Max looked pleased at the question. “I guess it was a hidden romantic streak in me. Believe me, I didn’t know from the Alps—French, Swiss, or German. But when I was a young man, there was a kind of music in the wind through these trees. You can’t hear it now. Not enough trees left.”
“Why Max, you old softie, you really are a romantic at heart!” Beth teased him.
“Was, my dear girl. For about ten minutes, maybe. Mostly hotel keeping is a lot of drudgery and hard work.”
“Still, a handsome resort of this scale and comfort is a proud accomplishment,” Eduardo prompted him gently.
“Well, yes, it is. But from me you won’t hear no Horatio Alger story or any such fairytale. I worked hard, way longer than factory hours, believe me. But without the others—I mean Moe Ginsberg and his kind—I couldn’t have made it. Personally, I think some of them are a little softheaded about the working class, even though I am and have always been a worker, I won’t deny it. But without the insurance cooperative, the credit union these fellows organized, the sharing of the risks they pushed for, I wouldn’t have this. That Moe, and Jake Eisner, too—I was sorry to see them gone—smart men. Jake, he should rest in peace, was just a farmer, you could say, but clever. A real head on his shoulders, and he knew how to get along with everyone. He was persuasive, could convince people to act together. And Moe, you think he’s just easygoing with his joking, but he’s an educated man who studies things: mathematics, economics. He is sharp as a tack and practical and principled both. They both hated this racetrack thing also. I’m sure that’s part of why they decided to leave. Then there was Judith, Moe’s wife, God bless her.” Max was still again for a few moments, his expression suddenly looking worried rather than indignant. Eduardo silently signaled Beth not to say a word, and Max soon spoke again.
“I don’t know, maybe it’s a good thing Moe is not here. It’s hard to figure—is he better off not knowing? Maybe I shouldn’t be telling you this, but they found the miserable animal who shot Judith. Moe’s wife—you know about her?”
“Who? What did they find out? Who found her? How did you find out?” Beth bombarded him with questions.
“Well, I live so close to town—I hear things from my suppliers, shopkeepers. You know, word gets around. I don’t know the details, and I don’t really want to know, but it was a local rube, a shit-kicker, the goyem would call him (you should excuse me, Beth), even though he was one of them. He made some kind of cockamamie deathbed confession, they say. A confession or a boast, who can be sure? He should live forever in drerd.”
“Did any of us know him?” Beth asked.
“I don’t think so. Though from the police you’d get nothing. They weren’t exactly dropping dead in their hurry to find the bastard, you should excuse me.”
“That’s what Vinny said. He didn’t think there would be any investigation at all. I was shocked he was so cynical. What did I know?”
“The worry is, should someone tell Moe? Would it help him or hurt?”
“I have no idea,” said Beth. She turned to Eduardo, her face questioning.
“I think I would want to know,” he said. “But that’s me. I wouldn’t spread this around, but I’d guess you could ask Hannah or Leon. They know him so well.”
“So, maybe, you could tell her,” Max said, feeling relieved of his burden.
“Let’s leave it for now,” Eduardo said pleasantly. “Beth and Leon are cooking up a happy surprise for Hannah, and we wouldn’t want to ruin it.”
“I do want to tell Frima about Judith,” Beth remarked, when they were on the road back to Ellenville. “Just not today.”
“Right. Now tell me about this dog. Rhubarb? Did you name it?”
“No, Max did, I guess. I once asked him why. ‘Who remembers?’ was all he said. I thought it was maybe because his skin and tongue had a pink, rhubarb-like cast.”
“Have you been pining for a dog?” Eduardo looked at her quizzically.
“Not anymore, really,” Beth answered. “It’s just that I always wanted one when I was a kid, but my father wouldn’t allow it. One of the rare things he was probably right about—a dog in a cramped apartment. Still, dogs have great personalities,” she said a little wistfully.
“All of them?”
“You know what I mean. They are right upfront, honest in their feelings. They can’t lie or be sly about anything. Give a dog a little attention and it is loving and grateful. Totally unselfish; not a mean bone in its body.”
“You’ve heard about a dog with a bone, of course.”
“You know very well what I mean.”
‘How about a cat? Do you like cats?”
“I never thought about them, actually. Do you?”
“I like both cats and dogs. I’d always had them around the house before I moved to this country. But they were companion and working animals who ate and slept in the kitchen or some outside shelter.”
“Like the other servants and peons?”
Eduardo grinned, appreciatively. “What I mean is they weren’t useless overbred creatures who sit on your sofa or your lap and share your bed, shedding hair, as they go.”
“Where is this all going?” Beth asked.
“I’m just trying to find out if you’ve been longing for a pet to keep you company and if I’ve been depriving you of it.”
“Well, it might be something to think about, if you want one too, but for the moment, I already have one overbred hairy creature in my bed.”
“Woof,” he responded. They reached the hotel and walked shoulder to shoulder to the front porch.
CHAPTER 29
To anyone looking at the two couples relaxing in the shade with cool drinks, they made the perfect picture for a vacation brochure. Except that not everyone was really that relaxed. Beth couldn’t contain her excitement. She turned to Frima.
“You know that drawing I began of you—‘Frima at the Piano?’”
“What drawing?” Jack asked.
“Something I did while you were in the city. Frima will explain. Anyway, Leon looked at it and he really liked it, and he wants me to do a painting from it. He’s commissioned me to do it. I said I would do it for free, but he insisted. He wants to give it to your mother as a surprise belated wedding gift. It has to be a secret. But I need you to pose for me, Frima. Maybe at some time in the afternoons here, while they’re away, and then some more in the city.”
“A painting of me? Why, I don’t know what to say. What a sweet man he is—how generous of both of you! So that’s why the three of you scurried off this morning. So you could plot.” Frima turned to Jack. “What a surprise!”
“Sure is,” he answered lightly, with a little smile.
Although she saw at once that he was making an effort to show enthusiasm, his face was clouded. Her spirits drooped a notch, but she refused to let him spoil the moment for her. Of course, Bethie, in her excitement, had managed to make him feel left out of the process, the decision-making. All she would have had to do was tell Jack first—or direct the conversation to him. Okay, so she wasn’t the most tactful person on earth, but couldn’t Jack be generous about it? Apparently not.
“I didn’t know you did portraits. A commission? Well, well! I know you’ll do your best to do her justice.” Jack took a swig of his drink. “Frima has a rare beauty that I imagine you would find hard to capture. I mean, she’s not very proletarian looking.”
He simply couldn’t stop himself, Frima saw. She felt like smacking him.
Beth looked at him warily. “Well it’s not meant to be a completely lifelike portrait, you understand.”
“Oh, I do understand,” he continued smoothly. “Being realistic is not your style.”
Before Frima could respond, Eduardo was already up. He stood for a moment behind Beth’s chair and put his hands on her shoulders protectively.
“Now might be an opportune time for Frima to sit for you,” he said gently. Then, not changing his tone, he looked pointedly at Jack. “An
d I’m sure that Frima and Leon and Hannah, of course, will know this painting to be a work of art and of love, and they will appreciate what an honor you are bestowing in creating it.”
“I’m sure they will,” Jack responded tonelessly. “Frima, if you’re going to sit for your portrait, I’d better find the kids. Maybe they’d like me to take them for a swim before dinner, since Uncle Lalo is busy.”
Left to themselves, the two women were silent for a few moments. “Well,” Beth began, “for a Beth–Jack confrontation, that was actually pretty mild. But why couldn’t Jack be happy about this, I ask you?” She seemed genuinely puzzled.
Frima expelled an exaggerated breath. “Because he felt left out. Because he’s a little jealous. Because he wants to be paterfamilias. Because the kids are temporarily full of Uncle Lalo and Aunt Bethie, and he wants to be first in their hearts. Don’t you know your brother, you knucklehead?”
“And because he is a horse’s ass,” Beth retorted.
Frima allowed herself a little snicker. “He has these moments, but I’m sure that Jack will be thoroughly ashamed of himself by now. And since all of this is about a wonderful surprise, we’ll all be hunky-dory at dinner, right?”
“Right.” Beth’s face brightened. “But admit it—wasn’t Eduardo splendid?”
“He certainly was.”
At dinner, Mama was curious about Beth and Eduardo’s visit to the Alpine Song and their reaction to it. Even Jack was interested; he remembered old Max. Since nobody would mention Leon’s surprise or the news about Judith Ginsberg’s murderer, the conversation was unexceptional.
“What’s all this about a race course in Monticello?” Beth asked. “Max didn’t seem at all happy about it.”
“That will change things, won’t it?” Jack commented. “Will it be trotters or flat?”
“Trotters, I believe,” Frima answered.
“Trotting, running, or flying, I don’t like the idea of racing,” Mama said.
“You don’t enjoy the sport of kings?” Eduardo asked her.
“I do not.” Mama replied. “Neither do I enjoy kings.”
“I love horses of every kind,” Frima said, “but I like to see them happily grazing in a meadow or racing each other for fun, not running to exhaustion for someone’s fun or profit.”
“That’s a nice romantic notion, honey, but horses are expensive as the devil to maintain, and they have to work to support themselves somehow. And, by the way, so do I,” he added. “Hannah, I’ll have an early breakfast with the kids tomorrow and head home just before lunch,” Jack announced.
“So soon?” Mama asked.
“I have Teachers’ Guild business. We can get a lot of work done during the summer, those of us remaining in the city, and I’m the new representative for my school.
“Is that the Teachers Union?” Beth asked, interested.
“Not yet. The so-called Teachers Union is completely commie, and the Guild broke away years ago—specifically to get away from the reds and the battling of their Marxist factions. And now the AFL and even the CIO are wising up and expelling the red unions.”
“I’m not sure that’s wise, to say nothing of just.” Eduardo commented. “This country already has powerful blacklists operating in this Cold War atmosphere. And then, of course, there’s McCarthy and HUAC, and now the arrest of the Rosenbergs—not exactly strengthening to a democracy.”
“Somehow I’m not surprised you would think that. After all, you do live with my sister, and she’s enamored of the comrades.”
“You have no idea, Jack!” Beth was making a great effort not to call him a pungent name.
“I’d like to clarify, if I may,” said Eduardo, turning to Jack, but putting his hand over Beth’s. He spoke coolly, as if he wouldn’t dream of disturbing the peace, but it was evident that he too was keeping his anger in check. “What I meant is that red-baiting is a perilous tactic for a labor movement, and in doing so, it is losing some of its best organizers and thinkers—even though I sometimes disagree with them, personally. And, yes, Beth and I might be called comrades, but not in the way you sneer at. We prefer to think we are intimate companions in the best way we can manage in our circumstances. And, by the way, it would be nice if you actually called Beth by her name. I have yet to hear you refer to her as anything but ‘my sister,’ with obvious irony.”
“She doesn’t like the name I call her, ‘Bess’—the name she was born with.”
“Well, then, you could call her the name she likes.”
Mama looked worried. “That’s enough! No more politics or arguments at the table. Other people will hear what is none of their business.”
“My apologies, Hannah,” Eduardo said.
Jack modulated his tone, as he put down his napkin. “It’s certainly enough for me. We’re finished aren’t we?” he asked Mama pleasantly. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got things to do.”
Nothing but a coma was likely to relieve Frima’s discomfort. Evidently Jack couldn’t bear to lose; not to Frima, or Beth, or Eduardo. Not to anyone. You thought everything was settled, but he just bided his time. After a few moments. Frima rose from her chair, saying simply, “I’d better follow him.” It was a necessary gesture, but she knew there would be no more talk between her husband and herself this evening about what had commenced at dinner, and she assumed the others would remain mute also. She left them to their dessert and coffee, if anyone wanted them.
Frima “had a headache” that night, and stayed in bed as late as possible in order not to join the others for breakfast. She refused to witness any sequel to the previous day. She didn’t leave their bedroom until she heard Jack’s car pull out of the driveway. She needed a respite from his anger and her own. Going directly to the kitchen for coffee and toast, she found her daughters impatiently waiting for her. Lena plunged right in, obviously troubled.
“I don’t understand what Daddy said. And why was he mad at us?”
“I’m sure he wasn’t mad at you, sweetheart. Tell me what happened?” (No respite, evidently.)
“Well, you know how I want a cousin? So I said to Daddy, I wish Aunt Bethie and Uncle Lalo would have a baby so I could have a cousin. And he said they couldn’t have a baby because they weren’t married and we didn’t have any uncle and probably never would. I didn’t know they weren’t married. I thought people who lived in a house together were married or, you know, related, like me and Rosalie.”
“Not always.”
“Why don’t they get married?”
“Because sometimes people can’t or they have to wait for a while. It’s hard to explain, but you’ll understand when you are a little older.”
“Boy, do I hate it when people say that!”
“I know, and I’m sorry. But it’s true.”
Lena hesitated, scuffing the ground with her sandaled foot before she continued. “Is Uncle Lalo a bad man?”
“You know Daddy said we shouldn’t call him Uncle Lalo,” Rosalie said uneasily.
“Is Aunt Bethie bad?”
“Did Daddy say that?”
“No, but he sounded like it, you know?”
“I do know.” Frima took a daughter under each arm. “Now listen to me, girls. Eduardo is a good man and Aunt Beth is a good woman and they love each other, and you. And Daddy is a good man, but you know when grownups are tired or a little upset, they say things that they don’t really mean. And remember Daddy and Aunt Bethie are brother and sister, and they sometimes quarrel. But then they make up, just like you and Rosalie, right?”
The kids were silent.
“And remember that Eduardo said Lalo was a silly name and also a secret name.”
“So when Daddy is there, he is never Uncle Lalo. Just Eduardo.”
“That’s right, Lena. You know that all the grownups call him Eduardo anyway.”
Rosalie piped up crossly. “Well, I want to call him Uncle Lalo—at least sometimes—when Daddy isn’t here, and I like it when he calls me Rosita or sometimes
Rosalita. I’m the only one with two itas,” Rosalie said, asserting herself. “And you, Lena, don’t you be bossy. I’m not a baby!”
Frima smiled in spite of herself. She always got a kick out of Rosalie defending her territory. She kissed them both and stood quietly with an arm around each for a few moments until she could feel them relax.
“Are you feeling better now? Do you want to join the other kids? Good. It looks like they’re going to pick blueberries, so run back to your room and put on long sleeves and pants. Lena, help Rosie, and don’t let her get scratched.”
She continued on into the kitchen to get some coffee, though what she felt she really needed was a stiff drink. Damn him! What Jack had said to the kids was cruel. She didn’t know he had it in him. No matter how rough their marital waters, she had always had faith in him as a loving, supportive father. That he had left her with the burden of soothing and explaining his behavior was a minor irritant compared to the stony fear inside her that she would have to protect her daughters from their father’s ruthlessness. She found that the hand that held her coffee cup was shaking, and she hastily put the cup down as her mother came into the kitchen.
“I heard Jack leave about a half hour ago, and Leon has taken Eduardo off with him somewhere. Says he wants to talk business with him—I’ve no idea what. Why don’t you join Beth in the dining room? She’s still at the table. The kitchen is still open, so eat something please. You look like you need it. Poached eggs on toast okay? I’ll have them bring it to you right now.”
Frima nodded, and Mama patted her shoulder, her face rather abstracted. She wondered if Mama had heard something of Jack’s little interchange with the kids.
Beth obviously had not, judging by the placid way she was pouring another cup of coffee. “I’m glad to see someone as lazy as me,” Beth greeted Frima with a languid smile and a huge yawn, immediately interpreted by Frima as meltingly postcoital. “Peaceful isn’t it?” Beth commented.
Bess and Frima Page 26
