Odessa, Odessa

by Barbara Artson

  “That bastard, you should excuse my French. But the reason I thought that is because it would explain why you stayed with him for so long,” Bessie justifies. “You were so crazy about him. You know, like you felt guilty or felt like damaged goods. But let’s change the subject. So what about Saul?”

  “Hey, just a minute,” Dora blurts out. “Don’t think you’re going to get away with that one, wise guy. So tell me, did you, before you were married? I mean with Max?”

  Bessie’s face turns a stippled crimson, sprinkled with red polka dots.

  “Oh, you did, you did,” Dora exclaims. “I knew it. And you’re the one who feels guilty, and if I did it too, that would make you feel better.”

  With eyes cast down at her lap, Bessie explains, “Look who’s the psychologist now. It happened late one night when we were studying. We used to get so tired working during the day and then going to school at night and studying all the time. We thought we’d just lie down and close our eyes for a bit before we began to study again. It was our big final exam the next morning. We had to pass. Money was running out.”

  “Yeah, yeah. So go on,” encourages Dora.

  “We were on the couch and fell asleep, and then, before I knew it, we were doing it. Mind you, Max never forced me. He would never, and he would never talk about test-driving a car. That’s so crude—so Freddy. It just happened. And that was the beginning. And shortly after that we got married. We both felt guilty. But it really wasn’t wrong. We were in love and had all intentions of getting married—just not then. That was five years ago. I was thirty, almost thirty-one. It was time.”

  Dora sucks in some air and asks, “So, did you like it that first time? Did it hurt?”

  “Well, it hurt a bit, and I bled a little, but honestly, Dora, I actually had to ask Max if that was it. I said, ‘Honey, did we just do it?’ And he laughed. Then I laughed. It was his first time too. So, between you and me, I could live without it, but Max likes it and feels deprived if we don’t do it once a week. And we do, mostly on Shabbos. It’s the only time my atheist husband gets religious on me. He says it’s a mitzvah.”

  A silence ensues, and then Bessie implores, “You must promise not to tell your mother.”

  “It’s our secret. But you were the one to bring it up, you know. So, back to Saul. He’s honest, as I said. Sometimes too honest, if you ask me. Like he told Faye that she was a yenta when she was gossiping about Stewart’s wife, Yetta. Always minding someone else’s business, he tells her.”

  “No, he didn’t?” laughs Bessie, covering her mouth with her hand, feigning shock. “I like him better already.”

  “Yes, really, he did. I tell him that he doesn’t have to lie, but he doesn’t always have to tell the whole truth, especially when no one is asking. Like he told Papa the other day that religion is the opiate of the masses, whatever the hell that means. Papa didn’t get it, but he knew it wasn’t good, and they got into a fight. Once I took a piece of silk from Joe’s place—just a small, teensy-weensy piece. I wanted to make a scarf out of it for Mama’s birthday, but when Saul saw it and asked where it came from, he made me promise to take it back. And then I had to sneak it back in my lunch bag so no one would see that I had taken it in the first place. But it got all smeared with the oil from my sandwich, so I couldn’t return it, and Mama didn’t get her scarf. Saul said it was stealing!”

  “Well, isn’t it?” Bessie chastises.

  “Stealing! What do you talk? Look what Joe has stolen from me over the years! He stole my fingernail. Look. I hate to look at it. It looks like a smashed bug. Everyone always comments and then says, ‘ugh.’ He’s always pushing us for more. Refuses to talk to the unions; God forbid we should get more money. He does well for Faye, and I should be glad for that. But he’s no angel either. But could I ask you another question?”

  Bessie looks suspiciously at Dora. “What now?”

  “Well, you know when you have sex and then at the end you’re supposed to have a—uh—climax? Well, did you? What’s it like?”

  “Listen, Dora, I’ll give you the short answer, but after that, no more. It’s too personal. Between Max and me. No, I’ve never had one, but then lots of women don’t. But enough, enough.”

  “Okay. Thanks, Bessie. We were speaking of Saul and how blunt he is. Another thing about him that’s good, he never spends a cent unless he has the money to pay for it. No borrowing. Me, I’m a little cheap myself, so that’s not so bad. No arguments about money. And he can fix anything. He has golden hands, as they say. Toilets, faucets, windows, you name it, he can make it like new. He’s fixed Mama’s stove for her.”

  “Well, he certainly is different than Freddy. Money just slipped through his fingers, and it wasn’t even his own money.” Bessie wipes a crumb of bread from her mouth and places the empty plate into hot, soapy dishwater.

  “Who knew that Freddy was always borrowing money from friends to buy his clothes or to place bets at the horse races? I should have known,” Dora declares, “because he borrowed from me and never paid me back. But Bessie, I figured we were going to get married, so I made up excuses. To myself. I’ve never told anyone.”

  “When you love someone, it’s like being blind. That’s another thing I learned in my psychology class. Falling in love is like being a little crazy. Freud said that. I just hope you learned from it,” Bessie chides.

  “People tried to warn me, even his friends after a while, but I didn’t listen. You remember how fussy Freddy was about what he wore. He had to wear only silk suits with a silk handkerchief hanging out of his pocket. He said, ‘It’s important for a man to look a certain way in order to get ahead.’ He said, ‘You never know when you’ll meet someone with a connection.’ I mean, I like clothes, but for him it was his life.”

  “I remember, and I also remember warning you about it.” Bessie pours more tea into their now empty cups. “You want more lemon? Or sugar?” she inquires.

  “So Freddy was a clothes horse, and Saul doesn’t care what he puts on his back, only that it’s clean,” Dora reflects. “That’s sometimes good and sometimes bad. Like when I want him to dress up, to put a suit and a tie on, he refuses. And he always has to have a shirt with a pocket on it. He says he has to have a place for his pens and his cigarettes.”

  “Oy, men!” they say, almost in unison. They look at each other and laugh until the tears course down their cheeks.

  “It seems to me,” Bessie says with a sigh, “that you are well rid of that jerk. You would have had nothing but trouble. Think! Why was he jealous? You want my opinion? I’ll tell you anyway. Because inside he was thinking about what he would do and how he would act. He got jealous because he didn’t trust himself. Why else would those thoughts come into his head? I wouldn’t trust him as far as I could throw a feather from my duster, which reminds me, I should use that duster here—look at all the schmutz.”

  Dora regards Bessie with wonderment. “How did you get so smart, Bessie? You seem to know everything. Always did. Even on the boat coming here, Mama told me.”

  “When I took that course in psychology at college, I read something about people who are suspicious—it’s called paranoia—and how they don’t trust others because they assume everyone thinks and acts the way they would themselves. That’s called projection. Which brings me back to the subject of education.”

  “We weren’t talking about education, Bessie. And don’t start.”

  “Never mind! I just wish you weren’t in such a hurry to get married. You’re smart too, although you don’t know it. You could go back to school and at least get your high school diploma. You just never know when you will need it. Look at what Lenny did. Got his diploma, and now he’s almost finished college and he’s going to go to medical school, or at least, he’s applying. It’s still hard for Jews to go medical school, so who knows with those quotas? Strange, we came here from Russia to get away from all that, and now it’s the same thing. That’s not altogether true; I could never have gone to colle
ge there and certainly never have become a teacher.”

  Dora brushes her friend’s too-familiar tirade aside.

  “Please. Don’t start. I know it by heart. But you forgot the part about an education being like an insurance policy because you never know what happens in life, and you can always earn a living. Blah blah blah. You were always so determined, from the time I first met you. You always pushed yourself. Not me, so please don’t waste your breath.

  “But I have something more important to tell you. Take a deep breath. Saul and I are going to get married. In December. December eighteenth, in fact. No one knows but you and Minnie. Not even Mama. She’s taking me to look at the hall she got married in. Saul doesn’t want to move in with Mama, but we may not be able to afford to live on our own. Maybe when he gets a real job. And how would you like to be my bridesmaid? You and Minnie? Surprised?”

  “You bet I’m surprised,” exclaims Bessie. “In fact, shocked is a better word for it. You just gave me chapter and verse about the ways you are different from Saul, and now you’re telling me you’re getting married. After knowing Saul for less than six months, you’re going to tie the knot? For Pete’s sake, what’s your hurry, Dora? You’re only twenty-two.”

  “Whenever you don’t agree with me, you get mad. I’m not a kid anymore. I’ve been working and making my own money since I was sixteen. No one is perfect. Maybe his down-to-earth ways are good for me. It is time for me to settle down. But listen to this,” Dora says, taking Bessie’s hand. “Isn’t it just like him? He didn’t even propose to me. He says, ‘So when are we going to get married. It’s time.’ He’s right. What am I waiting for? Sure, sometimes I think I could get bored, but then, as I say, no one is perfect. You never had doubts about Max? How many couples do you know that have fun after they get married? Do you and Max have fun? I don’t see a lot of laughing going on here. Only get up, go to work, come home, eat supper, go to sleep, get up, go to work, come home, and eat supper. Freddy was as perfect as anyone could be for me, and look how that turned out.”

  Dora sits silently for several moments, dejectedly gazing out the window. “You know, I was heartbroken. Really, my heart would actually hurt. I couldn’t eat or sleep for weeks. I thought he loved me. After I said what I said to him, I kept on waiting for him show up. And sometimes I’d walk past the store and—I swear, Bessie—I thought he saw me, but then he’d look away. I did that for months, even after I was keeping company with Saul, until one day I saw him with another girl. That did it. He was finished with me,” Dora continues. “Threw me away, just like a piece of garbage.”

  Bessie reaches over and pats Dora’s cheek. “Okay, it’s okay. Here’s my hankie. Blow your nose and wipe your eyes. I’m sorry I yelled at you. You know how I can be sometimes. It’s because you’re like a kid sister to me. I want nothing but the best for you. Okay, we all have to learn our own lessons. So about the wedding?”

  “You know what? Saul doesn’t believe in God. Between you and me, I’m not so sure myself, but I keep my mouth shut. He says if there were a God, he’d find a cure for diabetes so his mother wouldn’t suffer. He worships her.”

  “You should be glad,” Bessie says. “People say that if a man loves his mother, he’ll love his wife and make a good husband and father.”

  “Yeah, that’s what his aunt told me. He says everyone loves her because she was always doing things for other people, until she got sick. Like if someone was sick, she was there with the soup, or she would take their kids back to her house. And it made no difference to her whether they were Jew or Gentile. And she had her own six kids. The older boys, Sam and Matt, are gone, but the younger girls are still there—and Seymour, Saul’s kid brother. Saul doesn’t much care for his father though. Says he was very strict with him and his brothers. He would whistle between his teeth to call the boys home so the whole neighborhood could hear, and if they didn’t get home in a few minutes, he’d take the belt to them. Saul says he’d never touch his own kids.”

  “Good thing,” Bessie exclaims. “I don’t believe in hitting kids, although sometimes in my class I get frustrated enough so I want to.”

  “His father was born in Hungary. So was his mother, but she came when she was much younger. He came here in his forties. Speaks with a heavy German accent. He was looking for a pot of gold, like all of us, and found bubkes. He went from being a Hebrew teacher in Budapest to making cigars in Connecticut and then to working in a saloon. And to drinking too much, Saul says.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Bessie asserts. “Jews aren’t drunks.”

  “I’ve heard that too. He says it doesn’t take much to get him drunk, just one or two shots of schnapps. Saul says it’s not a happy marriage. He thinks it was arranged. Anyway, just when she can have a little peace, what with the older boys married and only Saul, his younger brother, and the two girls at home, she gets really sick. And the doctors say there is nothing more they can do about it. No medicine.”

  “I know a teacher at school who has diabetes. Once, she went into a blackout, right there on the classroom floor, and then she never returned,” adds Bessie.

  “So when he was fighting with Papa, he told him that he thinks keeping kosher is ridiculous and doesn’t believe it has anything to do with being a good person. He says he doesn’t need a book to tell him what is good and bad or right and wrong. He says there are plenty of Jews who keep kosher and then steal from their friends or relatives. He says it’s okay for me to keep kosher, but I shouldn’t expect him to. Then Papa mumbled something about Saul sounding like Shimshon. Why would he bring up that guy in the Bible—didn’t he bring the temple down?”

  “Yeah, Samson, a physically powerful man—not too smart—who brought the temple down,” answers Bessie. “But he’s right about some religious Jews cheating. Mostly they do because they had such a hard time in Russia. They’re terrified, so they do what they think is necessary for survival. But, you know, there are plenty of religious Jews who don’t cheat. And goyim who cheat and goyim who don’t. You can’t make those generalizations. It’s what causes all kinds of prejudice. Like Jews who are money grubbers or Negroes who are lazy or Chinese who are cunning.”

  “Well, Papa wouldn’t cheat. And I think my brothers wouldn’t cheat, and if Saul’s life depended on it, he wouldn’t cheat. But right or wrong, I couldn’t put a piece of pig or other traif in my mouth. He promised to stop fighting Papa. I believe him; he’s a man of his word. So Bessie, what are you thinking?”

  “You ask what I think, but you have already made up your mind. But if you really want to know what I think, I’ll tell you. I think you are marrying Saul on the rebound. I think it’s too soon after Freddy. You’re still crazy about him. Every other word out of your mouth is Freddy this and Freddy that. You dream about him. Do you think you may even be marrying Saul to get back at Freddy?”

  Dora shrugs. “Don’t be silly. I really like Saul; he’s a good man. He’ll be good to me. He’ll make a good father. I trust him.”

  “Or do you think,” Bessie continues, on a roll, “you may be hoping that when Freddy hears about your plans, he’ll come charging on his white horse and beg you to marry him? I hope not, because I don’t think that’s fair to Saul. But, Dora, I just worry that you’re settling. I was thirty when I got married. Everyone warned me I’d end up an old maid. Your mama said I was giving up my life to be a teacher. But I made up my mind to go to school to get my teaching certificate and to make something of my life. And that’s when I met my Max. And good man that he was, he agreed that it was the right thing to finish college. That’s love. Even so, no man was going to keep me from making something of myself.”

  “But I’m not you, Bessie. And being a wife and mother isn’t making something of myself? You ought to be ashamed. So hock mir nicht kein chinik.”

  Bessie ignored her and went on. “I worked hard, but look at me now: a teacher, an immigrant. Look at the respect I get. What’s your hurry is what I want to know. You know what they sa
y? Men and trolley cars come along every sixty minutes.”

  Chapter 8

  SHATTERED DREAMS

  1926

  Saul is, as his Aunt Sadie claimed over the years, a very good man—honorable, intense, and stubborn. What Sadie hadn’t told Dora was that he was shy. On their first date, just a week following Dora’s exchange with Sadie, he arrived at Mendel and Henya’s apartment holding a flower but then stood at the door, smiling, flower in hand. Frozen. Dora impetuously reached out to retrieve his stifled offering—a carnation—and pulled him into the apartment. Weeks after this date, he revealed to Dora that he was following Sadie’s instructions to bring flowers.

  Dora is drawn to his reliability, his strength, and the sense that he will protect her, no matter what. There is something about his quiet but stalwart demeanor that calms the ever-present anxiety she daily lives with, anxiety that she masks with jokes and singing and playful banter. At that time, no one spoke of trauma and the way traumatized victims concealed their wounded soul. No one wrote of survivor’s guilt, with its resultant dissociation, until Lifton’s masterful research on the survivors of the Hiroshima bombing. And the Holocaust.

  Saul wastes no words; he is deliberate to act—but when he does, it’s full speed ahead, damn the torpedoes. One evening, while taking a stroll on the boardwalk, he relates an anecdote about how, a few years ago when looking for a job, he was waiting on one of the lines, along with scores of other men, to submit his application. He approached an interviewer, who looked at his application and remarked that he was just the kind of man they needed. But after looking more closely at the application, the man asked Saul if Sussman was a German name. When Saul’s response was a terse no, the man took Saul’s application, which had been on one pile, and moved it to the bottom of another pile. “I’ll call you if I need you,” he barked and hastily called out another name.

  In telling this story to her brother Leon, Dora inquired, “So what do you think he does? He gets on another line with a different guy, but this time, he writes down Patrick O’Brien, the movie star’s name, rather than Sussman. The guy says that Saul looks good to him and tells him where to report the next morning. Then Saul throws the whole table over and shouts, ‘Kiss my ass, you anti-Semitic sonova bitch.’”