Bess and Frima

by Alice Rosenthal

  “I’ll say.” Frima was amazed at her own ability to restore outward calm to herself. She was getting good at it. “Beth, would it be all right if we waited until the afternoon for me to pose? I need to get a little exercise.”

  “No problem. I would actually prefer to work when the living room light is better. I’ll need to work on your hands at the piano, and hands are always a challenge for me. Besides we should wait until your mother isn’t around.”

  “Join me for a walk?”

  “Sure.”

  They walked in silence for a while, and Frima assumed that neither of them wanted to bring up the tensions of the weekend. When Beth did begin to talk, she surprised Frima.

  “You know it’s so sweet to see Eduardo with the kids. I think he misses Manuel, his son, more than he is willing to say. I also wonder if I’m not depriving him of a great happiness in not having a child with him. But I still don’t feel easy about having a baby, and I don’t know if I ever will be. It makes me feel so guilty.

  “It must be a shared happiness, Bethie,” Frima said with feeling. “You should never have a child if you don’t want one. Especially to please someone else! Every child should be planned and wanted by both parents—but especially the mother.”

  Beth looked at her quizzically, surprised that Frima was so emphatic. It was on the tip of her tongue to say she sounded just like Judith Ginsburg, but considering what she’d learned yesterday, she thought better of it.

  “Yet you had Lena without planning—forgive my frankness—and she seems a happy, thriving child.”

  “True, but she was not unwanted. That’s the most important thing. I wanted both my children, and so did Jack. I’m not saying that either of us thought things out very clearly, and I’m just as capable of doing something against my inclination or judgment because my man wanted it—that should be quite apparent—but that doesn’t mean I don’t know what’s right. A child is too important. If you don’t want it, don’t get pregnant.”

  “Would you have another child, Frima?” Beth didn’t look at her as she asked this.

  “I think not.”

  “Not even if Jack really wanted one?”

  “Frankly, I don’t think he gets to decide. I’d never have a child against my will.”

  “Would you have an abortion?”

  “You’re not asking me all these questions because you’re pregnant, are you?”

  “I’m not.”

  “Well, then, all I can say is I plan on not having to confront that situation, and I do what I need to prevent it. Still, if I had an accidental pregnancy and my only decent or reasonable choice was to end it, I would do so—and early—probably before the man in question knew anything about it.” Frima stopped right there, suddenly conscious of what she was saying. The man in question? This was her husband she was talking about. The two women walked on in silence for a few minutes.

  “You’re not very happy with Jack, are you?” Beth asked this softly, understanding with certainty that this was true. “Don’t be angry with me for asking, and don’t answer if you don’t want to—if you feel it’s none of my business.”

  “It is your business. He’s your brother. And no, I’m not very happy with him at the moment, but that has nothing to do with my advice to you. Have a baby when and if you want one and are happy to care for it and cherish it. And not a moment sooner.”

  “You know, Frima,” Beth resumed haltingly, “if you feel that you had to leave Jack, it would be okay with me—not that I’m encouraging you to do any such thing. I just wanted you to know that it wouldn’t change the way I feel about you, and I would try to help, if you would let me; and I think Eduardo would feel the same.”

  Frima was touched. “Thank you for that, Bethie. Really. But please don’t think I have any intention of leaving Jack. Or he, me. Things are a little rocky just now. It happens in every marriage, according to the agony columns. Nothing serious.”

  “Because of me and Eduardo?”

  “Well, no, not entirely. That’s just the usual fireworks. We disagree over some things. What couple doesn’t?”

  “And if we were at some future time to have a baby out of wedlock, Eduardo and I, you would be happy for us? Consider it family?”

  “Gladly. What a silly question!”

  “Not so silly. Jack and my parents would probably shun it as a bastard.”

  “If they did it would be their loss.” This was not something Frima needed to take seriously at this time. There were enough real problems to grapple with.

  Although they were due to return to the city that afternoon, Eduardo arranged for Beth to spend a few more days in the country. Beth said she would be happy to take the bus back to the city Thursday morning. It would be like old times. In the meantime, Beth and Frima told Mama very firmly that they would help in the office mornings so that she could go off with her husband afternoons to shop and plan their belated wedding trip to Europe. They would work on the portrait while she was out. By the time the four days were over, Beth was confident that she could finish the work in her city studio and that they could present it to Hannah at the end of the summer.

  With the departure of the visitors, Frima could almost see the aura of vividness and excitement that surrounded them vanish into thin air, leaving her once again heavy with unspoken fear and anger about her husband. But as the days passed and the visit faded somewhat, she found she was reasonably calm again. If the novelty of their presence was gone, so was the edginess and conflict created in her household. Jack returned somewhat chastened and more thoughtful of everyone. He regained something of his old engaging self now that his chief antagonists were out of the picture. Frima was loathe to disturb the peace of her last remaining days at the old farm acres she loved, and the family at Eisner’s drifted into what could pass as tranquility for the remainder of the season.

  CHAPTER 30

  “Frima at the Piano.” What to make of Beth’s portrait of her? Frima couldn’t say. She had no language for it. She saw herself suddenly as a teenager, when she and Bess would go to the museums downtown. Bess would always head straight for a painting, ignoring (and despising) the printed descriptions and analyses, the docents’ lectures. Frima found those aids interesting, and she would be a bit ashamed of herself for this weakness, since Bess declared that “the language of real art has no words.” That was the adolescent Bess, of course. The adult Beth would not be so severe and uncompromising. Still, there was something to this. Frima had known from a very young age that music was like that for her. She recalled that when she wasn’t yet in kindergarten, she had by chance listened to a simple Irish ballad sung in Gaelic and how her eyes had filled at the harmony, not understanding a word of the lyrics; how, later, the most subtle adjustment in phrasing or tempo could make something change from ordinary to splendid. Oh shut up! She wished she could turn away from herself in disgust. All this silent babbling. Words failed her? How about feeling failed her? She felt nothing about this painting. No more than for a blank canvas.

  Everyone else had opinions. “It doesn’t do you justice,” Jack commented to her privately. “I doubt that my sister has the technical skill or the patience for portraits. It looks kind of raw to me, though it’s probably very artistic and all that. But as I’ve said often enough, I don’t have the eye for that sort of thing.”

  Leon seemed very pleased with the final product, if for no other reason than Mama’s evident happiness with it. And Eduardo, whom Frima credited with real penetration, contemplated it often with interest and evident pride and pleasure. Beth had not allowed him to see it as a work in progress. The artist, herself, was reticent, even shy about talking of the work, as she always was—with her painting, that is. Only when she saw Mama’s response did her eyes brighten with tears.

  For Mama’s reaction was extraordinary. Of course, she was delighted with the sweetness, the thoughtfulness of Leon and Beth, the cleverness of the conspirators in keeping it a complete surprise. After she hugged and kissed,
made all the appreciative noises, she spent a long time in front of the painting with clasped hands and a quiet smile. Then she burst into tears, and Beth burst into tears and they hugged each other.

  And Frima? She was left out. They understood something, saw something she didn’t, and she resented this. A lot. The painting became something else not to mention.

  —

  The weeks had moved so fast, heading to the end of an era; a personal one for Frima. For the Catskill counties, it was still early in what would become the heyday of the mountain resorts: palaces and pleasure spas that would employ—and so finance the college educations of—countless waiters, busboys, counselors, and maids. The places that hired and introduced to the world so many comics, musicians, actors, singers, and dancers; whose golf courses and card rooms encouraged numberless business deals. They offered the dream vacation: ease, comfort, continuous entertainment. They would specialize in enticing packages for families with children, for honeymooners, for singles looking for the perfect someone to share your life with. All bathed in respectability: the American Dream, kosher style.

  Eisner’s was something else: it arose from the dreams of tenement and shtetl dwellers for a little place in the country; fresh air, a fresh pond or damned up creek to cool off in, abundant fresh food, some time to relax with a good book and good talk. Papa and Mama and Grandpa had taken that vision about as far as it could go. It was wonderful, but it was over. The new owners would undoubtedly change everything. If all this had to end, Frima was relieved the end had come. It was better than dreading it.

  They had spent the final week divesting the place of the family’s personal belongings. The piano was to be sold, even though Mama made a last ditch attempt to return it to Frima. “Is there no way to make room for it? I don’t see why Jack couldn’t have a desk and things in the bedroom. Other people do that.”

  “There’s no way, Mama, it’s way too big. The kids want a television. All their friends have one or are getting one. I’m sick of battling with them about this.”

  “And Jack? What is his opinion?”

  “At first he backed me, but now he’s starting to change his mind. As long as it doesn’t interfere with homework time, he thinks it’s okay. He says not having one would only make them envious. Besides he thinks television is the wave of the future—you can’t stop progress, et cetera.”

  “This he calls progress?”

  “I don’t continue battles I can’t possibly win. I realize you feel bad about the piano, but I can find an instrument to practice on outside the house if I need one. I really don’t have enough time to practice anyway.”

  “It’s not my feelings I’m concerned with.”

  “You know, this is really my business. Jack’s and mine.” She said this gently, not eager to inflict injury.

  “Meaning, of course, that it’s none of mine. Well, I suppose it isn’t. But, my dear daughter, if it is your business, mind that you take heed of this one thing I say. You need to take care of yourself as well as your husband and children. And now I’ll keep quiet. I have no wish to argue.” Mama rose and walked out of the room.

  A couple of days later, she asked Frima to come with her to the office. They needed to talk privately, and, no, it couldn’t wait. Frima sat down trying to control her apprehension. She reminded herself that she was a big girl now.

  “You haven’t been sent to the principal’s office, so relax.” Mama began. “It’s just that for me, this is a time in life when financial planning becomes more important. You understand that both Leon and I have done well for ourselves in these hills, and though neither of us are millionaires, there will be enough money for us to help our children. We’ve talked about this seriously and have taken certain actions. Leon’s assets will rightfully go to his children, at his death. Mine will be dispersed somewhat differently. What I have will go to you, naturally. It won’t be a fortune, but it will certainly make things easier. And I’ve arranged things so that you won’t have to wait until I die, which with luck will not be anytime soon.”

  Frima smiled, relieved that Mama’s subject was not anything that she, Frima, need be uncomfortable about. “From your lips to God’s ear,” she said. “This is so generous of you, but you’re sure you don’t want to keep it for yourself? You never know.”

  “I’m entirely sure. Do I look like I need it?”

  “Of course not.” Frima expelled a breath. “Well, this is a happy surprise. We’d really love to have enough money to send both girls to college—they’re both so bright, you know—but we wondered if we could ever make that happen. This will help so much. Jack will be as happy as I am. Or does he already know about this?” she asked, suddenly wary.

  “Please! Give me some credit. I don’t make the same mistake twice. Jack knows nothing of this; nor should he, in my opinion. Don’t look at me like that. And let me finish. I have already arranged for some funds that are in trust for Lena and Rosalie’s education. The funds will be managed by a professional in a conservative way. I’m hoping there will be enough to finance their schooling as far as they want to go, but if not, they are bright girls and can get scholarships or part-time work, if need be.”

  “I hardly know what to say. This is so generous of you. But why shouldn’t Jack know?”

  “Oh, it makes no difference if he knows about this, as long as he knows he will not have any control over it. Now, Frima be reasonable. Jack doesn’t really know anything about investments and neither do you or I for that matter; we were none of us born Rockefellers. And you, my dear, you need a professional to manage your money.”

  “My money?”

  “Yes, that’s what I really want to talk to you about. If you’ll let me finish.”

  Frima was silent.

  “I’ve put some money in trust for you. The proceeds from your piano will go into the trust, you understand, but mostly it will consist of savings bonds that will mature at intervals and other safe investments that will yield dividends and interest. A law firm that handles our affairs, Leon’s and mine, will manage the trust and control disbursements.”

  A lot of fancy words to say that I have money but I can’t manage it, Frima thought, but she remained silent.

  “You may have money whenever you wish, though the trust managers will surely advise you not to be impulsive about it.”

  “As if I’m likely to be!”

  “The only stipulation is that this money is for you—not for your children or for Jack. It is to be used for your benefit alone. If possible, a married woman—any woman—should have some money that is hers, independent of anyone else, whether through work or through fortune. You may not see that yet, but you will.”

  “What I see is that you don’t trust Jack to take care of me and mine, and I’m not that sure that you trust me.”

  “Oh, I believe Jack will take care of your physical well-being quite willingly and conscientiously. But not your spirit, your soul. That, you’ll need to honor and cherish yourself.” Mama ignored the last part of Frima’s accusation.

  “You really hate him,” Frima said softly, things beginning to roil inside her. “You and Beth, even Eduardo.” Beth’s words flashed into her mind again. She felt panic rising.

  “Nonsense. Eduardo doesn’t hate Jack. He’s only interested in protecting Beth, and Beth doesn’t hate him, though she thinks she does sometimes. And me? I’ve always liked and enjoyed him—a lot actually. But, I’m sorry, I can’t always trust him.”

  “What has he ever done to you?”

  “It’s what he’s done, or may do, to you.”

  Mama was chipping away at her as if to reveal something awful.

  “You don’t know what happened to him. None of you do. You can’t understand!”

  “Nor can I, if you don’t tell me.”

  “It was at the camp, the concentration camp. What he saw—what happened to him.”

  Mama looked confused. “I don’t know what you mean. What camp? He was never an inmate—I mean, he coul
dn’t have been.”

  “Buchenwald. He was with the troops that came in when the camp was liberated. Things he saw—it was like shellshock. He ran away, and he didn’t remember anything for a long time. He came out of it, but he was so ashamed. He didn’t want anyone to know, and now I’ve told you and betrayed his confidence.”

  “No you haven’t. Not really.” Mama said this as if she were thinking out loud. And Frima saw at once that she would not receive a great outburst of sympathy and remorse from her mother, who went on, almost talking to herself.

  “A terrible experience, it must have been, and I’m truly sorry that he—that anyone—had to go through it. Still, he was a witness, not a victim, thank God, and without our soldier witnesses, how could that unspeakable suffering ever have ended? But, who knows . . . what do I know? I didn’t have to go through it.” She paused for a few moments. “It does make some of Jack’s behavior, his opinions more understandable. But that’s not enough. Understanding doesn’t mean condoning. And does it occur to you that in swearing you to secrecy, he puts a burden on you—you who are so loyal—for he doesn’t allow you the aid and comfort, at least, of talking about this to someone else?”

  “He didn’t want to burden me! I forced it out of him. He kept it to himself as long as was possible.”

  “I’m sure he did, darling, but be that as it may—” She interrupted herself with a sigh. “My God, you were both so young when you married.”

  Frima turned her eyes to the painting of herself that still stood in state in the office, where Mama would personally supervise the movers’ handling of it. She continued to look at it as she spoke.

  “You think I made an awful mistake in marrying him, don’t you? You and Beth. What is it with you two? She tells me it would be okay with her if I left him, that she would help me. You leave money to me—to me, not to us. It tells me you have no confidence in us as a couple, and neither does Beth. And that painting!”

  “Frima, look at me. Regardless of what Beth said or offered, there is nothing between us but our care and love for you. She is your sister in a way that most real sisters can only long for, even if she isn’t the most subtle of people. No one is saying you should leave Jack. We are only saying, look out for yourself, also. I’ve said it to you before, and I’ll say it again. Now, why are you so angry about the painting?”