“You think the Poles are incapable of persecuting Jews on their own, pact or no pact? Besides, Stalin was probably buying time,” Jerry retorted.
“So they say.” Jack responded smoothly. “And the same could be said for Hitler.” He barely looked at Jerry now, keeping his attention on Vinny.
Vinny looked evenly at Jack and took Beth’s hand under the table before he responded, which she correctly interpreted as, “Let me handle this.”
“Could be you are both right,” he said. “But don’t look at me. I hate the damned pact, whatever the strategy.”
Jack shrugged his shoulders, clearly realizing he couldn’t win an argument with a man who refused to fight. He grew quieter. He politely refused more fruit or coffee, responding almost exclusively to Frima. At one point he excused himself and went into the bathroom. When he came back, he looked even graver and avoided his sister’s eye. Beth chickened out. She would make no happy announcement of her living arrangement tonight. If Jack hadn’t guessed already, a short note would be enough.
The sobering war talk continued but was becoming desultory. Catching Vinny stifling a yawn, Frima spoke up.
“Well, I can’t speak for the rest of you, but I’m almost besotted with wonderful food, drink, memories. Jack, you’d better take me home before you have to carry me.”
Offers to clear the table and do the dishes were graciously shooed away, and the goodbyes began, the men shaking hands, the women hugging and kissing. Frima thanked Vinny directly as they were leaving.
“That was a truly great meal. We don’t get lettuces like those uptown where we are. And that veal! I’m sure my mother would love to have the recipe. Do you think you could send it to me?”
He put his hands on her shoulders and kissed her on both cheeks, European style.
“For you, any time,” he said, “though I have a feeling veal will be pretty scarce soon. Still, I’ll give it to Beth or send it directly to you.”
Beth stood by smiling. It was obvious that she, Beth, was not leaving with the others. No need to say anything to anybody about her living arrangements.
A delicious quiet descended, and Vinny and Beth collapsed onto the couch, loathe to start cleaning up after the feast.
“I think it all went very well, don’t you? Except for Jack’s MOT comment.”
“What?”
“Member of our tribe. He simply had to point out that you were the only one here who wasn’t Jewish. He doesn’t approve of you, of course. He thinks you are a corrupting influence, that you carried me off, seduced me, and are turning me into a godless red.”
“I guess he doesn’t realize you’re pretty capable of doing most of that by yourself,” Vinny replied easily. “Now, think how I would feel if he ran off with my sister? No, wait—bad comparison—I’d probably pity the poor SOB. She’d be after him to join the Knights of Columbus, maybe try a little flagellation.”
“You’re a real comedian.”
“But, seriously, Beth, Jack’s no fool, and he does have a point. There is a difference between what you can say among your own and outsiders. It’s like my objections to Amos and Andy. A harmless radio show, right? Maybe not in great taste, but funny, people laughing at themselves—except that both Amos and Andy are played by white men, so the show promotes denigrating stereotypes.”
“Oh, God, Vinny,” she said standing up. “No lectures now, it’s way too late!”
He rose, looking slightly shamefaced. “Well, I guess the only answer is to go to bed,” he said, patting her rear end.
“What about the dishes? Won’t it be roach heaven?”
“We’ll do them first thing in the morning.”
Beth grinned. “You are corrupting me, no question!”
CHAPTER 14
They were eating again, which was hard for Frima to believe after the meal consumed the previous night, but both she and Jack were devouring bagels and lox with enthusiasm. Perhaps love made you hungry. These Sunday morning leisurely breakfasts at Mama’s ample table were becoming an institution since Jack had accepted her offer of year-round work for the hotel. Frima was relieved to see that he was finishing his second cup of coffee now, quite at ease. Far more so than he had been on the subway ride home last night. There he had been silent and morose, and she’d worried that he counted her as one who was encouraging Beth in her “outrageous and irresponsible behavior,” as he liked to phrase it. He had made no such accusation, but she felt guilty anyway. Those sins of omission again. Well, what was she supposed to do if she was caught between these two intense, temperamental creatures? Peacemaking meant you omitted things and compromised and tried to see both sides of an issue—activities that Jack and Bethie couldn’t be bothered with. To hide her own tension, she chatted more than usual when they sat down at the table.
“That Vinny is some marvelous cook, Mama. He promised to send the recipes for the veal and the spaghetti. Also the salad dressing. You’d love his food. It’s delicious, but all quite simple, I understand.”
“The simpler, the better,” Mama commented.
“An ordinary man who can cook like that,” Frima mused. “Chefs, of course, but in a home it’s different.”
“It has been my experience,” said Mama, “that men who are home cooks usually have one or two specialties they are very proud of, but when it comes to preparing meals day after day and cleaning up after themselves, give me a woman, anytime.”
“In that case, Vinny had better get used to veal Marsala every day,” Jack said. “My sister can’t boil an egg.”
“Many people can’t,” said Mama.
“You know what I mean. Now really, Hannah, what do you think of this business of Bess sneaking off to live with this guy? This girl here seems to think it’s perfectly fine. She finds old Vincent Carmine Migliori positively charming.” He tugged gently on a lock of Frima’s hair to soften his words.
“I do, and I’m not in the least ashamed of it.” Frima retorted.
“It isn’t an orthodox arrangement, certainly,” Mama said mildly. “But you know Beth will never be conventional. Frima tells me that he is a very nice young man.” Mama appeared all candor and innocence as she spoke. “Tell me, what bothers you about them as a couple? That they’re not married?”
“For sure. But more that he’s not Jewish, and he’s a red, to boot. Now tell me, when has Russia ever been anything but trouble for the Jews?”
“I never heard Vinny say anything about Russia.” Frima said.
“Maybe not. He won’t talk frankly to just anyone. But didn’t you notice the Daily Worker folded up in their bedroom? Also he’s a great big fan of Vito Marcantonio and that West Coast agitator, Harry Bridges. That tells me a whole lot.”
“I rather like Marcantonio. I’d vote for him if he were in my district,” Mama commented.
“Uh-oh, you, too?”
“Come now, Jack,” she said soothingly. “Don’t fret about this. Beth will be okay, and so will you all. This is the twentieth century. People do these things, and sometimes it works out for the best.”
“I know, I know that. But Jews need to stick together, especially these days. Somehow, I can’t help feeling that under this guy’s influence, my sister will become an anti-Semite.”
“Now that’s unfair, Jack,” Frima said. “Vinny has never shown the slightest prejudice! And, remember, he was the one who apologized for the kidding around. He doesn’t want to offend anyone.”
“That’s part of his political line, honey, but what about those jokes last night? Listen to this, Hannah. You be the judge.”
Hannah smiled about the wrinkled holives. “Ah, Beth! She can be quite a wag. But seriously, Jack, was there any harm done among friends in a private home? You all laughed, didn’t you? Beth wasn’t being mean-spirited or unkind, was she?”
“Well, no, but she was getting there. You know as well as I that she can run off with a notion and go right over a cliff with it. Besides, this wasn’t joking around among ourselves. Vinny was
there, and he isn’t one of us. There are times when it’s us or them, and right now with the war, with what’s happening, it has to be us—only us.”
Mama looked troubled. “I know that your sister can overdo things—we all know that—but her heart is in the right place. And, Jack, don’t you see? If it’s only about us, we’re all lost.”
Jack had no ready response for this.
They were startled by Mama’s sudden spurt of laughter. “Forgive me, children, but I just had this thought. If Vinny is an anti-Semite, hoo boy, is he in the wrong job! A labor advocate in New York City, a negotiator, a leftwing activist? What would he do with the garment workers, to name just one contentious crowd. A whole lot of Jews, right? Quite a few Italians, of course, also. All these impassioned union workers with very strong opinions, and he has to try to herd them all in the right—I should say left—direction. He’d be an imbecile to undertake such work if he were anti-Semitic. Besides, according to Moe Ginsberg, a man whose brains and convictions I greatly respect, Vincent Migliori is anything but an imbecile and exceedingly good at what he does.” Mama got up decisively. “Enough gloom now. How about a Danish? I just bought them fresh this morning. More coffee, Jack? Now, how is school going?”
“Pretty well,” Jack replied, reaching for a pastry. “It’s a lot easier to organize my time, working for you.”
“Uh-huh. Also a little more money and space? Less quarreling? Maybe you could think of Beth’s moving out as less of a desertion and more of an advantage. And as for Vinny, who knows? It might all turn out for the best. So now, for a little business,” said Mama, decisively closing one door and opening another. “I may need you to come up to Ellenville, with me next Saturday. Could you do that and stay over until Sunday?”
“Can I bring this girl with me?”
“So where else should she be?”
“It’s a deal.”
“I notice that nobody at this table consulted me about how I want to spend the weekend,” Frima said.
“You’re absolutely right, and I apologize,” said Mama. “Do you want to go?”
“Well, yes, but that’s not the point.”
“Sorry, honey,” said Jack. “It’s just that I always assume you’d prefer our sweet haven in the country to anyplace else.”
Somewhat mollified, Frima smiled but remained silent. Jack spoke fondly about the hotel. Calling it their haven or sometimes their heaven in the Catskills. She was pleased by his romantic descriptions, knowing he felt that way because she was there with him, but she didn’t imagine that his feeling for the place could be deep. She was surprised at her own quick resentment that his attitude was too easy. How contrary and ridiculous she was! How could she expect him to put heart and soul into a place where he had spent only a summer? Even if he knew some of the story from her own telling, how could he experience the powerful meaning of it all? He knew, of course, that after Papa had died, Mama had almost singlehandedly saved the family farm. Like the heroine in a melodrama—a comparison Frima made completely without irony—Mama was the driving force behind every hard-won success that created Eisner’s. But those long sessions around the farm kitchen table, where Mama, Papa, and the adolescent Frima dreamed and planned, the false starts and worries, the endless work—how could Jack possibly fathom what it meant? It was a closing of family ranks, a defiantly optimistic response to loss. Also an act of love.
And here they were, sitting around a kitchen table again planning, but with Jack substituting for Grandpa, who remained firmly rooted in his little haven in the country. Now they were talking of improvements. With large parts of Europe and East Asia at war, there was a demand for both raw and manufactured materials. People were beginning to earn again, and they might be looking for a few more amenities.
Once again they spoke of putting in a swimming pool, a project Mama, Frima, and Grandpa had roundly rejected before in favor of the pond for swimming.
“Personally, I have always hated the idea of a pool, and I still do,” said Frima. “No matter what you do to it, it’s still ugly concrete and smells of chlorine. Furthermore, the fake color of the water is a blight on the landscape. What happened to enjoying nature?”
Mama sighed. “Well, yes, dear, but it might make us more competitive, and it looks awfully good in a brochure.” She said this without enthusiasm, evidently waiting for a better argument than Frima’s to talk her out of it.
“Well, if you don’t mind my butting in, I agree with Frima,” Jack said. “Not that I’m bothered by chlorine or anything. I’ve been in enough public pools to be immune to it. But aside from the building expense, you’d have a whole different atmosphere. People lying on beach chairs and lounges, jumping in and out of the water; they’ll demand more services—drinks, towels, snacks. You’re at their beck and call, as if you don’t have enough of that already. Besides there’s the maintenance and cleaning. People always worry about polio where there’s a pool, even if it’s not in the city. You’d probably need a pool guy. I don’t know what the laws are about lifeguards, but certainly there would be risks, insurance headaches. At the pond there’s a county lifeguard, and the whole issue is out of your hands. Also, while so many guests are away at the pond, the staff gets a respite, or at least a chance to catch up.”
“Smart boy, this one. I’m convinced,” said Mama. “No pool, and we’re all happy. Any other business to bring up?”
“Yes, there is,” said Frima emphatically. She was determined not to be taken lightly in this planning. “Just where did you think of putting that pool?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe a thousand feet behind the cabins? What does it matter now?”
“I’d like to put a kitchen garden there. Way easier to dig than excavating a huge hole for a pool. I know we get fresh vegetables from the truck farms, and this plot wouldn’t substitute for those; but I bet guests would get a kick out of corn, tomatoes, cucumbers, fresh peas growing right out in back. The kids could plant radishes—supervised of course.”
“A nice idea, but who will make this garden grow?”
“Who do you think? With maybe a little help from my friends,” she said, nudging Jack’s knee under the table.
“I can see it all now,” said Jack, grinning. “Potage de petite pois à la Frima on the menu, or perhaps le choux farci à la Frima to give the menu a little more class.”
“So you speak French now, college boy?” Mama gave him a sidewise glance.
“I’m a poor boy, but I’ve been to a fancy Jewish wedding, you know. I’ve been around.”
“When I want a tumler I’ll hire one,” said Mama rising from her seat and giving him an affectionate rap on the head. “You watch out, my boy. My daughter is an enthusiast and a romantic about farming,” she said as she left the room.
“And I’m an enthusiast and a romantic about you,” he said softly to Frima.
“I was beginning to think you were in love with my mother.”
“So whose mother should I be in love with? Mine? Listen, honey, let’s get out of here and find some of that greenery you love so much. The park or the botanical gardens, maybe?”
She smiled wholeheartedly now, and nodded.
“And don’t worry, I’ll make your garden grow. That’s a promise.”
The rose gardens had none of the fragrance of midsummer, being pretty bare in October, but no matter. It was the perfect place for Jack to pop the question. They talked of an April wedding up in Ellenville. He was sorry he couldn’t give her a ring now, but some day he hoped to. As if she cared a whit about that! All resentment and contrariness melted away. She wanted him to be about love, about closing ranks? Well, she’d got what she wanted.
—
“So, mazel tov, Frima. My own daughters should have such luck,” one of the ladies said. “Enjoy your engagement, dear, it’s the best time of your life,” said another of the gaggle of women who had greeted her outside the neighborhood bakery. There was a communal sigh from them. It was cold out, and Frima was eager to
get into the warm, quiet apartment, but she was well brought up, so she smiled politely. “Thank you, I will.”
So the vital thing was to catch a man—a matter of luck, not merit—and once you were married, it was downhill from there? Enjoy your engagement? Were they crazy, those women? They had only been engaged a month and their wedding wasn’t until late April, but both Jack and Frima had begun to wonder why they just didn’t elope. All the hoops they had to jump through just to get married. The only one who actually enjoyed their engagement was Mama, to the extent that she could exercise all her tact, charm, and management talents, while her daughter and future son-in-law, full of opinions and convictions, essentially wandered around helpless.
At first it surprised Frima that Mama hadn’t urged them to take their time and not rush into anything, for those maternal cautions of last summer were still vivid to her. But there’d been a lot of water under the bridge since last summer, and Mama had provided a lot of that flood by hiring Jack and weaving him into their lives. Also, since her mother was no fool, she certainly realized that their passion wouldn’t be kept at bay by anything so mundane as a career or a marriage license. Well, why wait for anything? Life was moving at a compelling pace with the war in Europe, jobs in the war industries at home. Would America be in the fray any time now? Grab your happiness while you can! Only thing was their happiness was in being together, not in an obstacle course ending in a wedding ceremony.
The first stumbling block was housing. Frima would have loved to live up in the country, as they couldn’t afford their own apartment yet. But she knew that was out of the question. Jack couldn’t commute to his classes from Ellenville. Naturally, Mama had a solution, and it was gratefully accepted. For the time being, until Jack was earning full time, they would live in her apartment. Mama’s large bedroom would be theirs. She would use the smaller bedroom because she planned to spend more and more time at the hotel. Grandpa was getting frail and there was so much to do. At the hotel, of course, Frima and Jack would have their own private room. They weren’t bound for a rose-covered cottage, but it was a good solution for now. Many couples lived in far more uncomfortable circumstances.
Bess and Frima Page 14
