“And now?”
“It’s easier now. You have to get pretty hard if you want to survive. Say…who knows that better than you? What about the war? I bet it’s tough to kill a man, even if he
is
the enemy—”
Shlomo didn’t answer. He wouldn’t tell Jacob now, but he was not going into business with him. He was going to reenlist.
L
IFE, IN ITS INEXORABLE
fashion, went on.
Molly’s death affected Jacob more than he would have imagined. It wasn’t, truth to tell, that he missed her so much as that his own childhood fear of death came back to haunt him, and he began to reflect on his own mortality. Remembering his childhood nightmares, he refused to allow the girls to attend the funeral. Sara was so devastated that her protests were subdued, and her bereavement lasted for a longer time than was customary. She was inconsolable, and now remembered Molly only as the mother she would have liked her to have been.
With Molly’s death, Sara had only her children to cling to. Jacob was consumed with his work and the closer he came to achieving his goals the further apart he and Sara seemed to grow. He was away much of the time now in Oregon, Nevada, Wyoming and Montana, where he bought cattle on speculation and then sold them to the stockyards in South San Francisco.
Jacob was, in fact, so preoccupied that he had little time to notice that his children were growing up in rather odd directions. Nor did he seem to feel the same devotion toward Gittel and his mother. He responded less frequently to their letters, although he always remembered to enclose a small check…
Thursdays were especially difficult for Sara. As soon as the children were off to school, she started with the heavy cleaning and then would bathe, dress and go to Seventh Street to shop for
Shabbes
, usually returning with a heavy bundle late in the afternoon.
But this particular day she was so tired and the day so hot that she decided to do the shopping the next morning. So she wouldn’t bake
challah
. They could live without it for one week. Sometimes she wondered why she even bothered to work this hard for one meal. Rachel seemed to be the only one of her children to whom it mattered, and that was probably just her perverseness. So far as Sara was concerned it was another day in the week, but Jacob insisted that at least this little bit of tradition be carried on, even though he was away so much of the time. It was his mother’s cooking that was the real tradition for him, Sara thought, more than the observance of the Sabbath…
When she finally finished scrubbing the kitchen floor she took a large glass of orange juice and a book and went out to the backyard to relax, looking up at the branches of the linden tree, thinking about the passing years. Her mother’s death had left a void in her life, in spite of all their disputes. Now she was no one’s child and she had lost her one confidante. The children were growing up and she was, face it, growing weary. For all her fine education she was scrubbing floors and living in a house that was still unfurnished. Jacob’s traveling and business expenses never seemed to leave enough money to spend on her or the house. It was like Louie and Molly, always traveling, always spending…stop thinking about the past, Sara warned herself, it only makes you more unhappy. It was good advice, but Sara had never been an expert in taking advice…even from herself. No wonder she failed to recognize the same trait in her daughter Rachel as her own…
She got up and went into the house, had just begun to shell the peas when she heard the front door open. It was only three, a little early for the children to be home from school.
She started to open the door leading from the kitchen to the front hall when she heard Rachel’s voice. Rachel was not alone. Slowly and carefully, Sara opened the door a crack and froze when she saw Rachel being kissed by the Cantino boy, the son of the neighborhood grocers.
Rachel stood with her eyes closed as Joe kissed her again. Then she said, “I think you’d better leave. My mother might come home—”
“Just one more kiss, Rachel.”
“No,
please
, you have to go—”
“You like my kisses, don’t you?”
“
Yes
, but no more. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
After Joe had left, Rachel leaned against the door, remembering the taste of his lips on hers. I love your sweet delicious kisses, she whispered to herself. She had never been kissed before and had just discovered how incredibly wonderful it could be.
She had no sooner walked into her room to change her clothes when Sara flung open the door and stood there, looking at her.
Rachel was surprised to see her. On Thursdays mama never came home much before five—
“How long has this been going on?” Sara asked, almost too softly.
“What?” God…mama must have seen her.
“Don’t pretend with me, miss…and wipe that innocent look off your face, if you please. Now just when did you become involved with that little tramp?”
“Joe’s not a tramp,” Rachel snapped back. “And I resent the way you said
involved
. It sounded so nasty—”
“Nasty? Don’t you think I know what goes on with—”
“Mama, nothing’s going on, as you put it. He’s merely been walking me home after school…”
Sara came close to Rachel. “Why were you home so early today?”
“We had an assembly and got out early.”
“What did you do earlier?”
“Why don’t you say what’s on your mind and get it over with.”
“I’ll tell you what’s on my mind. You’re a little too pretty and a little too bold, but you’re not going to wind up like Ruby Fox. Oh, no. Not one of my children. I’ve worked too hard to bring you up as a decent girl, poured my life into all of you—”
“You have a strange mind, mama. What kind of a mother
are
you to trust your children so little? Damn you, I hate you, I
hate
you…” She was crying openly now.
Sara grabbed her and pushed her against the wall. “So you hate me, do you? I’m sorry your father’s not home to hear this. I want you to stay in your room.” Sara turned and left, slamming the door.
Rachel stumbled to the bed, sobbing, and lay down. Her mother was crazy…it had all been so innocent. Oh, God, if she could only run away. Please God, let me die. Anything would be better than this. And so, indeed, it seemed…
Sara went to her room. From where she sat on the bed she could see her image in the mirror on the dressing table. What she saw was a little girl in a bedroom, screaming for help. But her mother wasn’t there to help her. No one was there except Carl Bromberg, trying to rape her. She shivered at the memory. But Rachel wasn’t a ten-year-old and she wasn’t being raped. Sara couldn’t understand it. Sex was something a woman submitted to, but from her own experience it was not something that a decent woman either talked about or ever enjoyed. Rachel was too beautiful and too impetuous for her own good. Sara would have to do something about that. She couldn’t afford to send Rachel to a boarding school. So what was the next best thing…?
The next morning Rachel sat nervously on a bench outside the mother superior’s office at St. Frances parochial school while Sara went in alone.
“I’m very happy to meet you, Mrs. Sanders. Won’t you sit down.”
Sara sat in a straight-backed chair on the other side of the nun’s desk. “First, I want to explain that I have a problem. As you’ll see, my daughter is quite…shall we say, attractive? That can be a problem at her age, as I’m sure you can understand. And she’s become a little too conscious of boys. I want her to go to a girls’ school. She’s a rather headstrong and difficult girl, she needs discipline and guidance…” Sara saw only genuine concern in Mother Teresa’s eyes. She went on. “Now before we go any further, I must tell you, we are Jewish. Is that a problem?”
“Not at all. As I told you over the telephone yesterday, Mrs. Sanders, we welcome children of all faiths. There is, of course, a question of your daughter’s scholastic records. Our requirements are quite high—”
“You’ll have no problem. She’s a very good student—excellent, in fact. But there is one other thing, Mother Teresa, which I’m sure you’ll also understand. Although we’re not terribly strict about our religion we are true to our beliefs…I don’t want Rachel to attend anything religious.”
“Let me assure you there’s no need to be concerned about that. We have many girls of different faiths.”
“Well, thank you for your understanding. I know Rachel will prove to be a real asset.”
“I’m sure. Now, I’d like to see Rachel alone.” …
Sara had no problem with Rachel, who seemed completely indifferent to the change. At first all that concerned her was getting through the next few years until she could leave home, but as time went on she found herself loving the serenity of the convent.
The one Sara had a problem with was Jacob.
“What goes on when I’m away? I come home to find you’ve put Rachel in a
Catholic
school? I want her out of there and I mean this minute. Are you crazy, sending her to a convent?”
“Sit down, Jacob, and don’t scream. Unfortunately, I have to make the decisions when you’re not here. Now wait, let me finish. Do you know why I had to do this?”
“No, you tell me.”
“Rachel has been carrying on with a boy. By accident, I found her and this boy, making love—”
“Making love? Where?”
“Here in the house. Rachel has become boy-crazy.”
“Who’s this boy?”
“What difference would it make if I told you?”
“I’d knock the hell out of him, that’s what—”
“And if you did, there’d be another boy. Don’t you see? Rachel is a girl who attracts boys. She’s a beautiful girl…”
“What actually happened, Sara? Did he…?”
“No, thank God. It didn’t get to that. But he and Rachel weren’t kissing like innocent children. I’m not a fool, Jacob. She’s been going behind our backs and seeing this boy.”
“But why did you have to send her to a convent?”
“Because she needs to go to a girls’ school and because of the same old problem with money. Sending her to a convent was the cheapest. And let me tell you, Jacob, it’s the best thing that could have ever happened. They know how to discipline—”
“I don’t like it, Sara. I’m going to have a talk with Rachel. I’ll lay down the law—”
“You think that’ll do any good? Don’t be silly. If she wants to do something, she’ll find a way. But at least now she won’t be so tempted. I make sure she comes home right after school. And I’ve left instructions that if she’s ever absent I’m to be notified immediately.”
Jacob put his elbows on the table and held his head in his hands. “My God, what’s happening to our family…”
Sara couldn’t contend with that…“Nothing’s happening to our family. Rachel just needs watching and that’s what I’m doing. If she doesn’t grow up to be a decent girl, at least I’ll have nothing to reproach myself for. I did what I had to do, Jacob.”
“But a convent?” He shook his head.
June came and none too soon for Doris. School let out for the summer on the fifteenth. It was a time for helping mama with the jams and the jellies and for producing the little plays that Doris wrote. The chest in the attic provided most of Doris’ costumes but Sara was never quite sure whether she would find her imitation lace curtains at the window or on Doris. Among all the parts that Doris played her favorite role was that of the bride. Only if it was impossible to get a kid on the block to be the groom would Doris relinquish her favorite role to play the man’s. On the days of performance Doris arranged the orange-crate seats in front of the improvised stage and then took on her role as ticket-taker to collect the safety pins and marbles that were the price of admission.
Best of all, summer was a time when she could go to the little creek she had discovered and spend some time alone. It wasn’t really a creek at all, but a ditch where the spring rains left an inch or two of stagnant water. The earth on either side had eroded so that the tree roots were exposed like giant gnarled spider legs. But to Doris it was the most perfect spot on earth.
She loved to lie against the earth and peer up at the lacy patterns of the tree branches against the sky. Here she could dream and think and try to sort out the puzzle of her feelings and thoughts, wondering why mama and Rachel seemed so unhappy so much of the time, thinking how lovely and funny most things seemed to her. Was it wrong to feel like she did when the others seemed so unhappy…? Oh, she had her problems too, it was just that nobody seemed to notice, which in a way bothered her and in another way made her glad. It made what she felt more private, all her own. She liked that. School was her special problem, for lots of reasons. Mama thought she was stupid because of her bad grades, but the truth was that she was so much brighter than the other kids that she had no patience with her homework. Another problem was that she’d become an object of curiosity, and rejection, because she was the only Jew in the school. She was never invited to her classmates’ parties, although at lunch period the girls openly discussed whose party they were going to after school. As if that weren’t bad enough, her weight and her dark curly hair brought on calls of “Hey, fatso” or “hey, nigger-wool…” Between being fat, curly-haired and Jewish, she began to think of herself as a real oddity.
Things were no better at home. She had seen the anger unleashed on Rachel for fighting back and she was terribly afraid of displeasing mama, of not being loved. But unlike Rachel, who refused to be beaten down, Doris never fought back. Rebellion only increased the tensions that already existed.
Her mother loomed large in Doris’s bundle of confusions. Sara swung from one extreme to the other. She either criticized and shouted or was terribly protective, fighting with papa whenever he scolded the children. It was in those moments she thought mama loved them more than papa did.
If papa complained that she should lose weight and get better grades, mama told him to mind his own damn business. He was away so often, mama said, that she was left with the responsibility of raising the family, and he had no right to interfere. Doris’ emotions swayed back and forth. Papa loved her, papa loved her not; mama loved her, mama loved her not…