I Don't Want to Know Anyone Too Well, and Other Stories

by Norman Levine

  “Like us coming,” Oscar said.

  And we all laughed.

  On Christmas morning the kids were up early. Emily had filled up their stockings by their beds when they were asleep. And by the time we all came down for breakfast the kids were excited and some of that excitement went over to us. We all said happy Christmas. And after some coffee we went in the front room. It looked cold outside, no snow but the puddles were frozen. Emily had the large open fire blazing away in each room.

  I began to call out the presents. The children’s first.

  “This is for Rebecca from Uncle Oscar and Auntie Mona—I wonder what it is?” And the excited child undid the parcel and showered Mona and Oscar with kisses. “Who’s this for—?”

  Martha, just over nine, got a toilet set from them. There were things for cleaning her nails, plucking her eyebrows, putting on nail polish, and some perfume. The others got the most expensive dolls in the place. I know, I saw them in the store window. It embarrassed Emily more than it did me. There were boxes of candies from Emily’s relations, reading books, and colouring books for the children, toys, bits of jewellery, and soap, and lots of handkerchiefs.

  Around two we sat around the table in the dining room, all seven of us, for dinner. Emily brought in the turkey. “It’s nearly twelve pounds,” I said. And all the kids said “Ah” and looked excited.

  “You think that’s big,” Oscar said to the kids. “If you come to Canada you’ll have turkeys twice that size. You remember,” he said to Mona, “the turkeys we had that time?”

  “Canadian turkeys are a little bigger,” Mona said politely.

  On the last night we were sitting around the fire, watching some play on television. I decided to switch off. I went out to get some more coal in the bucket. When I came back Oscar was saying:

  “. . . one thing we got for sure. A place in the ground. It’s six feet long, three feet wide.” He moved his hand as if he was measuring. “And six feet deep.”

  I noticed Emily getting flushed. She turned her head away from Oscar. “Stop it. Stop it,” she said quietly.

  “It’s all the same,” Oscar went on, taking no notice. “We’ll all have it in the end.”

  Emily turned her head away from us all. “I’m sorry,” she said. And, weeping, got up and went out of the room.

  Mona and Oscar looked astonished.

  “Is she upset?” Mona said.

  “No,” I said, sarcastically.

  “She’s got to accept this, you know,” Oscar said. “It’s no use running away.”

  “She doesn’t accept it,” I said.

  “But we all got to die,” my sister said.

  “I think,” I said, “you brought back her father.”

  “So?” Oscar said. “I buried my mother.”

  “Maybe you better go and speak to her,” Mona said.

  I went. Emily had stopped crying, although her face looked as if she hadn’t. I put my arms around her and kissed her.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. And I kissed her again. “It was a lot of things. It was suddenly as if I realized that she, they, being a Jew—as if I was an outsider and we weren’t close, man and woman, like we are when she goes on talking Jewish. This is my house she’s in and I suddenly felt we’ll die and they are able to believe in something—that you are part of, and I’m not. And there isn’t anything I could do about it.”

  I kissed her again. “Let’s go back in.”

  We did.

  “I’m sorry,” Emily said.

  “He’s going to put us all in a story,” Mona said, “just watch.”

  “I don’t care,” Oscar said. Then turning to me, “If you can make a buck out of it—that’s okay with me.”

  I phoned up London and fixed them up with a room in the Strand Palace. “It’s so much with a bath and so much without,” I said.

  “We’ll have without,” Mona said.

  They were going to London because Oscar wanted to do a round-up of some of the places he knew when he was a soldier over here in the war.

  “I’ll cry when I say goodbye,” Mona said. “I don’t know why. I’m not like him. I’m like Paw. I cry.”

  We had to wait for the train at the station. Mona looked at Oscar. And Oscar put out his hand to shake mine.

  I felt a piece of paper in my palm. I looked and saw it was a five-pound note.

  “Thanks,” I said, and gave it back to him. Since two of the kids were with us there was no scene.

  “My pocket is deeper than yours,” Oscar said, still holding the note out for me.

  I put my hand in my coat pocket. Then put my hand in his pocket.

  “It is deeper,” I said.

  Then the train came. I went in with their luggage and got them an empty compartment and kissed my sister. She wept, without a sound, her face screwed up. And I thought how like my father she looked. I shook hands and embraced Oscar.

  They rang up that night to say they got in OK and the room was fine, the hotel was fine and a blizzard was on. I told them to go to Bloom’s in Whitechapel for a meal.

  Next night Mona spoke to Emily. They decided to go back tomorrow morning. London, they found, was expensive. (“There are no bargains.”) The weather was miserable. And they missed their kids.

  On the morning they were to take off, we returned the bedding to our neighbour, cleared the rooms. Nothing had really changed. And again that feeling of being cut off, and the need to get out of here. Luckily one of the payments came through. So I took myself off to Plymouth. Went to see the new books and the new magazines at W. H. Smith’s. Had some coffee and doughnuts at Joe Lyons. Saw a bad movie. Had a meal. And came back. On the following Monday we got a letter from Mona. On page two she said:

  . . . Dad was operated on this morning and it’s a good job they did as both doctors said he wouldn’t have lasted four months. I never saw such a big stone that he had in his bladder. The doctor said he got through better than average. We saw and spoke to him but he was in pain and got his hypo so thought we had better leave so he could rest. Poor Mom she looks terrible and it’s taking a lot out of her. As soon as I hear any more will let you know.

  On January 22nd came another letter.

  It has been some time since we heard from you and hope all is well. Saw Dad yesterday afternoon and he got his stitches out and is looking better. I saw the doctor and asked him how he is getting along and he said as well as can be expected. Dad seems confused at times though. We brought the children yesterday and he was happy to see them. He’s well looked after.

  February 2nd, Meridian.

  Hope all is well with you. Haven’t been down to see Dad the last while and every time I spoke to Mom she seemed upset so yesterday afternoon I got the cleaning woman to watch the children and went down to see him. I also saw the doctor. He says Dad is coming along but is confused and that he doesn’t know if he’ll get better. He wants to put him in a rest home if he can get him in. The other day he went out in his pyjamas and it was below zero. I don’t think he realizes he’s in hospital. He recognizes us all but talks as if we were still living on Murray Street and gets confused.

  February 25th, Meridian.

  Dad was moved to the nursing home on Friday and went down yesterday to see him. He seems much happier and I don’t know if he realizes where he is or not. At night they put a restrainer on him so he won’t get out. Thursday morning at the hospital they found him outside at the parking lot. It was his fourth time out.

  March 10th, Meridian.

  Hope all is well and what’s the matter I haven’t heard from you? Saw Dad on Thursday and he was so happy to see me. Apparently he got out again so when I was there the director of the nursing home spoke to me and asked me to tell him not to go out and he got angry with me and said how can I get out as you see I’m lying here.

  April 6th, Meridian.


  Last week he got out with just his clothes and slippers and the nursing home is past the exhibition grounds and he walked to Bank Street and went in a restaurant (he had no money). They gave him a cup of coffee and phoned the nursing home and an orderly came with a taxi and got him.

  “For some reason he wants to get out,” I said to Emily. “But once out he doesn’t know what to do. It’s at the opposite end of town from where we live. He doesn’t know how to get home from there. I don’t know why, but I’m proud of him running away like this . . .” Tears were coming to my eyes. And with Mona’s letter I went upstairs to my room. There was the sign. You’ve got to get out of here, facing me on the wall. The mirror with the postcards.

  I went to the window. It overlooked a small valley of cottages. There was a funeral taking place in the street immediately below. The hearse with the glass sides had driven up outside a small stone cottage. Men in black brought out the light wood coffin. And heaped it with bright yellow flowers in the hearse. The mourners walked behind it. They seemed to walk like mechanical toys.

  I stood at the window, over to the side, so they couldn’t see me and watched them go by.

  From this window I have now watched several funerals. They were all of people I didn’t know.

  “

  A VISIT

  The phone woke us.

  We let it ring. And looked anxiously at one another.

  “Answer it,” Emily said urgently.

  I got out of bed and ran up the stairs to the office in the attic. At this time of night it could mean only one thing, someone was calling from Canada.

  “I have a call for you,” the operator said. “Go ahead.”

  “Gordon,” an excited woman’s voice said. “It’s Mona.”

  “Hullo Mona.”

  “Did I get you out of bed?”

  “Yes. It’s after three in the morning.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “Nothing’s wrong. But I thought I’d ring to let you know that I’m coming over with Ma on Wednesday. We’re flying from Montreal.”

  “I thought Ma was to come on her own?”

  “It’s the first time for her in an airplane. She asked me if I could go with her. Is that OK?”

  “We can put Ma up,” I said. “But there’s no more room.”

  “I don’t mind where you find me a place,” she said. “I thought I’d bring Chuck as well. It will probably be the only chance he’ll have.”

  “July is the height of the season,” I said. “It will be difficult to find a place.”

  Suddenly I felt cold in the almost dark attic room. The only bit of light, moonlight, came from the uncurtained windows. And I could see the slate of the roofs glistening, the stars.

  “I don’t mind where you put us up,” she said. “Any hotel will do, Gordon. As long as it’s near you. Is that OK?”

  “Yeh,” I said. “That’s great.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes,” I said. “That’s fine. What time have you got?”

  “After ten—I’m sorry I got you out of bed. You’re sure it’s OK?”

  “It’s fine,” I said.

  Back in bed I said to Emily. “You heard the conversation. My mother is coming over with my sister on Wednesday. I told her to spend the first day in London and come down the next so they won’t be too tired. Mona is bringing her boy.”

  “I could hear you say fine, fine,” Emily said. “And I knew you didn’t think it was fine at all.”

  We lay on our backs unable to sleep. I didn’t know what Emily was thinking. But I guessed she was as anxious about this visit as I was. For neither she nor the kids had met my mother. All these years, I thought, I managed to keep the two sides of the family apart.

  “Where do you think we’ll get them in?” Emily asked.

  “We can try Miss Benson down the road. It’s only for a couple of weeks.”

  “Remember when your sister came with her husband? They walked in from Canada unannounced.”

  “I remember.”

  “You don’t think they will do something like that again?”

  “No,” I said. “I told Mona to stay Wednesday in London. They won’t be here until late Thursday afternoon.”

  But I was wrong.

  They arrived on Wednesday. No one to meet them. They opened the door and stood in the hall, looking tired and nervous. Mona grey in the face, Chuck vacant, Mother neat and self-contained in her navy blue suit. As I came further down the stairs, I called out to Emily, who was in the kitchen. There was some kissing, and tears from Mother, Emily, Mona, and the children. I paid the taxi driver. We moved into the front room. And they sat down exhausted.

  “Why didn’t you stay the day in London?” I asked Mona.

  “We couldn’t get into a hotel.”

  “How many did you try?”

  “One,” she said. “Then they told us at the air terminal that if we rushed we might get the train for down here. You should have seen how fast that taxi went. We got to the station. No time to get tickets. We ran to get on the train. It’s been like that since we left Montreal.”

  Mona lit another cigarette.

  “I was told back home not to go Air Canada. That BOAC was better. She got the tickets. She said we’re going first class. I told her no. Our tickets were economy. She insisted they were first. At Dorval the British plane had engine trouble. Another scramble. I was going around getting nervous, while she goes on as if she has all the time in the world. When they said we had to go Air Canada—I just stood there and laughed.”

  “It was a very good flight,” Mother said. “I enjoyed it. She looks like a Raport,” she said about our eldest girl, Martha. “Except the Raports are dark and she is blond. Kate must look like your side of the family, Emily. Judith looks like one of us.”

  They brought out their presents. Emily made tea and, on the quiet, sent out Martha to get some fish for supper. Mother said she wouldn’t eat meat, it wasn’t kosher, only fish. I got Chuck and Mona into Miss Benson’s. And they went there after supper. Mother had our bedroom. Emily and I would sleep on the mattress in the attic-office. I thought I’d better see if Mother had settled in.

  I saw her, sitting up in bed, giving candies to the kids. She looked refreshed and excited. She was patting the bed around her and saying:

  “Come, sit down. And I’ll tell you—”

  Next morning when I went to open the front door to get the milk, there was Mona and Chuck.

  “Hi,” Mona said. “We’ve been up early. I couldn’t sleep. Neither could he. He came and sat outside my door until I got up.”

  Mother came down. She said she slept well. And while Emily was making breakfast she and Mona opened their purses, gave the kids five pounds each and ten pounds to Emily and me.

  “Where is the nearest bank?” Mona said. “I need to cash some traveller’s cheques.”

  “Me too,” Mother said.

  When they came back they had bags filled with grapes, peaches, apples, oranges, cherries, bananas, pears. I don’t remember having so much fruit in the house—not since I lived in Canada.

  “People live differently over here,” Mother said. “It’s more slow. I like it.”

  She was curious about British money. And in no time she was doing sums in her head faster than any of us. They had bought postcards—showing the harbour, the beaches, the bay—to send to people in Canada. Mother insisted that Mona write hers for her since she wrote English phonetically. (I remember her criticism of my last book: “Why do you always write about bed people?” Or the time after Father died she wrote: “He was not used to going out with the hearse”—meaning horse.) And they soon got into an argument. Mona wanted to write the same message on each card. Mother wanted each one to be different. You would think they disliked each other the way they were talking.
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br />   “That’s a lot of cards,” I said in an attempt to break up the squabble.

  “I’ve sent twenty-five,” Mother said. “And I’m not finished. Everybody likes me. All my friends are millionaires.”

  “That must be comforting,” I said.

  “It’s true,” Mother said.

  “I stayed at the Queen Elizabeth,” Mona said. “$31.75 a night. Hamburgers and chips cost $3.75.”

  “The way you do your washing,” Mother said to Emily, who had come in from the courtyard, “and hang it on the line and pull it up. It’s just like the old country.” And when she saw the enamel casserole with the purple-blue cover, “I haven’t seen one like that since I left Poland.” We looked at the bottom. It said Made in Poland.

  But I remember in Canada when I asked her why did she leave Poland. She wouldn’t say except something about taxes being high. When I said I’d like to go to Poland and see where she and Pa lived, she said, “It would be better if you didn’t go. If you could do without.”

  And here she was excited because of seeing washing on a line, an enamel casserole, and narrow cobblestone streets.

  The kids took them to the beach. They stayed there until late afternoon. Mona swam and lay on the sand. Mother walked by the tideline and picked small, delicate, pink shells that she brought back to her room. In a few days they looked much better, especially Mona, more relaxed. And they had caught the sun.

  “We met this couple on the beach,” Mona said. “They’re on holiday from Scotland. They pay forty pounds a week rent for a house here. He earns fifty pounds a week—he must save up. They have a car—it cost them twelve hundred pounds—is that a lot?”

  “Guess how much this tan is costing me?” mother interrupted.

  “I don’t know,” I said.

  “Take a guess.”