All Good Women (25 page)

Ann leaned back into her pillow, remembering how Papa could also be conciliatory and scolding at the same time. On first glance, the men seemed completely distinct, but their resemblance was becoming unmistakable.

‘I know you mean well, but life here is different.' He butted his head forward. ‘You can't expect to accomplish the same amount you did in the States, in California, for God's sake. Conditions just aren't the same. Things take three times as long in Europe. And with a war on!' He stared dubiously at the rice. ‘This is good?'

They both laughed.

‘We had two more placed yesterday.' Reuben spoke with quiet anticipation. He could go into theatre this man, as a suspense artist.

‘After I left? So quickly? When? Who?' She was taken aback by her own alarm.

‘David and Anna Friedman. That family in Carshalton. I think it will be good. I have to drive them this afternoon.' He sighed, revealing weeks of fatigue.

No doubt he was as exhausted as she. Possibly he had the flu too. You could never tell about Reuben. He was fine at taking care of others and terrible at looking after himself.

‘You thought it was Leah, didn't you?' he asked.

She nodded, deliberately filling her mouth with the rice which now tasted like gold glue.

‘We have to talk about that girl.' He shook his head.

She tried to read his expression and was lost in admiration for his face: deep-set eyes; large, proud nose; wide, sensuous lips; dark hair curling around the periphery. She was particularly fond of his eyebrows, so thickly knitted and firm.

She felt a sudden shiver of fear. They had hardly mentioned the child before this, at least they had said nothing particular about her. What did he know of her affection? Ann understood she must let go of Leah. In fact, she wasn't certain how she was holding on to her.

‘She needs a home.' His voice was low, almost stoic, the way it often got after a long day. ‘She is too little for the hostel. She has many chances for placement.'

‘I know.' Ann was defensive.

‘But we both know she'll never go.'

Her stomach sank. ‘What do you mean?'

‘She's found her mother. She wants to be with you, Anna.'

‘That's impossible.' She sat straighter. ‘Look at this room; look at my hours. What do I know about raising a child?'

‘It's not what you know,' he smiled. ‘It's what you feel.'

She stared at the rice, incapable of another bite.

‘I have responsibilities elsewhere,' she began.

‘Anna, dear Anna, I don't think there's anywhere on earth you don't have responsibilities.'

‘No, I mean Papa.' Her voice was more determined. ‘Let me read you his letter!'

Dear Ann,

How are you all the way over in London? I read about these air raids and worry every day. Things here are quiet. Work goes along well. I hear from Daniel every week, a little more regularly than I get letters from London. Isn't it strange, don't you think the post should be better from England?

Mama is the same. I visit her every evening. The nurse says she has never seen such a devoted husband. But sometimes it is hard to believe this is really my wife. She is so different from the woman I married. I talk to her, although I don't know how much she hears. Sometimes she moans. Occasionally she nods. Yesterday she said, ‘wasser'.

I read her the letters from Daniel and you. She seems peaceful at such times. Or am I imagining? Yesterday she cried during your letter. Since we don't hear from you so often, I read them over again. She sleeps a lot. The nurses say this is a good sign. Perhaps she is dreaming away the sadness. I keep thinking that some day I will walk in there and she will be waiting for me with a ribbon in her hair. That my Dvora will talk to me about our children and plans for our house. Oh, Ann, if you only knew how good it was once. We had everything — hope, health, ambition. I know it is my fault. I know I brought her to the wrong climate, that she could not endure here. But how was I to understand, then?

Reuben sniffed.
‘If he had
to do it all over again, he would have stayed in Germany and you would all be in concentration camps. A big responsibility your father takes. It helps me to understand his daughter's burden. And her eloquence. He writes fine English for an immigrant.'

Ann nodded, surprised to be compared to her father.

The ramblings of an old man. It is hard to be in this big flat with no one to talk to. Tell me if you have clearer plans for returning. I know your work there is important. But we have refugees here too. You could do so much. And then, not in the least, is your Mama. She misses you, my love. You don't need to worry about me. I have even come to like cooking. I can get around. I have all the physical comforts. Physical. But it would be a blessing to have my daughter back.

I hear from Teddy and Moira every few weeks. Teddy brought over a lovely apple pie. Neither of the girls is married yet, which surprises me. There is a rash of weddings. I am not so surprised about Teddy. But that Moira is a pretty one.

Well, this paper is running out. And Jack Benny is coming on the radio. One of the few bits of company in a week. I send the best from Mama and me. Love, Papa.

She lay back, spent.

Reuben reached over and carefully retrieved the letter.

She could not open her eyes. She didn't want him to see the tears. She rolled over and wiped her face on the pillow case. But she could not stop crying. So she remained on her side, thankful he didn't reach over to touch her. She needed to release the anger and frustration of Papa. Finally, she turned back to Reuben, almost unashamed.

‘You see why the decision about Leah is so hard.'

He nodded. ‘Somewhat.'

‘I've started to tell you about Papa several times. But he is so much more revealing in his own words.'

‘Most people are.' He took her hand.

She wept again.

‘All right,' he whispered. ‘Nothing to be embarrassed about. Cry. It is cleansing.'

‘It's the flu,' she began.

‘It's the family.'

‘Yes,' she admitted. Tears streamed down her cheeks. Finally, when she opened her eyes, he was still there. ‘I feel so selfish,' she said. ‘I mean this is nothing compared to your family.'

‘You have much pain,' he murmured.

‘I don't know what will happen to Leah, if she keeps hanging on like this. I mean we could just send her to a family. We could tell her it's for her own good.'

‘We tried that with the Rosen children. You remember. No, we want her to want to go. We have some time. She will be young a while longer. And today is not the day for decisions.'

She nodded, holding open her eyes with great effort.

‘In fact,' he pulled away and regarded her seriously, ‘today is the day for you to sleep. I don't know what I am thinking — coming to the sick with problems.' He shook his head and stood, filling the room with a powerful vitality. ‘You have enough … nourishment,' he considered the rice less critically now and she imagined he was happy she could eat at all. ‘I will ring tomorrow.'

‘I'll see you at work on Monday.'

‘No, you won't. You're going to sleep here until Tuesday and maybe Wednesday if necessary. Your Papa is right about one thing; you worry too much about too many people and not enough about your home — yourself. Now I will ring, and you must tell me if you need anything.'

‘Yes,' she agreed, raising herself and regarding him with affection.

‘Farewell.' He bent to kiss her forehead.

‘See you Tuesday,' she said with determination.

London hadn't changed much
in
the last week, Ann considered as she rushed to the tube. Seven Sisters Road was still dark and clamorous. She had an even harder time inhaling the soot because she had grown used to the relatively clean air of her room. But she was eager to return to work. Just thinking about the files on Esther's desk created knots in her stomach. She was looking forward to catching up on Esther's news and to seeing Reuben. He had kept his promise, ringing every day, but not returning. What an endearing mixture of formal reserve and insistent intimacy. Quiet man on the brink of explosion.

Ann was the first one at the office, as she had hoped. Setting out the biscuits she had brought to surprise Esther, she started the kettle. She surveyed the empty room and was struck by its dinginess. No one had washed the outside windows for years. They seemed to be streaked a permanent grey, intensifying the wintry landscape. British people didn't find heat or light essential. On mornings like this, Ann longed for the daily presumptions of California. She could almost taste a nectarine. Never mind that Californians didn't eat nectarines in winter. What she tasted was a life she missed more than she ever predicted. Waiting for the water to boil, she sorted through the post on her desk. At the bottom of the pile was a piece of lined yellow paper, folded in four. She opened it to find a child's drawing: a woman holding the arm of a little girl. Ann's hand shook. It was too early to think about Leah. She shoved the picture in her top drawer, grateful for the high pitched distraction of the kettle's whistle.

‘I might have expected this,' Esther said, shaking her curly head and removing her overcoat. ‘Not only do you return to work too soon, but you arrive early. I'm surprised you're not scrubbing the floor.'

‘Hi there.' Ann was glad to see her friend, aware how much she admired Esther's bright sarcasm. She reminded her of Moira in her liveliness, with a touch of Teddy in her maternal qualities. She looked a little like the early pictures of Mama — round face and sturdy body, rich, red-black hair, high color in her cheeks. ‘Don't worry, I'm just fine. Needed a little vacation from this place I guess.'

‘From what Reuben reported, you needed two weeks in hospital. He was worried.' She paused and, apparently deciding Ann didn't want to talk about him, continued, ‘We all were.'

Ann set a steaming cup on Esther's desk.

‘Thanks.'

Ann smiled, pondering the ease she felt with Esther. Was it simply the consequence of being Jewish in an overly polite country which didn't even pretend to be courteous about its anti-Semitism? Americans were bigoted, all right, but she had never felt so alien there, perhaps because there were so many other kinds of aliens. At first Ann thought her strangeness here came from being American, but gradually she understood that it was often her Americanness that saved her from being too Jewish in the eyes of many English people. She loved Esther's expressive hands and her passionate responses to everyone around her. Ann cleared her throat and listened carefully, lest her friend think she were still dozy from the flu.

‘Is it still OK for me to go up to the meeting at Birmingham next week?'

‘Sure, sure,' Ann answered. ‘I should have this cleared away by then. Any new developments?'

‘No. Got a nice letter from the Cohen kids. They're fine. And Mrs Goldman rang yesterday. She thought she could take another. She inquired about the six year old she met.'

Ann stared at her hands. ‘Leah?'

Esther nodded. ‘By the way, Leah's been asking for you every day.'

‘How do you think she would do at the Goldmans'? Is the house large enough? Would she get along with little Sarah?'

Esther stared at her. There was something of Teddy in the way she looked straight through you.

‘Sure these are the appropriate questions?'

‘Oh, Leah and I. Esther, that's crazy. We both know it. Aside from anything else, it's very unprofessional.' She swivelled in her chair and stared out the dirty grey windows across the dirty grey city and wondered whether, in fact, she was well enough to be at work today.

‘Professional? No, love isn't professional.' Esther's scrutiny was softer now, but equally intense. She sipped her tea and waited.

‘How do we know that child loves me? Maybe she just identifies with me.' She was breathing too fast.

‘I wasn't talking about her love.'

‘Oh.' Ann blushed and took another draught of tea. ‘Yes, I adore her. But I don't trust that. A person gets lonely far away from her family and friends. Of course I have you and Sheila and Judith, but most of my roots are back home.'

‘Yes.' Esther nodded patiently.

‘How do I know what I feel for her, this little child, isn't some kind of personal need?'

‘Don't most people come to each other out of need?'

‘Yes, but when they're adults that's all right. When one of them is twenty years younger than the other, it's not very equal.'

‘Equal or not, you have a date with her this morning.' Esther evaded Ann's eyes. ‘I couldn't help it. Every day she asked after you. I promised you would say hello on your first morning back.'

Ann swept her hand across the stacks of reports and papers on her desk.

‘She's counting on you, Ann, fifteen minutes won't hurt.'

‘You've missed your calling, Esther. You would have made a brilliant
schochkin
.'

‘I come from a long line of matchmakers.'

The hostel felt particularly chilly
this morning. They had been saving money by heating only the rooms where the children were playing or sleeping. Now with all of them in the recreation room, the little dormitory was cold and damp. She considered the beds, so neatly made, in almost military precision, yet touched with personal mementoes — a teddy bear here, a picture taped to the bedpost, a special pillow case. They had each made their own beds private territories, claiming what individuality they could. What would it be like to sleep with these other bodies each night? Did you hear the others tossing and coughing? Or did the even breathing of the bodies help you sleep? How long did the kids whisper after lights out? Ann used to dream of being sent away to summer camp, where everyone slept together, where kids told ghost stories and played pranks with each other. She had heard marvellous tales from Daniel about Boy Scouts. But Mama would never let her go away. There was so much that Mama felt Ann couldn't handle until Mama became unable to handle anything herself. Was this why Ann took on so much responsibility nowadays? She looked around again. Yes, her concern for these children in their impersonal dormitory was mixed with a little envy from her own missed adventures. She shivered and walked faster toward the recreation room.