Portraits (28 page)

Thirty-five cents…Doris almost fainted; they wouldn’t have enough for carfare. “Lillian, I don’t think you should have that. You won’t be able to eat dinner…”

“Oh, it won’t spoil my appetite.”

“What are you going to have?” the lady asked as she took in Doris’ pudgy form.

“A glass of water, please…”

Doris watched as Lillian devoured the sundae. First the maraschino cherry found its way to Lillian’s mouth, then a spoonful of vanilla ice cream, next chocolate, then strawberry and a dab of whipped cream.

“Is it good?” Doris asked, her mouth watering.

“It’s okay. You want a bite?”

“Well, maybe a little one.” She reached across with a teaspoon and helped herself to the three flavors.

“Why don’t you take some more?”

Doris was about to accept but just then she looked up and saw the waitress passing by. “No, it’ll spoil my appetite.” She drank the water.

After Lillian had scraped the bottom of the dish she wiped her mouth and asked, “What are we going to do now?”

“Walk home.”

“Walk!”

“Sure, it’s not far.”

“Doris, we can’t walk home. We’ll never make it…”

“Of course we will.”

Lillian sighed. After all, Doris was older and if she said so…

After they had walked seventeen blocks, though, Lillian sat on the curb and panted. “I can’t go any further.”

Doris sat down next to her. She had raised a blister on her heel. “Just rest. Tell you what, let’s pretend we’re explorers or Indian scouts.”

“I don’t want to be an Indian scout…let’s take the streetcar.”

“It’s so close to home. You can make it, Lillian.”

Lillian grimaced. “Okay, I’ll try, but if I can’t make it can we take the streetcar?”

“Absolutely.”

The last twelve blocks proved almost beyond their endurance and Lillian began to cry. “I think you’re mean, Doris.”

Doris took out her handkerchief and wiped Lillian’s nose. “I’m sorry, let’s sit on the curb.”

“Why didn’t we take the streetcar?”

“Because I lost the carfare.”

“You did? Where?”

“When we left the Pig and Whistle.”

“Oh, gosh, I’m really sorry.”

“Don’t be, but don’t say anything or they’ll think I’m not a responsible person.”

“I won’t, Doris.”

“Well, sometimes you forget.”

“But I won’t this time, promise.”

“Okay, let’s start for home. Pretend you’re an Indian going through the woods.”

“I’d rather be Becky Thatcher.”

“Okay, be Becky Thatcher.” …

Doris walked the last few blocks home without shoes. The throbbing blister was running and red…It was killing her.

When they got home they were hardly able to make it up the stairs. They flopped onto the bed in Doris’ room. Bed had never felt so good, Doris thought, and she was never more grateful than at this moment that mama was out grocery shopping.

“See,” she said to Lillian, “it helped being Becky Thatcher.”

But Lillian was already fast asleep.

On Sunday night the family was sitting down to dinner when Doris asked, “Mama, could we have a Christmas tree?”

Jacob put down his fork and looked at Doris. “No, and don’t ever mention it again.” Unaccountably, the memory of Patrick O’Leary sprang to his mind. “Not
ever
.”

“Why not, Jacob? They see it all around them. Where are we living, in Palestine?”

“Damn it, Sara, when I say no, I mean no!”

“That frightens me a lot. We live among
goyim
, so they—”

“I said I don’t want them to have it. It’s up to you to see that they get a little religious training.”

“Really? With Father Gallagher and Pat Heanny and the rest of our
goy
neighbors?”

“Why don’t you join a synagogue and become active, meet some other Jews?”

“Wearing what? The beautiful clothes you buy me? Besides, when do I have time with this big house? My religion is cook-and-clean. We don’t even go to a movie or take a vacation—”

Rachel had had enough. “You should hear yourselves. Doris asked for a Christmas tree and instead of answering her you’re having your own personal fight. Why didn’t either one of you explain to her why? I think you’re both
awful
—”

Sara got up and slapped her. “Don’t you ever dare talk like that again—”

It stung but Rachel didn’t flinch. Instead she ran out of the room, up the stairs, slammed and locked the door, then lay down on the bed and cried as though she could never stop.

Jacob was stunned by Rachel’s behavior but also deeply upset that Sara had slapped her.

Doris wished she could die. It was all her fault. If only God would strike her deaf and dumb…Why couldn’t she learn to keep her mouth shut? “I don’t want a Christmas tree.”

“If you want it, you can have it,” Sara said adamantly. “It’s only a tree. Christmas has nothing to do with it.”

Jacob got up and ran up the stairs, with Doris going after him. When she walked into her parents’ bedroom she saw that he was flinging clothes into a suitcase.

“What are you doing, papa?”

“Leaving—”

“I don’t want a tree. Please, papa, I don’t…”

But Jacob didn’t hear her.

Doris heard the back door slam, then the sound of screeching tires and a sharp turn out of the driveway. Then…nothing. Nothing but the sound of her own fear…She knocked on Rachel’s door. Crying, she called out, “It’s me, Rachel. Can I come in?”

She heard the sound of the key.

When the door opened she saw her sister’s tear-stained face.

“Rachel, papa left and it’s all my fault—”

“No, it’s not, Doris. If they had any understanding none of this would have happened—”

“But, I shouldn’t have mentioned the tree.”

“The tree had nothing to do with it…don’t cry. They’ll make up. They need each other. Believe me…”

“They won’t, Rachel. Papa was awfully mad and if they get a divorce it will be my—”

“Listen, Doris. If they do it will be
their
fault. They’re taking their troubles out on us.”

“I don’t understand any of it, Rachel.”

“How could you? They don’t even understand themselves.”

“But I’m eleven years old.”

“And I’m sixteen…so what. Come and sit down…”

Doris settled herself on the edge of the bed.

“Now listen to me, Doris. The reason we shouldn’t have a Christmas tree is because we’re Jewish and Jews should be faithful to their religion. Christmas is for Christians, and to have a tree would be like stealing something that doesn’t belong to us. Do you understand?”

“No exactly…Yes, I kinda do. But it’s all so beautiful, Rachel, and we don’t have anything…Nothing beautiful, I mean.”

“Yes, we do, Doris, only mama and papa don’t try to show us.”

“Show us what?”

“Chanukah. It’s not all tinsel and trees, Doris. But I’ve been going to Temple Sinai and I know there’s a lot to our religion that is beautiful.”

“What’s Chanukah?”

“It’s sort of like Christmas. We have a
menorah
—that’s a candelabrum—and one more candle is lit each night for eight nights.”

“Yeah, but that’s not really like Christmas, Rachel. Gee, downtown everyone is buying presents…”

“Well, at Chanukah we’re supposed to give presents. In fact, the girls that go to confirmation class have been bringing in their presents to show them off.”

“They get presents?”

“Yes, one every day for eight days.”

“Gee. How come we don’t?”

“Because we’re Jews in name only, and our parents don’t seem to realize what we’re missing.”

“Golly, it really is all mixed-up. How come you know so much?”

“Well, thanks to mama I learned it at St. Frances, through Mother Teresa. I have
her
to thank. You know, Doris, I even wanted to be a nun…”

“Oh, my God. Papa would have really been mad. If he didn’t even want a tree in the house—my gosh, Rachel!”

“Well, don’t worry. I’m all over that.”

“How come you never told me about going to confirmation class? And what’s that, anyway?”

“It’s sort of like when Gina Soracchi had her first communion, remember? You said she looked like a little bride.” Rachel smiled. “You love brides…Well, anyway, our confirmation isn’t quite like that, but it’s lovely and all the girls wear white dresses.”

“And veils?”

“No, but it’s beautiful.”

“You still didn’t say how come you never told mama and papa.”

“Because I didn’t think anyone would care…”

“Where did you get the money?”

“From my summer job. I saved most of it.”

“Gosh, you’re terrific. I’d sure like to be confirmed…”

“Well, you’re a little too young. The truth is, I’m a little older than I should be, but the rabbi is a wonderful man and he helped me a lot.”

“And you never said a word about it…”

“Who cares?”

“I do.”

“Well, then, why don’t you tell mama you want to go to Sunday school and that Lillian should go too?”

“You think I should?”

“Yes, it’s about time we all found out why people don’t like us. One of the reasons we don’t like being Jewish is because other people make us feel inferior, but the rabbi says we’re the ones the whole world copied and we should be proud of our heritage. We gave our Ten Commandments to everyone, and the Bible too.”

“Gosh…you’re so smart, Rachel. I love you—even though I haven’t always felt that way. Besides, you’re a swell person.”

“Thanks, Doris, so are you. It’s a shame we weren’t taught to love each other more—”

“I thought you just loved someone. No one taught me to love Lillian.”

“Well, you have to have some examples…most people don’t treat their children the way our parents do. Who talks against their children the way mama does? You’d think she had the rottenest kids in the world. If we grow up with an inferiority complex it won’t be just the Christians who did it to us.” Rachel looked at Doris for a moment. “I’m going to the high holy days…to temple.”

“Can I go?”

“If you want to.”

“I’d
love
to.”

“Then we’ll go together.”

“Do you think mama and papa would be upset?”

“If they are, that’s their problem.”

“Can we take Lillian?”

“Sure.”

“Where will we get the money?”

“We’ll just walk in. We’re really supposed to be members to get regular seats, but we’ll find a place.”

“You think I should talk to mama about Sunday school and all…I mean tonight?”

“I’d wait until tomorrow, Doris.”

“You know, Rachel, sometimes I feel sort of…sorry for her.”

“I do too—because she’s so mixed up—but I don’t love her, Doris. I’m sorry, but I don’t.”

“Don’t you love papa either?”

“I used to…a lot. When I was a little girl, I thought he loved me too. That was before you were born, but he’s changed—or maybe mama changed him, I don’t know. Anyway, I’m going to be of age in another year…”

“What are you going to do then?”

“I’m going to college.”

“College?”

“Yes, I want to make something of myself. I don’t want to be like mama.”

“I’m going on the stage.”

“If that’s what you want, I hope you make it.”

“That’s what I want.” …

Doris lay awake for a long time that night, thinking about her parents and about the things Rachel had told her. She still found it all very confusing but when she finally fell asleep it was with the happy thought of going to Sunday school…

Down the hall Sara lay alone in the dark with many confused thoughts too. She missed Jacob terribly and berated herself for not being able to bend to his will, but she couldn’t give in the way Gittel gave in to Hershel. Sometimes she felt that she had to fight to prevent her family from consuming her identity, but at the same time she really loved them and wanted to protect them, make a good home for them. She was always there when they came home from school, but they seemed to appreciate so little of what she tried to do for them…especially Rachel. She didn’t want to hurt Rachel, but Rachel should be old enough to try to understand her for a change.

Why didn’t Jacob see how much she needed him to support her, to stand with her when it came to the children? His ideas were so old-fashioned. Imagine leaving the house because Doris had asked for a tree. They lived in a gentile world and having a Christmas tree wouldn’t have done any harm. As far as she was concerned, it was just a thing of beauty which had nothing to do with religion. My God, she knew more about Christmas than Jacob knew about Chanukah, but her days in a gentile boarding school had never corrupted her. She was as good a Jew in her heart as anyone. What did all the running to a synagogue mean? One was either good or bad. That’s all the religion a person needed. Her children knew they were Jews. She did everything to make them aware of their
Yiddishkeit
. When Passover came, look at the table she’d set…and at how hard she’d tried to make the high holy days special. God, oh God, why didn’t they understand? Oh mama, mama…I love you, but I have tried to be everything you weren’t…All I wanted to do was make a good and comfortable home for my family…

She cried into her pillow. Oh, Jacob, I’m so miserable. I’m only trying to be a good wife and mother and struggle with you, but you don’t understand that there’s more to living…There’s a world I can’t enter because you say we have no money for it…How can I go to temple when I don’t even have a dress? Don’t you understand, Jacob? I can’t compete so I have to stay in my kitchen and cook. Don’t you think I know there’s more than that? Please…

After a sleepless night Sara found it difficult to get out of bed. She was very subdued as she sat in the kitchen, drinking a cup of coffee.

Doris wasn’t interested in her scrambled eggs, not today. She knew her mother had cried last night and in spite of Rachel’s reassurances she still felt that she was responsible. If only there was something she could do to make it up to mama and papa…“Can I get you another cup of coffee, mama?”

“No, Doris, thanks. Just eat.”

Lillian said nothing. Nor did Rachel, but for different reasons. Rachel missed papa but she almost hoped he’d stay away long enough for mama to be really frightened that he might never come back. Of course he would never do that, but still…he had been right about the tree, which showed he had
some
feelings about being a Jew.