One Eye Laughing, the Other Weeping (13 page)

Each year Mrs. Lowenstein throws herself a lavish birthday party, and the invitations say
NO

MONOGRAMMED ARTICLES
because she returns everything for cash no matter what it is.

Uncle Martin says she has two reserved seats at Carnegie Hall. One for herself and one for her coat, so she doesn’t have to sit next to anyone.
And
her gloves have to be custom-made so that the fingers are big enough for her huge diamond rings to fit.

Once Aunt Clara had a heart-to-heart with her and tried to convince her to see a psychiatrist (Uncle Martin calls them “brain gazers”), but Mrs. Lowenstein said she has hundreds of friends who will listen to her problems for free so why should she pay someone twenty-five dollars an hour?

SUNDAY, AUGUST 7, 1938

Aunt Clara always looks a little sad to me, with her raccoon eyes. Not an everyday sadness, but like there is some deep sadness lurking just below the surface — far enough down so that you can’t quite make out what it is, but near enough that you can see it.

WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 10, 1938‌

Being in America is not like merely being in another country. It’s more like being on the moon.

I am not as frightened as I was, though.

THURSDAY, AUGUST 11, 1938

Susie suggested we go to the Central Park Zoo. It’s only a short walk, so I agreed to go.

Besides not liking the smell, I didn’t like seeing the animals locked up in those horrible cages.

I know Susie took me there because she thought I would like it, but I had to pretend I was having a good time.

There was the saddest polar bear in this tiny, tiny pool. It wasn’t much wider than he was long. He just kept swimming back and forth, back and forth. He kept it up the whole time I was there, and each time we walked by I tried not to look but I just couldn’t help it. There he would be, swimming back and forth, back and forth.

I almost started to cry but I didn’t. I thought I was doing a good job of pretending, but as soon as we got

back to the apartment, Susie said, “I suppose we won’t be going back there real soon.”
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FRIDAY, AUGUST 12, 1938

New York is louder than Vienna. Fire engines and police sirens scream, cars and taxis honk, and the elevated trains rattle noisily all through the day.

Ladies wear lots of makeup and too much jewelry, even if they aren’t rich. And not everyone in New York is rich, like Max said they were. I saw one man who earned his money holding umbrellas for people as they came up from the subway.

People in New York chew gum, use toothpicks, spit, and throw their trash in the streets.

SATURDAY, AUGUST 13, 1938

Aunt Clara is unlike Mother in almost every way. Her face is so expressive — you can always tell what she’s thinking. And even though Aunt Clara is

very rich, she isn’t a show-off about it.

TUESDAY, AUGUST 16, 1938‌

It’s been a month now. I still have not received a let-ter from Daddy. Every day at five-thirty when Uncle Martin brings the mail up, I run out to see. He al-ways shakes his head sadly, knowing how disappointed I am.

I know Daddy would write if he could. Why can’t he? Uncle Martin said that maybe the mail isn’t getting out of Vienna. He has called someone he knows at the American Consulate. He says, “These things take

time.”

WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 17, 1938

I had the dream again last night. It was the same as the other times, only this time I was
certain
Daddy was going to speak to me, but he didn’t.

I try not to think about Daddy during the day. I feel like a dam holding back the ocean: If I let go, I’ll be swept away.

I wish I could be happier when I’m around Aunt Clara and Uncle Martin. They have been so nice to me.

But I feel so sad inside, and I’m afraid it shows on the outside.

I don’t talk about what happened in Vienna because I don’t want to burden them any more than I already have. And, besides, I don’t know if they would understand — if
anyone
who wasn’t there would understand.

FRIDAY, AUGUST 19, 1938

Each morning we sit in the sunroom, where Aunt Clara has all her plants. She grows the most glorious orchids. It’s really a terrace with a glass roof. It’s her favorite room, and mine, too. You can look out and see Central Park laid out before you like a gently rolling green carpet.

I read the lines that come before hers and she says hers. It’s truly astonishing to hear Aunt Clara speak her lines. She becomes completely transformed. Most of the time she isn’t satisfied with the way she does it, and we do it again.

When I read the lines to her she asked me if I had ever taken acting lessons in Vienna or performed in any plays. I told her I spent a lot of time last year pre-

tending to be Alice in Wonderland, which she thought was very funny.

Watching Aunt Clara laugh makes me happy. Her whole face lights up, like she’s glad that something can be that funny. Maybe that’s why she likes Uncle Mar-tin so much — he always makes her laugh.

She thinks I have a good voice for the theater. That’s the first thing you need. “If no one can hear what you’re saying, it doesn’t matter what you’re saying or how you’re saying it,” she says.

According to Aunt Clara, you can teach someone to sing or to dance, but not to act. You have to be born with it. I have a natural talent. I never thought about it, but I guess I do.

She wants me to read my lines with more feeling so she can respond more realistically.

Tonight I stayed up late reading the script so I could help Aunt Clara.

MONDAY, AUGUST 22, 1938

Susie is taking me to the orthodontist on Wednesday. Aunt Clara said I have to have someone look at my braces.

TUESDAY, AUGUST 23, 1938

I like American food better than Viennese food. Mrs. Parrish makes a delicious meal each night. It’s a shame Aunt Clara won’t be home for dinner most nights once the play starts.

This week Mrs. Parrish made fried chicken with mashed potatoes; roast beef and gravy; and Lobster Newburg.

Every Friday she makes banana cream pie for dessert because that’s Uncle Martin’s second favorite. His first favorite is cheesecake, but he says Mrs. Parrish doesn’t know how to make “proper” cheesecake, which makes Mrs. Parrish a tiny bit angry, I think. I asked him what “proper” cheesecake was, and he said he would show me.

My
favorite is the salad dressing. It’s called Thousand Island dressing, and it’s so good, I eat it with a spoon. Mrs. Parrish said I eat too much salad and not enough meat, but it’s
so
good. No one seems to know, however, why they call it Thousand Island dressing. They have all sorts of different candies here in America. Black licorice shoestring candy; long white

strips of paper covered with colored candy buttons; Life Savers; and Susie’s favorite cookie, Mallomars, which I don’t really like. She has a whole drawer full of them in her room.
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WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 24, 1938

Aunt Clara thinks she needs to lose weight to play Mrs. Darling. I really don’t see why. It doesn’t say anywhere in the script that Mrs. Darling is skinny. But Aunt Clara is certain that Mrs. Darling is someone who would watch what she eats. So now she has black cof-fee (she used to put in lots of cream and sugar) and half a grapefruit for breakfast.

She’s so willowy and slender, I don’t see why she’s worried. If it were me, I couldn’t eat like that. Even if it was a really, really big part.

FRIDAY, AUGUST 26, 1938

I think “Black Mike” likes Susie. There’s just something about the way he tips his hat and says hello. Not only that, but if “Red Mike” is there to keep an eye on

things, he insists on carrying her packages all the way to the top floor, where our apartment is. I have never seen him do that for anyone else.

“Black Mike” has Mr. Esposito go right to the six-teenth floor, even if people are buzzing.

He calls it his “express service,” and tells Susie there is no charge. Susie laughs and says, “The price is right.” I asked Susie about it when we went down to the basement laundry room to see what was taking the

laundress so long with the ironing.

Susie says I have an “overactive imagination” and that Mr. Smalls is nice to everyone, not just her.

I may have an overactive imagination, but I’m not blind, although I didn’t say that.

MONDAY, AUGUST 29, 1938

Last night I was thirsty and I went into the kitchen for a drink. Much to my surprise, Aunt Clara and Uncle Martin were sitting at the table, talking. They must have been talking about something they didn’t want me to know about, because they stopped and Aunt Clara looked upset.

Uncle Martin was eating a bowl of ice cream and he

handed it to me and asked if I wanted some. Like it was the most natural thing in the world for the three of us to be in the kitchen eating ice cream like there was nothing wrong.

I couldn’t help it — I burst into tears, and Aunt Clara put her arm around me, pulled me to her, and said, in the softest whisper, maybe it would be better if I talked about it, and so I did. I told them everything.
Everything,
as the tears streamed down my face so furiously, I didn’t even bother to wipe them away.

TUESDAY, AUGUST 30, 1938

Uncle Martin has been begging me to play this silly game he invented called “Sober Sue.”

“Sober Sue” was a performer years ago who bet that no one in the audience could make her laugh. If they did, they got one thousand dollars. But no one ever did, even though some famous comedians came down to the theater.

When she retired, one of the newspapers reported that her face was actually paralyzed and she couldn’t laugh even if she wanted to.

The game is to see who can make whom laugh first.

I’ve put Uncle Martin off for days. I think he’s trying to cheer me up, and I appreciate it but I just don’t feel like being cheered up right now.

I don’t want to be rude, however; I owe them so much. So I agreed to play.

Yesterday he told me three jokes in a row: the one about the scarecrow that was so scary, the crows brought back corn they had stolen two years earlier; the one about the inventor of rubber pockets for waiters who wanted to steal soup; and a really boring one about the guy who was so cheap, he put his fingers down a moth’s throat just to get the cloth back.

Uncle Martin’s jokes aren’t very funny, but my funny faces aren’t working any better. So far, it’s a stalemate.

WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 31, 1938

Mrs. Lowenstein invited me for lunch tomorrow. She said I should come at noon. Mr. Esposito said Mrs. Lowenstein likes “young folks.” I wonder if she liked Eva, and if she knows where Eva is.

Every evening when Uncle Martin comes up with

the mail, he shakes his head, meaning there is still no letter from Daddy. Then he puts the mail in the big bowl on the stone table in the hallway and goes into the kitchen to look for something to eat.
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My heart starts pounding as soon as Uncle Martin opens the door. I tell myself not to hope, but I can’t seem to stop. Just a word or two, that’s all I need. Just a word or two.

THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 1, 1938