“Daria, this is Tony Balakov. Tony, this is Daria Brigit O'Reilly, me cousin.”
His blue eyes reminded me of the Kerry summer skies, and when he took me hand, his manly grip was strangely gentle. In an instant me mouth was as dry as the Burren limestone of County Clare.
“Nice to meet you, Daria.” He leaned in, not letting go.
I cleared me throat before I be giving a croak, “You may well say that.” He looked puzzled and suddenly I be remembering I wasn't talking to an Irishman. “Nice to meet you, too!” I answered and saw a big smile crinkle his eyes, turning me heart into velvet.
As Tony and I be walking slowly around the edge of the park, chatting about the fine weather, what parts of Detroit we both lived in, what did I do, what did he do, he was a true gentleman he was, not trying to snatch a kiss right away like the others. By the time we returned to Tommy, it was all settled he'd be calling on me the very next Sunday. After that, although we were inseparable, only a few times did we kiss, but that was fine, don't you know. It meant he be having respect for me. Ach, he didn't have the gift of story like Da, but he was steady, oh so steady, and handsome like Oenghus, the God of Love.
He told me about his da, Andrei, and I not be wanting to face him, but as Mam used to say, “The blanket is the warmer for being doubled,” and if I was to end up with Tony, I must also end up with his parents.
Dinner with Andrei Balakov was truly not a pleasure. What a nasty man he was, sneering at Tony and treating me like I be trying to explain me Catholic self to an English High Court. On the other hand, Tony's mam was lovely, talking to me regular, like I was already a member of the family, and when I mentioned first me da's death then the death of me mam on the great Titanic, it was Eugenia Balakov who be stroking me, soothing the lost little girl in me.
Later, Tony was terribly solicitous he was, apologizing for his da every ten minutes. His concern touched me and when he asked if I would be in our apartment a little later on because he would be asking me something important, me heart jumped two quick beats in a row.
“I'll be at home, don't you worry Tony,” I answered, and as I kissed him goodnight, his arms enveloping me like a warm blanket, me mouth opened up under his more than usual and as he turned to go, I swear I be hearing him give out a deep sigh.
His loud knock didn't come until midnight and if I were smarter, I be knowing such a late appearance was a bad sign. I ran to the front door anyway, flinging it open and standing lock still in me day clothes, me nightgown tucked safely under me pillow for later when I'd surely be going to sleep a promised woman.
“DariaDariaDaria,” Tony slurred, his shirt and jacket reeking of fresh poured gin and his beautiful hair tousled out of control. He be taking one step towards me and I almost threw up.
“Sssshhhhhh!” I warned, a stern finger to me lips.
Tony managed to kneel down on one knee in front of me and shuffled through his pockets, searching for a little black box which he held out to me, his flushed face confident and hopeful all at the same time. But I couldn't feel anything. Nothing at all.
I glided through our wedding like a ghost I did, amidst a sea of secretary friends, Andrei's scowls, Eugenia's smiles, Tony's sister Adriana, there for a laugh with Tony and not a word to her father, Kathleen's hand-me-down wedding dress with the small four-leaf clover pinned to it, and enough food to tempt the Devil himself. By one a.m., after Tommy's endless toasts, the food disappearing like a swarm of locusts be descending on it and a mostly empty whiskey barrel, the relief about me marriage was indeed grand it was. That is, until me new husband happened by with a quick comment.
“Daria, I gotta tell you, I really love that Irish whisky…whew! That stuff is strong!” instantly brought me back to Da's words, “Wine is old men's milk,” and before I knew it, I be seeing me own father dressed in a groom's outfit maneuvering back over to the other side of the packed room for a refill before falling down on the couch for the night.
The next night, our Special Bedroom was so dark it was like getting lost in one of the black caverns of Dunmore Cave. I could hear Tony rustling the blanket and sheets impatiently, waiting for his spouse to slide down next to him, but feeling me way over there, even with the proverb May your bodies please each other like the stars do their Master running through me head, me pounding heart was telling me I be wanting something altogether different.
“Daria. Daria, are you there?” His voice sounded different, husky, urgent.
“I—I…” was all I could respond.
“Sweetheart, don't worry. I'll be gentle, I promise. Everything will be all right.” With those words I could picture him as Tony, not Da and climbed into bed. His touch was gentle and I began to feel sensations I had never felt before, an aching that needed to be satisfied, an aggression I didn't know I had in me. But the longer we entangled and kissed, the more leftover whisky I smelled on his breath, and suddenly, it was Da I be kissing.
I froze inside while he be in the heat of his passions, far beyond caring about anyone else's pleasure but his own, and when he'd finally rolled off of me, he was surprisingly tender he was, his right hand slowly stroking me white skin, but all I wanted to do was turn over and force meself to sleep.
A month later I was pregnant with Rose, and four months after that, we be living with Andrei and Eugenia and starting me slow descent into Hell. First of all, Tony decided that no wife of his was ever going to work. I begged and pleaded, but it was no use and the day I gave me notice at Brandon was one of the saddest days of me life it was. I remember hugging all me friends good-bye, their eyes sad, wet, with a tinge of worry.
Me days were spent with Eugenia and as kind and sweet as she was, she be reminding me of one of those farm horses that chugged up the Kerry fields with a plow straddled to its back—steady, uncomplaining, and dead to the world. Watching her making sure the dinner meal be good enough for her husband, and her index finger running over the furniture in search of dust, I'd be feeling the skin on the back of me neck prickle. Would that be me in ten years?
As for Andrei, he be a sorry excuse for a human being. “Tony, you do overtime today, huh?” he barked one day, making me think of the phrase, It is easier to demolish a house than to build one.
“No, Papa. I have somewhere to go after work.”
Andrei snorted. “Somevere to drink and somevone to see, you mean!”
Tony darted his eyes. “No, just some place,” he muttered.
“Vell, vhere? Who?”
“That's none of your business. Frankly, I've had just about enough of you, old man!” Tony jumped up from his seat.
“Old Man?” Andrei's eyes be popping out of their sockets as he reached out to grab his son's arm. He missed, and seeing him crumpled on the floor I be expecting Tony to soften towards his father, but he didn't. He kept right on going to our bedroom, his shoes thumping hard on the wooden floor.
Following closely behind, I be watching him carefully lay out a new outfit on the bed. His crisp white linen shirt, pleated pants, black patent leather belt, new argyle socks the likes of which I'd never seen before, and freshly shined half-boots.
“Tony, where did you get all these clothes?” And me still in the same two morning smocks day after day.
“Oh, didn't I tell you? I bought these after work last week.” He stared at me. “What?”
“It's just that I thought we be saving money for things for us, I did.” May you find the bees but miss the honey!
“Don't get in such a lather! You know how I like to get duked up. Don't you want me to look swell? You used to like that, anyway.” His tone turned bitter.
I started to answer, but he was off to the bathroom to splash on some shaving lotion. Then I knew. Andrei was right, there was another woman. I suppose I should have been devastated, but truth be told, the only thing in me heart was a wee rush of relief, along with me mam's phrases: Love is blind to blemishes and faults and Marriages are all happy. It's having breakfast together that causes all the probl
ems.
One night, when me husband came home drunk again, he jumped straight to the point. The best paying jobs in the country were at the Empire State Building in New York City, working up on the beams high above New York with the so-called High Steelers. He'd be traveling on ahead. Then, as soon as he was able, he'd be sending for me, Rose, and Adriana, who wanted to go as well. As he talked, I felt me stomach flip over like a magazine page, remembering how Da once be taking me to the round tower at St. Declan's Cathedral at Ardmore. We climbed up a narrow rope ladder to the front door, and with the fear in me something terrible, he explained the reason the entrance was up so far was so that the English couldn't steal the Catholic monks’ manuscripts, they be treasured so much.
I closed me eyes and pictured Tony working up towards the clouds then getting dizzy and falling, and I let him have it, how he should think about Rose and me he should. I thought he'd turn nasty, but he looked pleased he did, but later in our bedroom, his arm around me waist and his small light kisses covering me neck, I wanted to make him as mad and scared as I was.
“Will you be leaving us then to go out with the New York girls?” I snapped. He looked sheepish. “The fish that bites every worm will be caught,” I added for further effect. But he be drunk and in need of some, and that blocked out everything, it did.
“A handful of skill is better than a bagful of gold!” I muttered as he be touching me all over. “May the only tears at your graveside be the onion-pullers!” I continued, breaking away to retrieve me nightgown hanging in our armoire.
“You and your damn proverbs, Daria,” he chuckled and followed me across the room. Me cotton sheath was halfway over me head like a shroud it was when he pulled it off and gathered me close to his chest. “You won't be needing that now, sweetheart,” he slurred, pulling me into bed.
Imagine our surprise when we gazed up at the dilapidated brick building we be calling our new home in New York City. A sight for sore eyes indeed, with laundry hanging out on fire escapes and dirty sheets hung in every window instead of respectable lace curtains. Suddenly, Tony leaned out of a top floor window and called out, “Hey! I'm coming down now!”
The long slog up to our apartment included couples fighting behind closed doors, babies crying, children yelling, garbage left in half-opened cans, peeling walls, and rickety banisters that wobbled every time I be putting me hand onto them. Tony led the way, chatting, happy as a clam, but I noticed the rest of us didn't utter a word. Not one word. And when Adriana be seeing the laundry cord tied up across the living room, her scowl be stretching as far as both Cork and Derry counties it did.
Being without family or friends brought with it boredom and frustration it did, but the Saturday afternoon Tony toted a slick, white Bakelite radio into our kitchen and turned it on, I had an instant companion. The music programs were me favorite. Manhattan Merry-Go-Round would spill out into our apartment, playing nonstop popular songs as I be doing me washing, ironing, and dancing, pretending I was on stage, not a housewife trapped in her den. There'd also be programs like The American Album of Familiar Music, The Fred Waring Show with the Lane Sisters, Stella and the Fellas, and the guitarist Les Paul who be making his guitar float.
While Tony was scaling the heights, I be also enjoying The Ed Sullivan Show and The Eddie Cantor Show, particularly when singers like Dinah Shore and Deanna Durbin were on, but what really made me laugh and brighten me day something considerable, was The Baby Snooks Show with Fanny Brice. That woman got me sides aching, she did!
Adriana would insist on us listening to the Fireside Chats, where President Roosevelt talked about what be happening in the U.S. and urging us not to lose faith. Tony would look bored, but I be thinking he was certainly better than Father Coughlin spouting his venom.
Tony often be listening to Believe it or Not, Charlie Chan, and Fu Man Chu, but his favorite was Amos n’ Andy. He'd be tossing his head back with a mighty snort and slapping his thighs then, but each time it was on, the show be sending me straight off to our bedroom. White actors making fun of colored men wasn't me idea of high comedy.
In time, the radio held fewer charms for him and I could tell when he was with other women by the shows he be missing, but that was all right by me it was. What really be breaking me heart was watching Rose get stranger by the day.
When Tony be off in the morning, she'd be going over to her Rosie's Land in a corner of our living room silent as a tomb. There she'd be arranging and rearranging her dolls and toys over and over again, lining up the dolls first, then setting out her little china tea set and books in front of them, turning the skin on the back of me neck into a crawling centipede.
I decided to take matters into me own hands I did, and while Adriana was away with her new, intellectual friends and Tony was off God knows where, I'd be clasping Rose's wee hand in mine and passing by the long breadlines of people, just so we could forget ourselves in a movie theater. There, we be watching The Golddiggers, both of us thrilled by the Busby Berkeley synchronized dancing, and One Night of Love with the beautiful voice of Grace Moore. We'd also see the Marx Brothers, Ritz Brothers, Rin Tin Tin, and of course, Shirley Temple. And whenever we returned home, she not be going into her corner so much. For at least a good two days.
Then there be Joe. Massive, handsome Joe, turning me insides into jelly and me knees wobbly. Broad shouldered, vein-popping large-handed Joe who leaned down to talk so gentle to me little girl and her face be shining like the fairy princess she deserved to be. No man ever wore a tie as nice as his child's arm around his neck came to mind as I ushered him in.
“Mrs. Balakov, thank you so much for having me here.” His black eyes bore through me skin they did as he shook me hand.
“Please call me Daria.” Cocooned I was in his intense gaze and warm grip.
The men swapped work-related stories together on the couch while Rose and I be fussing in the kitchen nonstop until Tony told our guest he should relax and take his jacket off. Before I knew what I be doing, I found meself leaning towards the men and catching how his linen shirt be stretched across his muscular arms and chest I did.
“Daria, I hear you're from Ireland,” Joe commented softly right off at super.
“Ach, that I am.”
Tony muttered, “Try to speak American, Daria. You've been here long enough!”
Me head dropped down like a marionette with its string busted loose.
Joe jumped in. “You know, I'm a Mohawk Indian and when I'm around my own people I talk very different than I would on the job. In fact, my Mohawk name is translated as Gentle Horse.”
Tony laughed, but I be defending our guest. “That's a wonderful name, Joe! Horse because you're big, and gentle because you be man enough not to be hurtful.” Tony be staring at me, but I never cared less in me life.
“Well, the point is,” Joe continued, looking straight at me, “talk anyway you want to, that's fine with me. I think it's important to keep some of our customs, even in America, and one of my customs is telling stories of ancient Gods and brave warriors that fought the White Man.”
I could feel me heart give a quick thump. “Yes, that's what me mam used to do with me and I try to do the same with Rose! The Irish believe in telling stories as well.”
“What about magic and spells? Do the Irish believe in that? We certainly do.”
“Yes, we do. Ach, sometimes I be missing me homeland something terrible,” I blurted out before I could think. Out the corner of me eye I could see Joe slowly nodding.
Tony scoffed. “The both of you are living in the past! After all, this is America. We should all be Americans, even if we came from other parts of the world.”
“But why?” Joe and I shouted as one.
Rose threw in her two bits. “Tell us a story, Joe, tell us a story.” I'd never seen her so excited, and it warmed me heart to see how much she be insisting on sitting next to our visitor.
His eyes softened. “Well, let's see. How about Hiawatha?”
Rose l
eaned in. “Hia-watta?”
He laughed. “Hiawatha. He was a man who was persuaded by the prophet Dekanawidah to try to get warring tribes to form the Iroquois Nation. He was such a good talker, he got everyone to listen to them, and from then on, there was no more fighting among the tribes, just with the White Man.”
“What's so great about that?” Tony snickered.
“Why, that be just like the British and the Catholics and how the Catholic church had to join forces and organize so they could stand up against their oppressors. I know exactly what you're talking about, Joe.”
“Can you both please move onto something else?” Tony snapped. We all sat still as the kitchen sink drips be taking over.
I sat thinking. “Do the Mohawks like music?” I asked, watching him carefully push Rose's milk glass back a good six inches from the edge of the table.
“Oh, come on, Daria. Who cares about that?”
I could see Joe leaning back, assessing Tony through narrowed eyes. “I think music is very important, Tony. And yes, to answer your question, Daria, the Mohawks love their music. They use drums and a rattler made out of a whole turtle skin.”
“How interesting! Can you bring one of those instruments sometime?” I gushed.
“Well, I don't really have any. I left the two I had up in Canada where I came from. Sorry,” he said, giving Rose's hand a wee pat. “But, maybe, if you and Tony would like to, the three of us could go up to Harlem and hear some wonderful jazz that the people there play.”
Me “Yes!” coincided with Tony's, “Oh, for God's sake!” clashing like our marriage.
The rest of the meal belonged to Rose, and when Joe questioned her about her school, her hopes and dreams, and her very best doll, I swear her chest be swelling out a good inch or two. What a grand day for her it was and after he left, with promises of return, the apartment felt as empty as an oyster shell that be scooped out for a fine dinner.
Unexpected Gifts Page 18