Clara Callan (48 page)

Nora was here for a visit over the Labour Day weekend and we had a good session on why married men who seduce women should all be ground to powder. After all, we are only weak vessels, etc., etc. Well, something like that at least; feeling sorry for ourselves is what it amounted to, but delicious just the same. As you probably know, Nora has the part of Aunt Polly in a radio play of
Huckleberry Finn
. She’s very excited about this and I’m happy for her. It’s something
different and it could be very good for her radio career. And how, by the way, are you getting on in your constant effort to mislead us all about the Arcadian innocence of American family life?

Clara

P.S. Do you think war is likely? The news on the radio these days is terrible, at least up here. I’m afraid if Britain decides to stand up to Hitler, Canada will be dragged in just like the last time. What about the United States?

A strange occurrence today. Marion was visiting after church; we had been sitting on the veranda, but then it began to rain and we came into the house. I was closing the door when I noticed a dark green car (or was it black?) moving slowly along Church Street. It looked like Frank’s Pontiac, and the driver was wearing a hat. Because of the screen door and the rain I couldn’t be certain and yet for a brief moment, standing there by the front door, I felt a wild surge of excitement. He had come up from the city to see me again but had forgotten which house was mine. That was understandable; after all, he had driven me home only once and that was over a year ago in the middle of the night. He would ask at the garage and then turn around and come back. When he knocked on the door and saw me, he would . . . Well, what would he do or say? My imagination faltered at that point, and Marion was calling me to the front room. For perhaps a half-hour I waited tensely, but it had to be someone else. Poor
Marion stoutly endured my distracted air and brooding silence.

Dear Clara,

As you can see I have moved again. A vacancy came up in this very nice apartment hotel with its very fancy name, and Fred (who also lives here with a pal) put me on to it. The place is filled with writing types from the east and so I feel right at home.

Yes, things look bad in Europe right now and I wouldn’t be at all surprised if there was another war. Germany seems to be spoiling for a fight. There are a number of Germans out here now, mostly Jewish, who fled for their lives. They have no doubt that Hitler means business when it comes to running Europe and kicking out all the Jews. As for the rest of the populace out here (at least in my funny business), you’d never know that Herr Hitler and Signor Mussolini even exist. Out here people are more concerned with what’s going to happen to two big pictures that are due for production. They are just about to start
The Wizard of Oz
and we also await the imminent screen birth of that American classic,
Gone With the Wind
, which Selznick is producing here at MGM. Right now they are looking for the ideal Scarlett and that’s all anyone is talking about these days. Who will it be? Katherine Hepburn? Bette Davis? Jean Arthur? Paulette Goddard? Bella Lugosi? All this of course is taking place across
the lot. Those of us who toil on the B pictures for jolly old L.B.M. only get to observe from afar these earthshaking events.

Your reading is certainly more impressive than anything I could muster. As soon as I am released from my cell, I crawl home to munch my nuts and berries. I do go out on a Saturday evening, however, and I have met a little friend through the kind offices of M. Huxley. There is quite a lively scene out here for folks like me. I apologize for this brief note, but I did want you to know that I am thinking of you.
Please take care of yourself and the little one. I am looking forward to being called Auntie Evelyn. I think it has a very nice ring to it.

Love and kisses, Evelyn

Marion and I took the train down to the city today. I no longer feel exactly comfortable driving any distance so down we went on the train, two old maids, and one beginning to look like a rather wicked, old party. One snippy clerk at Simpson’s was staring or glaring at my unringed hand as I fingered the maternity aprons. Marion, my protector, shouldered her way through the crowded stores with the sturdy cripple’s lifelong claim to space, as we searched for something to cover my swelling self. All those sibilants! Where did they come from?

I bought the city papers to read on the train home. All were filled with news of Chamberlain’s visit to Hitler. It now looks as if there will be no war and they are shouting hosannas to Chamberlain on the streets of London. Certainly today I noticed a cheerfulness or sense of relief on many faces in Toronto. Perhaps it will all work out, but one has to feel sorry for the people of Czechoslovakia. The Germans got what they wanted without firing a shot.

Dear Clara,

I hope all is well. Aren’t you glad this business in Europe is over? This past week has been just so depressing. I thought for certain there was going to be a war between Germany and England. Of course, down here everybody is so blasé. What is all the fuss about seems to be the attitude. It does annoy me sometimes how Americans seem to think that if it isn’t happening in their own backyard, it isn’t worth worrying
about. I had an awful quarrel with a fellow from the agency about this on Friday after work. Several of us went out for a drink after the show, and we got talking about all this. And this fellow says, “Where is Czechoslovakia and who cares anyway?” I just got so cross with what he said because it sums up their whole attitude about these things. To be honest, I didn’t know where Czechoslovakia was either two weeks ago, but at least I took the trouble to find out. So I told him and then we got into this big fight about it. Maybe I got a little carried away, but
I was so mad. Anyway, I’m glad Mr. Chamberlain worked things out. I think he deserves a medal for it.

I’ve been busy with the show of course and also with “American Playhouse.” In fact, I just got back from an afternoon rehearsal. We go on the air next Sunday at eight so tune in, okay? I’ve seen the network schedule and you can pick it up on one of the Toronto stations, CFRB, I think, but you should check the listings. How are you feeling anyway? Are you all right for money? I don’t want you worrying about money at a time like this. I know how proud you are, Clara, but just don’t get too proud with me. We’re all alone in this world, you know, and we have to look after one another. Write soon!!!

Love, Nora

P.S. Had an amusing letter from Evelyn the other day. She seems to have found some friends who share her “habits.” A lot of grumbling about phony people out there, but she seems to be enjoying herself. She also mentioned how much she likes hearing from you.

Dear Nora,

I listened to your program last evening. Congratulations! You sounded very good. You ought to do more of this kind of thing. Of course, fitting
Huckleberry Finn
into a one-hour radio program is
slightly ridiculous, but the show did manage to convey the spirit of Twain’s novel. So congratulations again. Marion came by and we sat there, drinking tea and eating Marion’s oatmeal cookies (which I am becoming too fond of).

Yes, I too am glad that the Czechoslovakian business is over. I’m not convinced, however, that we have seen the last of the trouble in Europe. This Hitler is awfully ambitious and he seems ruthless, even perhaps a little mad. A dangerous combination. And the German people are behind him. I don’t think they have ever really forgiven us for beating them in the war and they want revenge. So in my heart I fear there will be war with them one day. Perhaps not this year, perhaps not next year, but it will come, I think, and nearly everyone will eventually find their way into it except perhaps your Americans. They will probably just make money from it by supplying guns and bombs to both sides.

As for me, I am well according to Murdoch; in fact, I am feeling somewhat exhilarated by all this, and as you know, being exhilarated is not my normal state. I don’t quite know why I feel as I do. I should be worried sick about what lies ahead. The stares and glares I get from some people should upset me, but they don’t any more. I am just fine, thank you. The child is beginning to kick at the door and Murdoch thinks I will probably have a boy. Apparently males are more boisterous in the womb. Well, of course, I don’t care one way or the other as long as the child is sound. So I am growing fat and lazy, Nora, and I don’t mind a bit. From the veranda I can hear the cries of the children in the schoolyard; a few weeks ago I missed all that, but now I am content enough to sit and wait for this to happen. Perhaps I’ll seek out other men and have more babies. A houseful of children, like the old woman who lived in a shoe. I could rent them out as help, or run a boardinghouse with all these
strapping sons and handsome daughters to help me. I am fine for money at the moment, but thank you for asking.

Clara

Today the coalmen came over from Linden and poured six tons into the cellar. I suppose I’ll always think of F. on the day the coalmen arrive. Perhaps if he knew my state, he might have arranged for a lifetime supply to be delivered each October. Little enough, all things considered.

I had been worrying about how to keep the furnace going over the winter, but today the problem vanished. After supper, Mr. Bryden appeared at the back door with Joe Morrow.

“You’re not to worry about any of this, Clara. Joe is going to look after the furnace for you. He’ll come in every morning and evening and make sure it’s well stoked.”

Joe was shyly peering in at me from the doorway. They wouldn’t come into the kitchen. I offered to pay, of course, but the notion seemed to outrage them both.

“Not on your life,” said Mr. Bryden.

“I ain’t takin’ no money from you, Clara,” Joe said.

I told them I could manage for perhaps another month and then their offer would be gladly and thankfully accepted. Oh for a God to believe in, so I could have said, “God bless you both!”

A visit from Murdoch this afternoon. We talked about whether I should have the child here or in Linden Hospital. Because of my age and the fact that it’s my first, he wants me in the hospital. He warned me to pay attention to the weather too.

“The child could come any time after Christmas and you know what the weather can be like then, so make sure whoever brings you pays attention to the forecast. We don’t want you to have this baby out on some concession road in a snowbank.”

Having my baby in a snowbank! What a cheery old fellow he is!

Tonight the children came by for their treats and many of them said how much they missed me.

“Miss Bodnar is nice but . . .” Even if they weren’t telling the truth, it was good to hear.

Dear Clara,

Sorry I haven’t answered your last letter before this, but we have had such a time over the past couple of weeks. Vivian Rhodes (I think you met her once at Evelyn’s — she plays Effie and is married to a professor at Columbia University) lost her brother in a car accident and Margery had to change the script to give Vivian time to get away for the funeral. The whole thing shook us all up because Vivian was awfully close to her brother. Not only that, but right now Effie is in the middle of things; she has fallen in love with an ex-convict who has this job at Henderson’s Hardware and now he’s been accused of stealing money. So Margery had to do some fancy writing to get Effie off the show for a few days. But that’s the radio business.

Speaking of radio, did you by any chance hear the “Mercury Theater” program on Monday night? What a sensation it has caused down here!!! It’s just been the talk of the town all week. Some people actually believed that Martians had landed somewhere out in New Jersey and apparently one man had a heart attack over this. People were out on the streets in a panic and I guess the CBS switchboard was jammed with calls. I have to say it really was a clever show, all put together like a regular newscast. The whole thing was written and produced by a young man. Only twenty-one! It just shows you how powerful radio can be.

It was good to hear you sounding so cheerful in your letter. You’ll be receiving a crib and some baby stuff one of these days. I had fun in
Macy’s on Saturday buying these things, telling the clerks how I’m soon going to be an aunt. I think they got a kick out of me. Anyway, they promised delivery within two weeks, so I hope it arrives with nothing broken. Maybe you could let me know about that because they guaranteed safe delivery.

Love, Nora

P.S. Guess whose mug was in the
Herald Trib
on Saturday? None other than our dear old pal Lewis Mills!!! There he was with his new bride (number three). She is half his age, a graduate from some fancy women’s college. Brother!!! I’ll bet she’ll be tired of him and his tantrums in six weeks.

A mild rainy day and at the post office there was an enormous box awaiting me. I had to ask Joe to bring it home in his truck and this afternoon he assembled the crib for me. What would I do without this patient, unassuming man who lives with his sister and brother-in-law and never seems to have much of a life beyond working at tasks that others can’t or won’t do: spading gardens, liming outhouses, assembling cribs.

We decided to put it in one corner of my bedroom and so I sat watching Joe work: fitting the various pieces together in his unhurried manner, whistling under his breath, the large hands marvellously capable with a screwdriver. He must be over sixty now, though he seems to look much the same as he did thirty years ago when I was a girl, and he came by each fall to put on the storm windows. Father wouldn’t climb a ladder, and so Joe carried the big heavy windows aloft and fitted them into their frames. He still does this for me. In the watery light from the window I sat on the bed watching Joe work and thinking of my unborn child and the world awaiting him. Or her. On Saturday I read a long piece in the
Globe and Mail
about Nazi thugs
destroying Jewish property in German cities. They seem to be on a rampage and the authorities are doing nothing about it. Last week a young Jew in Paris assassinated the secretary of the German Embassy and this has enraged the Nazis. Or given them an excuse to be enraged. What
is it about the Jews that provokes such hatred among Germans? Nora says New York is run by Jews, and because they are clever and successful, others are jealous. We talked about this once, but I said that the Italians and the Irish also seem to run New York and they are not vilified in the same way. Strange thoughts for a grey wet afternoon here in the quiet of my home, far away from such things. I went over to the Brydens’ this evening and phoned Nora to thank her for the crib.