You Were There Before My Eyes

by Maria Riva

  Holding Jane’s hand, Hannah talked, led her through the waiting hours until she knew the time had come for her to run, fetch Missus-Schneider-eight-blocks-over.

  Having been trotted the full eight blocks by a relentless Hannah, the midwife, bosom heaving, removed her summer hat adorned with trembling daisies, put down her basket, extracted silver scissors, threw them into the pot of boiling water, fished them out by the ribbon attached to them, washed her hands, put on a voluminous white apron and, picking up her basket, telling Hannah to follow with boiled water, went upstairs to deliver Jane’s baby with practiced efficiency. She smacked, it wailed, cord tied and cleaned, she handed the newborn fury over to Hannah, then concentrated on what she considered her most vital duty, to make every effort to save the mother from developing childbed fever and possible death because of an afterbirth not fully expelled.

  “Good! Wunderbar. All clean.”

  The midwife acknowledged Jane as a bona fide living mother, gave her a satisfied smile of approval for the excellent assist she had managed during delivery, washed her down, dried her off, turned to Hannah, who, entranced by the bundle in her hands wasn’t paying the slightest attention, startling her into action with “Well, what are you waiting for? Put the child in the cradle. Now, we change the sheets—then the mother can sleep before the husband comes home and wants his supper.”

  And so, Jane’s son was born in the bed he had been conceived in.

  When the men came home, Hannah, putting on a serious face, greeted them with “Tonight—no usual supper. Tonight only sandwiches you have.” And allowed them to register disappointment before breaking into a big smile and announcing, “Dat’s because today we got a new boarder! Vifey had her baby—A BOY!” And that’s how John got the news he was a father. “So go up already! New Papa!”

  “Is it alright? Can I?” John asked, uncertain how one should behave at such a time.

  “Up—up wit you! Go!” John sprinted upstairs. “Rest of you boys—wash up, but make no noise when come down for de eating!”

  Later in the parlor, when John brought him down, the men were introduced to the new boarder. Carl got misty-eyed when the baby curled its tiny fingers around one of his, Zoltan asked if he might stroke the silken head and when he did, his hand had a tremor. Peter shook his head vehemently when offered the bundle to hold, saying he wasn’t clean enough, but it was obvious he was only frightened of dropping it. Having returned in time, Rumpelstiltskin had no such fear and cradled the baby cooing softly.

  “Ah, the miracle of birth … the miracle of birth … divine!”

  Jimmy said the boy was the spitting image of John. Stan disagreed, how could that be when he had Jane’s eyes! Everyone fussed and marveled, clapped John on the back, told him how proud he should be and to offer their heartfelt congratulations to the new mother. Hannah, her house having been honored by a first-generation American, was bursting with joy. Hugging Fritz, she declared, “We got our first real Yankee Doodle Dandy!”

  The next day, Jane was ready to resume her wifely duties, relieved that, for a while at least, the ones expected in bed would not be included. What she would do after this reprieve, she wasn’t sure of yet but determined to find some way of escaping another pregnancy. Having once been told, by whom she couldn’t remember but thought it could have been Antonia, that suckling a child protected a woman from conceiving another, Jane threw herself into the feeding of her son with fierce dedication. This enraptured the baby as much as it startled Hannah.

  With a son to carry on his name, John, for the first time, felt truly married. Anxiety followed close behind. The responsibility of a defenseless life, its precarious existence of his making, was reality not faced with ease—any regret now an impossibility. To be aware of a woman as a wife was one thing; to accept her status as mother of one’s son required an adjustment wholly apart, totally new. Somehow, the willing, interested girl that had begun to attract him, now was mother—its connotation of saintliness inescapable. When Jane nursed, visions of Madonnas kept superimposing themselves onto her face, making him uncomfortable, a sudden outsider. Neither John nor Jane being conformist parent material, this was a confusing time for both but, as neither knew why and marriage in their time was a state of being not an open forum for verbal communication, both made do—accepted what they had, without the slightest realization that either had the power to change their individual destiny.

  John named his son Michael. Jane, relieved that the subject of an immediate church christening did not come up, hoped it might even be forgotten in time, but knew it probably wouldn’t. It had always puzzled her why everyone was in such a hurry, felt such religious zeal to bring a child to God, as the good Sisters insisted, when babies were constantly referred to as having come from God in the first place. Was Original Sin besmirching the miracle of birth? Somewhere there seemed a confusion of Christian dogma, one she had found often, as though pure belief was never good enough until sanctified by man-made interference of ritualized pomp.

  Jane found she was not a natural mother. This did not surprise her, for the one from whom she might have learned by example had been denied her and nuns, as virgin brides, women incased in Divine Chastity, not earthly bonds, lacked such experience except in faded retrospect. Though never abusive in the physical sense, it was Jane’s very lack of exhibited emotion that eliminated the recognition of spontaneous affection from her child’s life. It was her way. If overt loving preordained the loss of it, then it was better not to venture into it at all. This catechism of self-protection against eventual emotional pain that had replaced her God at such a young age—matured, until she became what she was unaware of, a cool creature contained, not given to introspection of her lack of human passion.

  Due to the devoted mothering of Hannah and Rumpelstiltskin by day, in the evenings passed around to delighted boarders, Michael was a happy baby, given to cooing appreciably to all who held him tenderly enchanted by his brown velvet gaze of trust and contemplation. Except for feeding him, Jane found her mother’s duties unnecessary for her child’s well-being. As this did not bother her in the least, Hannah could indulge her longing for motherhood by proxy, without any danger of overstepping emotional boundaries belonging to another. So, Michael thrived. Adored by one, accepted by another, his father proud—his friends besotted and, when Henrietta’s little girls came to play and tickled his toes, he was in seventh heaven. A child loved and loving, his charm infectious tonic to all he encountered, Michael was, as such children often are, sacrifice to future tragedy. But, for now, it was his time still whole, unblemished and life welcomed him with open arms.

  9

  Rumors that Henry Ford believed boardinghouses were potential harborers of rampant sin persisted. His belief was that women being weak, easily tempted creatures with their husbands away at work, any lodger so inclined could have his lascivious way with his landlady without encountering any resistance. Every day there were new speculations as to when Ford’s Sociological Department would be given the order to close all boardinghouses as well as rooming houses run by the wives of his employees. This, plus the conditions demanded for eligibility to share in the company’s profits, now forced the still unmarried men of the Geiger house to act.

  Carl, who had only taken a fancy to one of the Irish typists at the plant, now began courting her in earnest, telling Hannah, who worried he was rushing into matrimony for the wrong reasons, that he was only doing so out of the simple needs of a normal man, not simply to conform to the Boss’s rules. When the only obstacle that stood in the way of his lady love’s acceptance of his marriage proposal was her refusal to abandon her parents, Carl bought the house they were living in, married his Rosie, and moved over to Irishtown. Peter found himself a comely widow lady willing to shed her memories, married and moved over to Polishtown. For a while, Jane sewed so much wedding finery, she was too busy to contemplate the changes that were taking place. Zoltan, who categorically
refused to marry, sent for his mother. While waiting for her to make the journey from Bulgaria, he began searching for a place to install her in to keep house for him. Jimmy, when offered a promotion if he returned to England to take up an advisory position at the Ford assembly plant in Manchester, accepted, gloating that he had found a way of escaping the shackles of marriage by simply returning from whence he had come. They threw him a farewell party—Hannah outdoing herself, constructing a resplendent trifle made with mountains of cream and real sherry! There were lots of jokes about the mania for drinking tea, pomp and circumstance, old world class distinctions but, despite the jovial mood, its gaiety was a bit forced, as though everyone had made up their mind to make Jimmy’s farewell evening something it just couldn’t be—a happy occasion. Even Stan finally capitulated, and found himself a woman. A fiery Sicilian, magnificent in rage as she was in displayed passion that Hannah swore had to be a practicing witch. Having looked forward to chatting with her in Italian, Jane found her southern dialect impossible to decipher but, as Serafina spoke some English, they could communicate.

  Despite an inner fury, Hannah knew her days as mothering landlady were coming to an end, realized that the benefits to be gained by the approval of the company inspectors would eventually outweigh those of personal liberty. Now, in the evenings when the boarders took their places in the parlor, empty chairs stood as silent reminders of absent friends. For the first time, the Geiger boardinghouse had empty beds to fill and Fritz mentioned there were Hungarians looking for room and board.

  “Hungarians? I don’t want! Stay one week, den disappear with all de silver spoons!”

  “Be careful, Hannachen!” said her husband in German, “that is not American fair thinking.”

  “Oh? What is fair American, please tell me? Not taking into any boardinghouses black skins?”

  Fritz decided to go back to the safety of his newspaper. Even the high wage of Five-Dollars-a-Day could not compensate for the loss of income from steady boarders. Hannah, not willing to take in unskilled laborers whose languages no one could understand, began to worry.

  It was then that Mr. Ebberhardt Fishbein, traveling salesman of perfection, decided he needed roots. A place of permanence to welcome him when returning from his many arduous travels on the rutted roads of the Middle West. And so, one morning, he approached Hannah as she was putting away the breakfast dishes.

  “Dear Frau Geiger,” the little man always reverted to formal address when conducting business.

  Hannah, knowing this, replied in kind. “Yes, Mr. Fishbein. What can I do for you?”

  “I have been giving this matter much thought. Actually, it has taken deep contemplation and I have come to the conclusion that I wish to rent permanent accommodations, here, in your so excellent establishment. Please, note the use of the word permanent. For this, I would require two rooms, preferably connecting, with full board when in residence, of course none when absent. This arrangement would also need to include the laundering and pressing of such various intimate articles as shirts, collars and cuffs, the degree of starch to be decided at a later date. If this would meet with you and your dear husband’s approval, I would be more than pleased to negotiate a fair and binding yearly sum.”

  Hannah’s love of theatrics always blossomed when her Ebbely performed. Looking down at him as he stood before her looking up, he acting the suppliant aristocrat now fallen on hard times, needing shelter in a boardinghouse, she curtsied, replied she would be overjoyed to welcome such a distinguished gentleman as himself to take up permanent residence in her humble abode, reached down, lifted him off the floor, kissed his little forehead and plunked him back down. Mr. Fishbein beamed.

  Their game over, Hannah got serious.

  “Ebbely, sit. No, no, we discuss de money later—first, we got to talk. You want coffee? A little something?” Frowning, the little man declined, wondering what was bothering her. “Now, listen good. If dis ting wit de boardinghouse dat Mr. Henry Ford dey say has de bug up his nose about, happens and I gotta close, what den? What happens to you? Only fair we discuss dis before you bring all your stuff. I know you! Gott im Himmel—will you have stuff! Little carpets, lamps mit fringes, porcelain dancing ladies. Wit de bric-and-de-bracs, loaded you will be!”

  “Ah! How you do know me!”

  “See! So what happens mit all dat if Mr. Ford make me close?”

  “Dear lady, am I not a relative? Some sister’s husband, perhaps? Cousin? Brother-in-law? … All quite possible categories, perfectly legitimately acceptable to the Master of Highland Park. Do not worry—mum shall be the word and cleverness the game. We manipulate whenever possible, resign only when impossible! By dawn tomorrow, I shall move in, lock-stock and ladies’ underwear.”

  Hannah could have kissed him again but he scurried out of the kitchen before she got a hold on him.

  Having been given the idea that relatives would be acceptable as paying boarders, Hannah decided to grant her sister’s wish for her eldest to immigrate to America, there to make his fortune under the protective eye of his affluent aunt. Never having been overly fond of him even as a child, Hannah had been putting her insistent sister off by the rightful claim of having no room. But now, with her house emptying at an alarming rate, she relented—hoping the intervening years had changed her nephew sufficiently so she wouldn’t have to regret having changed her mind.

  Now most Sunday suppers became small reunions, as those who had left returned, brought wives and sweethearts, sat around the big table, once again enjoyed Hannah’s cooking, feeling at home—as though nothing had changed. Hannah gloried in these evenings, fussing all week preparing for them, hoping as many who could would show up—their ravenous appetites intact. Johann’s family fitted into these congenial times, as did Carl’s Rosie and Peter’s Dora; even Serafina, whenever Stan brought her, only Rudy’s Frederika remained the aloof stranger visiting another’s home. But then, being such a rare bird, most places, most people seemed too foreign for her to feel comfortable with. This did not seem to bother Rudy, not even Frederika—only their friends.

  The baby sleeping contentedly in his cradle under the kitchen table, Jane helped serve, carrying in the sauceboats of onion gravy for Hannah’s Sunday Special.

  “Pot roast! My God! How I’ve missed Hannah’s magic!” Johann cheered, then, catching himself quickly added, “Henrietta, you are such an excellent cook yourself, you must get Hannah to give you her recipe!”

  His wife, busy tying bibs around their children’s necks, smiled, “Even with it, mine would never come out so perfect!” And she meant it.

  “Ach! Only trick is de right black iron pot, den de slow, slow, long time smallest simmering, den you got it! A little bay leaf and de sweet paprika maybe also, den noting to it, Dolly.” As Vifey had been given Jane, so Henrietta was now a dominative doll, Hannah’s concession to her possible embarrassment leaving off the China that belonged to it. “Mashed potatoes, glazed carrots, and de coleslaw on de way also got gherkins.” Hannah bustled back into the kitchen, as Jane arrived with the beer.

  “John,” Zoltan looked up from his plate, “this latest innovation at the plant—what do you think of it?”

  “Which one?” John asked, not trying to make a joke.

  “He’s talking about the Boss’s Moving Pictures Department,” Rudy answered. “Can you believe it! Now we are going to make moving picture shows?”

  “For an automobile?” Stan passed the potatoes to Johann.

  “Our Lizzie is going to be in the flicks,” Rudy laughed.

  “Ja,” Fritz helped himself to gherkins. “That little Mary Pickford better watch her curls!”

  “Starting up a whole moving pictures operation, right inside a manufacturing plant—no one has ever done that before! Whatever is that man going to think of next?” Zoltan was impressed.

  “Well, I tell you, if they put on celluloid the assembly lines—it�
��s going to revolutionize how we sell in the future!” John helped himself to carrots. “If the Boss plans to use this new device to advertise, those seven thousand Ford dealers across the country …”

  “We’ve got that many now?” Fritz interrupted.

  “Yes. Evangeline just got the latest count.” Jane noticed that at the mention of this ever-reoccurring name, the women grouped at the end of the table became interested. John continued, “When those dealerships can see our production in actual motion, their eyes will pop out!”

  “Damn right they will!!” Rudy agreed.

  “You swearing in front of your lady wife and the others?” Fritz reprimanded.

  “Sorry, ladies.”

  Rosie giggled, Henrietta smiled forgiveness. Serafina, always bored by Ford Talk, hadn’t understood a word, ate in stony silence, helped herself to more pot roast, while Frederika wiped an imaginary smudge off the rim of her glass, causing Hannah to look in her direction, which she ignored, repeating the action. Jane, engrossed in the men’s conversation, blurted, “Pictures that move? How is that done?” and opened the floodgates to their enthusiasm.

  Tumbling over themselves, each one trying to explain this relatively new phenomenon before another might do it better, strange words flew around the table like spitballs. From out of the jumble of peepshow, penny arcade, nickelodeon, loop, reel, celluloid, projection, only one—Edison—Jane recognized. It seemed to her that he had a way of cropping up in anything exciting as often as Henry Ford.

  Rudy held up his hand. “Hold everything! I’ve got an idea! Next Sunday, I’m taking Jane and Hannah to see a real moving picture show—my treat!”

  “Aha! Now de big time rich chassis man!” Hannah shook a finger at him. “No! No reason spending now you got it just to go see floozies in de dark!” But the look of saddest disappointment on Jane’s face broke through Hannah’s frugal nature, not to mention the one of censure on Frederika’s because of her husband’s extravagant gesture; so Hannah relented, promised that the subject of such an unusual outing could be discussed further at another time and left to refill the coleslaw bowl.