winding staircase briskly as if it were snow covered; and he was riding upon a real sled propelling him forward, rather than a flattened cardboard box. Soon his homemade sled comes to a brisk stop, right beside the girl at the bottom of the stairway.
"That was fun. You want to do it again?" she asks him.
"Yeah, yeah!" replies the child, who can clearly speak a few words by now.
Both children grab their boxes, and head to the top of the staircase, Lanker dragging his box along as he crawls.
"Let's race," said the girl, with new excitement in her voice as she steadied her flattened box high on the staircase. "On your mark, get set, get ready, let's go!"
Both children slid down the staircase swiftly as the winter wind blew, soon pausing on the floor immediately beyond the last step. Enveloped in surges of overflowing joy, they both come to a sudden halt.
"Let's do it again! Let's do it again," the girl exclaims to the little boy.
Heavy footsteps make their way into the room where the children play.
"Tammy where are you and Hansel at, and what are you two into?" asks the firm voice of her mother as she makes her way toward them. She soon pauses before both children as they continue laughing with joy. "I wish you would look at this," the girl's mother speaks seemingly toward the air of the old home. "Both of you need to find something else to do, rather than this. There is no need for one of you to wind up with a broken bone. So, stop this activity and find something else to do here."
"Oh mom?" asks the little girl, "nobody was getting hurt, and we were having lots of fun, to tell the truth about it."
"Yes, I can imagine that you were," replies the mom, "but find something else around here that is fun to do. I am sure there are other things with as much pleasure in them to do. Go draw or do something more benevolent such as that."
"O.k.," replies the young girl to her mom, "we will then," she says, as she smiles toward the young boy.
"Alright, I am going to leave you two alone for the time being," replies the mom to the young girl.
When the mom walks away, the girl slides in closely toward the young boy, as he sits silently, smiling in her direction.
"I know a secret, if you promise not to tell. Do you promise me?" she whispers, with a firm look on her face toward the young boy.
The young boy nods his head up and down in positive affirmation.
"There are places in this old house nobody has been inside of for a hundred years. Not even my parents know about these secret rooms. I was playing around inside and found them. Would you like to see?" she asks in quiet whispering tones to the young boy.
"Yeah, yeah, yeah!" replies the young boy, as he shakes his head up and down.
"This house is actually a remake of a much older home," she says in a near whisper. "This home is nearly three hundred years old. It was here back when nothing else was, save woods and trees. This place was once a huge plantation farm. Here! follow me but do so very quietly. I don't want my parents to find out what I know."