Cafe Babanussa (3 page)

“Spring's coming, Ma. The little ones will soon be leaving the nest.”

“That's what you should do, Ruby. Go see the world. I know your father disagrees, but there's nothing special waiting for you here.”

The windows of the kitchen were wide open and they could hear a bird begin its song: sharp, high notes sung in measured sequence. Ruby's mom laughed and then quietly slipped out the back door, where she stood on the porch with her hands on her hips. She whistled at the bird, repeating the same staccato tones. A call and answer went on between her and the bird, the notes increasing in number with each round. Ruby's mom would tilt her head and laugh before listening once more. Her laughter became a coda to their song.

Appearing behind them, Ruby's father said: “Two twittering fools.” Ruby's father could not stand birds. As a teenager he had worked at a resort where he had to serve rich white folks outside on the patio. One day a number of birds swooped down at his head, and frightened, he dropped the tray on which rested several meals. He was fired, and from that day his fear expanded into outright hatred. Her father gave his wife a hug. “Louise, I'm going downstairs to put some laundry in.”

Louise moved back indoors, cheeks flushed. “My little songbird,” she said to Ruby and Jessie. “We sing to each other every day.”

Ruby reached out and touched her mother's arm. “That was nice, Mom.” She and Jessie stared at each other for a moment and then they shrugged. “Too bad Dad can't appreciate the beauty of the bird and its song,” Ruby said. Her sister nodded in agreement. “Okay, guys, I'm going to write out a list of what I need to pack.”

Ruby skipped down the stairs and stepped into the bedroom where she had been staying for the past weeks. Her father was in the far corner of the room, standing over the night table with a book in his hands. He was humming “Stardust” as he read. His daughter moved towards him in a flash.

“Dad, what are you doing in here? What are you looking at?” Ruby peered over her father's shoulders. “My journal! What are you doing reading that?”

“I was coming in to close the windows. It's supposed to rain tonight. But I found this lying on the table.”

Ruby reached to grab the journal from his hands, but he raised his arm. Ruby levelled her gaze at him. “This is my personal business. There's nothing in there that you need to know about.”

“Well, how about I read a snippet. ‘May 1st, 1980. Only a little more time till I fly the coop. I'll be so happy to be gone from here. Dad is driving me crazy, trying to suffocate me and extinguish all life.' Ruby, I'm not trying to suffocate you. Look at your mother and all the difficulties she's had with her health. Think about my worries. I'm just trying to protect you from pain that you don't need to experience. I'm sorry if I hurt you. Maybe you shouldn't have left your journal out.”

“I thought I could trust you!” Ruby shouted. “How could you do such a thing? You're always using Mom as an excuse to be overbearing. I'm not going to live my life waiting to see if something
might
happen to me. Why are you picking on me? Because I'm the youngest? Because I'm not as smart and stable as Jessie?”

“You're just as bright as your sister. But you're more sensitive. I've always used kid gloves with you. You're more like your mother than you know. Why don't you work for a couple of years, and once you've established yourself, then you can take off?”

“Kid gloves? Are you kidding me? More like a straitjacket. I want to travel before I settle down. Can't you understand that? Now leave me alone. Go!”

Her father turned away in silence and left the room. Ruby threw the journal against the wall. Her father was a loving
man, but always imposed his will, and Ruby was tired of being his good little girl, of feeling she had to perform to please him.

Ruby's sister knocked at the door. “Can I come in?”

“Sure, but I'm in no mood for joking around.”

“Yeah, me neither. I heard the yelling. I'm sorry about Dad.”

“He's worse than ever lately. I have to get out of here.”

“You're right to leave, Ruby. But you should cut him some slack. Think about what he's gone through with Mom.”

“Oh for chrissake, he protects her way too much! She's not some precious doll. Her illness doesn't prevent her from having inner strength.”

“But think of all the times she's been sick. It's been so disruptive, yet he's always there for her. He works so hard to maintain a stable life for her.”

“It's too much. She needs room to breathe, too. He told her not to go back to work, that she didn't have to teach anymore. But I know he loves and supports her. Jessie, you know I love him. He's a good man. But I can't stand the fighting any longer.”

“Sis, it's automatic with him. Remember, he grew up as the oldest child in a strict, religious household and he had to look after three younger sisters. He's just doing what he knows best. Besides, he might be worried about you—and me, too? Worried that maybe we'll become manic like Mom?”

“I know,” Ruby whispered. “I have thought about that and I struggle a little with that myself. But I don't want to
not
do things because maybe someday I might get sick. I can't live my life that way.”

“Oh, Ruby, you're so brave. And stubborn, too!” Jessie hugged her. “Now let's see those letters from Uncle William. I'm dying to read them.”

Ruby opened the second drawer of the oak dresser and pulled out a flurry of papers. “Aunt Lettie sent me these. I had to really beg her. Plus, look, look—I have a photo.” The two young women sat down on the bed and peered at the slightly crinkled photograph that Ruby held. There was a dapper young man in what looked like a camel-coloured suit with a snappy light brown hat on his head. His face was cracked open into a wide grin, with dimples marking his lower cheeks.

“Wow, he looks really snazzy,” said Jessie. “You can see how he'd attract someone's fancy.”

Ruby unfolded a letter, date-marked June 1930. “I'll read it to you,” she said.

Dearest Ella,

I have been here in Berlin for several months now and I am sorry that I have taken so long to write. Europe and Berlin in particular have been an eye-opener for me. Paris is ablaze with history, and one of my favourite spots to stop and think was Notre-Dame Cathedral. I spent a long time looking at the gargoyles and thinking of the fate of poor Quasimodo. I know that this is no longer news, but Black men are treated with great deference here and much is made of jazz music. There seems to be a club full of American and French folk on almost every corner. Everyone is talking about Josephine Baker. I saw her perform at the Folies-Bergère and you can say that dance
breathes fire into her limbs. It is a wonderful place, this City of Light.

Berlin is an odd mixture of carefree and cautious. It is stately and chock full of gardens and parks. My favourite pastime is to take the train to Wannsee and read on the beach by the water.

The National Socialists are waiting everywhere in the shadows; their presence seems to become stronger every day. They are so full of hatred for Jews and Blacks that I am worried that I will not be able to stay if they get into power. This makes my stay bittersweet and I vow to make the most of my days. In any case, my musical studies take up most of my time. My singing voice is getting stronger every day. The hours of leisure that do come my way are spent in museums, clubs and the theatre.

I have a young German friend, Heinrich, who accompanies me most places I go and acts as a guide. There is one place we frequent, known as the Eldorado. My guess is that its mood would be too boisterous for your wise ways.

Hope all is well with you and the family.

Your loving brother, William

Jessie clapped her hands. “Isn't it amazing that he saw Josephine? I'm so jealous!”

“There's at least two places for me to look up on my travels,” Ruby said. She lay back on the bed and thought about her uncle. Her eyes strayed to a family picture on the wall. The girls wore matching snowsuits and stood with their dad. Ruby
longed to see Berlin and Paris. She longed for the days when their world was simpler, if not perfect.

Ruby's feet went
crunch, crunch, crunch
through the snow. She held on to her father's hand tightly, her fingers and palms covered by hand-woven red wool mittens. In her father's other fist was the rope for the toboggan that bounced along behind them. The houses had big snow-covered lawns, with little Japanese cherry trees popping up along the boulevard. Ruby loved that the snow was like a blanket, protecting the grounds from the wintry winds. She skipped along the sidewalk, still grasping her father's hand. “What kind of tree will we get, Daddy? Can we get a big one?”

Her father answered, “We will see, my dear, we will see.”

As they reached the bottom of the street they rounded the corner and then stood in front of a small plaza with a restaurant, a grocery store and a drug store. In the parking lot was a large fenced-in area full of Christmas trees. Ruby marvelled at all the different sizes and types. She pulled off her mittens so she could feel the needles in her hands. “Daddy, how 'bout this one?” she yelped every few minutes. Her father kept looking around. Finally he made a decision, choosing a medium-size balsam fir that was full around the middle and tapered to a perfect tip. He went to get some help, Ruby following behind him.

The man dressed like Santa would not look her father in the eye. Instead, he turned to help someone else who had
come after them. Her father waited patiently and then asked for assistance again. And once again, the man turned away to help another customer. Ruby tugged at his hand. “Daddy, ask him to get our tree for us!”

Ruby's father mumbled something about how not everyone was free in this world and what had happened to the spirit of Christmas?

The man snapped to attention and gave him a dirty look. “Okay, buddy, whaddaya want?”

“I'd like to purchase this tree and I'd like to be treated politely like anyone else while I do so.”

“I wouldn't have expected you people to be out in this kind of weather. Better get on home.”

Ruby's father refused to reply. Ruby tugged at his coat. “What does that mean, Daddy? Why do we have to get on home?” She turned to the man. “Mister, you're not Santa, you're mean. Santa's not like that.”

Ruby watched with a kind of horror as the man's face turned a purply pink. “Get out of here
now
,” he sputtered.

Ruby's father said quietly, “Sir, where is your Christmas spirit?” Then put a couple of dollars down on the wooden table, plunked their tree on the toboggan and led Ruby away from the parking lot.

“Ruby, you were right—that was a very mean man. Unfortunately, some people are cruel and don't like Black people. But don't you worry. We won't let him ruin our day.” Then he chased her all the way back up the hill, the toboggan swinging to and fro behind him. Ruby laughed as she watched
her father's glistening brown face bobbing up and down in the sea of white that surrounded them.

Ruby had been lying on top of the bed and now she went to snuggle under the thick, brightly embroidered duvet from Tibet that her mother had bought on one of her shopping sprees. Over the years, Louise Edwards had been prone to bouts of mania and depression, diagnosed as bipolar disorder, but these episodes seemed to be receding as she approached middle age.

One time, Ruby's mom had lost her wits when her father had been away on a business trip. Jessie had been the one to phone him and whisper that Mama wasn't well—one moment she would be short-tempered and the next cuddling her girls, laughing and smiling and full of love. You just didn't know who she was going to be from one minute to the next. She was also spending a lot of money on new decorations for the house. She had bought a huge painting of a nude woman, which she hung in the living room. As soon as Dad arrived home, he took it down and marched it right back to the store where it had been bought. Her mom ended up in the hospital that time. Ruby was ten.

When she went to visit her at the hospital, her mother started wailing that she loved her so much, and then a split second later she ran down the hall screaming and banging on walls. Ruby didn't know who this woman was; she didn't recognize her and was afraid of her, of whatever she had become.
Ruby sat there nervously waiting for her real mother to return, not knowing what to do. The nurse brought her mom back, but Ruby didn't want to stay anymore, and the nurse told her that it would be better if she left since her mother needed some rest.

Ruby was relieved to be able to go. This woman wasn't her mother.

Her father never talked to his daughters about what was wrong. Ruby guessed that he was too proud to admit that she wasn't perfect. Maybe he was scared, too; he didn't know how to explain any of it to his daughters and so just kept things hush-hush. Ruby realized that it was probably this same fear that was driving him to keep her so close to home.

When Ruby went back to the kitchen later that afternoon, her mother was busy fixing a salad for dinner. “I thought we could have the rest of the soup with this for dinner,” she said.

Ruby pulled the soup out of the fridge and found a piece of baguette that was left over from lunch. “I'll make garlic bread,” she said, grabbing a nearby mortar and pestle. As she pounded the garlic, she said: “Are you happy, Mom?”

Ruby's mother looked at her daughter and sighed. “Is this a roundabout way about asking about me and your father? Right out of left field, eh? Ruby, there are
always
kinks to work out in a marriage. You can never find that perfect person. Your father may have his faults, but I know he loves me and cares for me. That's as much as I can ask for.”

“No, Mom, he should treat you more equitably, and he should stop trying to keep me under his wing.”