I stood by the open window and breathed deeply. Slowly I counted to myself: “In—two—three—four; out—two—three—four.” After a few moments of this I began to feel the nervousness go away. I would be all right, I wouldn’t forget anything. Still facing the window, I pulled my pyjama top over my head and threw it on the bed behind me. Bar Mitzvah day or not, I had to get my setting-up exercises in or I would never weigh enough to go out for the football team in the fall.
I stretched out on the floor and did ten push-ups, then I stood up and began to do knee-bends. I looked down at myself. The thin, stringy muscles on my body stood out sharply. I could count my ribs. I scanned my chest carefully to see if any real hairs had come out in the night, but it was still the same small golden fuzz. Sometimes I wished that my hair was black like Paul’s instead of blond. Then they would show up more plainly.
I finished the knee-bends and picked up the pair of Indian clubs from the corner of the room. Back in front of the window I began to swing them. I heard the click of a light-switch through the open window and a flood of light poured into the windows of the room across the driveway from mine. Almost instantly I dropped to my knees and cautiously peered over the window-sill.
That was Marjorie Ann Conlon’s room. She was Mimi’s closest girl friend. Sometimes her shade was up and I could get a good look. I was glad her house faced west, for that made it necessary for her to turn the light on every morning.
Carefully I peeked over the window-sill and held my breath. The shades were up. That was the third time this week she had forgotten to pull them down. The last time I had watched her I thought she had known I was looking, so I had to be extra careful. She was a funny kind of a girl, always teasing me and staring at me when I spoke to her. In the last few weeks we’d had several hot arguments about almost nothing and I didn’t want to invite her to my Bar Mitzvah party, but Mimi insisted on it.
I saw the closet door in her room move slightly and she came out from behind it. She stopped in the middle of the room for a moment, looking for something. Finally she found it and leaned toward the window. I could see her real good.
Paul said she had the nicest figure in the neighbourhood. I didn’t agree with him. Mimi’s was much nicer. Besides, Mimi wasn’t all out of proportion the way Marjorie Ann was.
She was facing the window now, seeming to be looking out at me. I lowered my head even more. She was smiling to herself as she hooked on her brassière, and I began to feel uncomfortable. It was a very knowing smile. I wondered if she knew I was watching. There seemed to be a peculiar awareness in the way she moved around the room.
Outside in the hall there was a noise. I could hear Mimi’s voice. Quickly I turned and dove back into bed. I didn’t want Mimi to catch me peeking. I stole a quick glance out the window and saw the light go out in Marjorie Ann’s room. I sighed. That proved it. I had been right: she knew I was watching her. I heard footsteps coming toward my door, and I closed my eyes and pretended I was asleep.
Mimi’s voice came from the doorway. “Danny, are you up?”
“I am now,” I answered, sitting up in bed and rubbing my eyes. “What do yuh want?”
Her eyes swept across my bare chest and shoulders. A suspicious light came into them. “Where’s your pyjama top?” she asked. Then her eyes fell on it lying at the foot of the bed. “You were out of bed already?”
I stared at her. “Yeah.”
“What were you doing?” she asked suspiciously. Her eyes wandered over to Marjorie Ann’s windows across the driveway.
I made my eyes big and innocent. “My exercises,” I said. “Then I hopped back in bed for a snooze.”
I could see my answer didn’t satisfy her, but she didn’t say anything. She bent over the foot of the bed and picked up my pyjama top from where it lay, half on the floor. Her breasts pushed hard against the thin rayon pyjamas she wore. I couldn’t keep my eyes from them.
Mimi noticed where I was looking and her face flushed. Angrily she threw the pyjama top back on my bed and walked toward the door. “Mamma told me to wake you up and remind you to shower,” she flung back over her shoulder. “She doesn’t want you to be dirty for your Bar Mitzvah.”
I jumped out of bed as soon as the door closed behind her. I felt warm and tingling, as I always felt after I had watched Marjorie Ann. I looked down at myself. I was in good shape all right. I was five foot four and weighed close to one hundred and fourteen pounds. Six more pounds and I’d be okay for the football team. I knew how to handle the tingling too, I wasn’t worried about that. “Cold showers,” the P.T. teacher in school had said. “Cold showers, boys.” And a cold shower was just what I was going to have.
I slipped into my bathrobe and looked out into the hall. It was empty. The bathroom door was open, so I started toward it. Mimi’s door was open too, and she was standing there making her bed. I went back to her room.
“Mimi.”
She looked at me. “What do you want?” Her voice was cold.
I looked down at my slippers. “Yuh want to use the toilet first?”
“Why?” she asked suspiciously.
I could hear Mamma and Papa talking downstairs. I kept my voice as low as possible. “I’m—uh—goin’ to shower an’ maybe you’re in a hurry.”
“I’m in no hurry,” she answered, her voice still cold and formal.
I could see she was sore. “Mimi,” I said again.
“What?” She was staring at me.
My eyes fell from her gaze. “Nothin’,” I answered. I started to turn and then looked up at her suddenly.
She had been watching me. This time she lowered her eyes. “You boys are disgusting,” she muttered, “You’re getting more like your friend Paul every day. He’s always looking.”
“I wasn’t looking,” I said defensively.
“You were,” she said accusingly. “I bet you were spying on Marjorie Ann too.”
My face flushed. “I was not!” I waved my hands emphatically.
She paid no attention. “I’m going to tell Mamma what you were doing,” she said.
I crossed the room to her quickly and grabbed her hands. “You will not!”
“You’re hurting me!” Her eyes fell from my face.
“You will not!” I repeated harshly, gripping her wrists tighter.
She looked up into my face, her brown eyes wide and frightened, yet with a curiosity deep within them. She drew a deep breath. “Okay,” she said. “I won’t tell Mamma, but I’m going to tell Marge she was right. She said you were peeping on her. I’m going to tell her to keep her shades down!”
I let go of her wrists. A vague triumph coursed through me. I had been right, Marge had known all along that I was watching. “If Marge leaves her shades up,” I said, contempt creeping into my voice, “she knows what she’s doing.”
I left Mimi standing beside the bed and went into the bathroom. Papa’s shaving brush was still on the sink drying out. I put it back in the medicine chest and closed the door. Then I threw my bathrobe on the toilet seat and got under the shower.
The water was ice-cold, but I gritted my teeth. After a while my teeth began to chatter, but I still stood there. It was good for me. I knew what I was doing. When I finally came out of the shower and looked in the mirror, my lips were blue with cold.
Chapter Two
I FINISHED buttoning my shirt and looked in the mirror. I picked up the comb and ran it through my hair again. Mamma would be pleased. My skin was clean and shining, even my hair seemed lighter in colour.
I bent down and looked under the bed. “Wake up, Rexie,” I told her. “Time to go out.” She jumped to her feet, wagging her tail. I bent over and scratched her head. She licked my hand. “How are you this morning, girl?” I asked, giving her a quick hug. Her tail began to go around in circles and she rubbed against my trousers.
I walked out of the room and down the stairs. I could hear Mamma’s voice coming from the kitchen. She sounded all excited over something. She was sa
ying: “You know your sister-in-law, Bessie. She’ll be looking for something to talk about. She thinks she’s the only one that could ever make a Bar Mitzvah. Her Joel——”
Papa interrupted her. “Now, Mary,” he said soothingly, “keep calm. Everything’ll go all right. After all, you were the one that decided to nave the reception at home.”
I heaved a sigh of relief. At least they weren’t talking about me. Mimi hadn’t said anything. This argument had been going on for six months—ever since the subject of my Bar Mitzvah had come up.
Papa had wanted to hire a small hall for the reception, but Mamma would have none of it. “We can’t spare the money,” she had said. “You know how bad business is, and you’re having a hard enough time meeting the payments on your loan as it is. And the Corn Exchange Bank won’t wait for its three thousand dollars.” Papa had given in to her. He had to; he had no other choice. Business hadn’t got any better. If anything, judging from what he had let drop around the house, it had got worse. In the past few months he had become very nervous and irritable.
I pushed open the door and walked into the kitchen, Rexie close on my heels. “Good morning,” I said to both of them. “What do you want at the store?” I asked Mamma.
She scarcely looked at me. “The usual, Danny,” she replied.
“Can I get some jelly doughnuts, Ma?”
She smiled at me. “All right, Danny.” She took a dollar from a glass tumbler on the shelf over the sink and gave it to me. “After all, it’s your Bar Mitzvah day.”
I took the dollar and started out the kitchen door. I heard Mamma’s voice behind me: “Don’t forget to count your change, Danny.”
“I won’t, Ma,” I called back over my shoulder, opening the door to let Rexie out. The dog loped down the driveway ahead of me, running for the gutter.
I heard voices on the Conlon stoop as I came out of the driveway. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Mimi and Marjorie Ann, their heads very close together. I walked past them as if I hadn’t seen them, but I had to stop for Rexie in front of the stoop. Marge was looking at me and began to giggle. I could feel my face turn red.
“I’ll be at your party this afternoon,” she called.
I was angry with myself for blushing. “Don’t do me any favours,” I told her insultingly. “You don’t have to come for my sake.”
Her laugh was taunting. “Why, Danny, how you talk!” she said sarcastically. “You know you wouldn’t feel right if you didn’t see me! Besides, you’ll be a man when you come back from your Bar Mitzvah. It’ll be fun to see how you act then!”
Rexie began to run happily down the street. I followed her without answering.
The light in the synagogue was dim and grey as it came through the small windows high on the walls. I looked around nervously. I was standing on the small platform looking down on the room in front of the Torah. The three old men on the platform with me all wore little black yamalkas. Mine was of white silk.
The faces below the platform looked up at me expectantly. I recognized most of them. They were my relatives. I caught a glimpse of my sister’s face, rapt and intent. She smiled up at me swiftly, a gleam of pride in her eyes, and I smiled back at her.
Slowly I moved to the centre of the platform and placed my hands on the Torah. Nervously I cleared my throat. I could see Mamma and Papa smiling up at me expectantly. For a moment my mind went blank and a panic ran through me. I had forgotten the elaborate ritual I had spent so many months memorizing.
I heard the Reverend Herzog’s hoarse whisper in my ear: “Borochu ess——”
Gratefully I picked up the cue. “Borochu ess Adonai….” I was all right now and the rest of the words came easily. Mamma was smiling proudly at the people around her.
I began to feel the solemnity of the prayer. I wished I had paid more attention to what the words I was reciting so glibly in Hebrew meant. A deep sense of responsibility came over me. One day you were a boy, the next a man. In this ritual I accepted that responsibility. I swore before a group of relatives and friends that I would always discharge my obligations as a good Jew.
I had never thought much about that before. Deep inside me I knew I had never wanted to be a Jew. I remembered the first time I had thought about it: the time Paul and his kid brother, Eddie, had pushed me into the pit at Clarendon and Troy, the day I found Rexie. The pit was filled in now and there were houses built on the spot, but I could never pass the place without remembering. I remembered asking Mamma the next day if we couldn’t be something other than Jews. Whatever her answer had been, it wasn’t important now. I was consecrating myself to be a Jew.
The last phrases of the prayer passed my lips and, looking down at the congregation, I had a feeling of triumph. Mamma was crying, and Papa was blowing his nose into a large white handkerchief. I smiled at them.
I ran down the steps. Mamma threw her arms around me and kissed me, saying my name over and over. I began to feel embarrassed, I wished she would let me go. I was supposed to be a man now, but she was acting just as if I was still a kid.
Papa clapped me on the shoulder. “Good boy, Danny.” He was smiling. Ceremoniously he poured a little whisky into a paper cup and offered it to me.
“Harry!” Mamma’s voice was protesting.
He smiled happily at her. “Come now, Mary,” he said jovially. “The boy’s a man now!”
I nodded my head. Papa was right. I took the cup from him.
“L’chaim!” Papa said.
“L’chaim!” I replied.
Papa tipped his head back and threw the whisky down his throat. I did the same thing. It burned like fire on the way down to my stomach. I began to choke and cough.
“See what you’ve done, Harry,” Mamma said reproachfully.
I looked at Papa through the tears in my eyes. He was laughing. Another paroxysm of coughing overtook me, and Mamma pulled my head close to her bosom.
The house was overflowing with people. I had to put Rexie up in my bedroom and close the door. Crowds always made her nervous. I pushed my way through the living-room on my way to the cellar stairs. Mamma had fixed up a play-room for the kids down there.
My Uncle David called me. He was standing in a corner of the room, talking to Papa. I walked over to him.
“You’re a big boy now, Danny,” he said. He turned to Papa. “Soon he’ll be able to give you a hand in the store like my Joel does for me.”
Papa shook his head in disagreement. “No store for my Danny,” he answered firmly. “My Danny’s going to be a professional man. He’s going to be a lawyer or a doctor maybe, and if things are right I’ll open a fine office for him some day.”
I looked at Papa in surprise. This was the first time I had heard about it. I never thought very much about what I was going to be. I never cared very much.
A knowing look came into Uncle David’s face. “Of course, Harry, of course,” he said soothingly. “But you know how times are. Not good. And you’re having enough of a struggle as it is. Now, if your Danny came into the store for the summer like my Joel does for me, what harm can it do? None at all. And you save five dollars a week for a boy. Five dollars is five dollars.” He looked at me. “And Danny’s a fine boy. I’m sure he would want to help out like my Joel does. Wouldn’t you, Danny?”
I nodded my head. Nobody was going to say that my cousin, Joel, was better than I. “Sure, Uncle David,” I said quickly.
Papa looked at me. There was a troubled shadow in his eyes. His lips trembled slightly. “There’s time enough to talk about that, Danny,” he said slowly. “Vacation time’s a month away yet. Meanwhile you run downstairs. The children must be looking for you.”
I headed for the stairway, pocketing the coin he had given me. Behind me I could hear my Uncle David’s voice repeating that it was a good idea and would do me no harm.
On the stairway I stopped and looked into the playroom. Mamma had hung streamers on the walls and ceiling and it looked gay and party-like, but the kids were very quie
t. Upstairs the grown-ups were all talking loudly, each trying to outshout the others, all talking at once as if they would never have the chance to talk to one another again, and their voices echoed hollowly down here. All the boys were on one side of the room, the girls on the other. Their voices were muted and self-conscious. It wasn’t like upstairs at all.
As I walked over to the boys’ side of the room, my cousin, Joel, came forward to meet me. He was about a year and a half older than me and his face was covered with pimples. I’d heard stories about that. I hoped I wouldn’t get them.
“Hello, Joel,” I said awkwardly. “Having a good time?”
He nodded politely, his eyes on the girl across the room. “Sure,” he answered quickly—too quickly.
I followed his gaze. He was looking at Marjorie Ann. She saw me looking at her and whispered something to my sister, who began to giggle. I walked over to her, Joel at my side.
“What’s funny?” I asked belligerently. I had the idea they were laughing at me.
Mimi shook her head silently and giggled again. Marge smiled tauntingly. “We were waiting for you to come down and liven up the party,” she said.
I forced a smile on my face and looked around. All the kids were looking at me solemnly. She was right, the party was dying. The grown-ups were having a good time, but the kids didn’t know what to do.
“Hey, what are we so quiet about?” I yelled, holding up my hands. “Let’s play some games.”
“What games?” Mimi’s voice was challenging.
I looked at her dumbly. I hadn’t thought about that. I looked around the room helplessly.
“How about starting with post office?” Marge suggested.
I made a wry face. That was just the kind of game I didn’t want to play. Sissy stuff.
“What do you want to play?” she snapped sarcastically, seeing my expression. “Touch tackle?”
A Stone for Danny Fisher (1952) Page 3