Portraits (30 page)

Isabelle was going to be buried at Holy Cross Cemetery on Thursday and the whole school was going…

That day, after school, she asked Rachel what to wear to the funeral.

“Who died?” Rachel asked.

“A girl at school…Isabelle Larson. Her father’s Danish and her mother’s Spanish. What do you wear to a funeral?”

“You’re not going to be the belle of the ball, so I wouldn’t worry too much.”

She didn’t much care for Rachel’s answer, but she wanted to look nice so she ignored it. “Is it okay if I wear my pink pleated dress?”

“I suppose.”

“You ever been to a funeral?”

“No…”

“Didn’t you ever know anybody who died?”

“Oh, stop being so ghoulish, Doris.”

“There’s nothing ghoulish about it. Mrs. Shields’ mother died and I went to the wake.”

“You would.”

“What do you mean, I would? Almost everybody in the neighborhood went.”

“What did you wear then?”

Rachel was being really snippy…she could sure be insulting when she wanted. “My everyday dress,” Doris answered, “but it wasn’t a funeral. It was like a party. Everyone was drinking and eating sandwiches.”

“Really? I bet Mrs. Shields’ mother wasn’t having much fun.”

“Sometimes I actually hate you, Rachel.”

“So? You have enough company in this house.”

“Oh…go sit on a tack.” …

On Thursday, Doris was up at the crack of dawn. She wanted to take a bath and get dressed before mama got up…she knew there’d be objections to her wearing her best dress to school. But this was something special.

According to the kids, Isabelle looked absolutely beautiful. Some of them had been to see her.

Carrying her white cloche hat in one hand and her shoes in the other, she crept down the stairs and went into the kitchen. She took out the cornflakes, sugar and milk and ate quickly, then fixed three pieces of toast, buttered them, heaped on apricot jam and made a triple-decker sandwich that she wrapped in wax paper. She put on her shoes and hat, feeling quite elegant. She didn’t care who wore what, she’d never have to apologize…

There was no one standing in front of the school when Doris arrived. She wished she had a wristwatch. Well, when she went to work, she’d buy herself one. But by then maybe papa would be able to.

He said he had just made some money out of something very bad…All the cows in California had a terrible sickness called hoof-and-mouth disease and papa went all the way up to Nevada and sent cattle to the stockyards in South San Francisco. It had really been fun waiting for the train papa was coming home on. She just loved the way he looked as he got off the train, wearing his cowboy boots and the Stetson hat. He and mama had had a terrible fight. Mama asked why he couldn’t give her some of the money to furnish the house decently—and, boy, did he get mad.

“Sara, I shouldn’t tell you anything. The minute I make a little money, you want to spend it on furniture. I can’t do it now, can’t you understand? My business requires capital, not furniture.”

“It’s a funny thing, though. Money for a new car you’ve got.”

“What do you want me to do, take a bus? I need a car for business and the old one was ready to fall apart.”

“Listen, Jacob, how long do you think I’m going to go on living like this?”

“As long as it takes me to accumulate enough to open a small plant. You’re not the only one who has it hard. You think it’s easy for me, running around the country in all kinds of weather? If I listened to you, I’d go broke—”

“You know what you are, Jacob? The tightest, most penny-pinching man in the world. If your children meant anything to you…” But papa ran out of the house and into his car…

No, Doris decided, she’d better not ask…

Soon the students and faculty were all assembled and the special buses were waiting. By nine o’clock, everyone was in their seats and the excursion began. There was a wonderful kind of excitement with everyone on the bus. Not that anyone seemed especially glad or anything; it was just that everyone was being so nice today. There were none of the cracks that were usually directed at Doris. Of course, except for the kids on the block, no one had ever seen her dressed up. And the hat hid her hair, which helped. It made her feel like a…well, a lady…

When the bus drove into the cemetery grounds Doris found the silence eerie, and the large marble gravestones were both beautiful and frightening. This was nothing like the dirty, deserted, hundred-year-old cemetery where she and Rachel used to eat ice cream cones in Cleveland. Here was a deep green carpet of lawn that seemed to go on and on for miles. The gray stonework lambs and angels made her flesh crawl.

She was hurried along to the chapel with her class and they were seated in long narrow pews. The organ music was sad, and Isabelle’s family was weeping softly. Doris was shaken by the wails of the lady with a black veil covering her face.

Then the priest came in, dressed in a long black skirt and a white lace tunic, with a narrow
tallis
around his neck. He delivered the homily in a heavy monotone, something about how this blessed child had been taken because God wanted to keep her from harm. Now she was in the arms of Jesus. Her soul lived in heaven with the Lord, who had died on the cross to make the world…

Doris tried to shut out the sounds of his voice. Maybe she should have listened to Jennie Harrison. Her soul would probably burn in hell for all eternity.

For a moment she could not get up as the teacher directed the children to pass in single file to view their friend Isabelle for the last time.

When Doris looked down into the coffin and saw Isabelle lying so still and waxen, well, she couldn’t help it…she felt sick to her stomach. Her legs trembled so that she wanted to hold onto something for support but she was afraid to touch the box Isabelle lay in. The cloying smells of carnations, roses and gardenias made her weak. When she doubled over, the teacher quickly took her out of the line to one side. She had to get out of there. All she could feel was coldness, fear…someday she would be dead, and so would mama, papa, her sisters and Uncle Shlomo…Tears ran down her face. She was too upset to go to the gravesite. Barely above a whisper she asked, “Miss Thomas, may I please be excused?”

“All right, wait in the bus.” …

For weeks afterward she would wake up screaming, in a cold sweat. Drenched, she would change into a fresh nightgown but it was usually some time before she could stop crying. The dark terrified her so much that she was afraid to turn off the light. God also terrified her, but she spoke to no one about her fears.

Compared to Doris’ usual appetite she ate very little. Usually, she was the first to sit down to a meal and the last to leave. In the past, food had filled the emptiness left by too little show of affection, but now…Besides, what good did it do to love anyone when they were going to die?

Sara was disturbed by Doris’ remoteness. Was it that she was going through some phase of adolescence? Was she beginning to notice boys? The idea took hold and began to grow beyond all proportion. She remembered the problem she’d had with Rachel and that Cantino boy, and her own painful recollection of Carl Bromberg climbing into her bed was still with her…the feeling of his body hovering on top and savagely trying to find his way between her thighs made her shudder even now. Was that why she’d reacted to Jacob the way she had…?

In the beginning of their marriage she’d rejected him as carefully as she could without letting him know why…that sex was something that made her flesh crawl…Of course she would have three children, but that would have nothing to do with the joys of love—not on her part, anyway. Like any healthy man, Jacob had strong physical needs, and he’d also wanted a family…a son. Sara repressed the guilt she still felt over the abortion…

So much time invested, so many tears shed and so many disappointments. Still, she loved them, and they
were
her responsibility. When Doris started to menstruate, Rachel had told her and taken her to task for not preparing them for the natural events of womanhood. Now she just assumed there was no other reason for Doris’ becoming so withdrawn; it must surely have to do with the discovery of her own body. Inwardly she felt a resentment that bordered on anger, but she must try and handle this…

“Doris, I’m afraid I don’t like the way you’ve been behaving lately. You’ve changed…why?”

Doris sat silently for a moment. Why? Because we’re all going to die, she wanted to say. Looking at her mother now, the notion was far too painful to accept. She remembered her mother’s long mourning and her father’s reluctance to have her go to her grandmother’s funeral. She understood death a lot better now than she had then. But her hesitation was taken by her mother as an indication that perhaps she was right in her analysis…

“Have you done anything to be ashamed of?” her mother asked.

Doris felt as if her mother’s penetrating eyes could almost look inside her. But what did mama mean…ashamed? She wasn’t ashamed, only very, very sad.

“Well, Doris?”

“No, mama. What do I have to be ashamed of?”

“What do the boys and girls do after school?”

“They play basketball, football or go home, I guess…”

“And you?”

“I come home.”

“But sometimes you’re late…Why?”

“I go to the library.”

“That’s all?”

“Yes, I love the library.”

“You like boys?”

Doris really hadn’t thought about it. Yes, the girls talked about a lot of things, things that happened in dark movies, in the back of cars, in the bushes…But Doris had shut out even her own curiosity, knowing that no one would want to neck with fat Doris. No one even asked her to dance on assembly days. She always served the punch or was on the hospitality committee. She felt left out and of course she dreamed, but—

“Do you, Doris?”

“Do I what, mama?”

“I asked, do you like boys? If you do, say so.”

“I suppose so…but—”

“Doris, I’m not going to prolong this. I’m your mother and it’s my duty to tell you that boys can get a girl into a lot of trouble.”

She knew what mama meant. Ruby Fox had had an illegitimate baby and now everyone ignored her. Poor Ruby had been expelled from school. They all knew that Mike Dugan, the school football hero, was the father, but he was still the captain of the team and the kids still carried him on their shoulders when each game was over…“I know, mama…”

“Tell me honestly, have you ever had anything to do with a boy?”

Doris could feel an indignant blush come across her face. “No, never—”

“Don’t use that tone of voice to me, young lady.”

“I wasn’t using any—”

“You were. Do you know about boys and girls?”

Doris wanted to cry. She had never even discussed this with Rachel. “Yes…”

“You do? Well, then I want to warn you, Doris. Don’t ever let a boy touch you. I mean even kiss you. Kissing can pass on terrible diseases that some boys get.”

Doris hadn’t the slightest idea what sort of diseases boys got and she didn’t care. She’d never been asked to kiss anyone, so that was one worry her mother could forget. Why did her mother feel she had to bring up something that made her feel embarrassed and unclean?

“And don’t dance too close to boys,” Sara went on.

Who wants to dance with a blimp? Doris thought angrily. She got up from the table. “I’m awfully tired…I have a terrible headache. If you don’t need me for anything, I’d like to lie down—”

“Why should you be so tired?”

“I just am…”

“I think you’re getting very lazy, Doris.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way, mama.”

“One thing I’ll say about Rachel, she at least doesn’t mind work. That’s why she gets good grades and you don’t.”

Why couldn’t her mother shut up and leave her alone? She hadn’t slept in a week, not since Isabelle…She wanted to hit her mother, but the anger was immediately turned inward. If her mother died, she’d never forgive herself for having such thoughts. “All right, what do you want me to do, mama?”

“The wash. I can’t take care of everything. Go take an aspirin. And remember what I told you before.” …

The Sanderses always seemed to go their separate ways. When Jacob was home, he went to bed at eight and Sara either read or sewed. Rachel and Lillian studied, while Doris found herself writing plays. As a result, she had to cram for examinations, but her mind was so keen and her memory so photographic that she could remember practically verbatim an entire page…The only time the whole family was together was at the dinner table.

Just before the Jewish holidays Rachel looked around the silent table and watched as everyone ate. She debated for a moment, then summoned up the courage. “I’m going to temple on Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur.”

Jacob remembered Rachel’s speech to him after the incident with the Christmas tree. He had felt like a hypocrite but had continued to make excuses for himself, saying that he was too occupied with the business of making a living, providing security for his family. Suddenly his childhood memories were very clear, and it brought a lump to his throat when he recalled standing in the little
shul
alongside of Mr. Mendlebaum. When his mother had handed him the
tallis
in the red velvet case with the gold-embroidered
Torah
, she had said, “Wear it with the dignity your father wore it.” It had taken Rachel to remind him how far he had fallen away from his heritage. When had he lost that spiritual need? Well, there were no Jews in his world, and since his social contacts were nonexistent he doubted if many Jews living in America, especially in West Oakland, were able to keep to the old ways. It seemed that only in the ghetto of New York could one really be a Jew; in the larger world, being a Jew meant bartering one’s very existence. How could he have continued to be Jacob Sandsonitsky? He hadn’t changed the name out of shame; the new name had simply made it easier to become part of the melting pot. America was a great country, but it demanded compromises…

Sara had never felt the same loss Jacob had. She had come out of a totally different set of circumstances. Her link with Judaism had only come when she lived with Esther, and even then it was more gastronomical than spiritual.