Cafe Babanussa

by Karen Hill

  Ruby’s sister knocked at the door. “Can I come in?”

  “Sure, but I’m in no mood for joking around.”

  “Yeah, me neither. I heard the yelling. I’m sorry about Dad.”

  “He’s worse than ever lately. I have to get out of here.”

  “You’re right to leave, Ruby. But you should cut him some slack. Think about what he’s gone through with Mom.”

  “Oh for chrissake, he protects her way too much! She’s not some precious doll. Her illness doesn’t prevent her from having inner strength.”

  “But think of all the times she’s been sick. It’s been so disruptive, yet he’s always there for her. He works so hard to maintain a stable life for her.”

  “It’s too much. She needs room to breathe, too. He told her not to go back to work, that she didn’t have to teach anymore. But I know he loves and supports her. Jessie, you know I love him. He’s a good man. But I can’t stand the fighting any longer.”

  “Sis, it’s automatic with him. Remember, he grew up as the oldest child in a strict, religious household and he had to look after three younger sisters. He’s just doing what he knows best. Besides, he might be worried about you—and me, too? Worried that maybe we’ll become manic like Mom?”

  “I know,” Ruby whispered. “I have thought about that and I struggle a little with that myself. But I don’t want to not do things because maybe someday I might get sick. I can’t live my life that way.”

  “Oh, Ruby, you’re so brave. And stubborn, too!” Jessie hugged her. “Now let’s see those letters from Uncle William. I’m dying to read them.”

  Ruby opened the second drawer of the oak dresser and pulled out a flurry of papers. “Aunt Lettie sent me these. I had to really beg her. Plus, look, look—I have a photo.” The two young women sat down on the bed and peered at the slightly crinkled photograph that Ruby held. There was a dapper young man in what looked like a camel-coloured suit with a snappy light brown hat on his head. His face was cracked open into a wide grin, with dimples marking his lower cheeks.

  “Wow, he looks really snazzy,” said Jessie. “You can see how he’d attract someone’s fancy.”

  Ruby unfolded a letter, date-marked June 1930. “I’ll read it to you,” she said.

  Dearest Ella,

  I have been here in Berlin for several months now and I am sorry that I have taken so long to write. Europe and Berlin in particular have been an eye-opener for me. Paris is ablaze with history, and one of my favourite spots to stop and think was Notre-Dame Cathedral. I spent a long time looking at the gargoyles and thinking of the fate of poor Quasimodo. I know that this is no longer news, but Black men are treated with great deference here and much is made of jazz music. There seems to be a club full of American and French folk on almost every corner. Everyone is talking about Josephine Baker. I saw her perform at the Folies-Bergère and you can say that dance breathes fire into her limbs. It is a wonderful place, this City of Light.

  Berlin is an odd mixture of carefree and cautious. It is stately and chock full of gardens and parks. My favourite pastime is to take the train to Wannsee and read on the beach by the water.

  The National Socialists are waiting everywhere in the shadows; their presence seems to become stronger every day. They are so full of hatred for Jews and Blacks that I am worried that I will not be able to stay if they get into power. This makes my stay bittersweet and I vow to make the most of my days. In any case, my musical studies take up most of my time. My singing voice is getting stronger every day. The hours of leisure that do come my way are spent in museums, clubs and the theatre.

  I have a young German friend, Heinrich, who accompanies me most places I go and acts as a guide. There is one place we frequent, known as the Eldorado. My guess is that its mood would be too boisterous for your wise ways.

  Hope all is well with you and the family.

  Your loving brother, William

  Jessie clapped her hands. “Isn’t it amazing that he saw Josephine? I’m so jealous!”

  “There’s at least two places for me to look up on my travels,” Ruby said. She lay back on the bed and thought about her uncle. Her eyes strayed to a family picture on the wall. The girls wore matching snowsuits and stood with their dad. Ruby longed to see Berlin and Paris. She longed for the days when their world was simpler, if not perfect.

  Ruby’s feet went crunch, crunch, crunch through the snow. She held on to her father’s hand tightly, her fingers and palms covered by hand-woven red wool mittens. In her father’s other fist was the rope for the toboggan that bounced along behind them. The houses had big snow-covered lawns, with little Japanese cherry trees popping up along the boulevard. Ruby loved that the snow was like a blanket, protecting the grounds from the wintry winds. She skipped along the sidewalk, still grasping her father’s hand. “What kind of tree will we get, Daddy? Can we get a big one?”

  Her father answered, “We will see, my dear, we will see.”

  As they reached the bottom of the street they rounded the corner and then stood in front of a small plaza with a restaurant, a grocery store and a drug store. In the parking lot was a large fenced-in area full of Christmas trees. Ruby marvelled at all the different sizes and types. She pulled off her mittens so she could feel the needles in her hands. “Daddy, how ’bout this one?” she yelped every few minutes. Her father kept looking around. Finally he made a decision, choosing a medium-size balsam fir that was full around the middle and tapered to a perfect tip. He went to get some help, Ruby following behind him.

  The man dressed like Santa would not look her father in the eye. Instead, he turned to help someone else who had come after them. Her father waited patiently and then asked for assistance again. And once again, the man turned away to help another customer. Ruby tugged at his hand. “Daddy, ask him to get our tree for us!”

  Ruby’s father mumbled something about how not everyone was free in this world and what had happened to the spirit of Christmas?

  The man snapped to attention and gave him a dirty look. “Okay, buddy, whaddaya want?”

  “I’d like to purchase this tree and I’d like to be treated politely like anyone else while I do so.”

  “I wouldn’t have expected you people to be out in this kind of weather. Better get on home.”

  Ruby’s father refused to reply. Ruby tugged at his coat. “What does that mean, Daddy? Why do we have to get on home?” She turned to the man. “Mister, you’re not Santa, you’re mean. Santa’s not like that.”

  Ruby watched with a kind of horror as the man’s face turned a purply pink. “Get out of here now,” he sputtered.

  Ruby’s father said quietly, “Sir, where is your Christmas spirit?” Then put a couple of dollars down on the wooden table, plunked their tree on the toboggan and led Ruby away from the parking lot.

  “Ruby, you were right—that was a very mean man. Unfortunately, some people are cruel and don’t like Black people. But don’t you worry. We won’t let him ruin our day.” Then he chased her all the way back up the hill, the toboggan swinging to and fro behind him. Ruby laughed as she watched her father’s glistening brown face bobbing up and down in the sea of white that surrounded them.

  Ruby had been lying on top of the bed and now she went to snuggle under the thick, brightly embroidered duvet from Tibet that her mother had bought on one of her shopping sprees. Over the years, Louise Edwards had been prone to bouts of mania and depression, diagnosed as bipolar disorder, but these episodes seemed to be receding as she approached middle age.

  One time, Ruby’s mom had lost her wits when her father had been away on a business trip. Jessie had been the one to phone him and whisper that Mama wasn’t well—one moment she would be short-tempered and the next cuddling her girls, laughing and smiling and full of love. You just didn’t know who she was going to be from one minute to the next. She was also spending a lot of money on new decorations for the house. She had bought a huge painting of a nude woman, which she hung in the living room.
As soon as Dad arrived home, he took it down and marched it right back to the store where it had been bought. Her mom ended up in the hospital that time. Ruby was ten.

  When she went to visit her at the hospital, her mother started wailing that she loved her so much, and then a split second later she ran down the hall screaming and banging on walls. Ruby didn’t know who this woman was; she didn’t recognize her and was afraid of her, of whatever she had become. Ruby sat there nervously waiting for her real mother to return, not knowing what to do. The nurse brought her mom back, but Ruby didn’t want to stay anymore, and the nurse told her that it would be better if she left since her mother needed some rest.

  Ruby was relieved to be able to go. This woman wasn’t her mother.

  Her father never talked to his daughters about what was wrong. Ruby guessed that he was too proud to admit that she wasn’t perfect. Maybe he was scared, too; he didn’t know how to explain any of it to his daughters and so just kept things hush-hush. Ruby realized that it was probably this same fear that was driving him to keep her so close to home.

  When Ruby went back to the kitchen later that afternoon, her mother was busy fixing a salad for dinner. “I thought we could have the rest of the soup with this for dinner,” she said.

  Ruby pulled the soup out of the fridge and found a piece of baguette that was left over from lunch. “I’ll make garlic bread,” she said, grabbing a nearby mortar and pestle. As she pounded the garlic, she said: “Are you happy, Mom?”

  Ruby’s mother looked at her daughter and sighed. “Is this a roundabout way about asking about me and your father? Right out of left field, eh? Ruby, there are always kinks to work out in a marriage. You can never find that perfect person. Your father may have his faults, but I know he loves me and cares for me. That’s as much as I can ask for.”

  “No, Mom, he should treat you more equitably, and he should stop trying to keep me under his wing.”

  “Your father has stood by me all these years, even when I wasn’t well. But what you’re really angry about is you, isn’t it? We’ll have to try to talk some sense into him.”

  “I don’t know how, but in any case, he won’t stop me from going.” Ruby had begun smearing garlic and butter onto the bread when Jessie walked in.

  “I’m starving. Is it almost ready?”

  “You still here? Just hang on for ten minutes, and there’ll be food.” Ruby pulled knives, forks and spoons from the drawer.

  Her father came in and sat down at his usual place at the end of the table. “Smells yummy—I know there’s good food coming my way.”

  The mood in the kitchen was tense, and they sat down to eat in silence. Jessie asked her father if he wanted to say grace.

  “Rub a dub dub, thanks for the grub,” he replied. The only time they blessed the table was when they had visitors who were religious. When that happened, the girls would check to make sure everyone’s eyes were closed and smirk at each other across the table. The sisters shared a smile now.

  “You may have done all the cooking today,” Jessie teased, “but I sewed up a new dress for Mom at home this morning.”

  “I guess we’re even, then.”

  Ruby’s father looked up at her. “You’d be even more even with your sister if you worked on getting a good job.”

  “James Edwards, don’t you dare ruin this meal.”

  “Ruin this meal? How about ruin her life? That’s what she’s trying to do.”

  “Dad,” Jessie said, “for crying out loud. She’s only going on a trip.”

  “She can go on a trip any old day. I want her to get established first. Besides, I don’t want her to be so far away.”

  “That’s it! I’m outta here.” Ruby shoved herself away from the table and went outside to get some air. The flowers in the backyard were fanning themselves in the cool breeze, heads slightly bent. Ruby went over and picked some lilacs from the bush and then snapped two white peonies off their stems. She wondered if the plants felt pain.

  Her mother came outside and rubbed her daughter’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, honey. He’s just having such a hard time with this. He doesn’t want to lose you.”

  “He’s not losing me, for chrissake, Mom. I’m not disappearing off the face of the earth.”

  “Come back inside and eat with us. You’ll be hungry if you don’t finish your food.”

  “No, Ma, I’ll eat later. I’m going to my room.” Ruby went down to the basement and found a glass for the flowers. She lay back on her bed and stared at the ceiling, her mind going over the conversation at the table. The more she thought about it, the more she wanted to go immediately to West Berlin. Her uncle had studied at the Academy of Arts there until Hitler’s fascists had chased him out. When he returned to Canada, he and his partner did indeed move in with his sister, Ella. His sister refused to meet his boyfriend but let them set up house together in the basement, which had had its own entrance. Some members of the family said he was a bit of a scoundrel, mooching off them all the time.

  Her uncle Walter’s story piqued her imagination. What on earth was a gay African Canadian doing in Nazi Germany in the 1930s? It tickled her that she was the only one in the family destined—chosen?—to follow in his footsteps. She felt compelled by some crazy idea of cosmic karma to see if she could find his old haunts in Berlin.

  An hour later there was a knock at her door.

  “Who’s there?”

  “It’s your broken-down old father. May I come in?”

  Ruby sat up in her bed but then slumped back down. He knocked again, and finally she said, “Come on in.”

  Her dad sat down at the foot of the bed. Ruby rolled over to face him.

  Her father fiddled with his hands for a moment, head down. “Listen, Ruby, this is hard for me to say. I won’t try to stop you from going. I can’t anyway—you have a mind of your own and you’re going to do whatever you want to do. It’s just—I’ve spent so many years looking after you and looking out for you. It’s hard to let go, hard to realize that you have to head off into the world on your own. I still hope you won’t be gone for long and that you’ll focus on a career when you get back. Your family is here, and you are an integral part of it. What are you going to do there in Berlin, after you’ve seen all the sights? But in the meantime, I don’t know what else to say but be well, my dear, and travel safely. Let us know when you’re leaving.”

  “Did Mom tell you to say that?”

  Her father struggled. “Yes, Ruby, your mother and I had a chat. But this is me. Solo. Here to talk.”

  “It’s just so strange . . . don’t you remember when you were young?” Ruby asked.

  “I guess different people have different impulses. Mine was to get an education, settle down and raise a family. That’s what my parents taught me. Study hard, work hard, improve your life.”

  Ruby looked at her father and realized he had followed the dream of many Black Canadians. She stammered, “Maybe you didn’t go far away, but you still set out on your own. That’s all I’m trying to do.” She quieted her anger and reached out to her father. “Thanks for coming to talk to me, Dad. It means a lot to me.”

  Her father opened up his arms and Ruby slid into them for one last bear hug. He hummed a familiar tune that made Ruby smile. Together they sang as they held fast to each other.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Landing

  SHOTS RANG OUT FROM A TOWER UP ABOVE. IT WAS nighttime and everything seemed grey and bleak. A man’s hands, pierced and bloody, gripped a barbed wire fence at the top of a tall slab of grey concrete. He was gasping; his face was etched with desperation and terror.

  As a child, Ruby had sat with her father as he watched a film in the family room, and had ended up burrowed into his lap, too scared to watch the rest of the movie. Her father had told her it was about spies in Berlin, but she hadn’t really known what that meant. He had shooed her away, and she went off thinking that Berlin seemed like a horrible place. This early image of Berlin haunted her now, al
ong with the romantic associations she had of her uncle, so she delayed her descent into the complete unknown by stopping over in Paris for a week to soak up the sights and sounds of the French capital.

  Ruby touched down in Paris mid-morning, mid-week. Her parents had taken her to the airport the night before and there had been repeated teary goodbyes. Her first transatlantic flight had felt long and cramped, and it was a relief to disembark into the busy airport. Ruby had chosen a simple pension on Rue de Nesle on the Left Bank, and she admired the quirky decorations and artwork when she arrived to drop off her bags. There was no restaurant or café at the hotel, so she walked down the cobblestone road, which burst out onto a large square. She happily noted there were at least four cafés with patios stretching into its hub. She sat down at La Pleine Lune and soon she was munching on a chocolate croissant and sipping a grand crème as she took in her surroundings. She tried to imitate the French and their very essence of nonchalance by just glancing at the people all around her, but there was so much to see. She noticed a slight young man with wavy blond hair staring at her on and off from the other side of the patio. He waved at her. She waved back. As she got up to go, she wondered if he was from around here and whether she’d ever see him again.

  Ruby hopped onto the Métro at Odéon and found her way to the Jardin du Luxembourg. The air was fresh in the park and the sun now high in the sky, casting thick rays of gold over the beds of flowers. She feasted on the bright array of colours as she strolled around. She bent to touch flowers as if she were talking to them. As she took in their scent she felt she was inhaling the promise of the city. It helped to lift the fatigue settling down on her, so she decided to remain in the open air and go on to Père Lachaise Cemetery. She had heard that it was beautiful, full of the graves of the famous amidst bounteous nature. In particular, she wanted to visit the graves of Colette, Guillaume Apollinaire and then Jim Morrison.

  During the week that followed, Ruby always had breakfast at La Pleine Lune before heading out to explore the city. She loved Paris, but she began to feel lonely and wished she had someone to share her experiences with. How would she cope in Berlin? Her confidence began to ebb. Maybe she wasn’t quite as independent as she had thought. But she was determined not to go crawling back to her father so soon; it was important to prove she was capable of surviving on her own.