Hilda and Pearl

by Alice Mattison

  “How old? I know exactly how old,” he said. “She was fifteen months.”

  She wanted to go and look at the shoes. “Could she walk?” said Frances.

  “Oh, yes, she walked early,” he said. “Earlier than you. She could walk easily.”

  “How did she die? Was she sick?”

  He put down his fork. “It was an accident,” he said. “It was a terrible accident. I don’t want you thinking—”

  “What?” She could see that he didn’t want to talk about this, but now she didn’t care how he felt. She needed to know. It was as if the accident were still about to happen—to her little sister, not her big one, and she could prevent it if only she could understand.

  “She climbed out of the stroller,” he said, and his voice was low and cold, almost a mumble. “Your mother had gone into a store.”

  “Do you mean Rachel got lost?” said Frances.

  Her father shook his head. He had finished his food, and he was picking up the plate and putting it into the sink. Then he put the silverware into the sink and put the butter dish back in the refrigerator. The carton of eggs was on the work table next to the stove, and he put that away too. “A car,” he said then, in a low voice.

  “Oh,” said Frances. She sat perfectly still. She would not be able to help this baby, no matter what she did, and she might not be able to help her father either. She was making him feel worse after all. Her father stood in the middle of the kitchen, taking off his apron and looking around him as if he were in a circle of accusers and knew that whatever he said, they would not understand.

  Her mother was at the door, turning her key in the lock. She came in holding a bag of groceries. She stood in the doorway, glanced at Frances, looked at Nathan. Her arm in its black sleeve moved to point to a newspaper that was sticking out of the bag of groceries. “It’s in the paper,” she said.

  “I know,” he said. “I saw it.”

  5

  “MIKE WANTS TO BUY A CAR,” PEARL SAID TO HILDA. She thought Hilda might be able to reply to that remark without sounding angry. Pearl knew—for once—that Hilda was not angry with her for any particular reason, or with any of them, but she sounded angry all the time.

  Mostly, though, people talked to Hilda only about Rachel. “Did the baby sleep better last night?” Pearl herself had said when she arrived, after promising inwardly not to start by mentioning the baby, and Hilda had responded, “Better than what? Better than me?” Just at that moment Rachel had been waking up in her bassinet, which stood near the living room couch where Hilda was stretched out reading the newspaper. Pearl had been given a key, and she’d let herself in.

  The baby lay on her stomach in her white sacque, which had worked itself up to her armpits. Her legs looked surprisingly long and thin to Pearl, pulled up as a frog’s might be, with her heels near her crotch. Her dark, angry face—Rachel looked as angry as her mother—was turned to the left, and she had stuffed her left fist into her mouth and was gnawing at it, making little grunts of effort and frustration.

  The first surprise, a few weeks ago now, was that Rachel looked like Rachel, not just like “a baby.” The second surprise was this anger of Hilda’s, the third that Pearl, who had spent a year waiting for Hilda to speak to her in a friendly way, now didn’t care. It was as if Hilda were being friendly. Today, after Hilda’s answer to her question, Pearl had gone to warm up Rachel’s bottle without another word. When it was ready, Hilda had sat up and given Rachel the bottle, whispering intently to her as if she had something to say that she preferred to keep private.

  Pearl thought Hilda might be interested in the car, and she was. Pearl had to talk fast. She’d found that if she dropped in at Hilda and Nathan’s on her way home from work, she could help out for an hour without getting too tired and hungry, then go home and cook dinner. Nathan was sometimes there, sometimes not. Today Pearl knew Nathan wouldn’t be there. Mike had gone to a meeting with him—union people planning protests against the fascist rebellion in Spain. Mike said he wanted to listen because the speeches gave him good shorthand practice. He took down what he heard. Pearl thought maybe he liked the meetings for themselves as well; she wasn’t sure.

  “He’s buying it from the clarinet player,” she said. Mike was still in the band, and it had been playing on weekends at a few hotels in the Catskills, sometimes at the one in the Adirondacks where they’d met. The band would drive up together in the clarinet player’s old black car, which smelled of cigarettes. Now the clarinet player had a new job and he was leaving the band and even buying a new car.

  “A car would be nice,” said Hilda.

  “We could all four go places,” Pearl said. “All five. We could have a picnic.”

  “Maybe,” said Hilda. She was wearing a dark red bathrobe pulled tight around her waist. Her hair hadn’t been trimmed for a long time, and Pearl liked the way it tumbled onto her shoulders. Hilda’s hair was naturally wavy. She’d gained weight and it made her face look younger and softer. The angry tone was surprising each time.

  “I guess Nathan will be home soon,” Pearl said. Rachel was awake now, lying on her back on the couch at Hilda’s side. She waved her legs in the air. Now and then Hilda gave her a finger to chew. “She likes to suck my wedding ring,” she said.

  “She’s a good kid,” said Pearl.

  “He’s on his way to Spain, I suppose,” said Hilda.

  “What?”

  “Nathan.”

  “Oh. Right.” Pearl glanced at the newspaper Hilda had been reading. It had slipped to the floor. She couldn’t see the main headline. Lately the headlines had been mostly about Spain. The rebels were taking over cities and towns, the Loyalists struggling.

  “I’m serious,” said Hilda.

  Pearl was startled. “You don’t mean Nathan is actually on his way to Spain?”

  “No, Pearlie, I don’t. I’m exaggerating for effect. But I think if it weren’t for Rachel, he’d volunteer. A friend of his is talking about volunteering—several friends from the union.”

  “It’s hard to imagine, going off to fight in a strange country,” said Pearl respectfully.

  “It’s hard for our country to imagine that it may be necessary,” Hilda said firmly, as if she had to speak for Nathan in his absence. “It’s hard for our government to take off the blinders. This is Hitler’s war. The rebels are fascists, just like the Nazis.”

  “Well, I know,” said Pearl.

  “I wish I could go to some of these meetings,” said Hilda.

  “I didn’t know you wanted to.”

  “Well, I do.” She picked up Rachel and held her on her lap so the baby could suck her fingers more easily. Hilda wasn’t good at holding a baby yet, and Rachel’s legs were in the wrong place, stretching off Hilda’s lap. Yet Rachel was barely a handful. Changing her diaper, Pearl liked to fit her hand over Rachel’s hard little backside. “Having a baby is great,” said Hilda now, as if she had been asked a question, “but there are lots of things you have to give up.”

  Hilda didn’t say anything else for a long time, and Pearl couldn’t see her face. She was leaning over Rachel, looking down at her. Both of them looked disheveled. Rachel’s sacque was open and so was Hilda’s robe. Under it, she was wearing a slip, not a nightgown. She was half dressed.

  Then Hilda looked up. “Pearlie,” she said quietly, with a catch in her voice.

  “What is it?” Pearl moved to the couch and made room for herself. She scooped Rachel up and held her. Rachel felt damp.

  Hilda leaned against her. “You smell of the outdoors,” she said. “And the office. I smell typewriter, and office floor, and Mr. Glynnis. What is it he smells like? Does he use cologne? Have you been kissing him?”

  “No,” said Pearl laughing. “Certainly not.” She stood and carried Rachel into the bedroom. “I’m going to change my niece and go home,” she called.

  “Thanks. You really don’t have to treat me like a convalescent anymore,” said Hilda, straightening her bathrobe a
s she followed Pearl.

  “I like changing her.” Rachel was so small that it was hard to pin the diapers tightly enough—they had to be folded so many times that the pins wouldn’t go through all the thicknesses of cloth. Pearl worked at it, holding her finger under the point as she’d learned to do when she was a teenager, baby-sitting her cousins. Rachel was cooing and half crying, but she didn’t seem to mind being changed. She batted at the air, at Pearl’s face. Pearl had to stoop over her. This changing table would work for Hilda, but Pearl was taller.

  “Let us know if you get the car,” Hilda said when Pearl left. “It might be nice, having a car.”

  And it was. Mike came home with the car two days later, and the following Sunday Pearl persuaded both Mike and Hilda that a picnic was a good idea, and even Nathan came along. They brought a blanket to sit on. Pearl made roast beef sandwiches and hard-boiled eggs and brought celery sticks and cookies. She thought Hilda needed building up. Mike got directions from the former owner of the car to a park in Queens. It was a bright fall day.

  At the last minute Hilda was grumpy and uncertain. “We can’t put the carriage in the car. What are we going to do with her when we get there?”

  “We’ll put her on the blanket,” said Mike. “Or we’ll take turns holding her.” He had told Pearl he liked to hold the baby.

  “I’ll walk her,” said Nathan.

  The food was already in the car, and Hilda and Nathan were standing on the sidewalk in front of their house, where Mike and Pearl had come to get them. Now Hilda said nothing more, and Nathan took Rachel from her while Mike helped her into the back seat and put the baby into her arms again.

  Pearl found she was keeping track of Hilda the way a nursemaid might study the appetite of a sick child. Yet she was also a little annoyed. Hilda was silent for many blocks. Then she said, “The leaves are turning.”

  Pearl twisted around to agree.

  “I’ve been in the house so much,” said Hilda.

  She was edgy with all of them. She told Mike she thought he drove too fast, and when Nathan disagreed she said, “Since when do you know anything about it?” When Pearl chattered she seemed disgusted. Nathan, next to Hilda with Rachel’s pink diaper bag on his lap, looked conscientious and a little scared when Pearl turned around from the front seat to watch them.

  Rachel started to cry long before they reached the park. They couldn’t figure out what was wrong. She’d just eaten. “Maybe there’s a pin stuck in her rear end,” said Mike.

  “Don’t be silly,” said Pearl. Hilda would feel accused. Hilda didn’t seem surprised by Rachel’s crying and made no effort to stop her, but Pearl turned around and patted the baby tentatively, and Nathan felt the pins through Rachel’s clothes to make sure they were closed.

  At the park, Pearl tried patting the baby’s back and walking with Rachel against her shoulder, while the others unloaded the picnic supplies and looked for a good spot. It was a moist, hazy day, with yellow leaves in abundance. It all made her feel sad. This baby wailing and wailing—her body jumping with sobs—seemed to know bad news. Pearl was unsure of herself as a singer but she tried singing in a low voice as she walked Rachel up and down. “Rock-a-bye baby,” she tried, then, “Night and day, you are the one....” Singing, she was moved, as though she were singing to someone else, an adult, not just Rachel.

  Nathan came up behind her and when he touched her shoulder she jumped. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Don’t drop my daughter.”

  “I won’t,” said Pearl. She felt awkward because he’d heard her sing. She had no idea how to make Rachel stop crying. With her hands free as Nathan took the baby, she brushed aside the hair that had come loose from her braid and blown into her eyes. Nathan patted the baby, looking grim. Together they walked back to Mike and Hilda, who had spread a blanket on the ground. Hilda was taking food out of the basket. Mike was stretched out watching her. “Didn’t work, did it?” he said. “You’re sure she’s not hungry?”

  “I’m sure,” said Hilda, sounding annoyed, but she offered Rachel a bottle. Rachel turned away and cried harder.

  “Maybe her stomach hurts,” said Pearl.

  “Maybe.” Hilda laid Rachel on the blanket. Her cries sounded tired to Pearl, cantankerous and complainy, and sure enough, after a while she fell asleep. All four adults had been sitting and watching her, just watching her.

  “I guess she was tired,” said Nathan. He reached for a sandwich and they all followed suit. “Oh!” he said then, pointing a finger in Mike’s direction. They all waited and Nathan swallowed. “Did you take down Garber’s speech the other night?”

  “Garber?” said Mike.

  “The tall man with the long neck,” said Nathan. “He spoke next to last.”

  “Yeah, I got him. Why?” said Mike.

  “They said you did. I thought you’d stopped,” Nathan said. “I told them you only took down the first two or three.”

  “I got bored, but then I got even more bored doing nothing, so I started taking them down again,” Mike said.

  “What did you do with your notes?” said Nathan.

  “What difference does it make? Does somebody want a copy of the speech?” Mike said. “For a fee …” He was smiling, leaning back on one arm.

  “Not exactly,” Nathan said. “They were somewhat peeved with me for bringing you, but I assured them you weren’t some sort of spy.”

  “Spy for who?”

  Nathan unwrapped another sandwich and shrugged. “I don’t know. The list of dissatisfied former comrades is long.”

  “I don’t recall that the speech was particularly interesting,” Mike said.

  “I know, I know,” said Nathan. “Some of them have lively imaginations. They’d like to have your notes.”

  “Well, they can go to hell,” said Mike amiably. He was peeling a hard-boiled egg. “Is there salt, Pearl?” he said. Pearl had brought a twist of salt in waxed paper and she handed it to him. She had not been interested when this conversation began, but she thought Nathan was more concerned than Mike realized.

  “You don’t need the notes,” she said to Mike. “It was just for practice, wasn’t it? You usually throw them out.” She shrugged and smiled at Nathan. He looked back at her, looked as if she made him think of something different and important, looked for a moment as if he had something to say, so that Pearl said, “What?” and Hilda, who had eaten only a quarter of a sandwich and was lying on the blanket near the baby, playing with the blades of grass next to the blanket, her back to the rest of them, glanced over her shoulder at Pearl. But Nathan shook his head and turned back to Mike.

  “That’s not the point,” Mike was saying, angry with Pearl now. “It’s not the point whether I throw them out. What right do they have to ask me for my notes? What the hell do they think I’m going to do with them?” His voice was raised.

  “Take it easy,” said Nathan.

  “I don’t know why you put up with that crowd,” Mike said. “They think they’re so important? They think I’ve got nothing better to do than convince the Herald Tribune to run their silly speech? I’m tempted, but it’s too dull. Nobody would run it.”

  “Forget it,” said Nathan.

  “It’s not like you,” Mike said. “Why do you care about these people?”

  “Look, I said forget it,” Nathan said.

  “It’s not that simple,” said Mike.

  “All right,” Nathan said. “I care about these people because they are keeping their eyes open and looking at Spain, looking at Germany. You think Hitler is some sort of joke? You think if you don’t look at Spain it will go away?”

  Pearl thought about Hitler. She’d seen newsreels. The marching soldiers were frightening. She knew that as Jews they would have been in trouble if they had happened to be born in Germany instead of New York. Her parents were upset about Hitler, too, though they didn’t talk much about Spain.

  “I thought I’d go to the rally next week,” she said to Nathan. She hadn’t known until thi
s moment that she was actually planning to go. It was a rally sponsored by several organizations in support of the Spanish Loyalists. She’d seen signs, and a woman in her office had talked to her about it. The woman’s boyfriend was thinking about volunteering, about going to Spain as Hilda had said Nathan wanted to do. The rally was to be at Union Square, not too far from where Pearl worked, and it was to start at five o’clock.

  “The rally on Thursday in Union Square?” said Nathan. “That’s good. We’ll go together.” As so often, he sounded weary, but pleased with her. She ate her lunch.

  “Aren’t you hungry?” she said to Hilda.

  “Not very,” said Hilda. She was leaning on her side, her legs bent, her hips looking heavy and luxurious. The baby was next to her, still asleep on her stomach.

  A man and a woman walked past their blanket, then turned back. They came closer—a gray-haired couple, arm in arm, clutching each other as if they were afraid of stumbling in the grass. “That baby’s going to smother, lying on the blanket,” said the woman in a loud voice. “He shouldn’t be on the bare ground on the blanket.”

  “She isn’t on the bare ground,” Hilda said, not sitting up, but with new animation in her voice. “That’s the point. She’s on the blanket.”

  The woman turned away. “I was only trying to help,” she said.

  “He looks like a monkey,” said the man. He spoke to the woman but they could all hear him. “That baby looks like a monkey.”

  “Go to hell,” called Mike. He looked around the blanket at the rest of them. His eyes were bright and his face was red. He looked as if he was deciding whether to laugh or to be angry. Nathan looked appalled, sitting back as if he’d been hit. But Hilda laughed—a bitter laugh, but a laugh.

  Pearl had brought a thermos bottle of coffee and they all had some, though it wasn’t terribly hot. They ate cookies from the box she’d brought. Then Hilda lay down on the blanket again.

  “Do you want to take a nap?” Nathan asked her.

  “The baby will wake up.”

  “I’ll take her for a walk,” he said.