The Invisible Wall

by Harry Bernstein

  But when she kissed me her manner was less absent, and she hugged me for quite a while, and I caught the last scent of lavender from her. “Good-bye, ’arry,” she whispered. “I won’t forget you, and you mustn’t forget me. And thank you so much for fetching the ginger beer.”

  Then she was done and ready to go. She straightened up and took a last look around her at the street, and once again, for the last time, her eyes strayed down toward the lower corner on the other side. And there was Freddy, come out of his shop in his long white apron, standing there looking up at her.

  They looked at each other for a little while, then Sarah walked on in between her father and Sam. I watched them go along Brook Street. In the distance you could see the viaduct. Trains crossed it now. They were heading for the station in Edgeley, about two miles away. I watched until they had disappeared from sight, but remained standing there until a train ran across the viaduct. I pictured Sarah sitting on it, looking through a window watching the town disappear, with that sweet smile on her face.

  It was all in vain. The Harrises might well have saved themselves all the trouble they went through with Sarah, not to speak of the dangers of the ship crossing to Australia with the German U-boats sinking ships. For it was not long afterward that Freddy joined the army and went off to France to fight in the war, and Florrie was left alone finally, which she had always dreaded, with less chance than ever of marrying that fellow in Birmingham.

  Chapter Five

  IT SNOWED ONCE THAT WINTER. THE FLAKES BEGAN TO FALL FROM A YELLOWISH sky one afternoon, and the snow looked dark coming down, almost as if the flakes were soot rather than snow. But when it struck the rooftops and the ground and the windowsills it was white. We almost went mad with joy, running up and down the street trying to catch the flakes in our hands, tilting up our faces so that we could catch them in our wide-open mouths too, with our tongues sticking out.

  The snow came down steadily all afternoon, covering the rooftops except for the chimneys, where the heat from the fires kept it from sticking. Then soon there was enough on the ground to make toboggan slides.

  It was a Sunday afternoon and everybody was home, and the Christian men and boys were still wearing their best black Sunday suits that they went to church in. Most of them didn’t bother to change. Stanley Jackson and Johnny Melrose and Willie Humberstone and the other Christian lads opposite us began to make a slide on their side. Zalmon Roseman and Philly Cohen, my brothers Joe and Saul, and all the other Jewish lads on our side began to make one for us too. Pretty soon we had a Jewish slide and a Christian slide, and all the men and women came out on the doorsteps to watch, or if it was too cold for them they watched from the windows.

  I tried it myself, and I was scared at first. You started at the top, out on the street near the Harris’s house, and the slide ran all the way down to Wood Street, at the very bottom. The farther down you went on the incline the faster and faster you went. I fell several times before I got the knack of it. Then I was like all the others, yelling and screaming as I raced down, and balancing myself with my arms spread out.

  After a while the surface of the two slides became glassy, and warnings began to be shouted from doorsteps. Several accidents had taken place, and children had dropped out with bruised knees and cut faces, and I was one of them. I had taken a bad fall and scraped a hand. But still I refused to go inside the house, and stayed out watching.

  Some of the men had joined in the activity. Johnny Melrose’s father had taken a run down, surprising everyone with his agility and skill, and his ability to keep his pipe in his mouth all the time. A quiet, stocky man, who tramped to and from the mill daily with his head cast down a little, the pipe always in his mouth, he hardly looked the kind who’d be tobogganning down a slide. But he was a regular daredevil at it, racing swiftly, balancing himself with ease, and landing at the bottom on both feet.

  Soon enough the women were sliding down with the men, clinging to their waists, screaming, and probably less frightened than they seemed. I saw Freddy Gordon come out of the shop, still with his long white apron on, and march up the street, obviously on his way to the top of the slide. He stopped halfway up the row. Mrs. Green was standing outside her door, and I could see Annie behind her in the doorway, holding the baby.

  I heard Freddy say, “Come on and take the slide with me, Annie.”

  “Oh, no, I couldn’t,” said Annie, and you could see she was flustered by the invitation.

  “Go on,” her mother urged. “Go on and give yourself a bit of fun.”

  “No, I couldn’t,” Annie repeated. “I’m afeard, and I’ve got to mind the baby.”

  “I’ll mind ’im for you,” Mrs. Green shouted. “Go on, you bloody fool. You might never get the chance again.”

  She almost pulled the baby out of Annie’s arms and pushed her straight at Freddy. He caught her and led her up the hill. Everybody was looking at them, and Annie knew it, and looked embarrassed. Freddy himself didn’t seem to mind the eyes staring at them.

  Later on it would be discussed in our shop, and there’d be much shaking of heads over what they had seen, with someone saying with a laugh, “Well, if things work out right Mrs. Green will get all the beer she wants for nothin’.” There was a lot of agreement on this, and a lot of unpleasant things were said about Freddy.

  Someone muttered, “Please God, she shouldn’t have another baby.” A long silence after that.

  That day everyone watched as Freddy and Annie started down the incline, her arms around his waist, Annie obviously frightened and clinging tightly to him. Down they went. Freddy was expert at it. He waved the free arm cheerfully as they picked up speed, then raced past the houses and the staring people, past the grinning, cackling, delighted Mrs. Green, coming to a safe stop right in front of the Gordon shop, where Florrie stood, grim and tight-lipped, hands on hips, furious.

  “You bloody fool,” she shouted, unable to contain herself any longer. “You’re at it again.”

  THE SLIDES MELTED during the night. Most of the snow had disappeared when we got up and stared disappointed through the window. Here and there a patch of dirty white remained, but it was nothing. We went to school as usual. This time Arthur did not accompany us. It had been forbidden. He walked ahead of us with his long stride and his books under his arm, and Lily pretended not to see him. She walked with me in front, holding my hand, and her head bent a little, and her long, silken hair bobbing behind her, silent all the way. She was terribly unhappy about not being allowed to speak to Arthur anymore, and bitter as well. She hardly ever spoke to my mother. She studied harder than ever, however, poring over her books at night, and whenever there was an opportunity during the day.

  At school she was busy with her monitor duties, rushing down to the basement to mix ink, rushing back up again to fill inkwells, taking notes from the headmaster to the teachers, always rushing, with her long hair swinging about. We were all being kept busy learning Christmas carols. The Christmas holidays were approaching, and a religious fervor had swept over the headmaster, and now at any time during the day it could be expected that classes would be interrupted, the partitions pushed back, and all of us ordered to stand on the benches to sing carols.

  “Good King Wenceslas…looked out…”

  I think this must have been his favorite, because it was sung over and over again, with Miss Penn thumping out the accompaniment on the piano, and the headmaster beating time with his stick and bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet, his large red ears sticking out like two wings on either side of his head, a deeper red than ever as the religious passion flowed through his veins.

  Outside, the skies remained gray and overcast, and the days were shorter than ever. By the time we left school, lights were on in the shops and on the trucks, and lanterns bobbed at the back of carts. Curiously, though Arthur was not allowed to walk with us or speak to Lily anymore, he always happened to be at the Devil’s Steps as we came along, and he managed to keep in sight just a
short distance ahead of us as we walked the rest of the way home. It was always a comfort to us to know that he was there.

  Lily came home from school with us bitter and almost in tears one day. The headmaster had spoken to her again about the permit slip, and warned that if she did not get it in before the Christmas holidays, signed by her father, she would not be allowed to take the exam.

  “I’ll try to talk to him tonight,” my mother said nervously.

  “You’re always saying that,” Lily burst out. “It’s always tonight, and you never do it. I don’t think you want me to take the exam. You don’t want me to go to the grammar school. You want me to go into the tailoring shop—with him, work with him, be with him all day. I’d rather die than do that,” she added, passionately, the tears starting to come to her eyes.

  “You mustn’t talk that way,” my mother said. “Of course I want you to take the exam. And of course I want you to go to the grammar school and become a teacher. I want nothing else. But you’ve got to be patient. If I ask your father at the wrong time that would be the end of it.”

  “It’s always the wrong time,” Lily said. “I don’t think there’s ever going to be a right time. If you don’t ask him, then I will.”

  “No!” my mother cried. “You mustn’t do that.”

  “Why? Why can’t I ask him?”

  “You mustn’t, that’s why.”

  That was the end of the discussion, and I really think my mother was determined to speak to him when he came home that night. She was in a highly nervous state when she said goodnight to us. Lily gave her a long look before we went upstairs, and my mother nodded, as if to let her know that she understood its meaning. Yes, there was every indication that she was going to do it, no matter what. She even had the permit slip on top of the mantelpiece ready to show him, and that in itself showed how determined she was.

  Yet, in spite of that, she failed once again, but it was hardly her fault. Nobody could have predicted that for the first time my father would not come home alone.

  WE SAW HIM fast asleep on the torn black leather sofa in the kitchen that was also the living room when we came downstairs the next morning. A strange man stretched out on the only comfortable place there was to sit in the entire house, occupying the room where we ate and read our books in front of the fire, and which we lived in. His face showed on the pillow, a rather pale, flabby face, his feet were sticking out of the blankets, he was snoring heavily, and he frequently coughed in his sleep.

  My mother put a finger to her lips, and said, “Sshh,” as we entered.

  Who was he? we all wanted to know in whispers. She explained in whispers too: he was our boarder. A friend of our father’s, or at least an acquaintance he had struck up in the pub, a Jewish man from Leeds who had just come into our town, and was looking for lodgings.

  There was an immediate outcry from all of us. From Rose especially. This was even more shocking than the shop, a boarder, and to make matters worse a pal of his, and another one like him, undoubtedly. Rose burst into a torrent of abuse.

  “Oh, isn’t it like her, to do this to us. She doesn’t care about us. All she cares about is herself, and the money she can make. Money, money, money. That’s all she can think of. It’s a wonder she doesn’t turn us out of our own beds to put this tramp up.”

  Little did she know that that was more or less what would have to be done. But my mother wisely refrained from saying anything about it then. She answered Rose gently, saying, “You’ll get used to it, and it won’t be as bad as you think. He’s not a tramp. He’s a hardworking Jewish man, who doesn’t have a home of his own, and yes, I can use the money. There’s nothing terrible about that.”

  “Nothing’ s terrible for you,” Rose sneered.

  My mother did not say anything to this. Nor did she mention that taking care of a boarder would add more work to all the other things she had to do. Her shop in itself was enough to keep her busy, and then all the other chores of the household. Although she may have been thinking of it. Nor did Lily speak. She had been silent through the whole thing. Her mind was on one thing only. The moment she had come downstairs her eyes had gone to the mantelpiece. The permit slip was still there unsigned.

  “You did nothing about it,” she burst out suddenly.

  Attacked from this other side, my mother drew in a deep breath. “No, I couldn’t,” she said. “I was going to but then he came home with this man and I couldn’t speak in front of him.”

  “You wouldn’t have anyway,” said Lily bitterly, beginning to cry. “You’re just finding excuses.”

  She sounded now like Rose, and my mother must have had difficulty holding back her temper. But just then our attention was drawn to the man on the sofa. He had awakened and was half sitting up listening to the quarrel.

  “Good morning,” he said, cheerfully.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” my mother said, embarrassed. “We didn’t mean to wake you up.”

  “That’s all right,” he said, and coughed, and looked about for some place to spit, and finding none must have swallowed what he had in his mouth. “That’s all right,” he repeated. “I’m the one should say sorry. I shouldn’t be lying here in your kitchen. Where’s Jack?”

  “He’s at work,” my mother said.

  “It’s that late?” He sat up fully, and smiled at us and said, “Hello, kiddies.”

  We said nothing. My mother put in hastily, “They’re off to school. Go on,” she said to us, “you’d better hurry.”

  We left, and Rose, thinking she had found a new ally in Lily, walked beside her at the front, still spitting venom at Mam. “Oh, it’s nothing more than spite,” she said. “All she wants to do is drag us down to her level. She’s real low class. I don’t know about you, but one of these days I’m going to pack my things and just leave. That tramp is just about the last straw for me. After this I don’t know how I can face the neighbors.”

  Lily said nothing. Nor did we. Our hearts were pretty heavy that day, thinking of the unwanted stranger who’d been brought into our midst. With Rose chattering her spite, we walked to school in silence. Lily was perhaps the unhappiest of all of us. She tried to avoid talking to the headmaster that day, and he, probably sensing the hopelessness of it, said nothing to her. He knew about my father—everybody, in fact, did—and must have guessed the situation.

  The first thing we did when we came home, bursting into the house in our usual fashion, was glance at the sofa, as if expecting to find him still there. Seeing it empty, its old familiar self again, the bedclothes gone, the white wadding sticking out of the torn parts, hope rose in all of us. The first words our mother spoke dashed that hope.

  She had seen where our eyes had gone, and knew what we were thinking, and she said, “He’ll be back tonight with your father. He went to work in the tailoring shop. But you mustn’t worry. He’s a very nice man. I had a long talk with him after you left this morning. He’s been all over the world. He’s worked on ships and he’s been everywhere, even to America. He has no home of his own, and no relatives, nobody at all.” Her voice had softened and taken on a sympathetic note. Of course, she would feel that way about someone who was alone in the world, like she had once been. She went on. “He promised not to be a bother. So you must try to be nice to him. He might not stay long—I don’t know—he never stays long in one place.”

  Then, almost as if she had forgotten something, she said, “Oh yes, I should tell you this, and you must try not to be upset. We can’t let him sleep on the sofa. It wouldn’t be right. So I gave him the girls’ room, and the girls will sleep in the boys’ room. You’ll have your own bed, of course, and I managed to borrow a cot from Fanny Cohen for him in the little room.”

  There was a shocked silence after she spoke. Then a scream. It came from Rose.

  “I told you,” she cried. “I told you she’d do this. She’ll do anything for money, even turn her own children out of their beds.”

  “I’m not turning you out of your bed,�
�� my mother said. “You’re going to have your own bed to sleep in.”

  “Oh, you witch!” Rose went on, screaming. “You’re just an old witch, and I’m not going to stay in this house a minute longer. I’m getting out of here.”

  She ran out of the room and we heard her clattering up the stairs. We all stood there looking at each other.

  “She’ll be all right,” my mother said. “She’ll get over it.”

  Then Lily noticed something. Her eyes had gone to the mantelpiece. “Where’s the permit slip?” she asked.

  My mother smiled. “I gave it to Larry,” she said.

  “Who?”

  “That’s our boarder’s name,” she explained. “I told him all about the exam you want to take, and how it’s necessary to have the slip signed, and the trouble I’m having asking your father to sign it, and so he offered to ask him for me. So I gave him the slip.”

  Lily looked worried and uncertain. “What makes you think he’ll be able to do it any more than you?”

  “Your father seems to like him. It isn’t often your father likes anybody or has a friend, but he seems to have taken to Larry. Maybe Larry will be able to get him to do it. At least he can try.”

  Just then we heard Rose coming down the stairs. She was walking very rapidly. She did not come into the room, but passed the door and seemed to be heading for the front. My mother quickly ran to intercept her, and we followed.

  “Rose, where are you going?”

  She stopped at the door. She was carrying a small bundle wrapped in an old shawl that my mother had given her once, and had been used as an ermine cloak in her duchess roles. She spoke curtly over her shoulder. “I’m leaving home,” she said.

  My mother went up to her and put an arm around her shoulders. “Now stop being silly,” she said. “Come back in the kitchen and I’ll give you a nice cup of cocoa and a biscuit.”

  Rose shrugged her arm off and snapped, “I don’t want your cocoa and your biscuit. I hate you.”