He swore at her in Polish. “Coorva! Whore!”
A contempt came into her eyes. “Beer-guzzlin’ bum!” she snapped. “Yuh wouldn’t dare. Yuh know my mother would throw yuh out if you did!”
Slowly his hand fell to his side. “If I wasn’t such a good friend of your father’s when he was alive, I would have no care for you,” he muttered.
“Leave him out of this!” she said quickly. “At least he was a man. He took care of his family. He didn’t lay aroun’ drinkin’ beer all day.”
He was on the defensive now. She could sense it, and a triumph rose in her. “Your mother doesn’t want me to work the buildings any more,” he said uncertainly. “She made me promise when we got married. She said losing one man to them was enough.”
“You saw him fall,” she said coldly. “Was it your promise or your fear that keeps you home?”
The baby’s cries grew louder and more urgent. He stood there a moment breathing heavily, then turned away from her. “Go see what Peter wants,” he said.
The bedroom door closed behind her. He lumbered over to the icebox and took out a can of beer. Expertly he punctured the top and tilted it over his lips. Some of the beer ran down his cheeks, spilling onto his undershirt. He drank long and thirstily and threw the empty can into a paper bag on the sink.
He looked at the closed door. The baby’s cries had stopped. He stared at the door. She was a bitch, there was no other word for her. He wiped his mouth with the side of his arm. Nobody could do anything with her. It had been like that since the time her mother told her they were to be married.
He closed his eyes with the effort of remembering. It was only three years ago. A month after her father had stepped from a steel girder twenty-three stories in the skies.
He could still see the look of surprise on Henry’s face when he realised the scaffold that should have been there, wasn’t. It was a moment of paralysis of action. His lips started to form the word “Peter!” His hand reached anxiously for his friend.
Then he spun suddenly toward the earth. Looking down, Peter could see Henry’s cap sailing gently away from him, his friend’s blond hair sparkling iridescently in the sun as he tumbled over and over.
The beer came up in him at the remembered nausea. He held his breath for a moment, then belched. The nausea went away. He could see his friend every time he looked at Marja. The same white-blonde hair, high Polack cheekbones, and sensual mouth. And the way she walked, too, reminded him of her father. They both had the same sure-footed, catlike step.
He had first noticed it the night he came to propose to Katti. A month after Marja’s father had died. He had put on his best suit, the one he wore to church on Sundays, and bought a two-dollar box of candy at the drugstore. The druggist had assured him it was the best he had, and fresh, too. He had climbed the stairs to the apartment and stood outside in the hall, sweating from the exertion and nervousness. He hesitated a moment, then knocked cautiously at the door.
A moment later he heard her mother’s voice. “Who is it?” Katti asked.
“Me, Peter,” he answered.
A mumbled hurrying sound came from behind the closed door, then it opened. Marja stood there, looking up at him. Her eyes were wide. “Hello, Uncle Peter,” she said.
He smiled down at her, his eyes searching the room for her mother. She was nowhere in sight. The kitchen table was covered with pins and pieces of white material. “Hello, Marja,” he answered foolishly. “Is your mother in?”
Marja nodded. “She’s putting on a dress.” She stepped back from the door. “Come in, Uncle Peter.”
He shuffled into the room clumsily and held the box of candy toward her. “I brought candy.”
She took it gravely. “Thank you,” she said, putting it on the kitchen table. “Mama says for me to take you into the parlour.”
He took his hat off and stood there awkwardly. “You don’t have to bother,” he said formally. “I can stay in the kitchen.” She shook her head commandingly. “Mama says I should take you into the parlour.”
Without looking back, she led him into the long, narrow hallway that led to the front room. She was a white shadow dancing in front of him. He stumbled in the sudden dimness. He felt her hand touch his.
“Take my hand, Uncle Peter,” she said quietly. “I know the hall. You’ll trip in the dark.”
Her hand was warm in his big fist. She stopped suddenly and he stumbled into her. “I’m sorry,” he said, aware of his clumsiness.
“It’s okay,” she said, taking her hand away. “I’ll turn on the light.”
He heard her walk away in the dark, then a click, and light flooded the room. She was standing in front of the lamp, and the light poured through her white dress. He stared at her. She seemed to have nothing underneath it.
She saw him looking, and a slight smile came to her lips. “Like my new graduation dress, Uncle Peter?” she asked archly. “Mama just finished it before you came.”
He nodded, his eyes still on the shadow of her. “Very pretty.”
She didn’t move away from the lamp. “I’m graduating this term, you know.”
“I know,” he answered. “Your father told me. He was very proud.”
A shadow came into her eyes. For a moment he thought she was about to cry, but it vanished quickly. She came away from the lamp. “Next term I’ll be going to high school,” she said.
“So soon?” he asked in simulated surprise. “I still think of you as a baby.”
She was standing in front of him now. She looked up at him. “I’m going on thirteen,” she said. “I’m not a baby any more.”
He didn’t argue with her. He had seen that much.
“But I’m not too old to kiss you for the nice candy you brought us, Uncle Peter,” she said, smiling.
He felt an embarrassed flush creep into his face. He shifted awkwardly, not speaking.
“Bend down, Uncle Peter,” she said imperiously. “I can’t reach you.”
He bent forward, holding his cheek toward her. Her action took him by surprise. She put her arms around his neck and kissed him on the lips. It was not the kiss of a child, but the kiss of a woman who had been born for kissing. He felt her young body pressing against his jacket.
Clumsily he put out his hands to push her away, but accidentally they touched her breasts. He dropped his hands to his sides as if they had been in a flaming oven.
She stepped back and looked up at him, a smile in her eyes. “Thanks for the candy, Uncle Peter.”
“You’re welcome,” he answered.
“Sit down,” she said, walking past him to the hallway. She paused in the entrance and looked back at him. “I’m not such a baby any more, am I, Uncle Peter?”
“No, you’re not,” he admitted.
She smiled at him proudly, then turned and ran down the hall. “Mama!” she called out. “Uncle Peter brought us a box of candy!”
He sank into a chair, remembering what her father had said to him a few days before the accident. “Another year, Peter,” he had said, “and the boys will be after her like dogs after a bitch in heat.”
He shook his head, his fingers still tingling where they had touched her, a strange excitement in him. Henry must have been blind. Surely the boys were after her already.
He heard Katti’s footsteps in the hall and got to his feet. He was standing there, his face flushed, when she came into the room.
She held out her hand, and they shook hands, man-fashion. “Peter,” she said, “you’re too good to us. You shouldn’t have brought the candy. It’s so expensive.”
He still held her hand. “I want to be good to you, Katti,” he said huskily.
She withdrew her hand. “Sit down, Peter,” she said, seating herself in a chair opposite him.
He studied her. She was a good-looking woman. Big and generously proportioned. An Old Country woman, not like these American women who dieted themselves into matchsticks. And a wonderful cook too. He remembered the envy he h
ad felt every time Henry opened his lunchbox. The delicious sandwiches she had made for him. All Peter’s landlady ever packed was dried-out wurst.
He had always told Henry the reason he never married was that there weren’t any more women around like Katti. Henry had laughed at him. Said he was too set in his ways to try to please any woman.
But it wasn’t so. It was just that any woman wouldn’t please him. Katti was the kind of woman that could make him happy.
“I’m making some fresh coffee for you,” she said.
“You shouldn’t bother,” he said awkwardly. “I don’t want you should trouble for me.”
“It’s no bother,” she answered.
They sat there silently for a few minutes, then she slipped into Polish. “You like Marja’s new dress?”
He nodded, unconsciously answering her in the same tongue.
“She’s a big girl now.”
Katti agreed. “Yes. She graduates on Friday.”
“I know,” he said quickly. “Henry had told me.”
Tears sprang into her eyes, and she averted her face.
“I’m sorry,” he said apologetically. “I didn’t mean—”
She waved her hand. “I know.” The tears continued to run down her cheeks. “Things get too much for me sometimes, and I can’t get used to it. I don’t know what to do. Henry always knew.”
He was on his feet looking down at her. That was what he meant by an Old Country woman. They knew their place, and that it was a man’s place to make decisions. A thought came to him. “Yes,” he said solemnly. “He always used to say to me: ‘Peter, if anything happens, look after Katti and the baby for me’.”
The tears stopped as quickly as they had come. Katti looked at him with wide eyes. “He did?” she breathed in a voice filled with wonder.
He nodded silently.
“Is that why you come to see us twice a week?” she asked.
“At first it was, Katti,” he said, a sudden daring in him. “But not now.”
She dropped her eyes to the floor. “Now why do you come?” she asked in a hushed voice.
“To see you, Katti,” he said, feeling bolder than he ever had in his life. “I want to make a home for you and Marja.”
A long moment passed before she spoke. Then her hand sought his. “Peter, you’re so good to us.”
Later, when the coffee was ready, they went into the kitchen. The pins and material had been cleared from the table, and Marja, who had changed her dress, was seated there doing her home work. The open box of candy was in front of her, and chocolate was smeared on her mouth.
She smiled at him. “The candy is delicious, Uncle Peter.”
“I’m glad you like it, child,” he said.
Katti had gone over to the stove. “Marja,” she said over her shoulder as she poured the coffee, “how would you like Uncle Peter as a father?”
Peter saw the child’s eyes widen. There was an expression there he couldn’t fathom. “What do you mean, Mama?” she asked in a suddenly hurt voice.
Katti was smiling as she brought the coffee to the table. “I mean your Uncle Peter and me,” she said. “We’re going to get married.”
“Oh, no!” Marja’s voice was an anguished cry.
They both stared at her in surprise. She was standing, and the box of candy spilled to the floor in front of her.
Katti’s voice grew stern. “Marja,” she snapped, “you don’t understand now, but you will when you grow up. It’s not good for a woman to be alone without a man to take care of her and the children.”
Marja was crying. “But, Mama! We were getting along. The two of us. We don’t need nobody.” She wiped at her eyes with her hands. “Nobody can take Papa’s place.”
Katti’s voice was still gentle. “Nobody will, my child. It’s just that Uncle Peter wants to be good to us. He loves us and wants to take care of us.”
Marja turned to him savagely. “I don’t believe it!” she screamed. “He’s a funny, dirty, little black man, not like Papa at all.”
Katti’s voice grew stern. “Marja,” she snapped, “you mustn’t talk like that to your new father.”
“He’s not my father!” Marja shouted. “And he never will be!” She turned and ran into her room just off the kitchen and slammed the door.
They stared at each other helplessly after she left. Silently Peter sat down at the table. She’s wild, he was thinking. Henry had been right when he said Marja had a temper. She would need some handling. He would take care of her after they were married. A few red marks on that pretty little behind and she would be all right.
Katti came around the table and put her hand on his shoulder. “Don’t feel bad, Peter,” she said. “She’s all upset just now. You know how it is.”
Chapter Seven
THE DULL GREY light of morning, filtered through the tiny courtyard, crept through the window as Katti opened the door. She stood a moment in the doorway looking at her daughter.
She wondered at the sight of Marja sleeping. Awake, she was almost a woman, now she was like a child. Her features were relaxed and soft, her breath so gentle it barely moved the light cover across her chest. This was the Marja she knew, her quiet, lovely little baby.
She moved into the room and turned to the crib. Quickly she touched the baby. A miracle. He was still dry. He made a small sound at her touch. She turned quickly to look at her daughter.
Marja’s eyes were open. She was looking at her mother, all the sleep gone from her eyes. “Mornin’, Mama.”
Katti didn’t answer. She remembered how she had worried yesterday when Marja didn’t come home from school. Peter had said that she had gone swimming. She hadn’t come home until almost eleven o’clock.
Marja sat up in bed, the cover falling to her waist, revealing her nude body. She yawned and stretched, the flesh of her breasts startlingly white against the red flush where the sun had burned her.
“Marja! Cover yourself!” Katti exclaimed in a shocked voice. “How many times have I told you you must not go to sleep without your pyjamas? It’s not nice.”
“But, Mama, it was so hot.” Marja reached for the pyjama-top and slipped into it as she spoke. “Besides, nobody’s going to see me.”
“I don’t care!” Katti insisted. “It’s not decent to sleep like that. Only animals do it.”
Marja kicked back the covers and got out of bed, the pyjama-top falling to her thighs. She walked over to her mother and kissed her cheek. “Don’t be mad, Mama,” she said.
In spite of herself, Katti smiled. She pushed her daughter away. “Don’t try to make up to me,” she said. “I know all your tricks.”
Marja smiled back at her mother. “I went swimming yesterday,” she said quickly, anticipating her mother’s next question. “See my sunburn?”
“I saw,” Katti answered dryly. “How could I miss?”
“Francie’s friend has a place in Coney Island,” Marja explained. “It’s a house in Sea Gate.”
Katti was impressed. “Sea Gate?” she breathed. “That’s very expensive. Her family must be very rich.”
“They are,” Marja said. She didn’t correct her mother’s assumption that Francie’s friend was a girl. “They live on Park Avenue.”
The baby began to cry suddenly. Katti bent over the crib and picked him up. The baby stopped crying and gurgled at her. “Still, you should have come home to tell me‚” Katti said over the baby’s head to Marja. “I was worried about you.”
“There wasn’t time, Mama,” Marja answered. “We went right after school.”
“But you didn’t come home until after ten-thirty,” Katti said, placing the baby on Marja’s bed. Deftly she began to remove his diaper.
Marja took a fresh diaper from the top of the old dresser and handed it to her mother. “She wanted me to eat with her, Mama,” she answered, “so I did.”
Katti glanced at her quickly out of the corners of her eyes. “Don’t do it again,” she said quietly. “Your father was
worried.”
A cold look came into Marja’s eyes. “Why?” she queried sarcastically. “He run out of beer?”
“Marja!” Katti spoke sharply. “That’s no way to talk about your father.”
Marja went to the closet and took out a worn bathrobe which she slipped into. “He’s not my father,” she said stubbornly.
Katti sighed. “Why do you keep saying that, Marja?” she asked in a hurt voice. “He loves you and wants you to love him. He can’t help it if you don’t try to like him.”
Marja didn’t answer. She picked up her toothbrush from a glass tumbler on the dresser and walked to the door. She stopped there and looked back at her mother. “I’ll make Peter’s bottle,” she said.
In the kitchen, she put the baby’s bottle in a pan of water on the stove. She turned on the flame beneath it and went to the sink. Quickly, efficiently, she washed herself, then picked up the bottle and went back into her room.
“Give Peter the bottle,” Katti said, getting up from the bed. “I’ll go make your breakfast. I don’t want you to be late for school.”
Marja bent over the baby, holding the bottle in her hand. She laughed at him. “Want yuh breakfast, Peter?”
Peter’s dark little eyes smiled at her. His tiny hands reached for the bottle, a smile splitting his toothless mouth.
“Yuh’re so pretty,” she said, putting the bottle to his mouth.
He gurgled happily, his lips closing over the long rubber nipple. A tiny trickle of milk ran down from the corner of his mouth.
“Slob,” Marja laughed, wiping him with the towel she still held in her hand. She looked down at him. “Think you can keep from falling off the bed while Marja gets dressed?” she asked.
Peter sucked happily at the bottle.
She straightened up, the baby’s dark eyes following her. “I guess you can manage,” she said, smiling. She went over to the dresser and took out some clothing.
She threw off the bathrobe and slipped out of the pyjama-top. Deftly, in almost the same motion, she stepped into her panties and reached for the brassiere on the dresser. A flash of light caught her eye, and she looked into the mirror over the dresser.
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