Silent Refuge

by Margrit Rosenberg Stenge

  But the baby was circumcised on time and was named Marvin after Stefan’s father, Martin, and my father, Markus. A nurse, Mrs. Christie, had been hired in advance to take care of the baby for two weeks. As I had anticipated, I was petrified of the responsibility of caring for this tiny new baby. After the first two weeks, my mother paid the nurse to stay for a third week when she saw the stress I was under. But when the three weeks were over, I was still a nervous wreck and told Stefan I wanted to go to work and keep the nurse to take care of Marvin. Totally unsympathetic, Stefan told me in no uncertain terms that Marvin was my baby and I had to take care of him. And so I became a mother.

  It did not take long before I became totally wrapped up in the care of our baby. Since I have always been somewhat compulsive, Marvin had to be fed at certain hours, changed at regular intervals and bathed at the same time every night. I found the routine difficult because there was no real end to the day during the first months, but Stefan often got up at night to feed and change the baby, and at times my mother also lent a helping hand by spending the night with her grandson.

  I had always known that Stefan would be a wonderful father, but of course I could not have known the extent of his total devotion to our baby. He fed him, burped him, changed him and bathed him, and nothing was ever too much. When Marvin rewarded our efforts with his first toothless smile, we were both overjoyed. Marvin’s first outing when he was six weeks old was an event. Stefan came home for lunch just to get him properly dressed and installed in his beautiful new baby carriage. It was a balmy winter day in February, and we both joyfully pushed the carriage. From that day on, Marvin had his daily outings, weather permitting. In no time, he became a plump little boy who loved his meals and his bottle — almost unrecognizable from the scrawny baby I had brought home from the hospital.

  Shortly after Marvin was born, Mr. Cohen, Stefan’s boss at Cuthbert Industries, informed him that his business had taken a turn for the worse and that all his employees would have to take a cut in salary. As we could barely manage on our one income as it was, Stefan decided to leave Cuthbert and devote all his time to the real estate business, which a friend had introduced him to previously through property auctions. Since he knew nothing about this business, he did what he had done in Norway: he used the knowledge of others to inform himself. By visiting many real estate agents in the city, he gradually came to understand the different facets of the business. When soon thereafter he made a $5,000 profit on the quick sale of an old property he had purchased on Wilder Street, we were elated. From then on, our income came in spurts, and since I was used to living on steady salaries, I felt very insecure with this new way of life for quite some time.

  We had been married for five happy years before Marvin was born. With his arrival, something gradually changed in our relationship. We were parents and at times forgot about our relationship to each other. Stefan was busy laying the groundwork for our future, and I was then mainly interested in our home. As I had always done, I still continued paying all the bills, typing out the cheques on my typewriter, but apart from that, I was not much help in Stefan’s endeavours. Besides working hard, Stefan took French lessons twice a week in the evening from Madame Lette, a recent immigrant from France, and eventually spoke and read French fluently.

  In 1955, Stefan built and sold his first apartment building on Bedford Road. The venture was a huge success, and, to celebrate, we went to Florida for the first time that winter. Although Mrs. Christie and my mother took good care of Marvin, he was very unhappy without his parents. During a telephone conversation, my mother told us that he sat for hours in the corner by the entrance door to the apartment to wait for us, which of course made us feel terribly guilty. It was not the most successful trip for other reasons, too. Florida in December is usually cool, and it was absolutely cold that winter. For some summer weather, we drove to Key West in our rental car. After a few days there, we became restless and drove all the way up north to Jacksonville to visit my cousin Erna and her family, who had immigrated to the United States in the early 1950s. We went to the lovely beaches of that city and froze some more.

  Erna and Erwin’s lives were easier in Jacksonville than they had been in Birmingham. Erwin worked in his métier, window dressing; he had learned window dressing and sign painting in Germany, and now he was finally able to put his profession to use. He and Erna lived in a comfortable house with their sons, David and Paul, and enjoyed the beaches, particularly in the spring and summer.

  In the early part of 1956, Stefan began building three triplexes on Bedford Road, one of which would be ours. I was very excited about the prospect of moving from our rented apartment on Ridgevale to our own home. The triplex would consist of a large downstairs apartment, where we would live, and two smaller apartments upstairs, one of which would be my mother’s, and a small basement apartment. The other upstairs apartment would be rented out, as would the basement apartment.

  By the time we moved to Bedford Road in the summer of 1956, I was pregnant again. The new baby was due in January 1957, so I had plenty of time to get settled in our new home. I loved the big apartment, which consisted of a large living-dining room, a big kitchen, two bathrooms and three bedrooms, one of which Stefan used as his office. We refurnished our living-dining room with black lacquered furniture and a sofa, and curtains were made to measure; I felt that I was at home at last.

  Marvin grew into a sturdy little boy, whom Stefan called “Chief.” He was a somewhat shy child who started talking only after he was two years old. Apart from suffering from frequent colds that would sometimes turn into croup and give us a scare, he was in good health and had a huge appetite.

  I was looking forward to the birth of our second child. Gone were the fear and apprehension that accompanied my first pregnancy. I knew that I would not have any trouble taking care of a newborn baby, and I had no qualms about looking after two children. However, we had decided that this baby, whether a girl or a boy, would be our last.

  A few weeks before my due date, I began having labour pains and actually checked into the hospital twice, only to be told to go back home and wait some more. But on January 21, 1957, I was sure that the birth of the baby was imminent. Marvin’s delivery had been long and drawn out, but this one was fast and furious. Since the doctor had expected a repeat performance from my last labour and delivery, he was not even in the hospital when I was practically ready to give birth. A nurse was assigned to stay with me — she sat on a chair next to my bed reading a magazine. Such a scene would be unthinkable today, and even then I thought her behaviour was terribly callous. The doctor made it just in time to deliver the baby, and, because I was fully awake this time, I heard him say, “It is a girl!” I was so astounded that I asked him if he was sure. I simply could not believe that my wish had come true.

  My hospital roommate was a young Finnish woman who had given birth to a little girl the day before. She told me later that when I was wheeled into the room, the place lit up. I was absolutely euphoric, and as tired as I was, I could not get to sleep. January 21, 1957, was the happiest day of my life. Stefan and I decided to call our little girl Helen, after his mother. When Marvin first laid eyes on his little sister, he was not impressed. “Take her upstairs to Omi” was all he said, referring to my mother. Like Marvin, Helen was also very small when she was born, a few ounces heavier than he had been because she was a full-term baby. And like Marvin, she was cared for by Mrs. Christie. A crib and a folding cot had been set up in Stefan’s office. As soon as little Helen would sleep through the night, she would share her brother’s room.

  From day one, Helen did not have the voracious appetite that Marvin had always displayed, and it took a long time to feed her. At first, the formula did not agree with her, so she did not gain any weight, which of course worried us a lot. Eventually Dr. Doubilet suggested a less rich formula, and Helen began thriving. Mrs. Christie was let go after two weeks; in fact, I could hardly wait for her
to leave. Standing over my little girl’s crib and seeing her excitement and smiles when she saw one of us tore at my heartstrings. Frankly, I did not think there was a cuter baby to be found anywhere. I called her Lieschen — though I will never know why.

  Stefan was a very cautious businessperson. He never took any chances and took his time with each new venture. I had become used to being married to someone whose income was sporadic. We lived well, and because Stefan had always been a most generous person, I never had to ask him when I wanted to buy something for myself. He would have liked me to help him with his office work, but I was not anxious to work for him. I was afraid that our relationship would suffer because I knew that our work habits were very different. I was a stickler for details while he saw the whole picture and did not care about the little things. Besides, with two small children, I was a busy mother, and we did not even have an office just then. But no matter how busy Stefan was, he was always home for dinner and then it was his time with the children. He had so much patience. He played with them, he talked to them and he was absolutely the best daddy any child could have.

  We began taking the kids on short outings, to parks in the area and Granby Zoo. I have always loved going to the zoo, and these little trips liberated me from the endless routines I had imposed upon myself. On Sunday nights, we often went to Carmen Restaurant, a Hungarian place where the food was delicious. And there were visits to friends who had children the same age as ours. Marvin was always shy and cautious, and although Helen was somewhat more outgoing, she always stayed in close proximity to her brother. Stefan also took “Chief” along on errands, and both of them enjoyed their time alone without the “girls.” Marvin was always his daddy’s son and very close to him, even to this day.

  I made some attempts at going back to work, but the venture was far from successful. Mrs. Hellermann now came to help out twice a week, and as soon as she came in the door, I left for my assignment from Office Overload. I loved the variety of work that came my way as temporary office help, but in the end I got stuck in one place. The boss of that place would call Office Overload over and over again and ask for me. I didn’t work there for very long.

  My mother had bought a car, and when she was away on trips, which happened quite often, the car stood idle in our garage. Because I did not know how to drive, Stefan often had to take time off work to drive me places with the children. He began to urge me to take driving lessons, so at the age of thirty, I finally learned to drive. My mother’s car was automatic, and I loved the independence my new skill gave me. The only trouble was that the car was not mine, and when my mother returned from her trips, she of course laid claim to it whenever she needed it, and that was nearly every day.

  We had lived on Bedford Road for about two years when we realized that the quiet street we had originally moved to had become a busy thoroughfare. I sometimes thought that a move to a quiet street would be a solution, but I really did not want to leave my home on Bedford Road any time soon.

  In 1959, to get away from our busy street, we rented a cottage in Rawdon, Quebec, for the summer months. Stefan came out to join us at least twice a week. I never liked to be away from Stefan. I felt insecure dealing with the children’s health problems on my own, but the fact that Marvin had so many allergies persuaded me that the fresh, clean country air would be better for him than the stagnant heat in the city. My own concerns had to be secondary.

  Our cottage was part of the Hollinger Estate, which consisted of several cottages located in a large clearing surrounded by a wooded area. The other cottages were occupied by other families with children. For the kids, it was a real paradise. They were safe everywhere, and every cottage was theirs. The mothers also had a wonderful vacation. On really hot days, we took the children to nearby waterfalls and sat beneath the cascading water to cool off. When Stefan came to the cottage, we cooked hotdogs and hamburgers on the barbecue and had young guests in abundance. It was a delightful summer, although Marvin’s wheezing continued in the country, most likely because of all the grass and trees there that bloomed at different times.

  In the fall that year, Stefan met Ernest through a business connection. Ernest told Stefan in passing that he and his family were just about to move to their new house in the Town of Mount Royal and that their house in Ville St-Laurent was for sale. Shortly thereafter, we were invited to their new home, and this is when Cila, Ernest’s wife, and I first met. We became lifelong friends.

  Cila was a petite, slim young woman whose smile did not come easily. She was about my age, born in Poland and a Holocaust survivor. After the war, she had made aliyah to Israel, where she met Ernest. Ernest was born in Czechoslovakia and had spent the war years first in the British army and then in the Haganah. The couple had met and married in Israel and were now the parents of a little boy, Dani, who was four years old.

  Ernest proudly showed us their beautiful home on Normandie Drive. The house had a large basement, where the children played while the parents got better acquainted. Stefan voiced an interest in their house in St-Laurent, and Ernest suggested that we could perhaps somehow exchange our house on Bedford Road for theirs on Vincent Street. Stefan was immediately interested. He had recently bought land in Ville St-Laurent and was in the process of building his first apartment building on Gold Street. Living in the area would be a definite advantage.

  We visited 2110 Vincent Street soon afterwards. Cila, who accompanied us, told us that she had not really wanted to move from this house. She had been very happy there, since her neighbours were her friends and the house had certainly been big enough for her small family. But Ernest had wanted bigger and better things — hence the house in the Town of Mount Royal, which was built according to his own plans and specifications.

  Vincent Street was (and still is) a one-way, crescent-shaped street. The house at 2110 was as if made-to-measure for us. I was excited at the possibility of moving there. Not only did the house appeal to me, but so did the quiet street with its mostly new homes and newly planted trees alongside the road. Stefan and I went home to talk it over and decided that if an agreement could be reached with Ernest, we would move to St-Laurent as soon as possible. Indeed, a deal was struck and the two properties changed hands.

  Since we were moving to the suburbs, we thought that I should have my own car. To make up for this rather large expense, I would drive the children to school rather than having them take the school bus. There was some discussion about buying a used car, but in the end we decided to buy a small new car. I have had many cars since that first blue Ford Anglia, but none was ever as treasured as my very first car. I was now completely independent.

  My mother was not happy to relocate once again, but since she wanted to be near us, she moved to a new apartment on Gold Street, one of Stefan’s buildings, as soon as it was completed. We were then only a five-minute drive from each other.

  For weeks prior to the move, I loaded up the trunk of the Anglia every afternoon with our belongings, and, with the children in the backseat, I drove to Vincent Street and put everything we had with us in its place. On the weekends, Stefan moved the heavier things, and slowly but surely we transferred most of our belongings this way. All that was left for the movers on moving day was to move our furniture to our new place. And then we were all set — for what turned out to be twenty years.

  Family Life

  Once we were settled in our new home, I began to have a real sense of permanency such as I had never had before. Even on Bedford Road, I had always known that we would have to move again sooner or later because we did not have separate bedrooms for the children. But now we had it all, including a beautiful office downstairs for Stefan. In years to come, I would often dream about having to leave this house and would wake up in a sweat. Over time, we made many improvements to our home, which made it even more dear to me.

  That fall, Helen started nursery school at the “Y,” and Marvin went to kindergarten at Talmud Tor
ah School in Saint-Laurent. It was hard to leave my little girl in a stranger’s care — for both of us. But the teacher, Mr. Segal, soon put Helen at ease. When I picked her up a few hours later, she was all smiles, and my own separation anxieties evaporated, too, in no time.

  Now that I had a few hours to call my own, as well as a room in our basement that could easily be converted into an office, the time seemed ripe for me to start working for Stefan, as he had asked me to do many times before. I still had misgivings and would have preferred to work part-time elsewhere, but I did not seem to have much of a choice. Stefan wanted me to be at home to take care of the children after school, besides which it was I who picked them up.

  We acquired a used desk and office chair. I already owned a typewriter, and we bought an adding machine and a used filing cabinet. My office was ready. It was not exactly the office I had dreamt about at the Handelsgymnasium in Oslo; in fact, neither the work nor my surroundings came anywhere near my original plans. Stefan had started to rent out the apartments on Gold Street, and my work consisted mainly of typing rent statements and doing minor bookkeeping. As his workload grew, so did mine. Later I typed listings, which were the bane of my existence. For each property for sale, there were several listings at different times, depending on the circumstances, and all the details had to be typed over and over again. And I, who had decided in school that I would never work with numbers, did little else.

  I soon got used to my new routine, and I came to like the idea that I was contributing something to our business while still being able to come and go as I pleased. I joined a Hadassah chapter, a branch of a Jewish women’s organization, whose members were young women like me. Since we were all busy during the day, we met every second week in the evening. Most of our programs concerned Israel and the planning of fundraising events for Israeli institutions that urgently needed financial help. I also spent a lot of time on my hobby — knitting.