Not a Nickel to Spare

by Perry Nodelman

  The Zhurnal says that the Nazis will just eat up all the Jews. It must be awful for them there, just awful.

  Benny told me it could happen here, too, if we don’t watch out — right here in Canada. I told him he was meshugge, like I always do when he talks about Germany, but I guess I said it once too often, because this time he got really mad at me. Really, really mad. He called me a spoiled little baby and then I called him a know-it-all and a smart alec and then he just gave me a look and stomped off and went home. I don’t care. Who needs him anyway?

  February 5

  I’ve been thinking about it, and I’ve decided that Benny is meshugge, completely meshugge. It can’t really be that bad in Germany, can it? And it certainly couldn’t ever happen here in Canada, not ever. Not in a million years. Uncle Izzy sure wasn’t worried about it in his letter, and he lives much closer to Germany than we do. I’m going to just forget about it and think about more pleasant things. I’m going to be glad no matter what, like Pollyanna in that wonderful book I read last year. It was truly inspiring.

  One pleasant thing is that Syd Schein came around and dragged Sophie off to a meeting of the Jewish Juniors at Diana Sweets. Sophie didn’t want to go, but Syd made her. I wouldn’t want to go either — who wants to hear a bunch of old ladies making speeches? But it must be the first time Sophie’s gone anywhere but work or shopping with Ma in the market since she stopped seeing that freckly Steven. Maybe now she’ll stop being such a mope all the time. Sure, I feel sorry for her. But if you ask me, it’s about time she got over it. Good for Syd.

  February 8

  I haven’t seen Benny, not once. I think he’s still mad at me, and I don’t care, because I’m still mad at him. I’m sure Benny’s overreacting about Hitler. Positive.

  I have to stop writing now. Molly wants me to help her brush her hair. And anyway, I don’t have anything worth writing about.

  February 9

  Ma was over visiting Auntie Esther today, and Auntie Esther told her that Benny stopped working at the belt factory because he got a new job. Auntie Esther doesn’t know what the job is, but she says it must be a good one because Benny has been giving her lots of grocery money and he’s such a good son.

  I wonder what the job is. I know Benny hated the belt factory, but he was making pretty good money there — at least as much as my sisters make, which isn’t much, I guess, but it’s something. Anyway, what kind of job could Benny get that pays more? Not that I really care, of course, because Benny means nothing to me. Less than nothing. In fact, his name will never appear in my diary ever again. He’s out of my life forever, and that makes me really, really glad.

  I am very bored.

  February 13

  It’s much more peaceful when that person whose name I refuse to mention ever again isn’t around. I’ve just been going to school and doing homework and cleaning house and looking after Molly and Hindl. School is okay, I guess. We just seem to do the same arithmetic problems and the same spelling exercises and the same geography lessons all the time. I am so tired of the names of the capitals of the nine provinces. Who cares where Fredericton is? The only interesting thing I’ve done is go to practise “The Waltz of the Flowers.” We’re getting to be very good — even me, and I know I’ll be ever so much better if I ever get dancing slippers.

  February 15

  I wish I knew what B that person’s new job is. I can’t help it. I can’t stop thinking about it. The track is closed now, so he can’t be a table, can he? I really, really hope he isn’t doing something illegal again. Not because of him, of course. Because of Auntie Esther. Because of the family.

  February 17

  I know what the job is, and I am so, so worried about B that person BENNY. There. I wrote it, and I’m going to write it again. BENNY BENNY BENNY. I’m so worried about Benny that I just can’t be mad at him anymore.

  He came over last night just as if nothing had ever happened and asked me if I’d like to go to Altman’s and get a soda because he was buying because he had lots and lots of money because of his new job. I tried to stay mad at him, but I just couldn’t resist asking him where the money came from.

  He said he wouldn’t tell me unless I promised not to tell anybody else. He even got me to cross my heart and hope to die. Pa caught me doing that once and told me never to do it again because it’s not a Jewish thing to do. But I did it anyway when Benny asked, because I was dying to know.

  Benny works for a bootlegger!

  Before Benny told me, I didn’t even know what a bootlegger is. It’s someone who makes booze in their own house. The bootlegger makes the booze and sells it to other people — and it’s illegal, just like I thought it would be.

  If you ask me, liquor is bad enough even when it’s the legal kind. It makes people act crazy. Like my Uncle Max, for instance. I told that to Benny, too. He agreed, but he said before I started saying bad things about bootleggers I should remember my pa is one, too.

  That made me so furious I almost stopped talking to Benny all over again. I would have if I wasn’t so worried about him.

  My pa is not a bootlegger. My pa never did a bad or illegal thing in his entire life — except for driving into that limousine, and that wasn’t his fault, no matter what the judge said.

  Oh sure, Pa makes wine. Gosh, I’m leaning against the wine barrel right now while I’m writing, aren’t I? And Ma and Pa both drink a glass on Shabbes, and they even let the rest of us have a little sip each at the seder on Pesach. It tastes really horrible, but you have to drink it if you want to be a good Jew.

  But that’s why Pa makes it, because we need it for praying every Friday. The kind of booze the bootlegger makes isn’t wine and it has nothing to do with praying. It just gets people drunk. What is Benny thinking of?

  Benny’s job is to be a lookout. The bootlegger lives in a house up the lane behind Baldwin, close to Spadina on the other side of the market. Benny says the lady who sells the booze calls it rye whiskey, but it’s really made out of tea and brown sugar and things like that, and she charges them 25¢ to buy just one glass! You could buy a whole pound of meat for that much money! Anyway, Benny is just supposed to stand there at the beginning of the lane and watch out for the police. If a policeman comes, he’s supposed to run up the lane and knock on the door three times, and then the bootlegger knows she has to get rid of any customers she has in there and hide everything before the policeman comes.

  So far, Benny says, there haven’t been any policemen. He says he’s making good money for doing nothing at all, which is much better than working in the belt factory or slaving away at Uncle Bertzik’s for peanuts like my sisters do. But what if a policeman does come and he arrests Benny and puts him in jail? I tried to talk Benny into quitting but he just laughed at me. What can he be thinking of? Maybe all those hits his father gives him have scrambled his brains. I am so worried about him.

  I really shouldn’t be. He didn’t even apologize for walking out like that. He didn’t even seem to realize I was mad at him about it or about Hitler. And the real reason he came around was because he needs me. His band is playing for an afternoon tea at another Church of England church, on Manning Avenue about five blocks from here, and he wants me to help with the drums again. He begged and begged until I said I would. I agreed to do it because I’m so worried about him.

  February 19

  The Church of England people just sat around drinking tea. None of them danced or anything, not even once. I hummed along to everything. It felt good, and I decided I don’t care about Miss Tedde. What does she know anyway? I’ll sing if I feel like it, in as high a voice as I want. The band sounded very good, and Benny was still looking pretty elegant even though he had some stains on the tuxedo from carrying drums and things. It’s a pity it’s a white one.

  After the dance, some Church of England boys came up and started talking to the band, and Harvey Tischler ended up challenging them to a hockey game, the Yids against the goyim. I couldn’t play, of cours
e. What if my hat fell off and they found out I was a girl? And anyway, who wants to go out and get bumped around by a bunch of rough boys? Not me. I hate sports. And besides, I don’t know how to play. I was going to just leave and go home by myself, but I couldn’t, because then they’d be stuck with all the drums. So I stayed and watched. Benny told the goyishe boys that I was recovering from a serious illness and wasn’t allowed. Harvey Tischler whispered to me that it was the serious illness of being a girl. Ho ho. Very funny.

  When we got outside, Harvey took some horseballs out of his pockets — he actually had three of them in there! Isn’t that disgusting? Then he put me in charge of them, and that was even more disgusting. I had to pick one up and throw it out whenever the one they were using fell apart. Now my mittens smell almost as bad as Harvey’s do. Why can’t I just enjoy being a girl and play with dolls and learn how to sew properly? Rivka would never pick up a horseball, that’s for sure.

  Still, the game was exciting. We won, too, 10–8. Benny scored three times.

  After the game, I brought Benny back to have supper. At least it kept him away from the bootlegger for a few hours. You could tell Ma was angry about it, but she sent me down here to the cellar to get another potato to put in the pot for him anyway. There are hardly any left.

  February 23

  A terrible, terrible thing happened. I found Benny on the front porch this morning, shivering and shaking and nearly freezing to death — the radio said it was just 39° this morning. Benny had blood on his face and his scarf, and he looked awful. I wanted to get Ma or Pa, but he said no, he’d just go away if I tried to. So I snuck him down the outside stairs into the cellar. I didn’t know what else to do. He actually fell sound asleep leaning against the coal bin before I got back with my winter blanket and a big hunk of bread I managed to get from the kitchen. Lucky nobody saw me. Then I had to throw the blanket over Benny and rush off to school. I didn’t want to leave him alone, because what if someone came down and found him? Ma would be scared out of her wits, and Pa would probably think he was a hobo or something and clop him over the head with an orange crate before he even looked to see who it was. But I didn’t have a choice. I didn’t find out what happened to Benny until I rushed home at lunchtime.

  It turns out that Benny was doing his lookout job for the bootlegger, and guess who showed up there to buy a drink? Uncle Max, of course. Benny should have realized his pa would be a customer.

  On his way to the bootlegger’s, Uncle Max saw Benny standing there at the beginning of the lane and told him to stop loitering in the streets like a no-good bum and go home — so Benny had to pretend to leave while his pa went up the lane. But then, after Uncle Max went into the house, Benny came back to do his lookout job — which was when Uncle Max suddenly rushed out of the house and grabbed Benny and gave him a big hit, right there on the street. Benny has a huge bruise on his cheek, and he’s really mad at his pa. He says that’s why he didn’t go home all night and stayed on our porch. But really, I think he’s scared of Uncle Max. If it was me, I’d sure be scared. I’m so lucky to have Pa. He may be strict, but he would never hit us.

  What happened was, the bootlegger lady somehow knew that Uncle Max was Benny’s father and so she told him what a good job Benny was doing for her. She didn’t know that Uncle Max didn’t know that Benny was working there. It made Uncle Max furious — not because bootlegging is a bad thing, but because Benny was keeping the job a secret and keeping all the money for himself. Uncle Max didn’t know Benny was giving most of the money to his ma, and of course Benny didn’t tell him, or else Uncle Max would have just made Auntie Esther give it to him.

  Benny left our place as soon as he finished telling me what happened. He said he didn’t want to get me into trouble for hiding him. I wish he hadn’t gone. I don’t know where he is now, and it really scares me. I hope he isn’t freezing to death somewhere.

  February 24

  I have snuck down to the cellar to write this because I am so, so relieved. Benny is okay! He went and told his brother Al about what happened, and Al and his wife Rita said Benny could sleep on the chesterfield in their apartment until things cooled down between him and Uncle Max. Benny says they’re never going to cool down because he’s never going to have anything to do with his pa ever again. I feel so sorry for him.

  Ma is calling everyone to watch her light the Shabbes candles. I have to go.

  February 27

  I took Phronsie Pepper back to the big library and I decided I’m not reading any more about the Peppers, even though there are still at least seven more books. I am sick to death of them and their stupid Little Brown House. Nothing bad ever happens to them. It just isn’t real. They never get into fights with their relatives and end up with bloody faces. They never ride the rails or work for bootleggers. And they never remember how hungry they must have been when they were poor. I can’t forget it. I’m sick and tired of potatoes. And this week, Ma had to borrow some money from Uncle Bertzik again. Pa knew, but this time he didn’t say anything, because what choice do we have?

  Well, at least there’s one good thing — Benny is back at the belt factory. It seems Al wouldn’t let him stay at his place if he kept on working for the bootlegger. The belt factory may be a little dangerous, but at least it isn’t illegal.

  March 1933

  March 3

  On the way to school today, I had to walk out onto the road because the sidewalk just down the street was covered with furniture. It was the Letinskys’ furniture — they live at number 45. Or, I guess, they used to live there. They must have got kicked out by the landlord because they couldn’t pay the rent. I guess the landlord had someone else who wanted the house, or else he’d probably have let them stay. Ma told me she heard Mr. Letinsky couldn’t find any work, and the rest of their family are too poor to help them.

  Mrs. Letinsky was sitting on an ugly green chesterfield with holes in the arms, holding onto her baby and looking very sad. I guess she was guarding the furniture against thieves until Mr. Letinsky could find someone to lend him a truck and figure out where to take their stuff. I’m sure Pa would have let them use his truck if it was running, but of course it’s not summer yet and it still has the tires off. I couldn’t think of anything to say to her, so I just pretended I didn’t see her and walked by. But I’ve been thinking about the Letinskys all day. It’s so sad. What will they do now?

  March 5

  Another disaster. I must be the most clumsy, most useless person on the face of the entire planet. I feel just awful.

  It happened when I was practising my steps for “The Waltz of the Flowers” down in the cellar this morning. I went there because of course it’s the only place I can go where no one can see me. If I stayed upstairs, Gert would just make stupid jokes and laugh at me and Molly and Hindl would start imitating me and getting in the way. Anyway, I was whirling around with my arms way out like they’re supposed to be and one of my hands bumped into one of the big jugs of wine Pa made last fall and it fell over and all the wine spilled out onto the ground.

  Ma and Pa are furious. Now they’ll have hardly any wine for Shabbes until next fall when the grapes are ripe and Pa can make some more. I feel so guilty.

  And now I can’t possibly ever ask them about getting the dancing slippers. I wish I could just roll over and die right now.

  March 6

  Ma heard from Mrs. Goldstein that the Letinskys had to sell all their furniture to a second-hand store and move in with Mrs. Letinsky’s brother in a small apartment on Bathurst Street. There’s just one bedroom, and there are eight of them living there now! We are so lucky to have a whole house. I promise I won’t ever complain about having to share a room with Gert, never ever again.

  I still feel bad about not talking to Mrs. Letinsky last Friday. After all, they’ve been our neighbours for years. And I can’t stop thinking of what it must feel like to get kicked out of your own house. But she was probably too sad to even notice me.

  Let’s
see, what else happened? Oh yes, Benny is still going on and on about politics. To begin with, that Hitler and his Nazi party won an election in Germany, which is bad enough. But also, Benny has been spending a lot of time with some men in the factory who want to start a union. Benny wants one, too. He says the bosses are mean to the workers and hardly pay them anything. He told his ma, and his ma told his pa, and his pa is happy about it and he and Benny are actually getting along for a change. I’m glad they are, I guess, but I wish it wasn’t because Benny is turning into one of those godless communists who want to cause trouble for everybody, like Pa is always saying. At least he isn’t getting hit.

  Benny was also all excited about some law he read about in the Zhurnal that they’re trying to get the government of Ontario to pass. It’s to stop people from picking on Jews, but Benny also says there’s no chance it will happen. He went on and on about all the places that are restricted to Jews. He says that Jews can’t live anywhere in Toronto except right around here where we live, and now that some Jews are starting to move in up north past our neighbourhood, around Christie Pits park, the goyim are furious about it and who knows what might happen? The goyim say they want to keep Canada British, but Benny says that just means no Jews allowed, and that it’s almost as bad here as it is in Germany.

  I hate it when he talks like that. It scares me. But I guess I can put up with it, because I have to admit it, things are more interesting when he’s around.

  March 7

  I was sitting down in the cellar after school feeling sorry for myself when Dora came down to get some beets to cook for supper. There are still a few left. They’re kind of limp but you can still eat them. Dora asked me what was the matter and she looked so worried about me that I couldn’t help myself. I told her all about the spring festival and dancing “The Waltz of the Flowers” and how I wasn’t going to be able to be in the concert because I wouldn’t have any dancing slippers. Dora gave me a big hug and told me not to give up so easily. It made me feel much better. I’ll try not to give up, even though I know I should. Maybe a miracle will happen. You never know.