Turn Us Again (27 page)

The family tittered, while Sam furrowed his brow. Madelyn knew he was trying to work out the relevance of the Jewishness.

The next time the topic of conversation evoked a groan from Sam it was Eddie's turn to leap in.

“Do you know Sam, when my grandfather went bankrupt the only man to shake his hand was a Jew?”

That night in bed, Sam flicked the covers over their heads to muffle their voices and hissed at Madelyn in the darkness, “Why the hell do they keep going on about Jews?”

“They just feel uncomfortable with you, Sam. They don't know what to say, so they blurt out the first thing that pops into their heads.”

“And confronted with my huge snout the only thing that pops into their heads are Jew stories?”

Madelyn felt some sympathy with her parents. She was often mesmerized by the size of his nose herself. “I'm sorry if it annoys you, but it's just a bit longer. I hope you are not suffering quite as much as I do in your mother's house…”

The nose in question breathed in deeply several times, depleting the oxygen to such an extent that Madelyn thought she might faint. Then with a deep sigh, Sam flung back the bedclothes.

Madelyn decided to take Sam on some nice outings before he was provoked to do something dreadful, so the next day they went out to a restaurant, leaving Gabriel in the loving hands of his grandparents.

During their absence, Grandma Golden banged at the door.

Gabriel toddled over to pull it open, with Mary in hot pursuit. Grandma Golden looked sternly down at the little boy from behind the fox fur draped around her neck.

“Do you know who I am?”

“Yes. You are Grandma Golden.”

Mary leaped to the forefront and ushered her into the best drawing room.

“They've just gone out for lunch to a little restaurant around the corner. Won't you have some tea?”

“No thank you.”

Eddie came bumbling into the room with his hands stretched out. “Did I hear right — you are Sam's mother? What an honour.”

“Go and put your teeth in,” Mary hissed in an audible whisper before he had advanced very far into the room. Eddie gave a sort of bow in Grandma Golden's direction.

“Please excuse me for a minute. I've just been resting upstairs.”

He came down a few minutes later, ready once again to greet his austere relative with a confident smile.

“Go and put your jacket on,” his wife muttered.

Ed tottered out again. Mary smiled at Grandma Golden.

“You sure you won't have any tea?”

“No thank you.”

“A little cake, maybe? Fresh bread and butter?”

Grandma Golden rose to her feet. “I won't stay, thank you. If you would be so kind as to instruct me how to get to that little restaurant, I will see them there.”

Fully dressed in teeth and jacket, Eddie rushed after her as she walked out the door. “At least let me kiss you,” he said.

Grandma Golden didn't sit down in the restaurant either. She towered above them as they gaped up at her.

“Don't get up, Sam. I'm not staying. I have to get back to London. I just had to pop up here to see you one last time.”

“Well Mum, have a drink with us at least. You've popped up miles away from your usual haunts.”

“No, no. Give your old mother a hug.”

They embraced. Madelyn could see one hand clutching her husband's shirt and the other kneading his back, as though it were a giant worry bead. Then Grandma Golden turned and swept towards the door.

“That's it mother? Such a short farewell scene?”

Then Grandma Golden turned, fixing Madelyn with a gimlet eye, while the fox stole bared its teeth in her direction.

“Look after my son,” was the last thing she said to her daughter-in-law. Madelyn smiled in the imbecilic fashion she usually employed with Grandma Golden.

Both Eddie and Mary wept when they parted. Eddie kissed Madelyn and Gabriel again and again, and shook Sam's hand for a very long time. “Look after yourselves. Don't do anything foolish. Write often.”

Voices cracking with emotion, they both stopped speaking. Mary pressed a little lace handkerchief against her eyes.

Madelyn felt very sad as she waved out the train window at her diminishing parents, until even her mother's bright yellow pillbox hat had disappeared.

TWENTY-TWO

T
he crossing from England to Canada took ten days. They had a charming little cabin with narrow beds and a porthole. Every available surface was filled with huge bouquets of flowers from family, neighbours and Philip, who warned them that he planned to visit often.

As the lazy, hopeful days stretched out before them, Madelyn bought a little notebook and began to jot her impressions of the trip down. She did not write in her diary often these days, and she interpreted this as renouncing parts of her true nature in order to accommodate Sam's. She would not strive to publish, because there could not be two published authors in the same family, and Sam had the superior skill. While this made her feel virtuous, she felt her sacrifice was not appreciated, or even noticed. However, she realized she gave Sam too large a role in this change. Gabriel was at least as much to blame for the inroads on her time and energy.

But the hope-filled happiness that enveloped them reminded Madelyn of her Cambridge days, now covered for both of them in the rose-tinted light of the past. She felt young and optimistic again, and she filled her diary with impressions.

The food is incredible on board. They serve three-course meals three times a day, and you can nibble on cakes, fruit and tea at any time. The choice boggles our minds. We spend ages debating between fish or chicken, while the waiter hovers behind us. Sam frequently has both.

The days are lovely and relaxed. We are both in excellent moods and loving with each other. Gabriel runs all over the decks and plays with other children, feeling independent within the safe confines of the boat. Once he is asleep at night we pop into the bar for a drink, but we do not go to the games rooms or take a dip in the pool. I think Sam is shy, and of course I am too nervous to go without him
.

We have arrived in Montreal, after sailing across the Atlantic and up the Saint Lawrence. Immense Saint Laurence. We planned to catch the first train out of Montreal to Vancouver, but meanwhile we had to pick up our luggage and get something to eat. Perhaps we didn't pack very well. Sam insisted on bringing this huge, heavy typewriter, which is difficult to lug around. Luckily, there was a train leaving for Vancouver the same evening and the workers in the train station told us we could leave our mounds of suitcases with them. Sam was too vociferous in his thanks. It's probably quite common. In any case, they shrugged off his thanks, turning away before he finished talking. I hoped that they would not interpret his enthusiasm as a sign that we had valuables in our luggage. They would be very disappointed!

After exiting the station we searched up and down the street for a place to eat. ‘Excuse me!' Sam said to several passers by, but nobody answered, or even looked at him. He then tried “Excusez-moi,” in case it was a problem with the English language (or a problem with their attitude towards the English language) but they still didn't respond! Not a single person even turned their heads in our direction. I've never experienced this in England, it was most peculiar. I'm so glad we're not staying here, the people don't seem friendly at all.

Eventually an English-speaking gentleman noticed us and directed us to a nice, cheap place. We were anxious about money (as usual) because it takes four nights and three days to get to Vancouver by train, and Sam only has a few pounds on him. Grandma Golden paid for the fare but she assumed we had sufficient funds to eat with, since Sam has been working. I don't think Sam told her how much he was making. I'm sure she asked, but he might have exaggerated his income a little. This was very silly, since this trip might have been more acceptable to her had she known what a pittance her genius son was working for in England. However, I'm sure we won't starve.

In the evening we boarded the train for Vancouver, and I am sitting looking out the window as I write. The train is very crowded. Gabriel and I sleep on slings that are pulled down from the ceiling at nighttime, while Sam stretches out on the seat. I am terrified that Gabriel will roll over during the night and fall the considerable distance to the ground. Or that he will have a nightmare and wake the whole train up. Thank God he's trained, there is nowhere to change a child.

Sam says we can't afford the dining car, so every time the train stops he rushes out and buys food, leaping back on at the last minute just before the train chugs out of the station. I find this rather stressful, since he can't know either how long the train is stopping for, nor how long it will take to get provisions. He does well, however, and we dine on a mixture of bread, butter and cheese, apples, ready-made sandwiches, pies and cakes, all washed down with juice.

The prairies are unbelievable — all those little towns of one street. I try to imagine what it must be like to live in such a place. No libraries, no restaurants, no theatre or opera. Where do they get their books? Do they have any culture? I think the worst would be seeing the same few faces every day. You could never avoid the people you didn't like.

I feel overwhelmed and dazed by the vastness of this country.

The prairies are immense, but they do get boring after a while. Very little change of scenery and the few one-street towns are remarkably alike. It's when we hit the Rockies that we begin to realize what a magnificent country we have come to. How stupendous they are! I could not tear my eyes away from the windows. I have never seen such splendid mountain peaks. I must travel through this region again.

I am now sitting in my new home — I haven't had time to write in almost two weeks! We were exhausted, albeit exhilarated, when our train journey ended. Our first contact with mankind in our new home was considerably more pleasant than our experiences in Montreal. The taxi driver who took us from the train station to UBC
—
the University of British Columbia
— was
sweet and friendly. He was proud to tell us, ‘We have a five-day workweek here.' We tried to look impressed, but of course we've had a five day workweek in England for quite some time now!

I didn't know what to expect when I reached the university. They knew we were coming and I assumed we
'd
receive help with accommodations. But since my marriage to Sam has so far consisted of poky little cottages without running water and characterless, high-rise apartments (paid for by my beloved mother-in-law) I think I have achieved modest expectations. It just goes to show it's much better to have low expectations, because instead of being disappointed you are happy.

The nice fellow who had been so impressed with Sam during his interview in London (Steve Baker, who also happens to be the Head of the English Department here) had arranged a lovely house for us to stay in till our university quarters are ready. Somebody had even filled the refrigerator with food (Father would be pleased to know I am saved from the dangers of purchasing cheese). We gorged on corn on the cob, chicken and grapes. We had never tasted corn on the cob before, and chicken and grapes are luxury food. A day or two after our arrival Sam was given a month's salary in advance, so we were overwhelmed with money.

At the end of two weeks our permanent home was ready. It's like a ‘colony'
—
a small circle of huts on the UBC grounds. Compared to the house outside the university gates it's fairly primitive; a sitting room with an oil stove plunked right in the middle of the room. This is supposed to heat up the whole house, so winters here must be warmer than in England. The place is unfurnished, so we rushed out at the first opportunity to buy second-hand beds, and ended up getting a second-hand sofa at the same time. A neighbour lent us a fridge, just knocked on the door the second day and walked right in without waiting for me to answer. I've been locking the door since then. He poked around in an inquisitive way and saw all our groceries piled up on the kitchen counters. “Oh, I happen to have a fridge you can borrow if you'd like,” he said. I've never met anyone who just happened to have a fridge to lend. People always seem to wander in and out here, sitting down for a chat without a ‘by your leave.' I suppose it
'
s friendliness, but we hardly know them. Some of the professors look just like car salesmen. I don't know if it is easier to become a professor here but there seems to be a gulf between the education and ability of the teachers here and those in England. I do not know how Sam will cope with that, he does not suffer fools gladly, and even in England he had a healthy superiority complex.

Our little house has a nice setting — a steep track leads to a sandy beach, grey sand with logs everywhere, almost deserted. It seems wonderful to us. I think we are going to be happy here
.

In the beginning they were happy. Everybody was friendly and invited them to lots of parties. Sam soon made a name for himself as ‘a caustic wit' and people gathered around him at get-togethers in the expectation that he would amuse them. He would get drunk and inform them about the advantages of life in England, while Madelyn smiled and wondered why people were laughing instead of taking offence. As the laughter continued, she learned to relax and enjoy herself, forging contacts with the wives hanging onto the arms of the men Sam introduced her to.

“This is my wife, Madelyn. This is Edward Daniels, head of the department in conjunction with Steven Baker.”

Edward Daniels proffered them a large plate of brie cheese, helping himself at the same time with his other hand.

“You've taken rather a big piece,” Sam said, gazing at the generous chunk in his boss's clasp. “It must be your lack of bree-ding.”

There was a second of silence, and then Daniels guffawed. Madelyn's heart, which had stopped momentarily, beat again.

Various professors heard the guffaw and gathered around Sam with expectant faces. Rather like children, Madelyn thought. Sam waved a hand in their general direction.

“All these people are professors in the English department, Mum … Madelyn. They're not like English professors, where the status of professor is a great honour. They're more like what we call dons or tutors, except even there, there's no comparison.”

Madelyn continued to smile and gazed out at the sea of faces, wondering if they understood what he was saying. They smiled back, happy. ‘Maybe everybody's drunk,' she thought, ‘maybe they don't really speak English at all and respond to the expression on his red, jovial face.'

Sam proceeded to launch into one of his favourite stories, which he proceeded to tell again and again for the rest of the evening, while people came and went.

“Before I came out here I went to a last bash at Cambridge, and I dined in hall at the high table. At the end of the meal they passed the port around, according to custom, and I got up the courage to approach my old professor — you know — a real professor. I said to him, ‘I'm going out to darkest B.C.' and the real prof said, “Golden my boy, it may not be so dark.”

Even in the tenth telling, Sam could hardly get the last line out. Doubled up, tears streaming from his eyes, he howled with laughter. Madelyn was sure that the appreciative response of his audience was more to do with his infectious hilarity than the story itself.

Meanwhile, she chatted about children and the weather with the professors' wives, who were on the whole pleasant and boring. She tried not to compare the party with similar occasions in Cambridge, where she had drawn every eye and danced with every man. ‘This is marriage,' she thought, ‘the end of individuality. I am only Professor Golden's wife. Though perhaps they at least notice that I am a beautiful specimen within the wife department.'

Late in the evening Sam staggered over to her little group and bowed low. “I'd like to dance with one of you, but you're all too plain.”

The problems started after Sam began teaching. He found the days long, and the quality of the students' work not up to standard. He usually arrived home tired and irritable.

“Every essay is peppered with spelling mistakes. Even their speech is full of ‘aints' and ‘gonnas.' A student asked me the other day if we could buy a simplified version of Shakespeare. ‘I don't get this guy,' he told me.

“What is the difference between these students and high school students? What are the qualifications for getting into university here?”

Madelyn veered between sympathy and exasperation.

“It is necessary for my peace of mind to have absolute solitude in the evenings, after an exhausting day with people. I cannot spend my evenings with you and Gabriel as a matter of routine, I have nothing left to give you.”

“Well, go out for walks then, Sam.”

“I might do that when the weather is nice, but it is impossible to spend all my recuperation time doing exhausting activities. I plan to convert the second bedroom into a study.”

“That's Gabriel's bedroom.”

“He can sleep on the landing, it's huge. Do you think toddlers care where they sleep for Christ's sake? I'm trying to support my family here, and I have to fight to obtain the wherewithal to remain sane!”

Madelyn saw the danger signs and remained silent, but it was a reproachful silence. The injustice of kicking little Gabriel out into the landing, where he was sure to have more nightmares, astounded her. Why couldn't Sam stay in his office at the university if he wanted some peace and quiet? How many rooms did he need?