“It’s not just this. Or rather, it is, because things are all tied up together, twisted, so that I don’t know what to think anymore. Twisted!” she cried, demonstrating with her fingers.
“I don’t understand.”
“It’s me. I’m sick. I didn’t want to tell you how sick. The dentist’s nurse spoke German, and she told me first. My jaw, where I need the surgery, it’s cancerous, and—and I’m not as afraid for myself, Caroline, as I am for you. What are you going to do if it’s true? We’re all alone, you and I.”
“My God, are you sure?”
“The doctor said so. ‘A textbook case,’ he said.”
“Then why in heaven’s name are you waiting? I won’t let you wait. It must be taken care of right now!”
“No. I’m not having surgery until you’re settled someplace.”
“That’s crazy, Lore!”
“No, it’s sensible.”
“What have we done to be punished like this?”
“Don’t be silly.” Lore spoke sternly. “You’re too intelligent to talk such nonsense.”
Caroline had been struck in the chest, on her heart. And she stood there, shaking.
“I want you to go out and take a walk,” Lore said. “You need oxygen, fresh air. I can’t have you falling apart, Caroline.”
“Have you told Annie and Jake?”
“Yes. I had to tell somebody. I suppose I shouldn’t have, but I couldn’t keep it all in.”
So that was the reason for the urgency.…
“Go. I’ll do some ironing and finish the trunks.”
It was cool under a fair sky, a day for everything alive to be glad of life. Birds flew southward toward summer, dogs strained at their leashes, and big boys chased balls. She passed the park, where the mothers still sat beside the carriages, passed the ice cream parlor where she had gone with Joel, and passed the house where Tessie might even now be telling him about her visit.
It seemed impossible that in a matter of days, so much had happened. Impossible, too, that so much had happened in just one year. No, it was not even a year since she had met Walter in that other park so many thousands of miles away.
Now here she was with a baby growing inside her and Lore perhaps about to die. Poor, good Lore, who longs for a man to love her, and very likely, if she lives, will never have one, while I, who do not want one, I—
Three thousand miles wide, this country was. To set out in it and walk with all the time in the world, just walk in a straight line across the plains, through the cities, over the mountains to that other sea, leaving everything and everyone behind, just freely going, without thoughts, memories, just free.
Never to love again with that whole, that perfect trust that ends in grief.
She turned around, arrived at the house, climbed the dark stairs, went to Lore, who was at the ironing board, and kissed her cheek.
“I want you to be well,” she said. “And whatever happens, I will take care of you. Tonight I will tell everyone that I am going to marry Joel Hirsch. I will be satisfied with whatever plans are made. Now I am going inside to lie down. I am very tired.”
Behind the closed door, she sobbed and sobbed. After a while, she had no more strength, and lay still.
ANNIE and Lore arranged everything. Annie obtained a rabbi who would perform the ceremony in his study. She planned the dinner that she would cook. Lore chose Caroline’s dress and shoes from the store of clothing in the trunk. Through the refugee committee she arranged for larger living space in Ivy. Caroline was carried along as in a moving vehicle, riding with her eyes closed, conscious only that it was moving fast.
Suddenly she found herself standing next to Joel Hirsch in a musty brown room filled with old books, traffic sounds, and unctuous language about God and love. Under wine-colored silk, her skin tingled with heat. Was it the heat of terror, of despair, or of shame? Which?
Then she found herself at the Sandlers’ table staring at geraniums in the silver bowl that she had bought over Lore’s objections.
“It’s too expensive. It’s out of place in their house, anyway.”
“No. It’s a bread-and-butter present. Mama would be shocked to know that we took so much and gave nothing.”
“Mama was never in our circumstances. We can’t afford it.”
“We’ll do without something else.”
“We’ll do without a lot of things, the way money is evaporating. Unless you want to sell the ruby.”
“Never. It’s our only security in an emergency.”
Besides, Mama loved it. I’m keeping it for her.
The dinner was brief. As if everyone realized the strangeness of the occasion, talk was subdued. Only Joel was ebullient; his eyes, which he kept on Caroline, were shining. But she scarcely saw him. She was far away in her fantasy of a house where a sundial stood in the center of a rose garden and piano music floated through the tall, grand windows. Far away and long ago, she thought, and looking up, beheld the particles of food that were lodged in Joel’s teeth. And then she was ashamed of herself for noticing or caring.
When the dinner ended, Joel returned to sleep in Tessie’s apartment. Then, in the morning, Caroline, Joel, and Lore, with all their baggage, crossed the city again to Grand Central Station and boarded a northbound train.
FOUR
“Adelbert,” said Dr. Schulman, “is too German for America, so I changed it to Alfred, and that’s what I’m called. That, or Al. Only my wife, Emmy, calls me Bert.”
He had met their train in Buffalo, and obviously trying to put everyone including himself at ease, had been chatting all the way since.
“I try to take as much time from my practice as I can to help settle refugees. Emmy and I came here in 1932, when it seemed inevitable that Hitler was going to come to power.”
“Inevitable? You knew it?” asked Joel.
“Yes, it was quite clear to both of us. So we came. It’s a nice place, Ivy. You might say it’s a big small town. You’ll like it. Look at the colors. Splendid, aren’t they? The leaves change early this far north.”
Caroline was feeling sick from the flicker of sun and shade, from the swerve of the car as it sped through red curves and down gold-colored slopes, or perhaps it was simply the panic that sickened her, the terrifying thought that she was losing her mind—or to put it more politely, having a nervous breakdown.
Her hands were clasped tight in her lap. Every aching muscle in her shoulders was tense. She stared at the back of Joel’s head. He was looking out at the scenery, a blurred field skimming past, a wooden farmhouse and mild cows waiting at a gate, as if this ride and his place on the front seat were quite normal, as if this were a normal outing with family or friends who had a common past and a common destination. And she had a crazy wish to flee, to open the door of the car and leap out.
“It may seem immodest, though I hope you will take it as I mean it,” said the doctor, “to tell you that we people have brought new life to this town in more ways than one. The high school now has a teacher who was once a professor of ancient civilization in Heidelberg. We have a thriving little chamber music group. We have a cancer specialist from Vienna who commutes between our county hospital and the city, also a dermatologist, the first one Ivy has ever had, and then, if I may speak of myself, I, once a cardiologist abroad, am now an internist as well. I understand you’re a nurse, Miss Lore? I may call you that, may I? If you will call me Alfred, or even Al, in the informal American way. We all want to be as American as possible.”
“I have a first-class degree, Alfred. What I need is a license.”
“Ah, well, that will come. There will certainly be room for you in the county hospital. Meanwhile, we won’t let you starve, I promise.”
In the rearview mirror, Caroline saw again the man’s reassuring smile. You could see the kindness in him. Maybe she should speak to him of her despair. He was different from those good people in Brooklyn; that, too, was plain to see. The environment that had made her what she w
as would be familiar to him; he would understand her.
He said now, “To me, it’s always a happy thing to see a young couple in love and already starting a baby, a new life. It’s nature’s way.” And then, no doubt having seen Caroline’s face in the mirror, he added quickly, “I’m sorry. Is it a secret? Was I not supposed to know?”
Just as quickly, Joel turned to face her. “I told Alfred when I asked him not to drive too fast. It’s my fault.”
Why did he have to be so—so possessive? Clumsy fool, playing the loving husband!
“It’s all right,” she said very calmly. “Sooner or later everyone will know, anyway.”
Lore put her hand on Caroline’s. The hand was warm and strong. Lore alone was familiar and steady. But if Lore should die …
Silently, attached by their hands, each watched the scene run past; now farms and vineyards were interspersed with roadside stands; then came a canning factory and a small farm machinery outlet. Finally, they were in the scattered outskirts of a town.
Joel read the sign aloud: “Welcome to Ivy.” And the doctor, with hearty emphasis, repeated it, adding descriptions as they progressed: “Main Street. Practically everything you’d ever need is on this one street. There’s Berman’s Department Store. It has clothes and housewares, even some furniture. Fred’s father had a place like that in Austria, so he grew up knowing the business. He’s doing nicely, considering that we’re only now starting to come out of the Depression, and there still are a lot of men without jobs. Here’s the Great War memorial. It’s strange to think that my father fought on the other side. There’s the library. Wonderful that the smallest towns in this country can have a public library. Really wonderful.”
To Caroline, the scene was monotonous and drab. These wooden structures were insubstantial, as if it were a cardboard village for children’s play. Yet a cardboard village would have a backdrop of mountains, snowcapped or green. It would have a duck pond and window boxes with bright flowers—
“So! Here we are. Sycamore Street, number seventeen. Home! They’re all waiting for you.”
Several cars were parked in front of a narrow gray house that needed new paint. It had a rickety front porch and a scrap of unkempt lawn, both in contrast to the fresh lace curtains in the upstairs windows.
“I see that Emmy finished the curtains,” said the doctor. “She swore she’d have them ready and hung by the time you arrived.” He swung about in the seat to face Lore and Caroline. “The house belongs to Gertrude Fredericks. Used to be Friedrichs, but she anglicized the name. She’s a widow. Emmy says she seems like a pleasant woman and keeps a clean house. The second floor’s been made into a nice apartment. Plenty of room, and you will have use of the yard, which will be good when the baby comes. You’ll get along fine with Gertrude and Vicky. Victorine, she’s twelve, Gertrude’s niece. Well, you’ll set everything straight for yourselves in no time, I’m sure.”
Joel, obviously impatient, had already gotten out of the car and was lifting the luggage from the trunk.
“He takes charge, doesn’t he?” Lore whispered to Caroline. “He always does. Haven’t you noticed?” She approved.
Of course Caroline had noticed that about him. But it was of no importance. She followed the short procession into the house and up yet another flight of narrow stairs. And climbing, as her hand slid up along the banister, she watched the pale gleam of the ring, that sliver of gold that legitimized the growing life below her ribs. She was trapped.
In the front room waiting for them were four women and a girl, although, when she recalled it later, it had seemed as if there were many more. There had been all those voices, talking at once in German, in English, then back again, babbling with Lore. There had been much noisy, cheerful laughter, embraces, tears, and questions. The women showed them through the rooms, revealing their labor: the curtains, the new carpet, the kitchen wallpaper in red and white with matching red teakettle, the radio, the three easy chairs, the cupboard with shelves for books, and even some books already provided. Everything was either new, or carefully, lovingly refurbished. The little bedroom with its single bed, flowered spread, and carefully painted blue-framed mirror was for Lore. Then they entered the “big bedroom,” which, not much larger than the first, was chiefly filled by a huge, carved walnut bed.
“We brought it with us when we came here,” Alfred Schulman explained. “It was in Emmy’s family, and we didn’t want to leave it behind, although we had our own bed. So now it will have good use again.” His smile beamed. “A real European marriage bed, feather quilt and all. New feathers, of course.”
Flushed with a humiliation that must be hidden, Caroline looked at him. No, he would never do as a confidant or adviser. Doctor or not, he was merely a good-hearted man who would have foolish platitudes to offer.
He resumed, talking to the air. “They have been married only a few months, so this is practically their honeymoon. Their honeymoon house.”
Joel, with his back to them all, stood looking out onto the yard. The women smiled nervously at Caroline, meaning to say that they sympathized with her modest embarrassment.
They were so warmhearted, so extraordinary, these good women who had made this home for strangers, and Caroline was grateful. Yet she was beginning to feel tired of having to be grateful. How right was that old saying about how much better it is to give than to receive!
Emmy, who was obviously the leader of the group, said now, “Well, we’ll be leaving you. You’ve all had a long ride on the train and a long day. If there’s anything you need, I’m sure Gertrude will come right up and help.”
Gertrude was a heavy woman with dull-blond hair drawn back into a strict bun. The girl, Vicky, would be heavy, too, someday, when she had passed first through a voluptuous youth. Both of them had prominent, glassy gray eyes and wet, pursed lips. They looked like fish. The other women, Emmy and Fanny and Mae, were cows, benign and solid. It was queer that you could have such weird, awful thoughts while in the very same moment you knew how weird and awful they were. Perhaps she really was going to lose her mind.
She stood bewildered in the center of the room when they had left. “I don’t feel that anything is real,” she said.
Joel, turning from the window, answered quietly, “It’s because you’re tired and afraid. You’re not losing your mind, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
How could he have guessed that?
Lore agreed. “Of course. You’re simply tired. Why don’t you go to bed? I’ll fix some soup and bring it to you. They’ve stocked the pantry very well, I see.”
“I’ll sleep here on the sofa,” Joel said. “Then Lore can have the room intended for her, and you can have yours to yourself, Caroline.”
To this, although the idea of sharing a bed with Lore was not very welcome, she protested. “It’s not fair to you. It’s wrong.”
“It’s fair and it’s right,” he said cheerfully. “I’ve slept on far worse than this new sofa.”
THE room, when Caroline awoke, was dark except for a thin slice of light that struck through the space where the door had been left ajar. The sheets were slippery smooth and smelled of potpourri. There was a little bowl of pompon chrysanthemums on the bedside table. Somewhere a dog gave the complaining bark of one that has been let out and forgotten. She must get up and let Peter in. From nearby, Father and Mama were talking in their room. They must not have heard him.
But no, these voices were only Lore’s and Joel’s. Ah, God, only Lore’s and Joel’s. Close your eyes again. Turn back the calendar, Caroline. You are in your old room. You have lain in Walter’s arms. You are going to go away together, and you are both so happy. Remember the feeling, the warmth and the start of laughter.…
In the front room the voices stopped. The floor creaked. That was Lore going to bed. Then the light vanished. Joel had gone to bed. So now they were three. Why do things that come in threes seem to stick in your head? Three little maids from school, or three men in a tub? Miss Fawc
ett, the English governess, had a little rhyme: “The rule of three doth puzzle me.” So here we are, this curious company: an unemployed man, a desperate pregnant woman, and another woman with cancer of the jaw.
Oh, Caroline, whatever has happened to your life?
“PAIN?” Lore’s cheek was very slightly swollen. “Oh, quite some, but it’s not unbearable,” she said.
Of course, it was like her not to complain. Unconquerable as always, she sat at the breakfast table, checking yet another list out loud.
“Unpacking. Finished. There’s nice closet space. It’s a joke, considering that all we own fills two trunks. Location of market. It’s two streets over, across Main Street, Gertrude says. But we don’t need to go yet. Those women bought perishables enough, milk and eggs, to last out the week. Letters to the Sandlers and Schmidts. I woke up before six this morning and took care of those.”
“I hope you didn’t write to the Schmidts about—about Joel, did you?”
“About your marriage, you mean?”
The word “marriage” made Caroline wince. It sounded like a taunt, although it certainly had not been intended that way. But she wished Lore wouldn’t use it so often.
“If, by some turn of good luck, they should find Father and Mama,” Caroline said, “I wouldn’t want them to learn about what’s happened from anyone but me.”
“I haven’t said, and I won’t say, a word.”
“I need to explain it myself.” As if the whole grotesque affair could ever be properly explained to people like Father and Mama!
And yet, if she could only be sure of seeing them again, what would that matter?
“Well, that covers everything I can think of right now,” Lore said. She looked at her watch and stood up. “Ten past eight. I’d better get a move on. Dr. Schulman—Alfred—I can’t get used to this intimacy—Alfred has really gone out of his way for me, hasn’t he? Taking the day away from his office and driving me all the way to Buffalo. And the specialist has squeezed an appointment in for me, with no charge, besides. These people are wonderful.”