The Golden Willow (21 page)

But as soon as I began to look for my golden willow I ran into trouble. There were none. I called several nurseries and was told they were no longer carrying them. Evidently, other communities had experienced the same thing with their sprinkler systems, and the ban had spread. But the more difficult it became the more determined
I was to find one. Finally I hit on a nursery in upper New Jersey that had several in stock. I lost no time buying one, and it was planted at the side of the lake directly facing the bench.

I felt satisfied. I only wished I had done it sooner, when Ruby was alive, but this was better than nothing. It was very young and frail. I had planted it at the wrong time. It should have been in the fall, when the cool weather would have helped it take root. But I had been in such a hurry to get this thing done that I had paid no attention to the weather. It was midsummer, and the young tree struggled in the blazing heat to stay alive. I had kind volunteer neighbors who carried buckets of water over to the tree to save it from dying. Loreen led the bucket brigade. She lived nearby. Every morning she could be seen walking her dog, carrying the leash in one hand, a bucket of water in the other. She knew the significance of the golden willow. She and the others succeeded. The tree lived on, showing tiny green leaves at the top of its thin branches.

It would grow. I felt confident of that. I would not be there when it reached its full maturity and it would blossom out into the shape of an old-fashioned ballroom gown, flowing gracefully downward with its branches trailing along the ground.

My not being there would make no difference. Its beauty would shine on for others to see, and that would be enough. I think I felt more satisfaction in having created this little memorial park than anything else I had created since I turned ninety.

During those evenings when Ruby and I sat watching the sunset, we'd sometimes talk about the early days. We had met one hot summer night at a dance, and I had taken her home to where she lived in Brooklyn; then I had walked all the way home that night to where I lived with my parents in the Bronx, miles and miles away, but hardly noticing the distance, so giddy I was with our meeting.

I couldn't wait for a respectable length of time to pass before I saw her again. I had to see her again on Monday, just two days later, which was as soon as she could manage. I arranged to meet her after she got out of Brentano's bookstore, where she worked. We'd meet at the stone lion in front of the entrance to the New York Public Library on Fifth Avenue, and from there we could walk to Central Park.

Unfortunately, I had forgotten that there were two stone lions guarding the entrance, one on the left and the other on the right of the broad stone stairway. I don't know which one of us arrived first; we might have come at the same time. I know that when I arrived, choosing the one on the right, she was not there, and I assumed that she was still on the way from Brentano's. I began pacing up and down impatiently, keeping watch on the surging home-bound crowds.

It was five o'clock, the height of the rush hour for people leaving their offices. It was another warm day. A number of people were sitting on the steps that led up to the heavy revolving door of the library, mostly students taking a breather from their studies inside, some nibbling on sandwiches or sipping from containers of coffee.

Almost half an hour passed, and my impatience grew, and with it my disappointment. I had begun to think she had stood me up or had forgotten altogether about the appointment, or perhaps had never intended to keep it in the first place. My thoughts were mingled with a touch of disgust. Nevertheless, I kept on pacing in front of my lion.

She was doing the same thing in front of the lion on the far left, and thinking pretty much the same things, with the same growing disgust. It was fortunate that we both decided to give up at the same time and turned away simultaneously, as suddenly we came face-to-face.
We stopped and stared at each other unbelievingly, but with unmistakable relief and delight.

“Hello,” I said awkwardly.

“Hello,” she said with the same awkwardness.

We shook hands, both of us very formal and not quite knowing each other fully, but as we discovered why we hadn't met on time, we broke into laughter, and all the stiffness vanished. As we walked up Fifth Avenue in the direction of the park she tucked her hand into my arm.

It was dance night that night; I held her close as we danced, and she did not seem to mind. We talked, too, and felt the same warmth that we had on our first meeting Saturday night. At one point we stopped for some refreshment, and I bought a bottle of soda for each of us. She wanted to pay for hers, but I wouldn't let her. I had come prepared this time with enough money given by my mother to pay for my subway fare and these two bottles of soda. We sat on a bench and drank. I had a raging thirst and drank mine in seconds. She had barely taken a few sips from hers and offered me her bottle, and after some hesitation I accepted, but only on condition that she share it with me.

So we spent the next few minutes passing the bottle from one to the other, until finally it was empty, and then after lifting my arm behind her to throw the empty bottle into a garbage can I let my hand drop around her and kissed her, and this time she didn't turn her head aside.

It was the start of many nights like this. The dance nights alternated with band concerts, and we went to all of them. She'd been going to night college and to modern dance classes before she met me, but she gave all that up to be with me, and there was hardly a
single night that we did not meet. I had no money. I couldn't take her to a movie or a play unless I let her pay. She offered to do so a number of times, but I couldn't bring myself to let her. It really didn't matter so long as we were together, and the park with its concerts and dances was a perfect place for us.

There was boat rowing also on the lake. I loved to row, but it cost a quarter to rent a boat for an hour, and I did not have a quarter. One day, I recall, we were strolling alongside the lake and were not far from the bathhouse when Ruby cried, “Oh, look!”

She pointed downward, and there on the grass was a shiny coin. I stooped quickly and picked it up. It was a quarter, the exact amount I had been longing for to rent a boat. I was delighted, and Ruby was pleased too. We lost no time going to the boathouse and getting into one of the rowboats.

Not until many years later, long after we had been married, did I remember this incident and realize where that quarter had come from. Ruby denied it, feigning absolute innocence, but I knew the coin had come from her purse—she'd tossed it there quickly onto the grass without my seeing it. It was just another one of the lovely things about her.

As the two of us remembered these things, we saw a lot of the sadness in them, but we also laughed often over some of the things that had happened to us during this time—for instance, the time we had gone to a party at the house of some friends in downtown Manhattan. It was a small apartment and it was crowded with people and suffocatingly hot, and we were both very uncomfortable and decided to leave and go to Central Park. It had grown dark and outdoors it was a bit cooler than the apartment, and we walked, glad to be free of the noise and packed people of the apartment.

The distance to the park was considerable, but that didn't matter to us. We both loved walking, and it felt good to be able to stretch our legs. But we had gone a fair distance when Ruby slowed down and began to show signs of discomfort. I asked her what was the trouble.

“It's this damned girdle,” she said.

In the fashion of the day, she wore a girdle, which also served as a garter belt to hold up silk stockings. With the heat adding to its tightness, she was having difficulty walking.

“Can't you take it off?” I asked.

She looked around. The idea appealed to her, but we were on a main street and there were cars passing and some pedestrians. “How am I going to do that?” she murmured.

I looked around too. It so happened that just ahead of us there was an old, historic church with a graveyard in which were buried soldiers from the Revolutionary War. We had been there before and had seen the stumps of gravestones that were left, on which the names were almost obliterated. I pointed it out to her and suggested she go in there, where nobody from the street could see her, and take the troublesome girdle off. I'd stand outside on the street and keep guard to make sure no one went into the graveyard.

She agreed, and we walked to the church and Ruby disappeared into the darkness of the graveyard. I waited. A few people went by, and after about ten minutes Ruby returned looking relieved.

“Oh, it's so good to be without it. Now I can really walk.”

“Where's the girdle?” I asked.

She had come out with empty hands. She looked at them startled, as if just realizing it. “Oh, I forgot it,” she said, and started to go back, then halted. “But what will I do with it?” she said. “My pocket-book
isn't big enough to fit it in, and I can't walk through the streets and go to the dance holding a girdle in my hands.”

“Will it fit in one of my pants pockets?” I asked.

She shook her head, frowning. “I don't want to lose the girdle,” she said. “It happens to be the only one I have; my other is torn, and I meant to buy another one but didn't get around to it. And I'll need it for work tomorrow. Maybe I should just leave it where it is and we can pick it up on the way back.”

That sounded like the best idea to me, and I asked, “Where did you put it?”

“It's hanging on a gravestone,” she said.

We looked at each other for a moment, then laughed. “I don't think the old soldier will mind,” I said.

“I hope not,” she said. Suddenly she became serious again. “It does seem sort of sacrilegious, doesn't it?” she said.

“I wouldn't worry about it,” I said, and I put my arm around her and led her on. After a few steps, still thinking about it, I said, “But if he happens to wake up it'll give him a bit of a shock.”

Then we couldn't help it. We laughed hysterically almost all the way to Central Park.

We danced until midnight, when the band stopped playing and everybody left the hall. I took Ruby home on the subway, and it was just as we reached the apartment house where she lived with her mother and brother that she suddenly burst out, “Oh, my God, we forgot the girdle.”

“It's safe,” I said. “Nobody's going to take it, and you can pick it up on your way to work tomorrow. Only this time take a bag big enough to put it in.”

“But I need it to get dressed for work tomorrow,” she mourned.

There was only one thing to do. “Go upstairs and wait there. I'll go get it now and bring it back to you.”

“Oh, you poor darling,” she said. “I hate to make you do this.”

I did it anyway. I went back to the graveyard, took the girdle off the gravestone, and rolled it up in my hands as best I could, finding it certainly did not fit into one of my pockets. Clutching it firmly, I got onto a subway to return to Brooklyn. Even at this time of night the subway was packed with people, and I was not able to get a seat. I had to stand, hanging on a strap with one hand and holding the rolled-up girdle with the other.

The train hadn't gone far when I heard a giggling sound. I looked down. Seated in front of me were two nuns. Their eyes were on the girdle in my hand, and they were trying to stifle their giggles. One of the garter straps was hanging down and almost touching the nun on my left. Other passengers seated on either side of the nuns were noticing too, and I heard some laughter.

With my cheeks blazing, I turned away from where I had been standing and stumbled out of the car altogether. I found a spot in another, half-empty car where I could be alone until I reached my station. Ruby was waiting for me inside the apartment anxiously, and she gave a sigh of relief when she opened the door and saw the girdle in my hand. She threw her arms around my neck and kissed me gratefully. She wanted me to come in and let her make some coffee, but it was late and I saw she was very tired and would have to get up early to go to work in the morning, so I begged off and hurried out, anxious to get home.

Dawn was just breaking when I arrived in the Bronx, tired out from all the subway riding I'd done but not minding it, and thinking she was the only girl I'd have done it for. I loved her very much.

There are many such sweet moments of that early period in our
lives when we were just discovering each other and Central Park was our playground, virtually our second home. I have no doubt that time will dim most of them, but there is one I am sure that will linger on, perhaps forever, and that is the time, one brilliant moonlit night, when Ruby and I sat listening to a band concert in the park, and while the rest of the huge audience sat in deep silence enthralled by the music, we were restless and had to get up and slip away.

We held hands and went strolling along a dark path alongside the lake, watching the moonlight shimmering in the water, then turning our heads to see for the first time the startling beauty of our golden willow. We went up close to it, breathless, and I parted its drooping branches and we went inside. It was like walking into a cathedral, with its immense height and deep silence. In the distance, faintly, we could hear the music of the band playing, and I put my arms around Ruby and we sank down to a bed of moss and rotted leaves that gave off a rich loamy smell of earth, and we lay there for a long time in each other's arms, closer with our love than we had ever been before.

Golden willows would always bring that beautiful moment back to us, and the one we planted in our garden at the back of the house did for many years. Its loss was a tragedy to us, and while I made a mistake when I talked Ruby out of planting another one, I am glad now that I came to the realization that even if we could not see it, others could, and it would be as beautiful and as meaningful to them as it had been to us.

I go often to the little memorial park that I have created. I can make it easily with my walker, and I sit on the bench and rest and look at my trees: the big one that is for our friends, the little growing one that is for Ruby and me.