“Now we vote. See, it’s easy.”
“No, no. Before we vote, we discuss. I’d like to offer an amendment,” said Irini’s father.
“After we vote,” said Mr. Baldish.
“No, before. I’m quite sure. Although technically the meeting was never called to order. Technically we’re both out of line here.”
The motion was defeated 4 to 3. Holcrow abstained. “I’m not really part of Magrit,” he said. “I feel like I am, after all this time now, but I’m not.”
“Of course you are,” said Ada.
“You’re very kind. But I’m really more comfortable as an observer here.”
“The meeting was never called to order,” said Mr. Baldish, obviously miffed by the defeat. “The vote may not be valid.”
“I call the meeting to order,” said Irini’s father. “Now, let’s vote. On Mr. Baldish’s motion, as seconded and amended by me.”
“What was the amendment again?” Ada asked.
“I’m wondering what gives you the right to call the meeting to order. I’m wondering if we even have a quorum,” said Mr. Baldish. “I might still think the vote invalid.”
“We have a quorum of the people here,” said Irini’s father.
“A lot of people aren’t here.”
“It’s the rain,” Arlys offered.
“The people who aren’t here are irrelevant to the quorum issue,” said Irini’s father. “I call for the question.”
The motion was defeated 4 to 3, with one abstention.
“Good,” said Ada. “Now, the thing I wish to have very clear—”
“Just one moment, Mrs. Ada,” said Irini’s father politely. “Before you say something important, someone should be taking the minutes. I nominate Irini as recording secretary.”
“I second the motion,” said Holcrow.
“I thought you were observing,” said Mr. Baldish. “One minute you’re abstaining and the next you’re seconding. How would you have voted, if you had voted? The women here seem to think we can muddle through with no set of guidelines.”
“Gandhi has laid out our guidelines very clearly.”
“I don’t want to be secretary.”
“Just recording secretary. Someone else will be corresponding secretary,” Irini’s father assured her. “We’ll get to that next.”
“I’ll be corresponding secretary. Why can’t Norma be recording secretary?”
“Norma has a deer to dress.”
“I don’t want to be secretary,” said Norma.
“Irini would be perfect as secretary,” said Holcrow. “Irini would be perfect at anything. I call for the question.”
“I thought we voted not to use Robert’s Rules of Order,” said Irini’s father.
“I think we need further discussion on that,” said Mr. Baldish. “It’s going to save us all a lot of arguments down the road.”
“The question has been called,” Irini’s father reminded him. “We can make time for your discussion in the old business section of the meeting, but it’s inappropriate now.”
“Really I don’t see the need for a secretary,” said Ada. “I see the need for education and discipline. I see the need for a plan of action. I’d like to get some ideas from you all as to how we can approach the problem in the most loving possible way.”
“Excuse me, Mrs. Ada, but the question has been called,” said Mr. Baldish.
“I don’t want to be secretary,” said Irini.
“Don’t whine, my love.”
There were three sudden cymbal clashes of thunder, each successively louder. The lights went out. They waited for them to go back on. There was a flash of lightning instead. And another. It was Beethoven weather and they sat in the dark and listened to it. It gave them the communal spirit that had rather been lacking.
“We’ll get a better turnout on another evening,” said Norma diplomatically.
“That would seem to be that,” Mr. Baldish agreed.
“The question has been called,” said Irini’s father. “We can still vote. All in favor? Show of hands please. Keep them up till the lightning comes round.”
So Irini was elected during the very next flash, 7 for, 1 opposed.
Minutes of Magrit Committee on Satyagraha, First Meeting
The meeting was called to order at 7:45 on August 5th, 1947, Ada Collins presiding. A motion to run the meeting according to Robert’s Rules of Order was defeated. Those present agreed, by a vote of 4 to 3, one abstention, to constitute a quorum. Cookies and punch were served.
Submitted by
the Recording Secretary,
Irini Doyle
30
Irini woke unaccountably early the next morning. The rain had vanished in the night and left only a pine-fresh smell behind. Irini opened the window and the voices of a hundred birds spilled in. One was particularly melodic. Irini traced it to a mockingbird, silhouetted on the telephone wire. Before she had become a working girl, Irini could take sleep or leave it. Now she resented the mornings when she rose even earlier than necessary. It was apparently part of growing up—you began to enjoy nasty things like onions, broccoli, coffee, and sleep. You began to think of those hours you were unconscious as the happiest times of your life.
But there was the consolation of seeing the sun rise. It was not quite dawn. The east end of Brief Street, the mill end, was a bright pearl gray, and far away, at the Moodey place, a rooster was crowing. Why did roosters crow in the morning? What was the Darwinian advantage? Irini made a mental note to ask Mr. Henry just as soon as he was himself again. Cock of the walk.
The Mays’ house was shuttered and silent, except for a shadowy figure on the porch. Norma was out delivering the milk. “Good morning, Norma,” Irini called, so that Norma came over to her window.
“That was something last night,” Norma said. She shook her head emphatically. She was dressed in white coveralls and a white cap. Her eyes, at this precise moment, were bluer than the sky. The sky would get bluer as the sun rose and her eyes would not. If it were a nice day, the vectors would cross sometime before noon. Irini remembered back to high school and crossing vectors, but there was little joy in the memory. Perhaps there were advantages to being a grown-up after all.
“Yes,” asked Irini, “but what was it?”
“Your dad and mine. It wouldn’t have happened that way if Mr. Henry had been there.”
“You think?”
“They have to respect him. He’s signing the paychecks. They have to respect her when he’s around,” said Norma. “Will a quart do you today?”
The sun was coming up now, first red and then yellow, a pale ball blooming in the sky like a stemless flower. Irini put on her bathrobe and slippers, brought the milk in, and picked up the paper. This should have been Tweed’s job, but Tweed was not a fetcher by nature. She was a worrier. She stayed at Irini’s side, making sure that it was all done right.
The trees cast long morning shadows. The combination of sunlight and leaves dappled the landscape so that Brief Street looked more painted than real. Like someone’s illusion set to birdsong. “God’s in His heaven, all’s right with the world.” Had there ever been a moment, a teeny second in the whole history of time, where all had been right with the world?
She heard the porch swing creaking at the Tarkens’ and stepped across the wet grass. Sissy sat in the swing, wrapped in a crocheted afghan, her hair ruffled from sleep. Her face was bare of makeup and rather sweet in her usual owlish way. She looked about thirteen years old. “You’re up early, Sissy. How are you feeling today?” Irini asked.
Eeek. Eeek. “I got up early so that I could be alone,” Sissy said accusingly. It was a bit unpersuasive. The flow of visitors to the Tarken house had definitely ebbed. It was also a bit unfair. Irini had stayed away entirely.
“I’m so tired of talking about it.” Eeek. “Everyone asks and asks and then they”—creak—“completely misunderstand. My mother completely misunderstood.”
“I
’m sorry,” said Irini. “Of course, it’s a difficult thing for people to—”
“Difficult! How difficult do you think it is for me? You were there. You know how it happened.” The creaking came faster and faster.
“I didn’t exactly—”
“My brother fought in the Pacific, risked his life, for this country. How difficult do you think that was? They all think if they ask me often enough I’ll say something different. Like I’ll suddenly remember I didn’t see her after all. ‘Ask Irini,’ I’m telling them all. ‘She was there, too.’ ”
A narrow slit of sunlight had reached the Tarken porch. Sissy swung into it and out. If you watched only her face, as Irini was doing, it gave you that stuttering stop-start feeling of a silent movie. What was missing was the silence. “And Mrs. Ada can just forget about us.” Eeek. Eeek. “We don’t have to go to any of her meetings. We don’t work in the mill and we never have. We’re probably the only people in town who don’t owe Mr. Henry anything.”
“I thought you liked Mrs. Ada.”
“She has no right to come here and tell me what I can and I can’t say to people. That’s the thing about this country, Thomas Holcrow says. Nobody owns you. This is the greatest country in the world,” Sissy said, “and I’d like to see anyone say differently while I’m around.”
It would have been a good time for Irini’s father to call her. He didn’t, but he should have. She went inside and shook him. “You’ll be late.”
“So I’ll be late. Call the Tribune. Run a headline.” Her father threw an arm over his eyes. “Oh, God,” he said. “I’m awake. How did that happen?”
He had the same wounded look at breakfast, but it was more than an expression now, it was an actual fact. He’d cut himself shaving and pasted a bit of tissue to his face with his own blood. It was right there on his chin, a white flag with a round, red center, the rising sun of Japan. “Well, that was inexcusable.” Irini’s father shook his head sadly. “That was a shameful performance. I can hardly bear to remember it.”
He had cooked bacon this morning and then eggs in the bacon grease, so the kitchen had a pleasant odor, a sizzle and pop. He let Tweed lick the frying pan. Grease was good for her coat.
Irini’s father liked his meat rare and his eggs soft; they were done quickly. Irini watched as he broke the skin of the yolk so that it spilled onto the plate, pale and slow as honey. “Or maybe I’m not remembering. Did the men talk and talk so that the women couldn’t get a word in? Did I personally sabotage every point Mrs. Ada wished to make? Tell me the truth, Irini. Are we all in our places with egg on our faces this morning?”
“I guess you’re not far wrong,” Irini admitted. “You made me be recording secretary.”
“Oh, that,” Irini’s father said. “I’m not talking about that.” He wiped the plate clean with his toast, rose from the table, and put the plate into the sink with the frying pan. He doused the stack with water. “Did I have fun?” he asked her.
“Great fun.”
“Well, there’s that then.” He drew out his car keys, slapped them against the palm of his hand. “No point in putting it off. I’ve got to go straight to Collins House and apologize. I should go right now. Won’t get easier later.”
Irini caught him at the kitchen door in time to remove the tissue. “You’re my little turtledove,” he told her. His breath was yolky, his kiss dry. “Always have been.”
Irini combed her hair, put on her lipstick, and walked to work, where she spent the day experimenting with thickeners. They were using a bake-off method in which flour was pitted against cornstarch, and cornstarch against tapioca. It was Walter’s idea to enliven the workday with a little friendly competition. The three thickening agents would be tested in gravies, in fruit pies, in sauces, and as cleaning agents. Irini was assigned to the tapioca station, tapioca being thought to require less skill than the other contenders. Ruby was also on Team Tapioca.
Tracy was given cornstarch. “That’ll be the most delicate of your thickeners,” she’d said. “That’s the team I’d better be on.” She stood at the stove, stirring and trying to watch over her shoulder to make sure that Ruby wasn’t cheating. Ruby worked at Irini’s side with her usual silent cheerfulness.
“Would you hand me the paring knife?” Irini asked her once and she passed it over promptly, but without a word.
No one talked about the meeting. Having not attended, the Mays were now expressing their opinion by not asking about it. Not that they would be uninformed. Irini imagined that the Baldishes had phoned a report over to the Tarkens and that Cindy May had probably listened in.
Anyway Fanny had bigger news. Her apron pocket bulged with it. At the right moment, the most dramatic moment, while everybody’s gravy thickened except for Irini’s, she pulled it out. It was an elegant box, covered in a deep-blue velvet. Mike Barr had sent Fanny a pin in yesterday’s mail.
Irini washed her hands when her turn to hold it came. There was accompanying literature to be read first. “BURSTING FURY,” it said. “Atomic Inspired Pin and Earrings. The pearled bomb bursts into a fury of dazzling colors in mock rhinestones, emeralds, rubies, and sapphires. As daring to wear as it was to drop the first atom bomb.”
It came all the way from Fifth Avenue, New York. Irini pushed the box open with her thumbs. There it was, swirling against the midnight-blue lining, with all its many mock colors. It was quite large. It was lucky Fanny was such a large girl. In fact it was so large that if Mrs. Barr had picked it out, it might mean she didn’t like Fanny. If Mike had chosen it himself it was just male clumsiness; it was darling.
“Of course, if she puts it on, they’re pinned,” Tracy said. “She hasn’t made up her mind yet.”
“Did he say that?” asked Claire.
“It’s a pin,” said Tracy. “A boy gives a girl a pin. What needs to be said?”
“It’s a step before a step,” Fanny agreed. “It takes things in a certain direction.” She reached for the box, which shut in Irini’s hands with a loud and frightening snap. “I really hate getting gifts.” Her mouth made its valentine pout. “Don’t you all? It’s so, so…” She couldn’t think what it was and none of the Sweethearts could help her. There was not a one of them who could ever remember getting a serious gift from a boy. It didn’t seem as if it would be so bad. There was something they were missing.
“Predictable,” Fanny finished.
After work, when tapioca had been bested in the gravy category but took fruit pies, the girls changed their clothes and went to practice. It was too hot. It was sauna-hot. “Don’t make us do this,” Helen begged Walter, but he did. They were joined by Norma and Cindy, but not Sissy. The outfield had recently been mowed so you could smell it. The ball came off the grass fast and straight. Most of the outfielders liked the flies best, but not Irini. She liked the unexpectedness of the grounders. She liked the surprise of the other team when she threw it all the way in to home to make the play anyway.
It was high summer, which meant that winter was coming. Every step in the grass raised a cloud of tiny bugs. Sweat gathered inside Irini’s glove. She pulled her hand out, cupped the ball in it, and smelled the leather. They happened so fast, these summers. You barely had time to complain about the soggy, sodden heat before it was gone. The Sweethearts had only three more games on their schedule. They had expected to play longer; they might play longer. Mr. Henry just needed to make some phone calls, organize some things. “How would you like ten beautiful girls to visit your hometown?” Henry needed to ask. Who would say no? But Mr. Henry couldn’t seem to move on it.
“I just hope Sissy makes it Saturday,” Cindy called to Walter from first. “Because I’m expecting my aunt again. I don’t see why I should have to play when my aunt is visiting, just because Sissy thinks she’s getting married to who knows who. I hope she doesn’t think just because she missed practice all week that that means she can miss the game.”
“I’m going to check on Sissy tonight,” Walter told her.
“Fanny is pinned,” Tracy told Walter. “To Mike Barr.”
“Mike Barr is a good guy,” Walter said.
“You could just mention it to Sissy when you see her. Without saying I said to mention it.”
Ruby threw one in. Walter popped one up. Norma pulled off her mask and got beneath it. The sun slid behind a cloud.
Irini didn’t see her father again until dinner time. The morning’s shaving scars were already covered with evening beard. They ate peanut butter sandwiches, hers with milk and his with vodka. He was treating himself to a jar of chili peppers, a gift from Los Angeles via Thomas Holcrow. He passed them to Irini to open. Irini had always suspected that her father ate chilis just because he was the only person in Magrit who could. Moodey’s Market didn’t even carry them. So they were a rare treat and usually a celebratory, show-offy move, but Irini’s father was abnormally subdued.
“How did it go with Mrs. Ada?” Irini asked finally.
“She was very gracious. She was damned gracious. I have never been more embarrassed.” Irini’s father popped in a pepper. Tears sprang to his eyes and dampened his cheeks.
He coughed and took a drink. “This Indian stuff she’s into makes more sense than I expected. And she knows a lot about it. We talked for quite some time.”
Outside, on the Tarken side, Irini heard a door slam. She heard Sissy’s voice. “You never understand me!” Sissy’s voice was full of tears. Then silence.
“You haven’t told me what you think about Sissy’s latest escapade,” Irini said.
“Sissy Tarken was the bravest little girl I ever knew,” he answered.
“So you believe her?”
“I think it would be rude not to. I’d die before I was rude to Sissy Tarken.”
“But you’re rude all the time. You admire rudeness. You’ve never minded being rude.”
“No, you’re quite mistaken,” Irini’s father told her. “I mind every time I do it. I mind all the time.”
31
Saturday’s game was supposed to be another overnighter. Henry had the Sweethearts scheduled in Willrest, another back-end of nowhere location with a population of fifty. The bus was stuffed like a turkey. None of the Sweethearts had ever been to Willrest so you just never knew. It could be a resort town. This could happen. There might be a place to go dancing; there might be a place to go swimming; there might be one of those traveling carnivals with a roller coaster and a ferris wheel and grimacing kewpie dolls that Ruby could win for them if no man was man enough. When you knew where you were going, then you knew what to wear. Otherwise it was safest just to bring everything.
The Sweetheart Season Page 26