Modern Girls (25 page)

FROM the Kleins’, I rushed back downtown, heading straight for Zelda’s.

When I arrived at her house, I was breathless, but full of hope. The baby. I was going to keep my baby. Nothing else mattered, because my baby would be mine. I wanted to jump and sing and dance and scream my joy out to the world.

“What do you think Mrs. Klein is planning?” I asked Zelda in a rush.

“Why, your wedding, of course,” Zelda said, and she laughed happily.

I didn’t relish forcing Willie into marriage, but it wasn’t the worst thing. Hopefully he’d see that, too. True, I wasn’t the best cook, but I’d learn. And who knew? Perhaps, with the kind of money Willie’s family had, I’d be able to hire a nanny. And then with the free time, maybe accounting school wasn’t a fantasy.

I was getting ahead of myself. But could I be blamed? In one morning, my life had turned completely around.

“Oh, Dottie,” Zelda said. She was kneading bread dough on the counter and flour flew everywhere. Zelda might not have been a great cook, but she was certainly enthusiastic. “We’ll be related. Cousins!”

I picked up Shirley with a grin. “You’re going to have a playmate.”
Bringing the baby close to me, I inhaled deeply. “Zelda, we’ll shop together and the kids will play together and we’ll—”

Zelda interrupted with a laugh. “Hardly. You’ll be living the swell life uptown, while I swelter away in this pit.” She opened her arms broadly, indicating the cramped space and the foul smells, raising a cloud of flour as she did so.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” But I wondered if there was a shred of truth in what she said. When one of our neighbors did make it out—by marriage, because someone’s father made good—she rarely came back. The one left behind felt out of place uptown and the one who made it out, well, she generally didn’t want reminders of where she’d come from. But I’d be different. I’d never leave my loved ones behind.

“Do you think we’ll have an actual wedding?” I asked. “With bridesmaids and all?”

“Maybe,” Zelda said, folding the dough over itself and pushing down.

“You’ll be my bridesmaid.”

Wiping her sweaty forehead with her arm, Zelda left a streak of white powder across her forehead. “I’m no maid.”

“Okay, my bride’s matron. I don’t care. You and Edith and Linda. Although—I don’t know. Think it will be a sore point with Linda?”

“You like to dream big, don’t you? You’ll never get Edith in a dress.” Zelda punched the yeasty mess in front of her. “Say, what will you wear? I suppose white is out of the question.”

I grimaced. “I’m sure Mrs. Klein will have some ideas.”

“That woman is going to run you ragged,” Zelda said. “Aunt Molly is a forceful woman.” She looked at me as Shirley’s hands squeezed my nose. “You want me to come with you tonight? Stand up for you a bit?”

Never had I loved Zelda as much as I did in that moment. “Would you?”

“Let me first get the bread made. Stanley won’t be home till after nine anyway. I’ll leave Shirley with Ma.”

Ma. That was the one thought that sent my stomach into loop-de-loops. I pictured Ma, waiting at the abortionist, furious I didn’t show up.

“Not your ma,” I said.

Zelda looked at me quizzically before she realized what I was thinking. Perle could keep nothing from Ma, especially concerning me. Her ma would go running immediately to mine. I wasn’t ready for that. “Of course,” she said. “I’ll leave her with my mother-in-law. Will you let your mother know where you’re going?”

With a glance at my watch, I realized that at that very moment she’d be waiting for me. I shook my head. “She’s not home right now. I’ll tell her after Mrs. Klein has made our plans. No need to worry her needlessly now.” This plan would not be to her liking. Giving up college, marrying a man of whom she thought little. The money wasted on the unused procedure. So many things she wouldn’t like. I didn’t want to face her anger, her disappointment. I would make everything work out, and then present it to her with pride. I was a grown woman. I was taking care of things.

I made my way down the steps, back to the basement door, and rapped, tentatively. The door swung open and I stepped inside.

“You’re late,” the girl said.

“Just a few minutes,” I said. “Did . . . did anyone else come?”

Her eyes narrowed at me. “Who are you expecting?”

Clearly she didn’t remember I had made the appointment for someone else. “No one,” I said.

Standing there in that little room, I felt strong and confident for the first time in weeks. I was always the one meant to be here, not Dottie. Images danced in my head: Mama, illiterate and alone, for all the good
Tateh
was, practically a slave in her own house, caring for a thoughtless husband and chained to the children who kept arriving year after year; Dottie and the life she was meant to lead, which was now a different life, but a good one yet; Joey, whom I longed for every day, his sweet smile, his soft breath; Eugene, who deserved so much more in a mother than the tired, unhappy woman I was becoming. I thought of Ben, and how hard he worked at the garage, such long hours to give us all such a good life. I thought of the stench of the boat ride from the Old Country and all the sweet bananas I’d eaten since then, and how now I knew an orange was not just a color but the perfect way to brighten a dull gray day, with the delicious tang on the tip of the tongue as the juice slid down my throat. I thought of my glass of tea and
the
Daily Forverts
. I thought of Perle and the work we had yet to do.

“Ready, I am,” I said in English.

“Do you have the rest of the money?”

I opened my clutch and pulled out ten dollars. I handed it to her, and when I looked down to shut my purse, I was startled by the girl’s attempt to pull a cloth across my face.

Jumping away, I said, “What are you doing?”

“Blindfolding you. That way you can’t tell where you went.”

Dread swept through me. “It is not done here?”

“Course not. We’d have the cops breathin’ down our necks. I put this on you—then I take you out the back door. A car is waiting to take you to where you need to go.”

“A car!” In all my years in America, I had yet to ride in a car. A streetcar, yes, but not an honest-to-goodness car. Ben drove cars at the garage, fetching them for customers, moving them around so he could work. He’d taken all the kids for rides in them at various points, but I always refused. Such silliness. Now I was ashamed to admit the idea of riding in a car terrified me as much as what I faced at the end of the ride.

The girl moved again to place the cloth around my head and I submitted. It was made of rough cotton, and it itched my nose. But when I went to scratch, the girl snapped, “Don’t take it off,” so I pulled my hand down, lest she get the wrong idea.

The girl took me by the elbow and walked me to what had to be the back of the office. She smelled of jasmine, and it saddened me when I recognized it as the same scent Dottie wore.

As I lost my footing on a step, the girl said, “Watch where you walk. More stairs ahead.” Her tone hinted she enjoyed watching me stumble.

The sounds in the alley were muted. I could still hear noises from the street, but they seemed to come from a distance farther than the other side of the building.

I heard the creak of a door opening, and the girl, none too
gently, pushed me into the backseat of the car. I bumped my head on the doorjamb and cried, “Ow.”

“Shhh!”

I slid onto the seat.

“Lie down,” the girl said. “We don’t want you seen back there.” The door slammed shut.

As best I could, I leaned over into a horizontal position, my feet awkwardly draped to the floor while my head bumped against the other door. The fabric was pitted and smelled of cigarettes. Reflexively, I put my hand out as the car jolted forward, and I met the back of the front seat, which I leaned against to steady myself. The windows of the car were closed and smoke wafted from the front seat.

Forcing myself not to cough, I tried not to slip into hysteria. What in the name of
Hashem
had I gotten myself into? The car bounced up and down, jouncing me in the seat, and I thought I would roll onto the floor. My legs cramped from being bent and the roar of the car was frightening.

For this I came to America?
I thought, overwhelmed with doubts about what I was doing. For this my family suffered so I could live the dream? Was this the dream? Back in Russia, I knew of women who brought their courses on, either on their own or with the help of a midwife. It was nothing like this. What if I didn’t survive? Who would make sure Ben had his livers on Sunday or that Alfie and Eugene made it to
heder
? Who would make Izzy continue his studies, get his law degree? And, most important, who would guide Dottie through this mess she was clearly making of her life?

But then I had a second thought: Better I suffer this than Dottie. I clutched the seat tighter.

After five minutes or thirty—I had no way of telling—the car stopped. I heard the door open, and I gratefully breathed in the flood of fresh air. A female voice, different from the young girl’s, said, “C’mon out now.” This woman took me by the arm and helped me into the building. She was kinder, and told me about
the steps before I reached them. Her voice was gravelly and comforting, her scent a more familiar one, like that of baking bread.

Once we entered the building, the woman tugged at the back of my head and pulled off the blindfold. I was shocked to see she was brown, brown as the milkman’s mare. I had seen colored people, of course; they lived in nearby neighborhoods, walked the same streets I walked. But folks tended to keep to themselves, Jewish, Irish, Italian, Negro. Everyone had his own problems.

“Follow me,” the woman said. “I’m your nurse today.”

“A nurse, you are?” I regretted the disbelief my voice held.

“You have a problem with that?” she asked. She didn’t sound mean or even angry; it was a sincere question.

I shook my head.

“Good,” the nurse said. “Let’s get you ready.”

She led me upstairs, to a small room with a long table. “You can take off your skirt and underthings—leave your blouse on—and put this on,” she said, laying a white apron on the foot of the bed.

“But a dress. A dress I have on,” I said, dismay rising in the back of my throat.

She shook her head with what seemed like sorrow. “Then take off your dress. I’ll return in a moment.” She left the room, leaving me to do her bidding.

I did as instructed, undoing the buttons, folding my dress carefully, and laying it on the chair in the corner. I unclipped my stockings and rolled them down, followed by the girdle. I draped the apron about my middle and lay on the table, feeling more exposed than ever before in my life, half-naked, alone in a strange room.

I lay there praying to
Hashem
over and over to see me through. Finally the door opened, and the nurse approached the bed. Without a word, she strapped down my arms.

Alarmed, I half sat up, but she gently pushed me back. “Is it necessary?” I asked.

She nodded and went on with her work, like it was a perfectly
normal job. She picked up a razor and said, “Bend your legs, and put your feet on the table.”

I realized I was to be shaved between my legs. The last time I’d been shaved there was when I gave birth to Eugene. I ought to be embarrassed, but I wasn’t; I felt only relief that it was finally beginning.

When the shaving was done, the nurse returned to my side.

She draped a towel over my eyes, then went to open the door. I heard footsteps returning; then something covered my mouth and a deep voice said, “You’ll go to sleep now,” and I inhaled something sweet and, within a few minutes, fell into a dreamless slumber.

•   •   •

“WAKE up. Time to wake up.”

I groaned and went to rub my face, but my arms held fast at my sides, and immediately I struggled, not sure where I was or what was happening.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” came a soothing voice. “We don’t need these anymore.”

Opening my eyes, I saw the nurse, and everything came flooding back to me. As soon as my arms were free, my hands went right to my stomach. What had I done? Was it all gone? My mind was hazy, and everything seemed slightly out of focus.

“What’s wrong with me?” I asked.

“That’s the ether. It’ll wear off before you know it. Here, sit up.”

I gingerly sat up, only to be hit with an excruciating pain across my midsection. I bent over, my head almost in my lap.

“That’ll pass,” the nurse said. “I need you to get dressed. You brought rags?”

I nodded, not trusting my voice.

“Fine. I’ll help you.”

It was mortifying, but I had no choice. I could barely stand on
my own. “Did it—did the doctor—is it . . . ?” I couldn’t seem to form the question I longed to ask.

“It’s all taken care of,” the nurse said. “You’ll be in some pain for the next few days, but really it’s no worse than losing a baby before its time, if that’s ever happened to you.”

I nodded. But of course, this was much worse. Losing a baby was an act of God. This was the work of man.

The nurse took me by the arm and helped me off the table. I saw my legs were covered in blood and looked at the nurse, feeling helpless.

“Here’s a towel for you,” she said, handing me a dingy white cloth. I shuddered to imagine who else had used it, but I cleaned my legs anyway. Carefully, she helped me make my way into my clothing, but I shoved the girdle into my purse—it would hurt too much to put on.

My fingers fumbled at my buttons as I realized the enormity of what I had done. I thought I might fall, so I threw my hands out to steady myself, grabbing hold of the table, lowering my head. Hashem
, forgive me.

“Still feeling dizzy?” the nurse asked.

I didn’t respond. I tried the buttons again, then smoothed my hands along my dress. Without the girdle, it bulged at the waist. I was no thinner. Not yet.

With a deep breath, I worked up the nerve to ask what was roiling in the back of my mind, though my tongue was thick and the words came out muddled. “Was it . . . Did I . . . ?”

“Excuse me?” the nurse asked.

Clearing my throat, I tried again. “Was it a girl?” I had a hunch it was a girl, and now it seemed imperative to know.

“Oh, honey.” She laid a hand on my arm gently. “It wasn’t anything.”

Nodding, I bit my lip. Of course it was something. My child. Or it had been. Now it was simply gone.

“You’ll be fine,” she said. “Are you ready to go?”

“Go? Don’t I get to rest?” My leg ached, my belly throbbed, my entire body longed to lie down, and my eyes hungered to close. I wasn’t in any shape to move.

But the nurse shook her head. “We need the room again. And it’s not a good idea to have women lingering.”

“Oh.” I was at a loss for words.

The nurse led me from the room and walked me down the stairs. Before we left the building, she picked up the strip of cloth again. “I’m sorry, but I’ve got to cover your eyes.”

I allowed her to tie it around my head, after which she carefully led me to the car. She was tender, and she told me about every step, every crack, every bump that could get in my way. She was so kind that I imagined she herself must once have been in the same situation.

Placing her hand on my head so I wouldn’t bump it on the car doorframe, she helped me bend down and lean in. “Try to rest in the car,” she said. “Lie down and relax.”

I curled into a fetal position on the seat, which helped ease the cramps. But the rough car ride was torturous. Each jolt was a knife to the womb, and made the bile rise in my throat.

When we arrived, the girl was waiting; she opened the door and led me back into the office, where she removed the blindfold.

“Okay,” she said, “you’re done. You have someone waiting on the next block to help you home?”

Looking down, I shook my head.

“No,” she said. “No one ever does.”