A Cage Without Bars

by Anne Dublin

  “But I thought you loved that bowl, Maman,” I whisper. “That’s what you said once.”

  “But it’s only a bowl, isn’t it, Aline?” Maman murmurs. “Only a bowl.”

  I nod and blink back some tears that have filled my eyes. Maman pats my hand again and gets up to stir something on the stove while I sit there thinking as I quietly finish my soup.

  I know what I have to do. I have to tell Sister Madeleine the truth about this scrapbook project. I have to confess that I won’t be able to do it because we don’t have cans with labels or magazines at our house like everyone else does. I only hope she’ll understand.

  12

  Red Lollipop

  On Tuesday, Maman gives us our lunch to take to school. This morning, Yvette is going to the hospital to have her tonsils out and will spend the night there. Tomorrow, Papa and Maman will go pick her up in the sled and bring her home. And she doesn’t even know yet. That helps me forget about the broken fruit bowl that I’m not allowed to talk about. I feel so sorry for my sister, and so glad that after her operation today she’ll finally start to feel better. She won’t cough and groan and toss around in our bed all night long. She’ll be able to sleep better, and so will the rest of us who sleep in the living room now. And pretty soon, she’ll come back to school and be able to play with us again.

  Maman always makes us sandwiches when we stay at school for lunch. Sometimes we get hard cheese on bread, which is very dry because Maman wraps it in brown paper. We don’t have waxed paper like others do, so I always try to unwrap my sandwich on my lap in case someone notices in my class. Other times, maybe we’ll get a bit of pork if there’s enough, but it’s mostly saved for Papa because he has to work so hard delivering wood with his horses and his sled.

  When we were little, we used to like watching Henri and Billie, our two huge workhorses. We used to stand and look at them in their stalls and laugh when yellow piss streams poured out or steaming horse balls dropped to the floor. We liked to watch them play in the yard, chasing and nipping at each other, or rolling on their backs in the sand or snow. Papa would even give us rides on their broad backs sometimes and let us stroke their whiskers. But now I’m ashamed of them and hide under the hay when Papa drops us off at school because it must mean that we’re poor. And even though Maman thinks that maybe we’re a bit rich, I still duck down on the way to school Tuesday when I get a ride because Papa’s going that way.

  That doesn’t stop me from hearing the snowballs smack the sled, though. And when I peek out through the slats, I can see Jeanine Bonenfant leering and laughing because she knows that I’m in here hiding. She must feel better now—she’s acting like the old Jeanine again.

  I don’t get a chance to tell Sister that I can’t do the Christmas scrapbook project because that morning is one of the worst ever for Sister Madeleine, and for the rest of us. Today, Jeanine is acting completely folle, completely crazy. She walks into class very late and makes too much noise, and she swears when Sister asks her to sit down. So that finally Sister has to do it. She has to give her the strap, even though she looks more miserable than Jeanine while she’s doing it. And even worse, Jeanine just laughs in her face, which makes Sister smack even harder, which makes Jeanine laugh even harder, which makes Sister so furious that she drops the strap on her desk and stalks toward the classroom door.

  That’s when the awful thing happens. As she’s passing the radiator where all our wet mittens and hats are drying, her veil catches on something. But she keeps on walking, and the radiator yanks her veil right off! And Sister Madeleine shrieks before fleeing through the door. We hear her hurrying footsteps in the hallway. Her veil is left behind, dangling from the rad.

  There is complete silence in the classroom. We all know what we saw, and we also know that it was an awful sight. Because what we’ve always wondered, what we’ve always whispered and giggled about, we finally know for certain. Sister has no hair under her veil. Well, she has a little bit, but it’s shorter than my brothers’ hair. It’s shorter than the bristles on my hairbrush. And very black. And it was a very scary thing to see. And I wonder if Sister will even come back to the classroom today, or ever. And after that, Jeanine just thumps back into her seat.

  A few minutes later when I dare to peek over my shoulder, Jeanine is slumped over her desk with her face buried in the crook of her arm. I think I can see her shoulders shaking a little, like what happens to me when I cry. We all murmur among ourselves because others have noticed that Jeanine is crying. We all stare in wonder. Then Sister Marie, the principal, swoops into the room, all flapping habit and rattling beads. She doesn’t look at any of us, just crouches down and carefully plucks Sister Madeleine’s veil from the radiator.

  “Work quietly at your desks on some arithmetic,” she tells us when she stands up, the veil folded neatly over her arm. We all nod.

  Then she grabs Jeanine by the ear and pulls hard.

  “Come with me,” she commands, and Jeanine leaps out of her seat, her face all red and wet. Sister still has a hold of her ear and isn’t letting go. And we hear “Ow, ow, ow,” all the way down the hall. Then Sister’s office door slamming shut. Then nothing.

  After recess, Sister Madeleine comes back wearing her veil once more and acts as if nothing happened. And so do we because we know it’s best for all of us to pretend that the awful thing never happened this morning. And we do our grammar and our social studies, have our lunch, and in the afternoon do more work, like science and arithmetic.

  And all day long I wait to hear the too-big boots of Jeanine Bonenfant shuffle along through the hallway to our classroom. But on Tuesday she doesn’t come back at all. And for the rest of the school day, and all the way home, I can’t stop wondering about her.

  Tuesday night, Yvette stays over in the hospital, all by herself. Poor Yvette, I think every time I awaken during the night and the spot beside me in bed is empty and cold. And every time, I say a little prayer that God will keep her safe and make her well again. Between Jeanine and my sister, it seems like I’m always worrying about something.

  0

  When I get home from school on Wednesday, Maman isn’t in the kitchen, but there’s a big pot of soup simmering on the stove. When I lift the lid, I see chicken boiling. I find my mother sitting on the bed with Yvette. My sister is bringing up some blood into a bowl. And crying nonstop. Maman pats her forehead with a damp cloth.

  Maman says it will take some time for her to recover. I’m so glad it’s her and not me. And I feel so bad for even thinking that! I would love to fetch a lollipop for Yvette from my hiding place in the little dresser, but Maman might see me and find out what I did. And I haven’t even told Father Louis at confession yet.

  Yvette can’t eat anything, and all she does is sleep after she finishes being sick. Everyone in the house is quiet tonight. We can hear music playing on the radio upstairs where the Colemans live. But it’s not very loud because Maman has told Madame Coleman about Yvette. When I hurry upstairs to use the toilet, the door to their kitchen is closed and behind it their voices are just murmurs.

  Maman looks worried and keeps going to check on Yvette, putting a hand on her forehead and on her hot, red cheek. I know because I follow her every time and feel like there’s a tight elastic band inside my chest that’s about to snap.

  “Will Yvette be able to have supper with us?” I ask with a cheerful voice. Yvette has always loved to eat but lately hasn’t eaten much at all. Her face looks thinner than ever.

  “Non, ma belle,” Maman tells me with an almost-smile. “She can only drink for a couple of days, and then eat jello and custard. I will save her some chicken broth for when she wakes up, and then we’ll try some boiled eggs or mashed potatoes later this week. I wish I knew how to cheer her up because she’s feeling pretty miserable right now.”

  I nod. I think I know a way. And I think I’ll try to make it happen.

 
After our supper, my brothers and I do our homework quietly at the kitchen table, and we don’t even argue the way we usually do, fighting for the sharpest pencil or who gets to sit closest to the stove. When I look at my brothers’ faces, I can tell that they’re worried too. So is Papa, who offered up the rosary to Yvette’s convalescence tonight, then asked us to say some extra prayers for our sister when we go to bed.

  Maman makes a little nest for me that night on the floor in the living room because it’s better not to sleep in bed beside Yvette tonight. I’m happy with this plan because what if my sister brings up some blood during the night? I help Maman put some quilts on the floor, and then lay my head on my pillow beside the bed. I listen as the house gets quiet and the lights are turned out in each room, and I can hear the whiffles and snores of everyone in my family; my brothers across the room, my parents in their dining room bedroom. And I can hear the sleepy murmurs and painful whines of my sister in the bed beside my nest. She isn’t better yet, that I know.

  That’s when I crawl over to the little doll dresser on the floor in the corner, slide the bottom drawer out, and grope through the collection of candy in the dark until my hand lands on a lollipop.

  0

  The next morning, I move the lollipop from under my pillow to inside my blue mitten before anyone can notice. I plan on sneaking it to Yvette after breakfast. It’s a red lollipop, and I’m glad because I know that’s Yvette’s favorite color. Before leaving for school, when I’m all bundled up, I go into the living room to say goodbye to my sister. For once she didn’t cough all night, but she moaned a lot, and Maman kept checking on her.

  I stand staring down at her in our bed. She looks sweaty and pale and small lying there underneath her comforter. I’d like to leave the lollipop with her right now, but she’s still asleep, and if I leave it on the bed beside her, Maman will notice it. And then I will have to tell her the truth about the dime I stole. I want to hand it to Yvette and tell her to keep it hidden under the covers and lick it when Maman isn’t watching. And when she’s finished, she can give me back the stick and I will throw it into the stove to burn up when Maman isn’t looking.

  But I don’t have a chance because Yvette is asleep. So I’ll have to carry the lollipop to school in my blue mitten, then wait until I get home to give it to my sister. I kiss her forehead lightly before I hurry outside for a ride in the sled on this frosty morning.

  Today, Jeanine doesn’t come to school. And Sister Madeleine is very quiet. She doesn’t smile much, but she doesn’t get upset with us at all, either, even if we aren’t focusing on our work properly or are fidgeting too much in our seats. She keeps glancing toward the door as if she expects Jeanine to arrive at any moment. But it’s hard to tell by the strange look on her face whether Sister is happy or sad when she never shows up that morning.

  Then, as I get dressed to go outside for afternoon recess, Sister calls me up to the front of the class and asks me to wait a moment until everyone else has gone outside. I spot Thérèse waiting for me at the door, but I tell her to go ahead without me. Then I look at Sister.

  Her light green eyes look troubled. She has a pretty face, with a nice nose and creamy- looking skin, and sometimes I wonder why she became a nun instead of a wife and mother. Why did she choose to wear a habit every day, with a wimple tight around her face, with a heavy veil hiding her closely shorn head of hair? Sometimes Father Louis comes over from the parish church and talks to us about our calling in life, says that the Sisters are always looking for young women to serve Our Lord. Maybe our brother Bernard wants to be a Christian Brother and walk around in a long black robe all day, but I never want to be a nun. I would never want to look like a crow for the rest of my life.

  “Have you heard anything from Jeanine?” Sister asks me. “Have you spoken to her or seen her since yesterday?”

  “Why would I hear from Jeanine Bonenfant, Sister, when we’re not even friends?” I say. When she always beats me up, I think in my head.

  “You’re not friends?” Sister asks. “That isn’t what Jeanine told Sister Marie yesterday morning in the office. She said that the two of you are friends.”

  “Friends? Us?” I wonder if I’ve heard correctly. “Why did she say that?”

  Sister pauses, then looks at me with sadness in her eyes.

  “I thought maybe you could tell me, Aline,” she says.

  “But I don’t know why, Sister,” I confess.

  Sister looks very serious for a moment. She sighs and shakes her head. “Jeanine and her family are in a very difficult situation right now. They have been for quite a while. It helps to explain why she is always acting up in class. And now that her mother has passed away, it’s become even worse. You understand this, don’t you?”

  I nod, even though I don’t quite understand. As long as I’ve known Jeanine, she’s been trouble—either making it or getting into it. Reckless, bold, and always bad, she’s close friends with the devil and never the least bit sorry for anything she does. She’s picked on me for two years now, ever since her family moved to Mechanicsville, and I don’t know why.

  And yesterday she told Sister Marie that I’m her friend. This doesn’t make any sense to me. How could I ever be friends with a girl like her?

  “Sister Marie and I are worried about her,” Sister continues. “She needs somebody to talk to, but she won’t open up to us. We asked if she wanted to talk to Father Louis, but she said no. We asked if she has any friends she could talk to, and she said maybe you, Aline.”

  “But she hates me.” I spit out the word like there’s bad-tasting medicine in my mouth.

  “But you went to her house to pay your respects last week, along with Thérèse,” Sister reminds me. “And you were the only classmates who went. You were the only students in the whole school who went. Not even the girls she plays with at recess went to visit her house.”

  “Because you said we should go. And I guess because I felt sorry for her because she doesn’t have a mother anymore. I wanted to see her mother.” I’m also pretty sure that Thérèse only went over to the Bonenfant house to snoop, so she could say even more bad things about Jeanine. But I don’t tell Sister that.

  Sister smiles. She’s even prettier when she smiles. Then she pats my shoulder.

  “That’s what I thought,” Sister says. “And I wonder if that’s why she called you her friend. Because you went to her house.”

  “But just yesterday she threw a snowball at my papa’s sled,” I tell Sister.

  “Jeanine is Jeanine,” Sister says with a shrug. “And there’s a good chance that she will never change. But that doesn’t mean she isn’t hurting inside. Or that she doesn’t need a friend. Thank you for talking to me, Aline.”

  “Sister, there’s one more thing,” I say, because now I finally have a chance to tell her.

  “What’s that, Aline?” she asks. Her eyes are still kind-looking, her face gentle.

  “Sister, I can’t do the scrapbook project over Christmas,” I murmur, afraid that someone else might overhear and realize how poor we are.

  “And why is that?” Sister says, frowning now.

  I’m almost too embarrassed to explain, but I do anyway.

  “Because…well…we don’t have any cans with labels or even any magazines at our house,” I whisper.

  Sister’s frown melts away and her face turns soft again.

  “Think nothing more of it,” Sister says and places one hand on my head. “You can go and catch up with your friends outside now. You still have a few more minutes to play.”

  I run out the door into the schoolyard without looking back, feeling ashamed about the confession I just made to Sister. Still, it’s a relief that she didn’t get mad at me. I play in the snow with the other girls, but keep glancing toward the corner where Jeanine usually plays. It looks half empty there without her too-strong body and her too-loud voice
taking up space. And I can’t get Jeanine Bonenfant out of my mind at school for the rest of the day.

  13

  Ice Cream

  All day long I’ve had the red lollipop tucked inside my mitten: whenever I was playing outside at recess, all the way home for lunch and all the way back, and now all the way home again after school as I skip along with my arm hooked through my cousin Lucille’s. It’s getting a bit sticky. Even though the devil is sitting on my shoulder trying to tempt me to eat it, I resist. Yvette needs this candy far more than I do. I don’t even tell Lucille about the lollipop.

  The red lollipop helps me forget about Jeanine Bonenfant for the time being too, because I can’t wait to get home and hand it to Yvette. I didn’t mention to Thérèse what Sister told me at recess, and I don’t tell Lucille on the way home, either. For once, I’m holding on to my very own secret inside my soul, but I can feel it scratching to get out. Like one of Maman’s cats at the back door in the morning.

  All these thoughts are murmuring in my head like sparrows in our lilac bush when Lucille stops dead on the road just before we round the corner onto Hinchey Avenue. When I turn to look at her, she’s looking back at me funny.

  “I know a secret,” she says, then slaps her hand over her mouth as if the secret is about to fly out.

  “No you don’t,” I tell Lucille. It’s the best way to get her to tell me because my cousin is even worse at keeping secrets than I am.

  “Yes I do,” she says, stamping her boot in the snow. “And it’s about my papa and yours.”

  I narrow my eyes at her. “What do you know? You have to tell me because we’re cousins. We’re family, even if our fathers don’t talk to each other.”

  She leans forward and whispers to me as if someone might be listening. “And now I know why.” She steps back and smiles slyly.