The Girl With the Glass Heart: A Novel

by Daniel Stern

  How could one feel so sad, she wondered, and yet not upset or desperate? When her mother was sad, or depressed, as Dad called it, she ranted and made such a fuss, or else sat in the kitchen and cried. So many people were sad. Not like Uncle Alec, who had a sad appearance but who was never really anything but happy. His long, thin face with its prominent cheekbones, tapering chin and gray eyes was like a mock-melancholy clown’s face. A little bit like Eddie’s, she thought.

  Eddie Roth was a boy who hung around the corner with Jerry Wilson and the others. Only Eddie was strange. His mouth fell open a little and he didn’t talk quite right. He was always looking at the clocks in the store windows and asking you what time it was and could he see your watch. The boys kidded him terribly, especially Jerry. They called Eddie character but Eddie never seemed to notice. Elly supposed he was sort of crazy. Like Alec’s, his face was long and thin and wore an expression of melancholy and in her mind the two faces sometimes mixed, became one.

  The door opened behind her. Rose entered and began to sniff. “Have you been smoking here, Elly?”

  “Oh, cut it out, Mom!”

  Rose threw an eloquent arm in the direction of the half-opened door and whispered loudly, “Your father. Mmm, I’d like to … Always afraid to do what’s right and what’s best. I never have a peaceful day.”

  Elly was instantly and furiously embarrassed. She knew every word spoken could be heard anywhere in the house. She made an agonized face and shook her head silently in the direction of the door. When her mother began to speak again Elly stepped to the door and shut it tightly. “Cut it out, Mom,” she whispered. “Dad can hear you. For God’s sake!”

  “If you had what I have to put up with … Listen, Elly darling, wouldn’t you like to move to Colchester?”

  “I don’t know. I really don’t know. Whatever you and Dad think is best.”

  Rose knew that behind this apparent acquiescence to parental decisions lay enormous reserves of revolt. This was Elly’s currency for immediate peace and with it she bought being “left alone.”

  “Well, do you think you’d like it?”

  “How do I know until I’m there? I probably would.”

  “It’s only fifty minutes on the bus. You’ll be living in both places, really.” Her tone was plaintive, in spite of the fact that Elly had offered no objections. Rose never trusted those who gave in too easily. She was accustomed to fighting for anything she desired.

  “Why don’t you speak to your father? Tell him you want to go. It’ll mean a lot to us.”

  “Like what?”

  “More money.”

  “Really?”

  “That’s right. Wouldn’t you like to go away to college?”

  “You know I would, Mom.” But the remark was a hopeless one. Max and Rose both disapproved of boarding schools and had let Elly know it as early as when she entered high school. But she said, “All right, I’ll talk to him. Not that it will do any good, but I’ll tell him I’d love and simply adore to move to Colchester, Indiana, population fifty.”

  “Don’t be smart.”

  “I’m not smart. You keep telling me I am but I know better.”

  “So if you know better, why don’t you get better marks in school?”

  “Because I’m too busy hanging around with Jerry Wilson and the kids on the corner. I’ll save you the trouble of saying it.”

  “Don’t do me any favors and don’t save me any trouble. Just do your schoolwork for a change.”

  “Okay, Mom.” Elly was tucking her tan beret over her ears.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Out.”

  “Out where?”

  “Just out.”

  “For a walk?”

  “Yes, for a walk.”

  “Be back in an hour. Harry and Sarah may be here for supper.”

  “Yop. ’By.”

  The blue-black atmosphere of early evening seemed to sift itself through the buildings across the street toward Elly as she stood on the front doorstep. As always she looked up to see if it was to be mainly a star evening or mainly a moon evening. Tonight seemed to be both. A thin crescent of a moon dominated the sky, but at the outer fringes of the brightness a few stars were scattered. She waited. Nothing happened. Still she waited. A few people passed by as she waited, like puppets in the twilight. Nothing happened.

  She was not quite sure exactly when it had left her, but she knew that a year ago at this time it had still been with her. She would be coming home any summer evening a little later than she was supposed to and she was apprehensive as to whether her mother would be up, waiting. She knew there would be no recriminations, no argument—just the click of the lamp, the vision of her mother glancing at the bedside clock and the little stream of light trickling out on the hall floor. Then another click and the floor was wiped clean of light. Then stillness broken only by the heavy regular snoring of her father. She would undress, knowing every sound she made in the small apartment could be heard by her mother awake in her bed. That was the way it always was.

  Elly would pause on the doorstep and, checking to make sure no one was around, she would light a cigarette. Then slowly, as in a ritual, she would turn her face upward and the feeling would begin like a beating in her chest, the exultancy as she gazed at stars like diamond-headed nails spat from a workman’s mouth. It was a respiratory ecstasy related at all times to breathing; it expanded her chest until it was infinite and there was a cry preparing itself all the way within her that told of the intimacy between herself, Elly Kaufman and everything else. The building behind her and her wakeful, waiting mother receded into nonexistence. She was related to the dark and this was the only way she could welcome and thank it for protecting her and making the future now instead of a dim possibility. The beginning of tears in the corners of her eyes signified the climax of the wave of feeling in which she was submerged. It would subside and, resting her head against the stone building for a moment, she would crinkle her chin a little in happiness and pause a while before turning back to the house and the waiting, punitive silence.

  Now she waited too, but with no real confidence. She had waited too many times already, with no results. The entry in her journal was dated January 12, 1946, but that was only the evening when she’d remembered that she had not been pausing at the doorstep before going in at night. Perhaps it had been the coldness of the Christmas season, but it was still cold in January, and suddenly, as if someone had reminded her of a neglect, she had paused on the doorstep on January 12, 1946, and found she had lost it.

  She’d cried a little and the memory of the feeling had been so vivid she was sure it would return if only she waited long enough. But the night air grew freezing, and still no return. Then she was frightened. This could happen to anything you loved if you weren’t careful. And standing there, her nose growing colder and colder, she tried to remember what she had been doing these past few months which had tempted her into betrayal. Mostly, she guessed, she had sort of discovered Jerry Wilson, his long arms, his bright eyes and his persistence—calling the house two and three times a day until her mother embarrassed Elly by telling him to limit himself to one call a day.

  It was in these last few months that she had discovered that kisses could be long-drawn-out moments instead of quick brittle pecks. She had gone out of herself more than ever before, perhaps because of Jerry paying so much attention to her. For a boy who was what her mother called a “roughneck” he was oddly shy and careful with Elly. She was sometimes intensely fond of him and at other times, when he was being a roughneck, teasing Eddie Roth or telling lies to girls about what certain boys had said to them, she hated him. There was in him, she sensed, a great fund of energy that manifested itself only partly in his occasional cruelty. She enjoyed being part of, or even just near, that energy. She had tried time and again to explain it to her mother, but Rose refused to listen. You cheapen yourself when you’re with a boy like that. He’s no good and his family’s no good. So Elly had
given up, resorting instead to lies when asked where she had been.

  She gave up waiting. She had lost it and there was no longer anything to wait for. She was not quite sure exactly what it was that she had felt in those ecstatic moments. The precise nature of the feeling had grown vague. Perhaps I’m growing up, she thought, and grownups don’t have feelings like that. But that implied that they once had. She tried to imagine her mother or father in the throes of gazing at the sky, throat tied into a knot. It was unimaginable. Uncle Alec, maybe; certainly not Uncle Harry. She checked her lipstick with a pocket mirror and walked to the corner where the boys were sure to be.

  “Hi, Jerry.”

  Jerry Wilson paused in his conversation with Rocky. “Hi, Elly,” he replied. “How’s the girl?”

  “Okay,” she said, but he had already returned to his conversation after a quick look at her out of the corners of his eyes. She was pleased that he was shy. She leaned against the brick wall of the cigar store and lighted a cigarette. She was on the verge of something and wished she knew what it was. It was like pausing before diving into a lake or pool and suddenly realizing you weren’t sure whether there was any water there or not.

  After a few moments Jerry detached himself from the group and strolled over to where she stood chatting to a girl friend, May Evans. “Beat it, May,” he said smilingly.

  “What’s the idea?” May said in an injured tone.

  “Beat it, May, please.”

  “Well, that’s different.”

  “Where you been all day, Elly? I was lookin’ for you.”

  “Oh, we’ve been getting ready for the holidays. You know, I had to help my mother around the house.”

  “Oh. We don’t go in for that stuff at home.”

  “Are you Jewish, Jerry?”

  “Sure. I thought you knew. Just that we don’t observe any of that stuff.”

  “Oh.”

  “What do you, get a kick out of that stuff? Synagogue and all that?”

  “Yeah, kind of. It’s fun and the music’s nice. You like music don’t you? Come on, of course you do.”

  “Well, some.” He lounged his tall, skinny boy’s body against the wall, closer to Elly. “You gonna be around later?”

  “I don’t know—”

  He grabbed her arm and squeezed it. “Look how strong I am,” he said, and squeezed it tighter.

  “Leave me alone!” She laughed, feeling a twinge of anger.

  “You gonna be around later?” he said threateningly, still holding onto her arm.

  “All right, Jerry, I’ll be here,” she shouted. “Now will you let go my arm?” He dropped it and glanced over to see if Rocky and the boys had noticed the interplay. They had and were grinning at one another. Maybe Mom’s right, Elly thought: He’s a funny boy.

  “Hey, here comes Eddie. Hey, Eddie, how’s the boy?”

  “Hiya, character.”

  Eddie Roth had appeared at the corner and Elly knew what would come now—the kidding, the tricks played on the poor half-wit. She couldn’t stay around to watch. “I’ll see you later, Jerry.”

  “Hey, where you goin’? You’ll miss all the fun.”

  “Some fun! Why don’t you pick on someone your size?”

  “My size! Look at him. He’s twenty inches taller than me. What are you, kiddin’?”

  “I’ll see you later, Jerry. Leave him alone, will you?”

  “All right, boys. Lay off Eddie. Let’s all be nice to him. For Elly. Okay?”

  They all laughed assent and one boy began to stroke Eddie’s black hair in mock tenderness. As Elly left, Jerry called out, “See you here at ten o’clock.” She did not reply but waved a hand in consent.

  As soon as she left, the boys turned their attention to Eddie.

  “Hey, character,” Jerry said, pointing in the direction in which Elly had walked, “how’d you like a little of that, eh? How’d you like it?”

  Eddie smiled vacantly, crinkling his little eyes until they almost disappeared. “Aw, who’re you kidding?” he said softly.

  “She likes you, Eddie.”

  “She’s got a nice watch, she has. I saw it,” Eddie said.

  “How’d you like to see more than a watch?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You know. I’ll bet I could arrange a date for you.”

  “With Elly?”

  “Sure with Elly.”

  “Would she want to?”

  “You leave it to me, Eddie. I’ll fix it.”

  When Elly entered the apartment the lights were off in every room except the kitchen. She threw her jacket and beret on the bed in her room and went into the kitchen.

  “So!” Rose said. “It’s about time. I’m just going to light candles. Where were you?”

  “Around.” Elly slipped into her place near the refrigerator.

  “Around the corner, maybe? Tell your father where you were.”

  “With the Wilson boy again, Elly?” Max smiled at her.

  “Oh, my head!” Rose adjusted the moist handkerchief around her forehead. “It’s killing me.”

  Max and Elly sat in silence while Rose lighted the candles in the large silver candelabrum, threw a dish towel over her head and, covering her eyes with her hands, began to rock to and fro a little while reciting in an unintelligible singsong the prayer for the lighting of the candles on the eve of the Sabbath. Then, as was her custom, when the prayer was done she stood there, while the candles threw flickering shadows across the hands which shielded her face, and sobbed quietly in a musical, high-pitched tone.

  Elly glanced at her father. He had broken a piece of chalah in half and was holding it in his hand, waiting for the ritual to end. She was embarrassed for him, as always, feeling that her mother had no right to carry on as if everything was so terrible when it really wasn’t.

  Rose uncovered her face.

  “Nu … What did you pray for this time—the new factory?” Max grinned.

  “Don’t be smart. Eat.”

  They ate the chopped eggs and onions and the scalding-hot chicken soup. When Rose brought out the roast chicken and placed it in the center of the table Elly oohed and aahed. “Oh, Mom. That was sweet of you. I didn’t think you’d remember.”

  “Prima donna! If boiled chicken isn’t good enough for you, then eat roast chicken.”

  The doorbell rang. “I’ll get it Mom,” Elly said, slipping swiftly out from behind the table and running to the door at the end of the long hall.

  A tall, skinny man, a big grin on his long face, stood there holding out his arms to her.

  “Uncle Alec!” she squealed and flung herself on him so that he nearly tripped backward over his suitcase. “Uncle Alec.”

  “Elly, baby. Look at you, look at you. You’re a woman! Come on, take me my suitcase. Where’s your father and mother? Is it too heavy? Give me another kiss. There you are, Max. Hello, Rose. You look wonderful. What’s the matter with your head? The headaches again? How’s your pressure?” He tapped his chest to indicate the area in which Rose had complained of a feeling of pressure the year before.

  “Alec,” Rose said, kissing him, “you have a wonderful memory. You never forget a thing. A regular elephant.”

  “Only not so much meat on him as an elephant.” Max grinned, throwing, with some difficulty, an arm around his taller brother’s shoulders. “Why didn’t you write, or wire?”

  “I didn’t decide till the last minute, and you know Rose would have fainted if I sent a telegram.”

  “Alec, you look tired.”

  “I’m not, I’m not. I flew. I have a friend with the air lines in L.A. and he got me a free flight to Chicago, then I caught a train to Indianapolis.”

  Elly took his topcoat and said breathlessly, “How was it? To fly, I mean.”

  Alec took Elly’s perfectly oval face in his hands and said, “Why, darling, it’s wonderful, but it wasn’t the first time.”

  Rose set another place at the small table and Alec was served the ea
rlier courses while they bombarded him with questions.

  “Have you been working?” was the first thing Rose asked.

  “I’ve had a few calls from Republic as an extra and I’m with a little-theater group that’s terrific experience. Rose, this soup!”

  “Are you getting married?” Elly asked.

  “Elly,” Max said, “don’t be foolish.”

  “I’m waiting for you, darling.” Alec grinned at her across the table.

  “So how does it look in general?” Max inquired.

  Alec pushed the empty plate away and leaned back, stretching his long legs under the table. He sighed. “It’s slow going. I’m a better actor now, though, than I ever thought I’d be.”

  “So let’s see you act in a movie, already.” Rose laughed.

  “Mother!” Elly reprimanded.

  “As a matter of fact, I’m on my way to seeing about that now.” With one hand he caressed a few pockmarks on his bony cheek. “There’s an outfit in New York that’s doing independent producing and they’re not using big names for the leads. My agent wants me to audition for them in New York…. Thanks, Rose, but that’s too much chicken for me.”

  “Eat.”

  “All right. Don’t hit me…. So, you see, it looks like a good thing.”

  “You spend three years on the West Coast trying to get into movies and then you have to go to New York for it?”

  “Yeah, isn’t it crazy, Max? There’s something to do with that I want to talk to you about later.”

  “Believe me, Alec,” Rose said, “a cent he hasn’t got.”

  Elly flushed deeply and felt the cords of her neck go stiff in a terror of embarrassment for Alec. She turned her head away from the table. Why? she thought. Why?

  “How do you know what he means? Answer me that,” Max said to Rose.

  “How do I know? I guess. So if I’m wrong, I’m wrong.”

  “I’ll talk to you later about it, Max,” Alec said, attacking the roast chicken. Averting his face from Rose, he found Elly staring at him as if her eyes had found a bottomless well. God, how beautiful she is! he thought. Has she ever been a child, he wondered, or has she always been this womanly, sitting there so poised with that deep stare? He waved a fork at her. “Hey,” he said, “and how’s Pasquale?”