The Hunger Moon (11 page)

“The boys still need me at home, Mother,” Helen had said.

“You’re fooling yourself, Helen. When children are in school, they don’t need their mothers sitting at home waiting for them. It’s bad for the mothers, bad for the children. They need to see their mother doing something with her life.”

“What would you know about it?” Helen had flashed at her. “Not every mother is itching to leave her children behind as soon as they can climb on a school bus. Some mothers like to go to PTA meetings and bake cookies.”

“So, you’re saying I was a bad mother because I worked.”

“I am
not
saying you were a bad mother. I am saying I am a different person than you are. Roger earns enough to support us all. We both like it that I stay at home. Why is that so hard for you to accept?”

“Far be it from me to accept or not accept anything. I’m simply hoping for the best for you, and I never thought that finishing one’s education harmed anybody. There may be a day when you’ll wish you have it.”

“What is that supposed to mean? That you think Roger and I won’t stay married?”

Eleanor threw up her hands. They never spoke of it again, though through the years, Eleanor could see typical housewife quirks developing in Helen. The way she shopped, for instance. Helen was addicted—and addicted was not too strong a word—to clothes shopping. She expended much too much energy on frivolous things like hair and makeup, and, as far as Eleanor could see, hovered too closely over those boys. Eleanor didn’t think they had turned out any better than if they had had a mother who practiced a profession; in fact, they probably turned out much worse for having one who would pick up every dirty sock they ever tossed on the floor. They were loud, noisy boys who took their mother’s servitude utterly for granted.

Though Eleanor tried not to be critical, she truly did not
understand her children’s choices, and it almost felt like an affront to her that they would grow themselves into lives that seemed so purposefully alien. Helen had turned out a lot like her aunt Isabel; she loved being useless and decorative, all the while talking about the sacrifices she had made for her family. Janice’s life at first glance looked like the complete opposite of Helen’s—but came to the same result of having accomplished nothing. And Peter was doing well professionally, but years ago had built a wall between himself and Eleanor that was seemingly impassable.

The rest of that day Eleanor sat reading, dozing, and watching the birds at her feeder. For dinner she heated herself some soup and toasted an English muffin. She ate a bowl of peppermint ice cream while watching a show on television about China, then filled a kettle of water to boil for tea. Around nine o’clock she started thinking about June’s gifts to her, the birdseed and the lights, and wondered if she should give the girl something for Christmas. She had of course planned to write her a check as a seasonal gratuity, something on the order of thirty dollars, but that alone seemed too impersonal for June, who had been so thoughtful. She had no idea what a nineteen-year-old girl could use. In her day, monogrammed handkerchiefs would have been an appropriate gift for a young person at college, or perhaps a volume of poetry—Shakespeare or Millay.

Eleanor wondered if she might order her tickets to some dance troupe that was coming to town, but that seemed complicated to get right. The more she racked her brain, the more she leaned toward giving money. Money never disappointed. The thing was, Eleanor would have liked to do more than merely not disappoint; she hoped to please. What pleased June? She wore outlandish clothes sometimes, and told Eleanor that she combed thrift shops for vintage items. She loved that forties suit of Eleanor’s that she saw in the photo, which amused Eleanor because Eleanor had loved it, too. She remembered buying it with her mother on a shopping trip to Manhattan to outfit her trousseau. The suit was French, and handsewn in an atelier. When the saleswoman
brought it out for them to examine, Eleanor and her mother stroked the silk lining and admired the tiny precise stitches and horn buttons. Eleanor went into the fitting room, and when she emerged, her mother and the saleswoman actually applauded.

Eleanor remembered her mother’s pleasure in buying it for her, and the way they giggled at lunch over the price tag and her father’s probable reaction. She remembered wearing it on the steamer she and Robert took across Lake George on their honeymoon, and then again when they motored to Montreal. The suit was of a slim fitted style that served her well into the fifties. She wore it to her law-school interview at Harvard in ’56, and then again, with minor alterations, to her interview at the Department of Public Welfare in ’59. Quite simply, the suit was the kind of garment that you know on sight was made for you, fits you perfectly when you try it on, and brings you luck every time you wear it. Picturing herself in it again, Eleanor could taste the dry martinis she had sipped wearing it at the Union Oyster House with Robert on nights when they splurged for a baby-sitter. It symbolized, in a way, the best moments of her life.

She wanted to see it again. Eleanor went to the spare room and flipped on the light. She smiled. June had been in here vacuuming, and had stacked the boxes neatly against the wall, with the labeled sides facing out, so that you could find at a glance what you were looking for. It was just the way Eleanor would have done it if she had had the energy after pushing and lugging the boxes to the room. Eleanor surveyed the listed contents and was amazed to discover all the things she owned, and the pictures of her former self that leaped to life at the mere mention of certain objects: a flour sifter; gardening shears; Christmas crèche; briefcase.

Luckily, the box she wanted was not at the very bottom of a stack. C
LOTHING: KEEPSAKES
. She went to get a pair of scissors and slit the tape on top. She pulled the first layer of tissue off, and revealed a cashmere cardigan with yellowed beaded embroidery, a present from her children one birthday. Then a satin peignoir with matching robe from Robert. There, underneath
some baby clothes, was the suit. It was a richer fabric than she had remembered even, woven from the softest wool. The deep green had a subtle vibrancy, like moss after a rain. Eleanor pulled the suit out and, on impulse, peeled off her clothes to try it on. It still fit; Eleanor’s weight had never fluctuated much. The waistband was snugger and the seat of the skirt hung a little, but the expertly tailored shoulders with small pads still made her look sleek and well proportioned. As she turned in front of the mirror, she had an idea; June should have the suit as a present. They were the same height—they had joked about this, since neither one, when putting away groceries, ever utilized the top shelf. She guessed the suit would fit June fine. She took her scissors and opened up another box: G
IFT
W
RAPPING
M
ATERIALS
. After she had a neatly wrapped Christmas present complete with tag and ribbon, Eleanor turned off the lights and went to bed.

W
HEN
E
LEANOR WOKE
, she didn’t know where she was. A piercing horn reverberated through the air, and the room smelled smoky. Perhaps it was an air raid drill. They had them at school. But why the smoke, unless it was a real air raid? Eleanor rose, grabbing her robe from the foot of the bed. Where were Betty and Julia, the two girls she shared a room with? If they had left, it must have been a real emergency; but why wouldn’t they have waited for her? Eleanor opened the door to the hall, staring at the other dorm room numbers. Which room was the Mitchell twins’? Doors started opening, and faces she didn’t know were peering out. The siren seemed to be coming mainly from her room. Men were on the floor, which wasn’t allowed. Perhaps they had come to help.

Someone came and grabbed her arm. The new girl on the floor.

“Are you okay, Eleanor?”

“What’s happening?” Eleanor asked.

“It sounds like your smoke alarm, and there’s smoke coming from your apartment. I’ve already called the fire department. Were you cooking?”

“Of course not. There’s no cooking allowed,” Eleanor said
indignantly. “What are all these men doing here?”

A man in a robe shouted something to the new girl and, before Eleanor could protest, rushed by them into her room. A moment later, he came back out, coughing.

“The bottom of a teakettle started to burn,” he said. “I turned off the stove and opened all your windows,” he said to Eleanor. “Are you all right?”

Eleanor nodded, staring at him.

“Okay, then,” he said, tightening the belt on his robe. “It’s going to be cold in your apartment for a while, but you need to clear the air. I heard the fire engine coming. I’ll go talk to them. I’d leave your door open for cross-ventilation if I were you.”

Just then a firefighter in a heavy canvas suit came from the stairway, carrying an ax. The man in the robe hurried over to talk to him, pointing at Eleanor and the open door of her room. Tears started to well up in her eyes. She didn’t understand why there was a man in her dorm at night. And she certainly hadn’t been making tea. She obeyed the rules.

She heard the wail of an infant. The new girl looked at her and said, “There’s Charlie. Why don’t you come to my place next door and have a cup of tea while your place airs out? We’ll watch the kettle real carefully,” she said, smiling.

Eleanor allowed herself to be steered by the girl, who seated her at a kitchen table and disappeared. The crying stopped. When she came back, she was holding a fat, smiling baby.

“Could you take him for a minute while I start the tea? He might fuss a little, but I’ll feed him as soon as I take him back from you.”

Without waiting for Eleanor to reply, the girl handed the baby to her. He was solid and heavy and warm, and searched her face soberly for an instant before deciding to smile, putting his fist in his mouth and making gurgling sounds deep in the back of his throat. As she held and jiggled the baby, using gestures that were suddenly as familiar to her as her whole life, the dream cleared from her mind. She wasn’t at Vassar at all. She was home in Brookline, and she was sitting next door in the kitchen of the
young woman who had just moved in with her baby.

Eleanor had her bearings now. The baby was intent on fingering the pink plastic buttons of her robe, which were molded in the shape of roses. Eleanor was embarrassed. She wondered if she had acted lunatic in the hall. The dream was gone now, little shreds of imagery blowing away.

She cleared her throat. Best to act as normally as possible. “How do you like the building?” she asked Renata.

“It’s nice. You’re the first neighbor I’ve really talked to.”

Eleanor was ashamed of herself for not having been more welcoming earlier. A young mother apparently all on her own.

The kettle whistled. “Here we go,” Renata said cheerfully, pouring the water.

Eleanor now knew what had happened. She had put the tea water on to boil and then gone to the spare room to look for the suit. After wrapping the present for June, she had gone straight to bed without ever remembering that she had intended to have tea. The clock on Renata’s kitchen wall said two-thirty.

“I shouldn’t be keeping you up,” Eleanor said.

Renata laughed. “Are you kidding? Charlie would be awake now anyway. He was sleeping through the night at first, but ever since we stopped driving, his habits have gotten topsy-turvy.”

Eleanor waited for her to explain where they were driving. When Renata didn’t continue, Eleanor said, “He might be teething. Look how he’s gnawing on his fist.”

Renata looked surprised. “So soon? He’s not even five months.”

“They can start at that age. See, look at him drool. Mine all started at different times. They don’t necessarily get a tooth right away, but they can be teething for months. My boy was this early, I think. He started waking up at night after he had been sleeping through, too.” Eleanor smiled, remembering how she would wake up and say how nice it was that the baby had slept all night, only to be corrected by Robert, who would tell her, “No,
you
slept all night—the baby and I were up twice.” He always heard the children crying before she did and got up with them; he said it was
either the war or his medical residency that had trained him for fatherhood, but in either case he didn’t seem to miss the sleep.

Renata put the steaming teacups in front of them and took the baby back from Eleanor. She adjusted her robe so that he could nurse, and Charlie lunged at the nipple, making little, satisfied grunts. Renata laughed. “That’s why he’s such a big boy. We’ve never had a problem with your appetite, have we, Charlie?”

Eleanor watched. “My, that’s convenient for you. We never nursed in my day, you know. We’d be up heating bottles in the middle of the night.”

“Why didn’t people nurse?” Renata stroked the baby’s head.

“They recommended against it. Talked about nutritionally fortified formulas and how they were an improvement on nature. We were told by pediatricians to adhere to strict feeding schedules, and that if we fed in between times, we’d be starting bad habits.”

“Did you want to nurse?”

“Not really. You get conditioned to a way of thinking.”

“That’s true,” Renata said.

“Does he eat solid foods yet?”

“No, but he’ll start them soon. I’ll need to look for a job after the first of the year, and it will be easier to leave him with a baby-sitter if he’s partially weaned.”

“Does he mind staying with baby-sitters?”

“I don’t know. He’s never had one.”

Eleanor took this in. “In almost five months you’ve never had a minute away from him?”

“Well, I’ve never quite thought of it exactly like that, but no; I haven’t.”

Eleanor wanted to ask where the father was, but, after all, it was none of her business. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t seen unwed mothers before in her line of work; this girl’s story was probably like a thousand others. But most mothers, married or not, had some friend or family member around to lend a hand once in a while.

“I can’t imagine how you manage to get things done without help,” Eleanor said.