The Hours Count

by Jillian Cantor

  It seemed obvious to me that a woman like Elizabeth Bentley who had admitted to giving American secrets to Russia was quite un-American, but I wasn’t sure what any of that had to do with men like Julie and Ed who’d lost their jobs over a silly loyalty oath. I agreed with her about that. “Is that why you’re not as involved as you once were?” I asked. “You’re afraid?”

  She laughed. “Oh, Millie. Most days, all the energy I have goes to caring for the children. Who has time for anything else?”

  I swallowed hard, Zelda’s words about wanting to take David echoing in my head. Now I wasn’t even sure what I’d do without him. What else was there, really, for a woman like me? A boring life spent sewing in a hot factory?

  Ethel leaned in closer and lowered her voice. “Can I tell you a secret?” I nodded, happy she trusted me enough to ask. And I immediately felt bad that I’d placed her on Ed’s side, even for a second. “And you won’t tell . . . anyone?”

  By anyone I thought she meant Ed and that maybe she was picturing the way Ed had held on to my arm too tightly in her apartment last night and she knew I wouldn’t tell him a thing. “Of course,” I said. “I won’t tell a soul. I promise.”

  “I’m thinking about therapy.” She lowered her voice and tilted her head toward John almost imperceptibly so he wouldn’t notice.

  I thought of the doctor I’d met last night at her apartment and his card that had read Doctor of Psychotherapy. “With Dr. Gold?” I asked her.

  “Who?” Ethel raised her eyebrows.

  “That doctor who was at your party last night.”

  “Oh, no.” Ethel waved her hand. “I’d never met him before last night. I’m not even sure who invited him . . . no. The Jewish Board of Guardians.” The Jewish Board of Guardians sounded suspiciously similar to the organization Zelda Weiss said she worked for. “They accept payment on a sliding scale based on income”—I realized Ethel was still talking—“so we should be able to afford it.”

  I nodded, though I was not altogether sure what therapy entailed, exactly, nor why one went even for an affordable fee.

  “But you won’t tell anyone, right? I know I’m not supposed to believe in this sort of thing. But the truth is, I think I do believe in it. I think maybe if he can talk to someone . . . I don’t know, he might have an easier time of things. It’s been so hard for him since Richie arrived.”

  I wasn’t sure if she meant that it was Jews or communists who weren’t supposed to believe in this sort of thing. I could imagine both my mother and Bubbe Kashe pishposhing the idea of psychotherapy, of doctors who wanted to dole out talk not medicine, and it also seemed like something Ed would be firmly against.

  To look at John right now, sitting here, playing so calmly with David, one would not think he needed anything. But the restless boy who blared his phonograph late into the party last night? I understood what Ethel was saying. John was older than David and his imperfections shone more obviously for all to see. Ethel was feeling desperate. She was doing everything she could to help her son. “You’re such a good mother,” I said to her. And then I had to tell her about Zelda. I felt certain that she would understand. “Ed wants to take David from me. To send him away,” I whispered so the boys wouldn’t hear.

  “What?” Ethel reached her hand across the couch for mine, grabbed ahold, and squeezed. “You won’t let him,” she said with an aplomb that I didn’t quite feel.

  “No, of course not,” I murmured. Even as I said the words, I didn’t quite understand how I would stop him. What was I going to do? Ethel and Mr. Bergman seemed so certain that Ed could be stopped, but what if he couldn’t?

  I felt tears welling up in my eyes, and then Ethel squeezed my hand again. “You’ll figure something out, Millie. I know you will.” She smiled at me. “We always do, don’t we?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I really don’t.”

  “Listen,” she said. “If you want my advice . . .” I nodded, I did. “The men are sweet enough when it comes to the children, but they’re really just big children themselves sometimes. Sure, they love to play catch in the courtyard and play cowboys and Indians and all that . . .” Ed had never once done any of those things with David. “Maybe Ed just needs something to appease him.”

  “Appease him?” I thought of the gumdrops Mr. Bergman gave to David. If only it were that easy.

  I heard a noise and I looked up. David’s blocks had all crashed to the hard floor again. His curls were disheveled and his face turned in that way it did when he was upset and overtired, but before I could stand and reach for him he kicked John instead of his usual routine of kicking the floor. John’s tiny nostrils flared and his cheeks turned red before he threw one of David’s precious blocks in retaliation across the room at the window.

  Ethel and I stood quickly and shouted at our sons in unison.

  I grabbed David and held him close to me in a cross between a hug and a stranglehold and said, “David, that’s not nice. You can’t kick your friends.”

  “Good luck with Ed,” Ethel said to me as she pulled a now crying John toward the door. Just before she walked out she turned back and said, “You’re a good mother, too, Millie. Don’t forget that.”

  And then as quickly as they’d come in, they were gone, my apartment was silent and still once again, a mess of yellow blocks across the living room floor, David’s tangled curls against my forearm, his body limp against mine on my perfect blue couch. “Everything’s going to be all right, darling.” I sang the words to him like a refrain, trying to make myself believe it.

  DAVID FELL ASLEEP early, and Ed did not come home at his usual time. When darkness enveloped the apartment, I turned on the lamp and picked up David’s blocks, arranging them neatly in their wooden container. I smoked a cigarette and stared down to the street below, my nightly ritual. And I felt a sadness in thinking that this small moment of the day had come to exemplify my entire life: watching the rest of the city breathe on by from too far away to truly be a part of it.

  The hour grew later and the masses on the sidewalk below thinned. I wondered if Ed might not return home at all. David and I could move in with my mother and Bubbe Kasha, or maybe Susan and Sam would take pity on us and invite us into their large suburban home. But how long would Susan endure David’s moodiness, his silence, before she, too, would want to suggest a different place for him?

  Finally, I heard Ed’s key turning in the lock and I put my cigarette out in the ashtray and smoothed back my hair. Ed walked in, removed his hat and hung it by the door, and then he stopped for a moment and looked at me as if it surprised him to see me here on our perfect blue couch looking as I always did.

  “There’s a plate for you in the oven,” I said.

  He walked toward the kitchen. I tried to judge from my place on the couch how much he’d had to drink after work and whether he was clearheaded enough to have a conversation or whether he might grab my wrist again, or worse, now that we were here alone. I stayed on the couch and watched him sit at the table and cut and chew his meat loaf. After eating a little bit Ed looked up, stared straight at me, and said, “He is gone?”

  “Gone?” My heart thrummed so loudly in my chest that I was sure Ed could hear it even from across the room.

  “The boy,” Ed said almost casually as he took another bite of the meat loaf. The boy? As if David were an object, something foreign. Though Ed’s tone was even, I felt my hands begin to shake. I held them together to try to steady them but I couldn’t. David was our son, Ed’s son, and Ed really didn’t love him. The hatred I suddenly felt for Ed overcame me, and I had to stand up from the couch and take a deep breath so I wouldn’t begin to scream.

  I walked to the doorway of our bedroom, stood there, and watched David. He looked so peaceful and calm, his tiny chest rising steadily up and down. “David is asleep,” I finally said, more to myself than to Ed. David was safe. Ed could not take
him as long as I was here to protect him. And I would. I had to.

  “Asleep?” Ed dropped his fork against the plate, and it clanged loudly enough that I saw David stir a little in his sleep.

  “Shhh.” I approached the table and Ed and picked up the fork to stop it from making more noise. “You’ll wake him.” I stared at Ed, challenged him with my eyes. I gripped the fork tightly in my hand. Should Ed move toward the bedroom—and David—I would take the fork and . . .

  But Ed stood and walked back into the kitchen. I heard the sounds of ice clinking against glass, vodka pouring over the ice, the ice crackling a little bit.

  I watched him from the edge of the kitchen as he swirled the liquid in the glass and then drank it down too fast. From here, in the semidarkness, he reminded me of a dangerous pouting child, one who hadn’t gotten his way, and gulping vodka was his tantrum.

  Ethel was right. He is nothing more than a boy, I thought as I watched Ed grimace at his drink. You’ll think of something, Ethel had said. We always do . . . appease him.

  And then I knew what I needed to do. I walked into the kitchen and dropped the fork carefully into the sink. Then I leaned against the counter and stood next to Ed, close enough so our elbows were touching. I closed my eyes. “I will give you another child,” I said steadily. “But you will leave David alone.”

  I heard him put his glass down on the counter, the sound of the ice jumping uneasily, and when I opened my eyes, he was standing there in front of me. He put his hand on my wrist, circling it with his fingers, gentler than last night but in the same spot, so it still hurt. I resisted the urge to pull away.

  “Mildred,” he whispered into my ear, his fingers moving up my arms, across my back, into my hair. “Now we are understanding each other.”

  10

  The fall moved slowly after I threw away my diaphragm. I dreaded Ed coming home from work even more. I knew now that there was bound to be another child soon, and that made the weight of Ed’s body on top of mine feel even more insufferable. Each night, I closed my eyes and made myself concentrate very hard on the ceiling, counting, forcing myself to keep my breathing even.

  But Ed stuck to our agreement and left David alone. In fact, he left him entirely alone. He ignored David even more than before, if possible, and did not ask about him or even acknowledge me when I spoke of David. I longed for David to talk so that Ed might begin to love him, especially as I had noticed other fathers in Knickerbocker Village playing with their boys on weekends or walking with them hand in hand to attend shul on Saturdays.

  I ran into Julie and John playing catch in the courtyard one Sunday morning after Ed had gone to visit Lena—thankfully, without us—and David and I were off to visit my mother and Bubbe Kasha. Julie was dressed down, in casual slacks and a sweater, and he and John both wore Dodgers caps as they tossed a baseball back and forth.

  Julie stopped throwing when he noticed me, and David and he motioned for us to come over, so we did. “How would David like to join us?” Julie asked, bending down to David’s level to pat him on the head. Then Julie stood back up and smiled at me.

  Julie’s sweetness hit me as an ache, the sudden weight of jealousy and longing in my chest, and I had to force a smile. “That’s so kind of you to offer. But I don’t think he quite understands catch yet,” I said.

  “He does!” John shouted. “He does, Millie. Let him play.”

  John ran over and grabbed David’s arm, handing him the ball, trying to explain to him how to throw it. David held the ball up in his hand, looking rather bewildered.

  “Why don’t you get Ed down here?” Julie asked. He lifted the Dodgers cap off his head, wiped his brow, and put the cap back down. “We’ll make it a foursome.”

  “Ed’s not home,” I said. “But maybe another time?” though even as I said the words I knew it would probably never happen.

  David dropped the ball awkwardly and John shrugged, frustrated with David’s lack of ability or interest in the game. “We should be going,” I said, and I picked David up. I didn’t want to intrude on their time, but also I couldn’t bear to watch anymore. “You two enjoy your catch,” I called out, trying to keep my voice even as I walked away.

  “Always do, Millie,” Julie said as he swiped the ball back up off the ground and threw it to his son.

  THE MORNING OF the presidential election I woke up feeling awful. I barely made it to the toilet to throw up, and then when I went to stand, I felt dizzy and I had to cling to the sink for support.

  “Don’t forget.” Ed peeked into the bathroom, not seeming to notice my terrible state. “We want Wallace to win.”

  “I know,” I said, but what I knew was that in the privacy of my voting booth I would vote for anyone but Ed’s choice.

  A few hours later, I still wasn’t feeling well as I walked with my mother down Monroe Street to cast our votes.

  “The fog is going to kill us all,” my mother said, leaning unsteadily on my arm. I balanced both her and David, one on each side, and her girth—and her constant chatter—were weighing me down, as opposed to David’s lightness and silence.

  “Fog?” I asked. An unbearable lightness and nausea had overtaken me. Deep down, I knew what it meant. I had felt this way only once before, when I was first expecting David.

  “I saw it on the television”—my mother continued talking—“on the ABC News. There’s a fog in Donora, Pennsylvania. It’s killing people. There’s nothing to stop it from getting us, too, you know. Pennsylvania isn’t even that far away. It’s even closer to New Jersey. I’ve warned Susan not to go outside with the twins . . .”

  “Hmmm,” I murmured, thinking about how my mother had become even more insufferable since Mr. Bergman had brought her and Bubbe Kasha a small television, a luxury Ed still would not consent to for us. “If the bomb doesn’t get us all first, that is,” I said, swallowing back the urge to vomit again, right here on the street. I focused very hard on walking, placing one foot in front of the other.

  “Oh, the bomb.” My mother waved her free hand in the air as if that were an altogether ridiculous idea and this killer fog oh so much more likely. “All these politicians so worried about the communists and the Russians and here a fog can come and get you just like that. A fog.” I nodded, hoping that my tacit agreement would be enough to silence her, and we headed up the steps. “Dewey is going to win, you know,” my mother said. “That’s what they’re saying all over the television.”

  She let go of my arm as we opened the doors to the polling place, but I still held on to David, not wanting to lose him in the rush of the crowd. It was noisy inside the library now, with everyone here to cast their votes, and David put his hands to his ears to block it out. He tried to pull away from me, but I held on tightly, pulling back. He was getting bigger, stronger, and it was harder for me to hold on to him than it was when he was a baby and a toddler. But I didn’t like to think about that too much. It overwhelmed me with a terror so thick that sometimes I couldn’t breathe. How was I going to manage David if he continued on like this and he grew bigger and stronger than me? David and a baby, I reminded myself, focusing very hard again on not throwing up. Oh, this took so much concentration. All I wanted to do was go back home and get in bed.

  “Mrs. Stein, is that you?” I looked up at the sound of my name, and I squinted to make out who was calling me. Another wave of dizziness hit me and I had to hold my free hand out to steady myself against the wall. “Are you all right?” He put his hand on my arm, and I realized it was Dr. Gold. No, Jake. The kind man I’d met at Ethel’s party.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked, regaining my balance and pulling gently out of his grasp. I remembered how I thought I saw him there on the street that morning when I felt I was being followed. But Ed and I had an agreement now and I did not expect to see Zelda Weiss again anytime soon.

  Jake smiled. “Well, I’m casting my vote.” Of
course. Everyone in the neighborhood converged on the same place today.

  David yanked my arm hard and stomped his feet. “Darling, I’ll be quick, I promise,” I said to him. “I’m sorry,” I said, turning back to Jake, “David doesn’t like crowds. I’ve got to go and try to finish quickly.”

  “Would you like me to watch him while you cast your vote?” Jake asked.

  It seemed like such a strange thing to say, a man offering to watch my child? But Jake crouched down to David’s level, spoke to him softly, and David’s thrashing calmed. Jake was a psychotherapist, I remembered. And I thought about how Ethel was hoping therapy would help John. She’d recently made an appointment to see a woman named Mrs. Elizabeth Phillips at the Jewish Board of Guardians. But Jake was also friends with Ed.

  “No thank you,” I said. “I wouldn’t want to trouble you.”

  “No trouble at all,” Jake said. “We’ll sit right outside on the steps and count the taxicabs going by. Wouldn’t you like that, son?” Jake leaned down to David’s level again, and David stopped thrashing altogether and leaned forward, maybe intrigued. How could Jake know about David’s perfect fascination with taxicabs and counting? Their yellowness so attractive to him that there was barely anything David liked more these days.

  “I’m sure my husband wouldn’t approve of his friend going to such trouble,” I said.

  Jake stood back up and he stared at me. He had kind eyes. They were a brown color similar to Ed’s, but Ed’s eyes reminded me of stones, like the worn pebbles you might find along the shore at Coney Island. Jake’s eyes were bright, more of an almond color, and they appeared to be smiling even though the rest of his face wasn’t. “Make no mistake, Mrs. Stein,” he said, “I’m no friend of your husband’s.”

  “Really?” I murmured. He sounded so serious that I almost got the feeling he actively disliked Ed, which seemed strange given that I’d assumed they were part of the same circle. So he was no friend of Ed’s and he wasn’t a friend of Ethel’s either. I wondered who had invited him to her party? Maybe he knew Julie. Ed and I had been to another party at their apartment last month, but Jake hadn’t been in attendance at that one. Maybe he didn’t know the group all that well.