Normally they both looked forward to commuting together to the hostel. It was a time to gossip and cuddle before the day ahead. But for the next few weeks, they moved silently through the tube corridors and on the long, rattling ride to the office. Anna emerged from her sadness in brief patches of clarity. She could think and behave sensibly for half an hour and then she would fall into a dullness in which life seemed to be going too fast or too slow.
One morning as they were seated next to each other on the tube, facing — as Leah preferred — the opposite direction from which the train was headed, Anna spotted a heavy-set woman with a child about Leah’s age. Were they Jewish? Italian? Armenian? Dark and large and quiet — like Mama. Soon, Anna imagined, the girl would turn into her mother’s caretaker. Already she seemed to be showing her mother a map and pointing to their stop.
Shame. Disappointment. Anger. Anna had started wishing for a regular mother when she was Leah’s age — eight or nine. As a smaller child, she was always vaguely aware of Mama’s weight. She thought Mrs Miller across the street was prettier and this disloyalty grated at her conscience for months. She admired the ease with which Mrs Miller walked down the street. She liked to go over to the Millers on Sunday nights for popcorn and soda. Mrs Miller cooked hamburgers and tuna casseroles. Mama didn’t know anything except the heavy Yiddish dishes and Anna grew so ashamed of the blintzes and latkes that she didn’t invite the Miller kids back. Funny, she couldn’t remember their names or their faces and yet their mother, Marge Miller, was etched in her memory. And just as Marge Miller came into her prime as mother and citizen, Mama’s shyness grew worse and worse. Her English deteriorated. Her weight increased. Her spells of anxiety and fatigue got longer. Mrs Miller had invited Mama to play bridge, had asked her to join the parents’ group, had suggested that she come on girl scout expeditions. Mama shook her head and thanked their neighbor. Then she disappeared inside. Anna began to answer the telephone for her. She held her hand on the long nights Papa spent at the factory. Gradually Anna grew furious believing this was all his fault. They were trailing after his dream. There was no room for anger with Mama.
Anna felt a tug on her coat.
‘It’s our stop, Mummy.’ Leah was looking at her with concern.
Anna searched for the heavy woman and her child, but they had gone. She turned to Leah and with all her strength responded, ‘Yes, dear, let’s get off the train.’
The weeks were formless. Gradually, she was able to immerse herself in work. Anna was usually aware of what she was doing, but never clear on how she was doing. Sometimes she could talk herself out of the grief. After all, the best memorial to Mama was a good life of her own. Besides, she was a woman in her twenties, not a child; God, she had a child. She had to remember her responsibilities.
The letters of condolence were the hardest part. Friends meant well, but they opened the wound again and again, ‘ … your mother dead …’, ‘ … our sadness at her death’. Just as she had climbed back to stability another letter would arrive — from people at work, from friends in the States. At least Wanda and Teddy and Moira included news in their aerogrammes; at least there was something to absorb the pain. Wanda seemed to be doing OK at the cannery although she had been worried about her mother. Separate letters came from Teddy and Moira. Moira was getting married, fancy that. What must Teddy feel; she didn’t say much. Oh, poor Teddy, all alone now. Her father, gone, too. These past few years hadn’t been kind to anyone.
Finally, a letter from Daniel. She hadn’t heard from him since before VE Day. She raced upstairs to her room, grateful that Leah had made friends with the skipping-rope artists of Chester Court.
Dear Anna,
I feel sad about Mama. Where to begin? I wish we were closer, just so I could look at you. I never realized how important family was before the war. Poor Papa. I wish we could have been with him.
I’ve been dreaming about Mama every night since I heard. Dreaming about sitting in the kitchen each morning. One dream about Chanukah. But most of them are commonplace. I often think of her as a stranger, but she’s deep in my blood. This isn’t making much sense.
Let’s try practical details. Tell me about your work. How much longer will you stay in London? Tell me about the girl, how old is she now? What does she look like? Kids change every day, I know. I’ve grown quite fond of several kids here in the village. Orphans everywhere. I can’t imagine the devastation of Jewish families in the camps. I think you’ve done the bravest work, Anna, facing those stories straight on.
Don’t know when I’ll be released. There’s a point system I’m sure you’ve heard about. Or maybe you haven’t. American GIs think our news is the world’s news. Well, you need eighty-five points for immediate release. You get one point for each month of service since September 1940; one for each month overseas; twelve points for each child under eighteen; five points for combat medals. See, this is the military — orderly disorder. I’ve got about thirty-five points, so it looks like I’ll be in on the occupation for a while. I am tired.
Let’s stay in closer touch. With the fighting over, mail will get easier. Maybe I’ll get a leave to come to England. Remember I love you. Your brother, Daniel
Anna put down the letter and sighed. Her brother a soldier who survived. Her brother loved her. She had always understood that, despite the way Papa’s favoritism separated them. Daniel was right that the war made you weigh things differently. You saw past your own losses. Your blessings became visible. She was alive. Daniel was alive. Papa was alive. How could Mama have survived this war? Anna felt some kind of settling as she looked out into the cool afternoon at Leah who was turning the rope now and singing the song she learned in the hostel.
Jolly old sailor took a notion
For to sail across the sea …
Reuben did his best. At first, he tried to listen, spending evenings inside her childhood. Then he tried to revive her, dragging her to the cinema. Then he tried leaving her alone as he went on several trips to other hostels. Then he encouraged her to take a trip with him. Never did he get exasperated. Never did he get tired. He had been through this before, she reminded herself — both parents, four brothers and a sister. He seemed to understand there was no solution. He would wait as long as necessary. And knowing he could outlast her grief helped.
Finally, she agreed to go to Cambridge with him. Mrs MacDonald was happy to take Leah for the weekend. Everyone thought a trip would be good for Anna. Had she turned into Mama, with all these people waiting for her to wake up?
The train was packed with families and soldiers. She felt self-indulgent, taking space for a country holiday when so many people had more pressing needs. Reuben got seats; she never understood his talent for such things. He set her down in a place facing toward Cambridge — for, if truth were told, she couldn’t get used to Leah’s preference for travelling backwards.
It was one of those clearly lit June evenings which wouldn’t darken until 9.30 or 10.00 p.m. Secure in the long, late light, she considered the miles of lush green field and she imagined the war had never happened. She turned to Reuben who was deeply engrossed in a book, yes, Der Zauberberg by Thomas Mann. She felt illiterate. Reuben could read easily in French, English and German. Why had she given up her classics course? Would she ever catch up? Odd, how when she was with him she was stimulated to go back to school and study. And when she was away for a day or two, Latin and Greek felt like such luxuries. What was wrong with her? Didn’t she have a mind of her own? She cleared her throat, this was going to be some holiday if she continued scolding. Look out at the farmland; she reminded herself that the earth was alive, that she was very much alive.
‘You are all right?’ He touched her knee.
‘Sure,’ she nodded. ‘And you?’
‘Fine,’ he said, concern in his eyes. ‘You seem a little nervous tonight.’
‘Just the beginning of the trip. I need some time
to unwind. You realize this is the first time I’ve taken more than a day’s holiday since I landed here?’
‘And think that we’re doubling it now!’ He shook his head. ‘I hope you’ll be able to bear all this leisure.’
She laughed and did feel more relaxed. He was a good man. He loved her. She loved him. She would remember that all weekend. She would enjoy herself.
Saturday morning was spent in bed. It had been months since they had had such a luxurious time, since before Leah came to her. He was playful — tickling, touching slowly, teasing. As her laughter grew easier, she allowed herself to feel her extraordinary affection for him. They were both lusty this morning, as if the distance from London obligations granted permission to indulge. He came inside her once, twice, three times. And then sitting up, she moved closer to him, gently waking his penis again and drawing it into her vagina. They kissed and rocked and stroked and rocked and climbed together to a climax. Afterward, she held on to him like a buoy. Oh, she needed him. It was more than wanting. Petrified by this idea, her mind turned a joke, ‘What if we’re stuck?’
He frowned. ‘Well, we’ll just have to go to work like this. And that would end the whispering about whether we were “attached”.’
‘Yes.’ She smiled and drew apart.
Reuben stretched back with satisfaction, lit a cigarette for her and then one for himself.
His smoke rings reminded her of Leah. ‘Really, we shouldn’t smoke so much,’ she sighed and ran a finger down his temple.
‘No “shouldn’ts” this weekend,’ he said. ‘This is R and R for you. For me too.’
‘OK,’ she said. ‘Easily persuaded.’ She held her mouth tight and blew circles to accompany his to the ceiling.
Late in the afternoon, they strolled across Midsummer Common to a pub that had been creaking since the sixteenth century. She thought how Mama used to talk about the ancient façades of Galicia and Germany.
She sat at a table by the window, overlooking the wide, green common. Reuben returned from the bar with his pint and her half pint. She sipped the beer, pretending to melt into the serene pasture before them.
‘So I will meet your brother?’ he asked.
‘Maybe. He doesn’t know about his discharge. I hope he comes in time.’
‘In time?’ His voice was thicker.
It had just slipped out and perhaps this was the best way to begin. ‘There’s Papa, Reuben. You know I have to go back at some point to visit Papa.’
‘Visit?’ He gripped his glass. ‘Visit?’
She looked out at the grass again. How could she explain to him that she was indelibly American? After all, was he indelibly Austrian? What was a little homesickness in the face of history?
‘I got a letter from the University last week,’ he offered.
‘The University?’
‘Edinburgh,’ he said impatiently. ‘Where I was working. They asked if I could return in the autumn.’
‘Oh.’ She bit her lip.
‘I haven’t replied yet.’
She nodded.
‘Well, perhaps we should try more immediate topics. Where would you like to have dinner? And shall we take that walk around the colleges?’
Had the weekend vanished already? She tried to stem the depressing thought. This was another late evening train, because they had made the most of Sunday — another turn in bed, a long walk in the country, a pub lunch, rowing down the Cam in the afternoon. Now it was 10 p.m. and they would be in London within an hour.
She was calmer on the way home. He was reading Thomas Mann again. Maybe she would take another class from Professor Warwick. That is, if he would admit her. That is, if he stayed in London.
‘So, love, do we need to think about plans?’
She blinked, walking out of the bright classroom into a dark alley.
‘Anna, darling, I’m trying to be patient. But I must know. I must tell the University.’
She bowed her head. ‘Let’s walk out in the corridor.’ Silently, they moved the length of the carriage. They stopped by a half-open window, warm wind blowing across their faces.
‘Come, Anna, we love each other. Come back to Edinburgh with me. We will make a family with Leah. Marry me, Anna, be my wife.’
‘Reuben, I don’t know. I just don’t know. About Papa.’
‘You must have a life of your own — it’s not just Papa.’
‘I shouldn’t use him as an excuse. I don’t know what I want. I don’t know where I belong. I don’t belong in London. But Edinburgh? And what would be best for Leah? I don’t know. What about you? Did you ever seriously think of coming to San Francisco?’
‘I have my studies.’ His thick brows creased.
‘Are my ties less important? What about my responsibilities?’
‘You could bring Papa to Edinburgh.’
‘You’re mad. And it’s more than that. It’s a question of where I can work most effectively.’
‘Are you saying you will marry me if we go to America?’
‘I, I, I don’t know. If only I could talk to Daniel about this.’ She turned her back to the window, straining to look past their reflection into the night. ‘If only I didn’t feel so alone in this decision.’
‘Alone?’
‘Of course you’re here.’ She turned back to him. ‘That’s the point.’ She stopped, afraid he would burst into tears.
‘Darling,’ he spoke more softly. ‘I love you.’
Anna cried when she opened the package from Teddy. She was crying at everything lately — when a man held the door for her at Selfridges, when Leah presented her with a self-portrait, when Mark shared the rich chocolate his sister had sent from New Jersey. Teddy’s packages were always so careful, containing food that was rationed, wrapped in neat, secure parcels. Today Anna cried at the dried apricots, at the sight and smell of California. She wanted to luxuriate in the memories and to banish them at the same time. Hot summer days driving through Merced to Yosemite. Miles and miles of fecund farmland. Dry, warm, pungent California. Could she afford such feelings? She told herself this was all sentimentality, that it didn’t matter so much where a person lived as what she did with her life. What did it mean to be an expatriate? Did people belong to places or places to people? Papa, after all, considered nationality a question of choice and will. Anna pulled out an apricot and sucked in the tart sweetness. Slowly, she put away Teddy’s flour and sugar and the precious gift of stockings. Setting aside the little package with Leah’s name on it, she was curious about its contents, but conscious that it must be left for the girl, herself, to open. She noticed that she thought of Leah as a girl now, not so much as a child. Anna took another succulent apricot and resolved to share these with Mark, at least a dozen, in return for the chocolate.
‘Mummy! Mummy!’
‘In here, sweetheart, where did you think I’d be?’
‘Oh, there you are. But you said in the garden. You said we would sit in the garden and read this afternoon.’
‘So I did,’ Anna stumbled, thinking how often Mama had forgotten plans and promises. ‘Here — this is why I forgot. Aunt Teddy sent us a parcel. And she seems to have a special present for someone I know.’ Leah seemed to like the idea of ‘aunts’ in the States. Anna did too.
Leah’s eyes lit on her name written across green wrapping paper. ‘For me. Just for me.’ She pulled the package to her chest.
‘Well, love, aren’t you going to open it?’
‘Did you get something special too?’
Anna regarded her closely. ‘Yes, I got stockings. Aunt Teddy knows I wanted stockings.’
‘OK. Yes, I’ll open it.’ Leah fastidiously untaped the parcel’s seams, pulling out a white blouse with a lace collar. ‘Ohhh, pretty.’ She held the blouse to herself. ‘What do you think, Mummy?’
‘I think it’s lovely. Rea
lly suits you. In fact,’ Anna stood up and kissed Leah’s hand, ‘I think we should go shopping for a skirt to match.’
‘Now?’ The girl’s eyes grew wider.
‘What are Saturdays for? Not for moping around the house. Come on, it’s a fine day. Let’s find the ration book. And we’ll go up the Holloway Road to see what we can see.’
A thin blue sky stretched over the spring afternoon. Anna could smell coal from the neighbors’ houses as they walked to the corner. The pub was just opening its doors. Across the street walked a man with an umbrella and a bowler hat. She hadn’t seen anything like that since the first weeks she lived there. Had they stopped wearing bowler hats during the war? What a peculiar form of rationing. Leah grabbed her hand as they walked along Seven Sisters Road. She chatted about her lessons and the end-of-term show. Anna half listened, her attention fixed to the exotic surroundings.
Holloway Road was chaotic with lorries and buses and cars and bicycles. She heard a horn behind her and another behind that. People shouted out of car windows. She imagined them in a Gershwin symphony. Three women almost knocked into each other running for a bus. How precisely people avoided disaster, as if moving through a formal choreography. Such energy. Had she been immune to life these past weeks? She glanced at Leah, walking with perfect ease amidst the fray. Anna told herself she was emerging from the numbness.
All Good Women Page 42