You Were There Before My Eyes

by Maria Riva

  Hannah stopped Fritz reading long enough to exclaim she knew exactly what kind of a house and that Ebbely should be ashamed of himself—then allowed him to go on.

  … Ah, the rapture, the softness of a real bed after so long an absence, sublime. Since then I have procured a domicile more suited to my needs. It comprises a small bedchamber, an even smaller sitting room with an adequate alcove for sparse cooking. Its pièce de résistance … a small Juliet-like balcony that looks down onto the quartier where most days peddlers roast pecans coated in raw sugar and dark molasses. Divine! Simply divine! That aroma must surely be the perfume of all the best goddesses on Mount Olympus.

  Now to the latest news of our brave soldier, ex-postman. Yes, my dear Hannah, I have kept my promise—found him a nice girl. Be assured that when I say “nice”—I mean exactly what that simple word implies. Though not untouched—untarnished, with a pure heart and a happy disposition, she will make him a good wife—they are to be united as soon as I, their honored best man and organist, have Lohengrin’s “Bridal Chorus” set to memory.

  As I predicted and anticipated, my sandwich boards have been most effective. Astoundingly generous requests for my services are an ongoing delight. Mostly piano for now—but soon I hope banjo, even the Spanish guitar for which I am taking instructions from a tempestuous lady, the fire in her blood when she strums is quite overwhelming.

  Here, there is much heated—sometimes even inflamed resentment, with fisticuffs and such—discussions both pro and con of the Sacco and Vanzetti debacle. For some reason the French here are as incensed as the fewer Italians who have more reason to be.

  Well, now that we have Mr. Harding at the helm of our national, lagging ship, let us hope for better times—although without the ethereal Mr. Wilson I am afraid it may simply become boring.

  I must stop—my impetuous lady awaits her pupil. I send you all my deepest affection—born of memories cherished, held with reverence.

  Ever your devoted,

  Ebberhardt, Ebbely

  And for Jane, Rumpelstiltskin—for I have always known her secret name for me.

  Pulling her handkerchief from her apron pocket, Hannah blew her nose—Fritz handed on the letter for the others to reread.

  Another autumn—another summer gone. Having said his annual good-bye to Molly, given her the last carrot, Billy wandered over to the Geiger house to drown his farewell sorrows in milk and Hannah’s sugar cookies. Soon it would be cold again—the long wait for snow and exciting holidays would begin. Now that Michael would be going to school, Billy felt threatened by the strange new world his favorite brother was about to embrace without him. Feeling deserted, Billy climbed into Hannah’s lap while she peeled the apples for a brown Betty.

  When Michael came home, he marched into his mother’s kitchen to announce that in his opinion, school was “real Jim Dandy.”

  “Where did you hear such language?”

  “Oh, Mama, nobody speaks English good.”

  “You mean well—nobody speaks English well.” Jane corrected her eldest, who thought it was safer and probably prudent to continue in their at-home language of Italian.

  “All the boys in my class have accents because they haven’t been here very long—and the real American boys—they speak funny too. I wish Gregory wasn’t dead so he could go to school with me. Today I learned one plus one is two but two plus two is four and you know what? Cat starts with a c not with a k. Isn’t that interesting?” And Michael marched off to draw a Model T for homework.

  Snakes were mended—windows corked, children bundled, coaxed to go play outside watch their breath turn to smoke, holiday baking begun. This year Fritz and Carl having joined a group of hunters who cut their own Christmas trees—brought home such a lovely spruce Hannah said it was so regal in its naked state decorating it might spoil it. But later she relented not to disappoint the children.

  Proud that he was considered old enough to be given this enviable task, Billy placed the three kings into their correct procession, laid Jesus in his bed of straw. Showing off a little, he glanced over at Natasha in her cradle, to see if she was watching. Much too young to really be seeing anything but her own thumb, still Zoltan’s new daughter appeared attentive which satisfied Billy’s need to preen. The women brought in Hannah’s baking bounty, Michael, finally allowed to use matches, lit the candles, Fritz placed a new platter its grooves filled with many selections of Christmas music on the splendid Victrola, everyone sang—Zoltan and Agnes even danced. That this would be their last time together no one could know—Hannah sensed a loss, yet unable to find any reason why she should be troubled, pretended that she wasn’t.

  Early in the morning of New Year’s Day, when Hannah’s telephone rang she nearly dropped the coffeepot. Ebbely had not forgotten to ring-a-ling.

  “My dearest Lady, Happy New Year! Getting ready to trip the light fantastic?”

  “Oh, Ebbely, please speak plain English—dis costs.”

  “I was.”

  “No, dat was your special I am so perfect show-off talk!”

  “And you say to me ‘dis costs’!” Ebbely was laughing.

  “Now stop. Very nice of you telephoning. Here everybody is missing you—even my special doughnuts don’t know why so many left—not eaten. Oh, quick, I got to tell you—my Victrola—it works beautiful—Fritz bought a new platter and wit special holiday songs we all sang along!”

  “Did you dance?”

  “Zoltan and his Agnes—yes, my Fritz and me—no. Dere were no waltzes—just carols.”

  “I will send you some new fox trot, you will adore it.”

  “Fox trot? What is wit de foxes suddenly?”

  “No, no—fox trot—it’s the latest dance—fast and fun!”

  “Oh. You behaving?”

  “Perfectly, my dear. Is Fritz there—let me speak to him.”

  “You got enough money for dis?”

  “Yes, Hannah—put him on the telephone.”

  Gingerly Fritz took the earpiece, positioned himself at the mouthpiece. “Ebberhardt—I’m here. Happy New Year! How is the weather where you are?”

  “Happy New Year and the weather is weather—listen—I don’t want Hannah to hear you so just answer yes or no. Is Ford still at it? I mean about that madness that only Jews are responsible for all the wrongs of the world?”

  “Yes.”

  “Has Hannah gotten hold of any of those hideous articles?”

  “No.”

  “Thank God!”

  “Yes.”

  Hannah pulled Fritz’s arm, whispered, “What are you doing? Yes, no, yes—dat’s a conversation?”

  “Well, Ebberhardt, I think I better finish now. This has been a long telephone call—costing money.”

  “Fritz, write me—let me know what is happening—and if Hannah ever finds out what that bastard is up to you must telephone me immediately—I will send you the number of the coffeehouse I am calling from, maybe I’ll be able to help.”

  “Yes.”

  “Again wit de yeses?” Hannah hissed.

  “Who is there with you?”

  “John and Jane and of course the children. Carl and his family came and what do you think, Zoltan and Agnes—in the motor in the snow they brought the baby, said because it’s her very first Hanukah-Christmas-New Year, they wanted her to start it here with us.”

  “And right they are! Wish everyone a prosperous 1922 for me and to celebrate properly you have my permission to kiss your wife! Auf Wiedersehen.”

  It was February when a great ice storm froze Michigan and made Michael angry. First his beloved school was closed down, then everyone was forbidden to leave their homes because it was too dangerous being outside. His brothers didn’t mind, John with his books, Billy with his blocks were quite content, but Michael, accustomed to running over to Hannah’s whenever he wanted—tho
ught that such a short distance should be possible despite the cold. His father, also a captive of the weather, would be the one to ask. He found him in the cellar stoking the furnace.

  “Papa—if I put on all my sweaters—all of them, maybe even two pants and my gloves and two hats—can I go to the Geiger house and not get frozed?”

  “No. Everyone has been told to stay indoors.”

  “Even if I …”

  “I said no, Michelino.”

  “Okay, Papa.” Michael sighed.

  “Have you nothing to do?” Knowing his father disliked idleness, Michael just nodded. “You know even some of the big ships that bring the raw ore to the Rouge can’t move because they are locked in the ice of the big lake—come, I’ll show you where.” And Michael learned what a map was—and where within it he lived.

  This year, as the commercialization of radio made its appearance, everyone talked of nothing else. How it worked no one really knew but the very idea of sound being carried on waves of air across distances then finally emerging from a box containing glass tubes that glowed—was such a startling concept that knowing the scientific intricacies of it was quite unnecessary—wonder and awe were sufficient. Soon there would be mail order crystal sets for the avid young to build at home, the marvel of a disembodied voice telling them things they had not known before. Even the unrelenting static was exciting for it too was sound coming from out of nowhere.

  The very idea of maybe someday being told the latest news instead of having to read it fascinated Jane. Music, maybe even learning—would this too one day come from some place far away, fill a room with beauty and intelligence? She wondered if by next year she might have enough in her cash box to send away for a Radio Phone Crystal Set of her very own.

  Spring hadn’t quite recovered from its frozen delay when John, throwing hat, gloves and bicycle clips in all directions, stormed into the house shouting, “We are leaving! Ninnie! Where are you?” His youthful face alight—a conquering hero in his step, as he entered the kitchen, Jane saw his pride before he made his announcement. “I’ve been promoted! The Boss has put me in charge! I am going to build his factories for the production of our Fordsons! In six weeks we leave for Rumania!”

  “I won’t go!”

  “Oh, yes you will! You are my wife!” The Italian language lends itself so well to such emotional conflict.

  “I became your wife in order to get to America—not to leave it!” As the words left her mouth, Jane knew they were a mistake.

  “What? What did you say?”

  “I said I won’t go and you can’t make me!”

  “Oh yes I can!” For a suspended moment John battled his wanting to do her physical harm.

  “I am an American citizen, I belong here and so do the children!”

  Incredulous at her violent rejection of what he considered glorious opportunity, John retorted, “We are going. My wife and sons are to accompany me, Henry Ford says so.”

  “Well, for once your mighty Henry Ford is not going to get what he wants!”

  “Giovanna!” That tone of command, the use of her given name, silenced her. “Because of the Boss’s generosity all our travel expenses, our housing, even the boys’ education—everything is being paid for. As the wife of the Ford Company representative you will have a life of luxury—a maid, maybe even two …”

  Though feeble, Jane made one last attempt, “But, I don’t know Rumanian!”

  “Oh, that! With your talent for languages you’ll pick it up in a week—anyway it may be Egypt!”

  Where? Jane never forgot that moment when her tidy life unraveled leaving her stunned and newly afraid. Would she be allowed to bring her precious sewing machine? was the first anxiety that popped into her head until she quickly chided herself for such selfishness in the face of much more serious calamities. Searching for her hat, corralling the boys, Jane hurried over to the Geiger house.

  “Hannah—John is taking us back—he says in six weeks we sail!”

  The Ford wives’ grapevine always a swift and reliable source, Hannah was not surprised. Putting the children on the back porch to play she propelled Jane into the kitchen shutting the porch door behind her.

  “Ja! I heard someting like dat. Here, sit—have some nice coffee.”

  “But … Hannah?” That sounded like a sob beginning.

  “Now, Ninnie—not de end of de whole world if de Big Boss believes so much in you—he gives you his trust, makes of you a so important Boss—”

  “But Rumania?!”

  “Oh, is dat where? Well—dat is of course not de fanciest place in de world—for becoming de fine lady of a new Boss.”

  As if this visit was no different from the hundreds of others of their friendship, Hannah poured their coffee, added condensed milk to Jane’s, sugar to hers, the slight tremor of her hand hidden as she stirred. Her kitchen, that symbol of constant comfort held a sudden alien silence. Knowing what she must do, that it was she who first having taken John’s fledgling under her wing—now needed to let her know she could fly away, Hannah began, “Vifey—”

  “Yes?” There was so much desperate need in that yes, for a moment it stopped Hannah from what she had to say.

  “Now, child—now I will say all dis in German dat you understand so good—so no mistakes—because it is important. So … first and foremost—the man you love … no—no interruptions! Because you do and someday you will wake up and say, ‘Hah! Hannah was right—she knew—she told me so a long time ago.’ So—you love this man who before today was losing his dream—the dream that pulled him across the great sea; oh, it was fine for a while, for all of us it was fine, but now it is all changing. Only money and power and more money and more power—like sausages in my sister’s husband’s butcher shop. Very good for a business but not good for a dream. Now, all of a sudden your John has, out of the blue, been given a chance to dream all over again—in new lands, honored and protected this time by the most important motor company in the whole world—and what do you know—surprise, surprise! He wants you, his wife, to share it all with him. How can you even think of denying him?”

  “But the children?”

  “What about them? Just think, someday they will be men very smart who can speak many languages, know more of the world than just here our Highland Park.”

  “Hannah, I can’t leave. I can’t leave you.”

  “Oh—now you stop right dere—dis minute. Of course you can. You? You can do anyting! If you can survive the big influenza, for sure you can survive Rumania!”

  Hannah’s methods were so skilled that when John returned that evening Jane was calmed sufficiently to make logical inquiries—turn to him, discuss his plans for their departure as though this upheaval was no more to her than a summer outing to Belle Isle.

  When John explained to his sons what awaited them in August—young John got his atlas—had his father trace their long journey in pencil. At first Michael too was excited over their great adventure—then thought better of it when he heard it meant leaving school. Still too young to fully understand how his childhood was about to change, Billy accepted the busy preparations, as though the packing, the general chaos, the harried to and fro, this summer like the last, a big Hanukah-Christmas was probably the reason.

  At first John had planned to rent his house to a man on the line but after being told that darkies were not allowed in Highland Park—he sold it to an Armenian friend of Zoltan’s, lock, stock, and barrel.

  As summer progressed, for Jane the days became a blur. Packing up an existence to exist somewhere else unknown presents an uncertainty quite unique to it. For Jane, ever the willing adventurer yet in need of roots for a sense of place within her universe—the finality of packing up a home that had become a steadying frame of her life upset her more than she had thought possible. Too many good-byes, too many “take cares,” too many tears. Having to leave he
r life Jane could school herself to endure, having to leave America and Hannah was quite another elimination. In the years to come, Jane could never precisely remember that final summer’s day, luggage piled high, locomotive steam enveloping her visual memory, turning emotion opaque, sorrow defused. What did remain, haunted—Hannah’s face, all control gone as she ran beside the moving train calling, “Ninnie! Write! Don’t forget—write! God bless you! Kiss the children! Good-bye Vifey! Good-bye!” And then suddenly as though she had never existed—Jane lost her.

  Eyes fixed on America, Jane stood by the railing of the ship that was to take them across an ocean through the Straits of Gibraltar and into the Mediterranean Sea.

  Now as she was about to return from whence she had fled when but a girl, this conjured up so many childhood memories that she feared her newfound maturity might not be secure enough to combat them.

  Really Giovanna after all these years what have you learned? One farewell and you are right back where you began—a willful child with no direction looking for what? And at any price? Remember, an adventure is an adventure no matter where it leads you! Taking herself in hand, she turned her back to the coastal breeze, and faced the sea.

  Coming up behind her, John put an arm around her waist, pulled her against him.

  “Don’t be sad. We’ll be back—someday. And then I’ll buy us another house.” He searched her face. “Okay? Tell you what—then, I promise I’ll find one even closer to Hannah.” Jane began to cry. “Tesoro, it’s not good for the boys to see you crying. For them all this is a glorious adventure.”

  Jane blew her nose on the elegant white linen handkerchief she had made to match her traveling outfit.

  “You’re right, I’m sorry. It is a glorious adventure.”

  “Remember our first? It’s not that long ago.”

  “Yes—I was frightened then too.”

  “But you didn’t cry.”