Willis sat back in his recliner and closed his eyes. He was quiet for a couple of minutes. I’m sure he counted at least to ten, and maybe he got in a quick prayer for patience after that. Maybe not, though. Willis always said that every time he prayed for patience, the Lord sent him a bunch of trials to help him develop some.
“What do you mean?” Willis sounded more worried than angry now.
“You don’t know what it’s like—you have your work. How do you think you’d feel if you had to retire? My job doesn’t mean a lot to me, but raising Angela did, and now it’s all done. She doesn’t need me anymore.”
“First place, I need you. What do you think I have the business for? It’s for us. Second place, what makes you think Angela doesn’t need you?”
“Well, she could hardly wait to move out.” When I checked my knitting, I saw it was much too tight. I was going to have to pick out everything I’d done. I laid it in my lap. Better do it later.
“So what?” said Willis. “It’s her time to do that. Doesn’t mean she doesn’t need you. She needs you to show her how to be a grown woman. Later on, she’ll need you to help her pick a husband. Then to show her how to be a mother herself.”
“She doesn’t need me for that. She’s seen all that, just growing up.”
Willis leaned forward in his chair. “You haven’t shown her how to let go of an almost-grown daughter yet. Bet she’ll need to know that someday. How to grow old. Way I see it, honey, we’re a step ahead of her. Everything in life, she’ll see us get there first.”
Willis could always make me feel better when I was down. I even managed a little smile. “I guess I’m still her mother,” I said. “Brought her into the world, and someday, I’ll teach her how to leave it, I guess. Guess I wouldn’t have it any different.”
He sat back, looking relieved but still wary. “So, now this waif comes along, and you want to fix all her problems. Maybe you ought to join the Big Sisters or something.”
“If I did that, I’d be doing the same thing I’m doing for Kathy. What’s the difference?”
Willis rubbed the heels of his hands across his eyelids, the way he did when he hadn’t gotten enough sleep. “The difference is that you wouldn’t have to sneak around. And it wouldn’t have to be on Pacific Avenue, either. My shop is about two blocks from Marilu’s. I’d a lot rather you didn’t mess with my neighbors.”
I hadn’t thought of that. He did have a point. “I’m sorry, honey. I wasn’t thinking,” I admitted. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you. All the same, I think it’s only right for me to help if I can. And it does get my mind off my ‘empty nest’ for now.”
“Well, okay. You want to see if you can help Kathy, fair enough. But that’ll be over before long, you know. You’ll fix Kathy’s problems, she’ll say thanks, and then she’ll want to live her own life, same as Angela.”
That hadn’t occurred to me, either. “So, what do I do, Willis? Surely it’s not crazy to want to help other people.”
“Like I said, I think you ought to volunteer for the Big Sisters. Or even go to work for them. Better yet, why don’t you go back to school?”
“Go back to school? You mean, apply to college?”
“Sure, why not? If you want to do this kind of stuff, get a degree in social work or something. You’re wasted at Giannini’s.” He got up and came over to the couch. “Got room for me?”
I set the afghan tangle aside. Willis sat next to me and put his arm around my shoulders. I squeezed his hand.
“I bet I can distract you,” said Willis. “Let’s make this year’s trip to the Mardi Gras into a second honeymoon.” He put on a comic-sexy look—wiggled his eyebrows and did his best to leer. I laughed.
“I sort of set it up to get together with Kathy’s friends while we’re there,” I said.
His expression changed to eye-rolling resignation. “You want me to spend my vacation doing that?”
“Not for long, I promise. I’ll trade you. If you’ll come along on this, I’ll go to the parades with you.”
“You’ll go to the parades? Sounds to me like a piecrust promise—made to be broken. Believe that one when I see it.”
“I’ll do it if you’ll help me with Kathy’s friends,” I said.
“Okay, you got a deal.”
Now I was going to have to go to the damned parades—couldn’t say I hadn’t gotten myself into that one, me and my big mouth. I could see us standing in the rain on Canal Street while the floats sailed by, yelling, “Throw me somethin’, mister!” at the top of our lungs. And then saying the same thing silently to Eddie Graziano in Gretna, trying to figure out what was going on.
Some second honeymoon.
~ 16 ~
March 1973
New Orleans
Kathy
“You’re moving again?” my mother snapped.
The wind huffed and puffed against the sides of the phone booth like the Big Bad Wolf. I kept the folding door shut by leaning on it.
“We never intended to stay in a rooming house permanently,” I said. The booth had initials scratched into its aluminum frame. “JL + CP.” Good luck to them. Whoever they are.
Mom sighed loudly. “I suppose not. But when are you going to settle down? You can’t drift.”
Some papers flew by. They weren’t drifting. They were really moving. Maybe Mom would be happy if I did that, just flew away.
I tried to keep my voice friendly. “We’re not drifting. We got better jobs. We’re going to work for a puppet theater.”
“Puppet theater. . . . What in the world are you doing, Kathy? Birthday parties, that kind of thing?”
“No, we do international folk tales. It’s for world peace.”
“Oh, for pity’s sake, that’s even worse. With birthday parties, at least you might meet people. Are you turning into hippies?”
I sighed. “No, Mom, we’re not turning into hippies. Just doing something we believe in.”
“You’ve always been so difficult, Kathy. Why don’t you get something with the city?”
“We will be working for the city a lot. We’ll be performing in schools.”
“It doesn’t sound like much of an opportunity. And why Gretna? That’s so far away from everything.”
“In Gretna, we can afford a house. And we need one, because, well, we’re having a baby.” A motorcycle passed, drowning out Mom’s answer. If there was one.
“Mom?”
“I heard you. Kathy, aside from everything else, you are too young to have a baby.”
“The baby’s even younger, Mom.”
“I don’t feel well. Maybe you’d better talk to your dad.”
She put the phone down, and a loud, confused conversation filtered through it from the other end. I hung up as gently as if the receiver were made of Limoges porcelain. Called Sharon, but she wasn’t home. I’d send her a postcard and tell her. Too bad Mom would get to her first.
Back in the room, Richard was putting books into a couple of toilet paper cartons I’d scrounged at the market. He gestured toward the boxes, grinning. “Was this a commentary on our taste in literature?”
“No, just the only cardboard boxes I could find.”
He reached over and squeezed my hand. He still seemed doubtful about it all, but at least he was going to try.
“Want me to go get a pizza or something?” I asked. It was getting on for dinnertime, and he’d packed the food.
“Pizza, the mover’s friend,” he agreed. “Got money?”
“Uh-huh. What kind of toppings?”
“Whatever you like.” He turned back to the boxes with tape and scissors. Toppings—uh-oh. I was in my fourth month, and I felt nauseated a lot. Not in the morning, and not by any specific thing. Something would smell funny all of a sudden, and then it would be queasy time.
I was starting to bulge, too. So far, I looked more chubby than pregnant. That wouldn’t last much longer—all my clothes were getting tight. At least we’d have more money, wo
rking for Martin. There were probably lots of maternity things at the Salvation Army anyway.
They’d have baby furniture, too. I’d have to take pink and blue both, whatever I could get, but maybe I could make it pretty so it wouldn’t look hand-me-down. I went over the furnishings of Francine’s house in my mind. Tante Beatrice hadn’t had a crib or a changing table, of course. The idea made me smile.
This is more like I want it to be. With the house and the baby, and Richard trying to be happy.
I got a mushroom pizza and brought it back to the room. After we ate, we packed the car and headed over to Gretna.
One last stop: at the Market, to say good-bye to Eddie. “It’s not good-bye, doll,” he said as I hugged him. “I live on the next street—Martin will show you. You take care of my girl, now,” he told Richard, squeezing his shoulder. “And I want to be that baby’s godfather.”
He gave us a big bag of fruits and vegetables as a housewarming present. I could see it was stuffed with the best of everything, and my throat closed up like it was wrapped with a tight scarf. Once again, we drove across the bridge, with Richard holding the brown paper bag in his lap.
It didn’t take long to unpack our Volkswagen-full of possessions. Francine had left a box of kitchenware and linens sitting in the corner on the kitchenette, with a note: “Thought you might use these.” The room was clean and the doilies were gone. There was a vase of homegrown flowers on the table. To keep from bursting into tears, I made the bed with Francine’s linens and put the kitchen things away. I set each thing in place so carefully, so perfectly straight, I might have been tending a shrine.
It rained in the night, the wind rattling the window sash and water drumming on the roof. I woke and held Richard as he slept, feeling the coziness of being out of the storm. I was drifting, almost asleep, when the baby moved for the first time. I caught my breath, surprised and scared. I’m a mother. And then Richard, still sleeping, laid his arm across me and pulled me to him. I lulled into his arms, listening to the rain slacken, and finally slept too in the warmth beside him.
I woke to Richard’s quiet rustlings in the kitchen and the smell of cooking. It was still raining. Richard had lit the heater, but the room wasn’t warm yet. I wrapped myself in a fuzzy robe as he poured me a cup of coffee. He was already dressed. Oatmeal steamed in a saucepan on the back burner, and on the front one was a skillet full of sausages he was stabbing with a table fork. A small pop of grease caught his finger.
“Damn,” he said, without much interest, glancing at his hand. He didn’t bother to get a longer fork.
I looked at the sausages and decided not to have any. Better not think of them as food at all. “I felt the baby move last night,” I told him, to change the subject.
“Are you okay?”
He sounded confused. I wanted you to be excited and happy. “Sure I am, it’s what’s supposed to happen.”
“Oh. I’m sorry. This is sort of a lot to take in.”
“Don’t worry, it’s not a problem,” I told him. It is a problem. I want you to want us, not put up with us. But pushing him wasn’t going to help. Change the subject.
“So, what’s on for today?” I asked.
“We’re all set here. I thought we might go over to Martin’s after breakfast, see what he needs?”
“It is Saturday.”
“I don’t think he’s got a nine-to-five operation.”
His eagerness surprised me. I had expected resistance and awkwardness. I dressed in a clean shirt and yesterday’s jeans, leaving the snap and about an inch of the zipper undone so I could fit into them. We didn’t have an umbrella, but Richard was pacing, impatient to get going, so we left anyway, trying to run between the raindrops.
We waited awhile on the front porch after we knocked. We could hear the children inside, hear Martin and Thu, but no one answered for a minute or so. When Martin did let us in, he laughed.
“Better use the kitchen door like we do. Almost didn’t realize you were here. Good thing the porch is covered. I wish you’d get a phone, by the way. It would make it a lot easier to work with you.”
“Oh,” said Richard. “I guess it would.” I looked at him sharply, surprised at his quick agreement. We hadn’t even considered it before.
We draggled, dripping, into the living room. Thu glanced up from the couch, where she was persuading one of the twins to eat a piece of toast. The other twin came in with a beautiful phoenix kite. He sat beside his brother, reached for a slice of toast on the coffee table, and brushed against a steaming cup. It turned over and rolled, spreading tea across the surface. Thu mopped it up with a napkin and smiled at us. “It looks like I’m making tea. Would you like some?”
“Please.” Hot anything sounded good to me. She gestured at the dining table, and we sat around it. She disappeared into the kitchen.
Martin set his chair at the end of the table. “I gather you’ve never done much with puppets before,” he said.
“Well, no,” Richard admitted.
“No sweat. We’ll start at the beginning. First you need to see the different kinds of puppets and get a feel for what they do. We use all sorts—glove puppets, shadow, rod, marionettes—so you’re going to have to learn fast.”
“We’ll practice a lot,” I promised.
He didn’t answer right away, and I waited, afraid to say more. I hoped he wasn’t reconsidering hiring us. Finally, he met my eyes and smiled.
“Thu’s whole family is puppeteers, so she’s learned all this since she was little. I had to get it the same way you will, quickly. She’s still a far better puppeteer than I am. Probably always will be, too,” he added as she came in with the tea. “There’s also the matter of talent.”
“Practice,” she admonished. He smiled. Maybe someday Richard and I will have in-jokes too.
“That’s the key,” Martin said. “Practice at home, and then rehearse here with us. Eddie said you’d been at college. What were you studying?”
“Engineering,” said Richard.
“Art,” I chimed in.
Their faces lit up. “You’ll both be very useful,” Martin said.
Thu turned to me. “Once you get settled, let’s get together and go over the art side of the theater—the scenery and costumes and so on. I can really use some help with that.”
“What will I be doing?” Richard asked.
“Maybe your engineering will come in handy on some of the special effects,” said Martin. “But both of you will mostly be operating puppets. I hope you can learn quickly, too. We can really use the extra hands.”
Richard nodded. “Can I see some of the puppets?” he asked.
“Oh, yes. That’s what we want to do first thing. We’ll start with a couple of marionettes—they’re probably more familiar to you.”
Thu opened a cabinet and took out a clown and a bear. She handed the clown to Martin.
Both marionettes bowed to us, and then the clown juggled, did a flip, and danced. But the bear looked unimpressed. It nibbled at its paw and then scratched behind an ear. The clown gyrated wildly and the bear turned its back. The clown approached the bear and tapped its shoulder. The bear scratched again and lay down. It curled up to go to sleep.
The clown shook the bear’s shoulder and pushed it back upright. I knew a puppet couldn’t have facial expressions, but I could swear the bear looked bored and annoyed by the clown’s persistence. Finally it gave in, shrugged, and gazed at the sky with “Enough, already!” in every line of its pose. And dropped to all fours, once again an ordinary bear.
The whole performance took less than five minutes. When it was over, I looked around, startled. Everything was much too big. I wanted the magic world of the puppets to go on and on, wanted to live there.
Richard was bright-eyed and silent. He forgot about being a soldier for a few minutes. He looks like a kid. The sudden turning-over feeling inside of me may have been the baby again, or maybe it was love, I couldn’t tell.
* * *
> It was a month into our apprenticeship with Martin, and he and I were watching Richard and Thu block out the action of The Legend of Savitri. Pieces of costume littered the coffee table, along with assorted props, teacups, books, and notepads. Martin took the narrator’s lines. Reading, he lost his Australian accent completely. He began spinning the story with a bewitching tone of “once upon a time.”
NARRATOR: Long ago, in the land of India, there lived a king named Aswapati who wanted a child more than any other of the world’s blessings.
The curtain opened. For this rehearsal, the stage was bare except for an altar. The final scenery would have to show a private room, one where the king would go to pray. I made a note to check the library for ideas about Indian interiors. Or maybe I could simplify it, since the scene was short? Martin and Thu would have opinions about that. I scribbled a note to myself in the margin of my script.
Aswapati entered from stage left. Richard’s hours of practice with the marionette were paying off. When we’d first begun rehearsing Savitri, Aswapati had walked like Frankenstein, but now he moved fairly normally.
ASWAPATI: I have many wives, but none are blessed with children. For long years I have prayed to the goddess Savitri, morning and evening. My hope is nearly threadbare. Still, I will continue to pray. Surely the goddess will send me a child.
Aswapati knelt with a faint thump. Martin marked the rehearsal script, though I knew Richard wouldn’t have to be reminded to work on the move. Aswapati would be praying morning and evening, all right. He would kneel and get up, kneel and get up, until Richard was satisfied with his performance.
SAVITRI: (rising from behind the altar) I am Savitri, the daughter of the sun. King Aswapati, you have been faithful in your prayers. Your wish is granted. You will be the father of a baby girl.
ASWAPATI: Oh, goddess, thank you! My daughter shall be named Savitri, after you!
Richard’s voice was a soft monotone, stumbling on the foreign name. It was obvious he was reading the lines. Martin made another note in his script as the curtain closed.
NARRATOR: Savitri grew to be a mirror for the beauty and wisdom of the goddess.
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