Page 12 of Maggie Now

that must have weighed a hundred pounds. She was not

  above falling down in pretended exhaustion and death to

  give reality to her game.

  She bounced back into the classroom, windblown, rosy

  and glowing. Although Sister Veronica frowned when she

  left, she always smiled when she re urned.

  She told Sister Mary Jos'ph: "She brings the smell of the

  wind back into the room with her." She pronounced

  ~ui7~d to rhyme with kind.

  19/1

 

  "A pity you gave up writing poetry, Sister, when you

  took holy orders," said Sister Mary Joseph.

  The rules of the order forbade any nun to walk abroad

  alone. She had to go with another nun or a lay person.

  The nuns liked children to go shopping with them.

  Maggie-Now vitas much in demand as an escort. When

  she turned up at the convent on a Saturday morning, the

  sisters pretended to quarrel over w ho'd get Maggie-Now.

  This thrilled the girl.

  Sister Veronica needed new shoes. Maggie-Nov went to

  the shoe store with her. She knelt down and helped the

  nun try on the shoes. She kneaded the leather over the

  toes and asked anxiously: "Are you sure they fit? Have you

  got room for all your toes? "

  "You'll wear them out, child, before I have a chance to

  ovally in them."

  Sister Mary Joseph wore a wedding ring, as did the

  other nuns, because she was the bride of Christ. Through

  the years, the ring had become too tight. Maggie-Now

  escorted her to the jeweler's to have it sawed off.

  Maggie-Now liked Sister Mary Joseph but was afraid of

  her because she said unexpec ted things. When

  Maggie-Now escorted Sister Veronica, she held the nun's

  hand and skipped along and chattered. With Sister Mary

  Joseph, she walked sedately no hand holding, no

  skippin,, no chatter. Maggie-Now had to stretch her legs

  to match the mln's long stride. They had been walking

  three blocks in complete silence when Sister said in an

  ordinary, conversational tone:

  "What's your horse's name?"

  The girl quivered and wondered how Sister knew. She

  gave her a quick look. The nun was staring straight ahead.

  "What horse?" hedged Maggie-Now.

  "The one you keep in the schoolyard."

  "His name is Drummer." The nun nodded.

  Does that mean, thought Maggie-Now, that it's a nice

  rzame? Or does it mean that she caught me?

  They walked another block in silence. Then Sister Mary

  Joseph said with her usual bluntness: "I used to play

  basketball when I was in high school."

  1 Hi

 

  "You never did!" said Maggie-Now in instinctive

  disbelief. "I mean," she gulped, "did you?"

  "Why not?" said the nun crossly.

  "I mean, I thought Sisters prayed all the time."

  "Oh, we take a day off now and then to have a

  toothache or something. Just like other people."

  "Nobody ever told me," said Maggie-Now.

  "Margaret, are you afraid of me?"

  "Not so much as I used to be." Maggie-Now smiled up at

  her.

  When Mr. Freedman, the jeweler, began to saw on the

  ring, Maggie-Now threw her al ms around the nun and

  buried her face in her habit.

  "What's the matter, Margaret?"

  "It goes all through me,' shuddered the child.

  "The finger, I wild nor take off," promised Mr.

  Freedman. "Only the ring."

  "Take deep breaths, Margaret, and be brave," said Sister

  Marv Joseph, "and it wails be out r before you know it."

  ~ CHAP PER t 1t TEEN ~

  `LMA.fA, why don t eve hat e relations like other

  peoples"

  "We do."

  "Where? "

  "Oh, Ireland. .nd y OL: have HI gralldlllOther in

  BostOtl, yoLl know."

  "But why don't I have sisters and brothers and aunts and

  uncles and lots and lots of cousin`. Iike other girls do?"

  "Maybe you will have a sister or brother someday. And

  we might go to Boston and trv and find some cousins for

  you."

  "When are we going to Boston?"

  "Summer vacation, maybe. if you pass your catechism

  and make your first communion, and if yOtl do your

  homework and get promoted.''

  I 9,, 1

 

  "Chee! Other kids have relations without passing

  everything first."

  "Don't say, 'Gee,' and I've told you that a kid is a baby

  goat and not a child."

  "Sometimes you talk like Sister Veronica, Mama."

  Mary sighed and smiled. "I suppose I do. Once a

  schoolteacher, always a schoolteacher."

  "Well, it ain't every kid . . . girl . . . has a schoolteacher

  for a mama."

  Maggie-Now waited patiently to be corrected on the

  "ain't." To her surprise, her mother didn't correct her, but

  hugged her instead.

  Mary took ten dollar; from the bank and to her surprise

  Patsy gave her ten dollars more for the Boston trip.

  "Maybe you can talk your old lady into coming back to

  live with us."

  "It's nice that you like my mother, Patrick," she said,

  "but it seems odd. It's not your way."

  "She's never been against me.''

  "No one's against you, Patrick."

  "Oh, no?" he said with a crooked smile.

  "You are against yourself."

  He raised two fingers in the air. "May I leave the room,

  teacher?" he said sarcastically.

  They rode the day coach to Boston. To Maggie-Now it

  was like a trip to the moon. As they walked through the

  Boston streets, she said, surprised: "Why, they speak

  English!"

  "What did you think they spoke?"

  "Oh, Italian, Jewish, Latin."

  "No. English is the language of America."

  "Brooklyn's America. But Anastasia's father and mother

  speak Italian, there."

  "Many old people speak foreign languages because they

  came from foreign countries and never did learn English."

  "What does Grandma speak?"

  "English, of course."

  "But you said she came from Ireland."

  "They speak English there."

  "Why don't they speak Irish?"

  [ Y4 ]

 

  "Some do. They call it Gaelic. But most of them speak

  English with an Irish accent."

  "What's a . . . an . . . accent?"

  "The way people fix the words together when they speak

  and the different way they make the words sound."

  "Mama, I guess you're the smartest lady in the whole

  world."

  The Missus was a great disappointment to Maggie-Now.

  The girl's idea of a grandmother was a woman with a high

  stomach and a gingham apron tied about her waist, grey

  hair parted in the middle and steel-rimmed spectacles. She

  had this idea from a colored lithograph illustrating the

  poem "Over the river and through the woods, to

  grandmother's house we go." But Grandmother Moriarity

/>   wasn't like that at all. She was little and skinny and wore

  a black sateen dress and her hair was coal black and she

  wore it in curls on top of her head.

  Henrietta was Grandmother's sister and Mother's aunt.

  MaggieNow was instructed to call her "Aunt Henrietta."

  She didn't look like an aunt. A girl on Maggie-Now's

  block in Brooklyn had an aunt who was young and blonde

  and laughed a lot and smelled like sweet, sticky candy

  Aunt Henrietta, now, was old and withered and smelled

  like a plant that was dead but still standing in the dirt of

  the flower pot.

  She heard talk of Cousin Robbie, who was coming over

  that night. Robbie was Henrietta's son. Maggie-Now had

  seen a cousin in Brooklyn; he'd had shiny blond hair and

  wore a Norfolk suit with buckled knickerbockers, Buster

  Brown collar, Windsor tie, long black ribbed stockings and

  button shoes.

  She'd been disillusioned about her grandmother and her

  aunt. She didn't expect Cousin Robbie to be wearing a

  Buster Brown collar. But did he have to show up

  baldheaded and fat and making jokes about his big

  stomach which he called a bay window?

  He kissed Maggie-Now on the cheek. The kiss was like

  an exploded soap bubble. He handed her a square of

  blotting paper.

  "I always give out blotting paper with my wet kisses," he

  said. He waited. No one laughed. "Oh, well," he sighed.

  "I'd do my rabbit trick for you if I had a rabbit."

  Maggie-Now giggled. He gave her a quarter and ignored

  her for the rest of the evening.

  The three women and Robbie settled down to an

  evening of genealogy. "Let me see nor," said l'lary. "Pete

  married Liza . . .'

  ~ ~ 1

 

  "No," said Robbie. "Pete when he was three years old."

  "I'm sorry."

  "That's all right. That was thirty years ago. Adam

  married Liza. Let's see, Aunt Molly," he said to The

  Missus. "You married a Moriarity? Mikes" The Missus

  nodded. "I understand he died."

  "Yes," agreed The Missus. "That was some time ago,

  God rest his soul."

  "Whatever became of Roddy? Your wife's brother?"

  asked Mary.

  "Oh, him," sniffed Robbie. "He married a girl, name of

  Katie Fogarty. I remember the name well because it was

  the same name he had. He was a Fogarty, too.

  Understand, they were not relations. They just had the

  same name. Well, sir, when they got the license, the clerk

  didn't want to give it to them. He said it was insects or

  something."

  "What's that?" asked The Missus.

  "Oh, the baby might be born funny," explained Robbie.

  "How was the baby?" asked Aunt Henrietta.

  "They never had one," said Robbie.

  "What finally happened to Roddy?" asked Mary.

  "He moved to Brooklyn, where people is more

  broadminded, and, for all I know, he might be dead or

  still living."

  The saga of Roddy seemed dull to Maggie-Now. Lulled

  by the rise and fall of Robbie's voice, comforted by the

  warmth of the room and feeling safe surrounded by her

  mother, grandmother and aunt, she went into a half sleep.

  The conversation droned on. A word came up. A sharp

  word. A name. It kept piercing her drowsiness.

  "Sheila! "

  "No good," said Aunt Henrietta. Her voice was whippy

  and sharp, like a fly swatter coming down on a fly.

  "It was just that she had hard luck," said Robbie.

  "No good from the beginning, even if she was my grand-

  daughter," swatted Aunt Henrietta. "Took after her

  mother." (Swat!) "Aggie was no good."

  "Let the dead rest in peace," said Mary.

  "She was pretty, so pretty," said Robbie. "The youngest,

  the prettiest of all my daughters."

  1~ sac ]

 

  Maggie-Now was awake but she feigned sleep, knowing

  that the growm~ps would talk in a way she couldn't

  understand if they knew she was listening.

  "The way she was pretty was the ruin of her," said

  Robbie. "The boys were after her like bees after a honey

  flower by the time she was twelve." lie sounded the way

  people sounded at funerals.

  "She had a baby when she was fifteen," swatted Aunt

  Henrietta.

  "She was married at the time," said Robbie with dignity.

  "Seven months married," swatted back Aunt Henrietta.

  "It was a premature baby."

  "Like fun! Premature babies don't have fingernails. Rose

  did. Don't tell me!"

  "In Brooklyn," said The Missus, "an awful lot of first

  babies are premature. The trolled cars shakes the houses

  and makes them nervous."

  "Humpf!'' said Aunt I ienrietta.

  "I remember," said Mary, "when Aggie brought Sheila to

  visit us in Brooklyn, once. I guess Sheila was six or seven.

  And my, visas she pretty! Beautiful! I'd like to see her

  again."

  "No, you wouldn't, Mary," said Robbie. "She looks bad

  and lives poor. Where her man is no one knows. He shows

  up from time to time, though. She dives in a slum. And

  believe me, a Boston slum is something. She takes in

  washing and Lord knows how many children she has."

  "I'll go to see her before we leave Boston," said lYlary.

  "Not while you're staying in my house," said Aunt

  Henrietta.

  "It's half my house," said The Missus, "and don't tell

  Mary what not to do or she'll do it, the way she got

  married when her father told her not to."

  "Maybe it would be a good idea if she did go," said Aunt

  Henrietta. "Yes, go, Mary, and take your daughter so she

  sees what happens to a girl when she lets the fellers chase

  her. Not that you got to worry about that, Mary, the way

  she's so plain."

  "She is not plain," said 1 lary. She put her arm around

  the child. "She's not pretty the way Sheila was with blond

  curls and dimples and pink cheeks. She's handsome! Look

  at those wide cheekbones and the way her chin comes to

  sort of a point. Why, she has a face like a heart."

  ~ Y7 1

 

  Maggie-Now opened her eyes wide and stared hard into

  Aunt Henrietta's eyes, mutely daring her to contradict her

  mother.

  "She's got tan eyes," said Aunt Henrietta.

  "She has not!" said Mary. "She has golden eyes."

  "Tan!" insisted the old woman.

  "Now, Henrietta," said The Missus, "they're the same

  color y ours were when you w ere young."

  "She has golden eyes," conceded the old woman.

  "I promised I'd find cousins for you, Maggie-Now, and

  I will,' said Mary. "So be patient. Let me see." She

  consulted Robbie's directions on a slip of paper. "Turn

  right, go one block, no, three . . ." She lifted her veil

  because the chenille dots before her eyes made threes out

  of twos. "That's better. Two more blocks . . ."

  They climbed up four flights of stairs.
Ilarv knocked

  quietly on the door. It was flung open with a bang.

  "Come in! Come in!" said a big woman.

  Her strong arms were bare to the shoulders. The front

  of her apron was wet. Her tousled hair was half blond,

  half brown. Her face shone with sweat.

  The room seemed to be boiling with life. A whole mob

  of children ran for cover when the visitors entered. They

  hid behind bundles of dirty wash standing on the floor

  and the smallest one burrowed into a loose pile of soiled

  clothes, half sorted, on the floor.

  The window shades ~ ere up and the sun, full of dusty

  motes which seemed to quiver with life, poured in through

  the open windows. A network of filled clotheslines

  obscured the sky outside the windows. A breeze was

  blowing and the drying clothes billowed and collapsed and

  writhed and gyrated. The clothes seemed alive. There

  were bundles of dirty wash on the floor. The chairs were

  filled with clothes waiting to be ironed. A clothesline

  strung across the kitchen had freshly ironed shirts on it,

  and a bubbling boiler stood on the gas stove with the

  dirtiest of the wash boiling in it.

  "Mary! " cried the big woman. She threw her arms

  around Mary and lifted her off the floor and swung her

  around. "Oh, Mary, I recognized you right away. You

  didn't change. You still

  ! 9~1

 

  look so sweet and so refined with your veil and gloves and

  all." Then she noticed Maggie-Now. "This yours?" she

  asked.

  "Mine," said Mary. "We call her Maggie-Now."

  "She's beautiful!" The big woman knelt down and put

  her arms around the child.

  "This is your cousin Sheila," said Mary.

  Sheila!

  Maggie-Now quivered in the woman's arms. Words she

  had heard when half asleep cane back to her. "No good!"

  "No good from the beginning!" "No good like her mother

  before her!" Maggie-Now was confused. How could

  someone who was "no good" be Sf, nice? Maybe this was

  another Sheila. But no. She heard her mother say:

  "This is Cousin Robbie's girl. Aunt Henrietta is her

  grandmother. The mother of Aunt Henrietta and of my

  mother is her great grandmother and yours, too. That

  makes you cousins. There! "

  "Do I have little cousins, too?" asked Maggie-Now.

  "You certainly do," said Sheila. She called gently: "Come

  out, come out, wherever you are!" No response. Then she

  hollered: "Come out or I'll give it to you! Good!"

  They came out of the dirty wash. There were four of

  them all girls. The youngest was two, the next four, the

  third six and the oldest ten. Sheila lined them up, pulling

  a dirty sock out of the four-year-old's hair.

  "Kids, this is your cousin Maggie-Now what came all the

  way from Brooklyn to see yoga."

  The four girls and Maggie-Now stared solemnly at each

  other. The four-year-old was wearing a thumb guard. She

  pulled it off, took two good sucks on her thumb and

  replaced the guard.

  All of the girls had tangled golden curls, heavenly blue

  eyes, dirty pink cheeks and dimples that went in and out

  like the first stars of night. They wore odds and ends of

  clothing which made them look like the illustrations of the

  children who had followed the Pied Piper of Hamelin.

  "Oh, Sheila," said Mary, "they're pretty. So pretty the

  way you were.... I mean, there you stand, Sheila, four

  times over."

  "Oh, go on, Mary, I v. as never as pretty as my kids.

  Anyhow. this is Rose, the oldest, this one is Violet, the

  thumb sucker is

  1 99 1

 

  Daisy and Lily's the baby. She's two."

  "What pretty names."

  "I call them my bow-key," said Sheila.

  "Why, they've all got fingernails," said Maggie-Now clearly.

  "Oh, Maggie-Now," noaned Mary.

  "Oh, my sainted grandmother," laughed Sheila. "Will she

  ever let up on me? She told my father . . ."

  To change the subject, Mary asked: "what are you going