“I’m Ariel,” you say. “Nice to meet you.”
Mrs. Jagwani looks up, startled. “Oh, yes. Nice to meet you,” she says and shakes your hand lightly. She smiles a little and looks past you at Ma, who is standing behind you.
“Sorry, Ari, I should have introduced you. Ariel is Leah’s sister,” Raj says.
“I think we’ve figured that out,” Mr. Jagwani says.
“How is Leah?” Mrs. Jagwani asks.
“The contractions are picking up, and they’re giving her something for the pain. But everything seems on course,” Ma says, and Mrs. Jagwani nods.
There’s more silence. Finally, Mr. Jagwani speaks. “We know this marriage came as a shock to all of us.”
“Pop,” Raj says.
“No, no,” Mr. Jagwani replies, waving him off. “It needs to be said. We can’t just sit here and stare at each other all day long.”
“Well,” Ma says. “I have to agree.”
“Why don’t we all at least sit,” Raj says and motions to the chairs in the waiting room. There are three other people sitting quietly on the other side of the room. You wonder what they think is happening, but no one seems to care.
Ma sits next to Daddy, across from the Jagwanis. You sit on the other side of Daddy. Raj sits next to his parents.
You wonder what Leah would think of this. You wish you could be with her. Is she scared? Does the medication make her go to sleep? Can you have a baby if you’re asleep? These are the questions you wish you could ask.
Mr. Jagwani leans forward. “We want to be honest,” he says. “We were disappointed that Raj chose to marry a foreigner.”
“Pop, are you sure this is a good idea? Maybe we can talk after the baby is born,” Raj tries again.
Mr. Jagwani puts up his hand. “After the baby, this conversation might not happen.”
Raj sits back in his seat, looking defeated.
“A foreigner?” Ma says. “With all due respect, Leah is not the foreigner.”
Daddy rests a hand on Ma’s leg. “Sylvia,” he says quietly. She pushes his hand away.
Raj looks back and forth, a panicked expression on his face.
“With all due respect”—Mrs. Jagwani sits taller in her chair—“you are foreigners to us. And we are foreigners to you.”
“True,” Daddy says. Mrs. Jagwani nods, and Daddy continues, “And you seem like very nice people, but we hoped that Leah would marry within her religion. It has been a very difficult time for us.”
“Don’t you think we hoped for the same?” Mrs. Jagwani says. “But there is a baby now.”
Then silence falls over the waiting room again. Ma crosses her legs. Daddy and Mr. Jagwani have their arms crossed over their chests. Raj has his hands on his knees like he’s ready to jump up any second. Mrs. Jagwani touches the gold bracelets on her wrist, turns them around.
They don’t know any more about what comes next than you do.
“So you have that in common,” you say, using a cheerful tone. “You both wanted your kids to marry people more like themselves.”
“Ariel, this is an adult discussion,” Daddy says.
“She’s right, though,” Raj says and gives you a grateful look. “It’s a place to start. At least you know what you’re both feeling.” He knits his eyebrows together when he says this, something you’ve seen him do before. You think of how he’s starting to seem familiar to you, like an older brother, like family.
“Ma,” you say carefully. “I heard what you just said to Leah—that right now we have no choice but to go forward.”
Ma’s serious face breaks open into a sad smile.
“Yes,” she says. “I did say that.”
Mrs. Jagwani sits back in her chair, and her face relaxes. Mr. Jagwani uncrosses his arms. You catch Raj’s eye, and he also smiles.
Your parents and the Jagwanis sit quietly for another minute. Suddenly, Ma says it’s been so chilly for April and Mrs. Jagwani says she’s worried about her tulips and Daddy says he hopes this summer is cooler than last year, and they go back and forth like this until the conversation loses air like a punctured helium balloon. Finally, it seems there is nothing more anyone can do but wait.
You watch Raj’s knee bounce up and down, up and down. Mr. and Mrs. Jagwani go get tea from the cafeteria and come back. Daddy buys peanuts from the vending machine and brings you a packet of M&M’s. Ma sits silently, occasionally looking through her purse for no apparent reason. Finally, the doctor comes out.
“Well?” Ma says, jumping up out of her seat.
“It’s a girl. Mom and baby are doing fine. Congratulations!”
That means you have a niece.
“A girl!” Ma says and puts her hand over her mouth. Daddy starts to cry, and seeing Daddy cry makes you cry. Mr. Jagwani quickly finds a handkerchief in his pocket and gives it to Daddy. Daddy takes it, dabs his eyes, then hands it to you. Mr. Jagwani squeezes Raj’s shoulders before Mrs. Jagwani moves in and puts her hands on either side of Raj’s cheeks, kissing him on his forehead. After Daddy composes himself, he goes over and pats Raj on the back. Ma comes over and takes Raj’s hand in both of hers.
“Mazel tov,” she says to him.
He nods and smiles at her. “Mazel tov to you.”
Raj is a dad now and Leah’s a mom and your parents are grandparents. It’s like you’ve all jumped off a cliff together but have miraculously landed okay. You approach Raj, feeling a little light-headed. He holds out his hand for you to shake, but you hug him instead.
“Congratulations, Auntie,” Raj says in your ear as he hugs you back.
Later, you get to see Leah in her hospital bed, holding her baby close. The baby is wrapped up like a little hot dog, only her face peeking through. Raj stands over both of them, proud and smiling. The baby’s name is Geeta. Her Hebrew name will be Gitel. She’s named after both her great-grandmothers, Gertrude and Gitali.
Leah’s face is flushed and puffy. Her hair is matted, but her eyes looking down at the baby are filled with so much love, you can feel it fill the room. If there was any kind of love that could win over hate, it would look like Leah’s face.
How to Read a Poem
When you enter your classroom, you’re relieved to see Miss Field writing spelling words on the board when you come in. She was out all last week. She doesn’t mention any reason why she was out, but the day goes along pretty normally at first, which is good. You need a big helping of normal.
But then you notice two strange things. First, the typewriter is gone. Also, Chris Heaton doesn’t give you his usual glare. At one point, you drop your pencil case near his desk. You go to grab it, but he picks it up and hands it to you.
“Thanks,” you mumble, but he doesn’t say anything back. He doesn’t look at you. Then, as school is letting out, Miss Field calls you to her desk.
“Ariel, Mr. Wilson wants to meet with us today after school. He called your parents in as well.”
Your heart speeds up. “My parents? Did something bad happen?” you ask. You can’t take in any more changes.
“No, no. Everything’s okay. Sorry to spring this on you. I just found out myself,” she says and takes in a deep breath. She leans forward in her chair.
“Sit down. I should explain a little before we go over.”
You sit at the desk nearest to hers. Miss Field looks worried.
“I made a mistake, and I got into a bit of trouble.”
“You got in trouble? Is this about the typewriter?” you say. You knew it. Mr. Wilson lied to you.
“Well, it’s more than just the typewriter. I tried to help you on my own. I thought it would be less complicated that way. I didn’t think your parents . . . Well, I wasn’t sure how they felt about my understanding of your writing abilities. I just wanted to see if I could help you. It seemed simple at the time, but I shouldn’t
have done it that way. We’re going to talk about that today with Mr. Wilson.”
“Are you going to lose your job?” you ask.
“Mr. Wilson and your parents seem to understand I was only trying to help you. So no, but I’m lucky.”
“Because that would be terrible,” you say. “You have helped me. You’re the best teacher I’ve ever had.”
Miss Field looks taken aback. Then her eyes get a little watery. You go over and hand her a tissue.
“Oh goodness,” she says and quickly wipes her eyes.
“Don’t be embarrassed. I cry all the time.”
Miss Field laughs and wipes her nose. Then she turns serious again. “I’m sorry, it’s just so nice of you to say that. But I also made another mistake,” she says. “A worse mistake.”
You feel scared again. Now you want to stop her from talking, just take the needle off the record.
“I didn’t take you seriously enough with Chris. He’s angry about a lot of things, but that’s no excuse for him to treat you the way he does. He and his parents have met with Mr. Wilson. He will have two weeks of detention for the past incidents, and he knows he will be immediately suspended if anything else happens.”
Two weeks of detention. The threat of suspension. Maybe you shouldn’t have told Mr. Wilson.
“Because of me?”
“It’s not because of you, it’s because of him. It can’t go on. And I’m sure other things have happened that I don’t even know about, right?”
“Yes,” you say. “But he’s probably not a bad person. He just made a mistake. You said he’s angry.” You think of the way he talked about his brother in Vietnam. You have your sister back, but he doesn’t have his brother back. He may never see his brother again.
There seem to be different kinds of anger: anger that somehow turns into hate, like Chris to you, and anger because of being hated for no reason, like you to Chris. Anger is what helped you stand up to Chris. So maybe anger can be good or bad, depending on what you do with it. But hate—that’s something else. That doesn’t seem to lead anywhere good.
“It’s okay, Ariel. I don’t think Chris is a bad person, but he needs to learn how to be better.”
He did need to learn, but you’re not sure detention or suspension will make him learn. It might just make him more hateful. You wonder what makes someone like Chris learn how to be better than they are? Is it love? And from who?
At the meeting, Ma listens to Miss Field about your writing and the typewriter and your poetry and all the things Miss Field was doing to help. Mr. Wilson and Daddy listen, too. You also talk about Chris. Mr. Wilson says that Chris will have to write you an apology letter.
You wish you could say that you only want him to have to write the letter, not get detention. You also wish you could know if he’s truly sorry and knows why his words were so wrong. That’s what you care about. But you’ll just have to see the letter.
Mr. Wilson says you’re going to have some educational testing, too, to learn more about your disability and if it’s what Miss Field thinks it is.
“I don’t know about that,” Ma says. “I don’t want her to be in the slow class. Because they put me in there one year, and it was awful.”
You all stare at Ma.
“Slow class?” you ask quietly. “What do you mean?”
“She isn’t stupid, and neither was I,” Ma says, crossing her arms. “I will take her right out of this school.”
You feel like the whole room is spinning. “Ma,” you say. “What do you mean neither were you?”
“I didn’t have as much trouble writing as you do, but school wasn’t that easy for me. Actually, math was the hardest. But spelling, too. And I never could pay attention. There wasn’t any talk of learning disabilities, extra help, and electric typewriters. There was just the ‘slow class.’ It’s the same here. Don’t you have a slow class?”
Miss Field looks at Mr. Wilson. He clears his throat. “No, that’s not what we call any of our classes. We have a classroom for students who need extra support, but that’s more than Ariel seems to need at this point.”
“Well, that’s where they put me in fourth grade. Then after that, I had to repeat the year. I was always teased about it. I don’t want you treated that way.”
“I’m sorry,” Miss Field says gently. “I can understand why you might feel that way. But I think we can all agree that Ariel is intelligent and creative and should get the help she needs to do her best, as any child should, no matter how much support they might need,” she says, looking at Ma. “Ariel’s been working on some poetry. She’s quite talented, and I’ve been seeing improvements in her writing in general. Typing also frees her up to think about her ideas instead of letter formation. Ariel, how would you feel about showing one of your poems to your parents?”
“Um, okay,” you say. “But can I read it aloud?”
“Oh, absolutely!” Miss Field says. “It’s your poem.”
Just a few months ago, you thought you were supposed to be afraid of things like this. The truth is, that’s not how you really feel. You want to read the poem. You want your parents to see what you can do.
In your notebook, you turn to a new one that even Miss Field hasn’t seen.
A Poem for Baby Geeta
Does she know
about all that came
before her?
How could she?
She’s just a baby,
with dark hair on her small head
that is as soft and as new
as spring grass.
But I know what happened.
I also see the sparkle in her tiny eyes
and how it could power the whole world.
All we have to do is love her.
When you’re finished, a hush hangs over the room. You like this kind of quiet, a listening quiet. Daddy tears up and takes out his handkerchief. Ma nods and bites her lip.
“I didn’t know you could write something like that,” Ma says.
“It’s really lovely, Ariel,” Miss Field says. “If you want to try to get that poem published, I could help you send it out.”
“Published, like in a book?” You can’t hold back the wide grin that spreads across your face.
“I was thinking in a magazine,” she says.
You nod. You don’t think anyone will want to publish your poem, but just the fact that Miss Field thinks you should try is good enough. For now.
How to Be a Mensch
“Geeta’s getting fussy. Want to take her on a walk with me?”
“Okay,” you say and put down the cookie boxes you were folding. Ma turns the Open sign to Closed. The bakery now closes at five most days. It’s only open late on Thursdays. Ma pokes her head out the door.
“It’s a little chilly. Run up and get her blanket, would you? I’ll tell Daddy we’ll be back in a bit.”
You nod and go up the back stairs. It’s different living above Gertie’s, and the apartment is smaller, but it’s just you, Ma, and Daddy now. You kind of like it, being right in town and waking up to the smell of Daddy baking. At least you and Jane still meet at the bus every day, and you’re only a few minutes down the road. Whenever the apartment feels too small, you just head to Jane’s. Peggy says you have a permanent invitation to come over anytime.
Daddy decided to cancel the contract with the butchers, and Raj and Leah moved from the city to a cheaper apartment near the Eastbrook train station. It turns out that Raj can bake bread like nobody’s business. He’s even figured out a way to make Indian naan in the bakery ovens instead of a tandoor oven. He says it’s not exactly the same, but it tastes good to you, and the customers seem to like it.
Raj’s parents are helping them with the rent while Raj is still in school, so Raj works at the bakery a few mornings a week and takes the train to t
he city for his courses in the afternoons. Leah works at the bakery when Raj’s mother can watch Geeta, but she also takes courses at the community college. That’s when Ma watches Geeta.
The less expensive apartment, Raj and Leah helping, and not having to pay Gabby anymore has allowed Gertie’s to keep going. You miss Gabby, but she took the bread-baking job at Caruso’s that Daddy was going to take. She still visits when she can.
Gertie’s might not last forever, but at least for now, it’s still here.
“Can I push her?” you ask Ma. She stops and lets go of the carriage. You take it and go gently over any bumps. The baby looks up from her nest of blankets and watches your every move. She has dark eyes, long lashes, and looks more like Raj than Leah. She’s wearing a little white hat with a pink ribbon woven through it that Ma started crocheting the day she was born. A raindrop hits her nose, and she opens her mouth in surprise.
“Aww, look at her,” you exclaim and realize everything is so new to Geeta. Even rain.
Ma smiles and pulls the hood over the carriage.
“It’s just a drizzle,” she says. “We’ll be fine for a few minutes.”
There were two baby-naming ceremonies. Mr. and Mrs. Jagwani had one very soon after Leah and Raj came home from the hospital. Raj said normally the Hindu ceremony would be the first time anyone would hear Geeta’s name. “But we don’t do anything the typical way, I guess. We’re making it up as we go along,” Leah said.
Ma invited everyone to the baby naming at Temple Beth Torah, even your Grandpa Myron. He didn’t come because he doesn’t approve of Raj and Leah, but you wish you could tell him Geeta is his great-granddaughter whether he comes or not. While they were planning it, Ma said to Leah that because she is Jewish, Geeta is really Jewish, not Hindu. Leah got upset and told Ma again that she and Raj are raising her as both.
“Good luck with that,” Ma said under her breath. Then Leah got really mad. She took Geeta and stormed out of the apartment, slamming the door behind her. You wondered if things could fall apart as quickly as they came back together, that maybe what was holding everything together wasn’t that strong. You didn’t sleep that whole night.
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