Zabelle

by Nancy Kricorian

  Toros was horrified, too, and we spent the drive home trying to convince Jack to give the girl up. I cried, then Toros yelled, then I pleaded and cried some more. Jack was as responsive as a store mannequin—his eyes were flat, and he seemed not to hear a word we were saying. In fact, I think our attempts to persuade him to call off the marriage only hardened his resolve.

  On the eve of Jack’s wedding, I turned in my bed like a rotis-serie chicken.

  Toros growled, “Woman, if you don’t let me sleep, I’m going to be in a foul temper tomorrow.” He rolled onto his side and added, “Get some sleep. It’s in the Lord’s hands.”

  I envisioned Jack and Helen in their wedding clothes, standing on God’s outstretched palm. This thought calmed me, until a swarm of Fosters came running out of God’s sleeves, and I felt terrible again.

  “Dear Lord,” I prayed, “please prevent this catastrophe. Please save us from the Fosters. Let Jack come to his senses and forget about Helen….”

  Poor Helen. I imagined the look on her face as Jack jilted her at the altar. I wasn’t heartless. I knew that she loved him. If only the girl had been an orphan, there wouldn’t have been all those wretched Fosters as part of the bargain. I knew about suffering at the hands of a mother-in-law, though. I didn’t want to make life more difficult for Helen. She had probably barely survived her childhood among those people.

  I rolled onto my side. There was nothing to be done now. At least Moses and Sarah wouldn’t be present to witness our disgrace. At least the mother of the groom was allowed to cry.

  The rectangle of sky outside the window was blue, and the air that moved the bedroom curtains was mild. I had hoped for rain. I zipped the back of Joy’s dress and sighed.

  “Ma,” said Joy, “Helen’s a nice enough girl. It could be worse. He could have married the one in pink stretch pants I saw him with on Mount Auburn Street.”

  I didn’t say anything.

  “Think about the kind of women he met when he was in the army,” Joy added.

  I didn’t want to think about that. The Fosters were bad enough. “What about that family?”

  “He’s not marrying them.” Joy went to the dresser and picked up the brush.

  “Jack and Helen will be living downstairs, and the whole circus will come to visit.” I sat heavily in the armchair. I rolled a stocking and wearily pulled it over my foot.

  “You can have a headache,” Joy said.

  “A lifelong headache.” I finished with the second stocking and bent to put on white pumps. “Where’s your father?”

  “He’s in the living room.”

  “And Jack?” I stood and smoothed out my sky blue suit with white trim. It was a little tight in the waist. Too much ice cream.

  “He went out with his friends last night, and stayed at Danny’s.”

  “Up to no good.” I had given up tracking Jack’s comings and goings. He was a man, more or less, and he wasn’t my problem anymore, he was Helen’s.

  Toros paused in the doorframe, tucking a white handkerchief in his suit pocket. “I’ll be in the car. Don’t keep me waiting long.”

  I jabbed my hatpin into place.

  “It’s a wonder you don’t stab yourself.” Joy, who stood behind me, a head taller, adjusted her own hat in the mirror.

  “Don’t forget your gloves.” I picked up the white pocket-book and marched out of the room.

  We stopped on Nichols Avenue for Arsinee. She was our sole ally. The wedding would be small. Helen insisted on paying for everything herself with the savings from her receptionist job. Only the immediate family and a few close friends were invited. Forty Fosters and a handful of Chahasbanians.

  “Look at the three of you. Might as well be a hearse,” Arsinee commented as she climbed into the backseat. She pinched the back of Joy’s hand. “Let’s hope they’re happier on your wedding day.”

  “Don’t start, Auntie,” Joy said.

  Arsinee continued. “You couldn’t ask for better weather. I’ll bet Jack will knock them over in that white tuxedo. How long a drive is it? What kind of church do these people go to?”

  I turned in my seat, annoyed by Arsinee’s chatter, and snapped, “We’ve talked about it enough.”

  “I know why you’re upset,” Arsinee said, leaning forward. “They’re devil worshipers, and you’re going to be sacrificed on the altar, or better yet, you’re on the menu. Some tasty Armenian stew. I’d better watch out myself, I’m the tastiest one of all.”

  Toros, who generally ignored Arsinee, shouted, “Enough, lest God strike you down.”

  Arsinee rolled her eyes and slumped back in the seat. She muttered under her breath, “No one could ever accuse the Chahasbanians of enjoying themselves.”

  An hour and a half later we rolled into the church parking lot and past a cluster of Foster men in suits who stood around the back of a faded green pickup truck. The Fosters were drinking from paper bags out of which poked long brown bottlenecks. Because our family didn’t believe in liquor, no alcohol would be served at the reception, so the Foster boys were getting a jump start.

  “Drunken fools,” Toros muttered.

  Arsinee commented, “At least they’re not drinking in the church.”

  I looked at my watch: 10:45. In thirty minutes these degenerates would be our family.

  * * *

  As we entered the church vestibule, we walked into a cloud of coral taffeta dresses. The bridesmaids—several of the Foster sisters and two other girls who didn’t resemble them—were passing through.

  “Don’t you look nice,” said a fat Foster sister.

  “Beautiful day for a wedding,” said one with glasses.

  “You come with us, doll,” the Skunk said to Joy. “Wait until you see Helen’s dress.”

  Joy cast a worried glance my way. Then she was caught up in the swarm moving toward the stairs. One of the Fosters called out behind her, “Jack’s in the minister’s study up front. I bet he’s climbing the walls. Maybe his daddy could give him some advice.” A ripple of laughter rose from the stairwell as they disappeared.

  “A father’s duty,” Toros said grimly. He headed for the study.

  Arsinee and I went into the coatroom, where we were alone.

  Arsinee said, “I’d love to be a fly on the wall in that room.”

  “He’s given up wasting his breath. A few Bible verses, that’s all,” I said.

  “No advice about the birds and the bees?”

  I shot her a cold look.

  “What’s your problem?” Arsinee asked. “You act like Jack’s committing bank robbery and he’s made you an accomplice. There’s nothing the matter with that girl.”

  “What about her family? They’re drunks, hussies, and probably criminals. He doesn’t care about the shame he’s bringing on us.”

  “Try to look at it from his point of view. Haven’t you ever wanted something?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Haven’t you ever done something that might be against the Commandments, or cause a scandal, or make Toros angry?”

  My mind flew like a homing pigeon to a night more than twenty years before when I had kissed a man who wasn’t my husband. I hadn’t thought about Moses in a long time. I wondered how he was. I knew that he and Big Nose finally had two children. Those kids must have graduated high school by now, I figured. About ten years ago he had sent me a note that said, “In dreams and in heaven, we shall meet.” It was written in small, precise letters on a plain card. He hadn’t signed it, but I knew it was from him. I put the card in the bottom of my sewing basket, and after awhile I threw it away. I had never told Arsinee, and I certainly wasn’t going to confess now. Anyway, what did that have to do with Jack’s marrying into a nest of thieves? “It says in the Scriptures, ‘Be ye not unequally yoked.’”

  Arsinee clucked in exasperation. “You’ve gotten as pigheaded as your husband.”

  It was true. That Bible verse popped out of me like Toros was a ventriloquist and I his dummy.
I guess that’s what years of living with someone can do to you.

  * * *

  In a long white dress that covered her neck to toe, Helen looked lovely walking down the aisle. I barely noticed the stooped old man walking by her side. I got a little teary seeing Jack so handsome in his white tuxedo. I remembered the time he had set the sewing machine on fire when he was four years old. The boy was always into mischief, but he had such a disarming smile. Now he was all grown up, though, and he hadn’t turned into an arsonist, or a bank robber, or a gambler. He was a reliable partner in the family market.

  Maybe it was the country church, or the calm tones of the white-haired minister, but by the end of the ceremony I was filled with love and compassion for everyone. After the service, I decided to find Helen downstairs to have a little heart-to-heart.

  I floated down the stairs on a wave of warmth and understanding. I was a mother-in-law going to speak a few kind words to my new daughter-in-law. My new role made me think of Vartanoush, may she stay on her own side of the bridge of hair.

  “Mrs. Chahasbanian,” said Helen.

  “Call me Mother,” I pleaded, inspired by a sudden upswell of affection.

  Helen blushed, and her eyes filled. “You don’t know how much that means to me, Mother.”

  I patted the girl’s hand. “You look so beautiful, dear. Don’t cry.”

  There was a knock at the door. “Helen, are you in there?” asked Jack.

  “Come in,” said Helen.

  I turned to Jack as he entered the room. “I wish you both happiness.” As I left the room, I said to Jack in Armenian, “Sometimes I think God made you handsome to make up for the trouble you cause.”

  The reception was held at the VFW hall in the next town. We were seated at the head table with the wedding party. Danny Dedayan, Jack’s best man, was sitting across from us with his odar wife, and he winked at me.

  Arsinee whispered into my ear in Armenian, “This isn’t so bad, is it?”

  Then came the first toast. Fats Foster stood, swaying slightly, his suit hanging from his skinny frame. He said, “Well, now, we wish Princess well whether she deserves to wear white or not. And Jack, buddy, we don’t know you that well, either, but we hope you’re the man for the job.” He slumped into his seat. People laughed, and someone yelled, “Hey, Fats, let’s see what’s on the other side of your tie.”

  Fats belched loudly and got to his feet. He lifted his tie so its underside was displayed in front of his face. There was a naked woman with enormous breasts painted onto it. This brought a round of laughter and applause.

  I thought I was going to faint. I glanced at Toros, whose face was ashen. Joy blushed crimson. I couldn’t bring myself to look at Helen and Jack. I stared at the wilting salad on my plate.

  The rest of the toasts were mild by comparison, but I wasn’t listening. I felt as though I were sitting on sharp stones. I eyed the clock like it was my enemy. Because there was no drinking and no dancing, people got bored and began to leave soon after the cake was served. Finally Joy, Arsinee, and I got up from the table. We kissed Helen and Jack goodbye and headed for the ladies’ room. Toros started out to the car.

  Joy and I stood outside the ladies’ room, waiting for Arsinee. Bobo appeared from nowhere in front of us.

  “I’ve been looking for you,” she said, pointing a bony finger at me. Bobo’s hat tilted off her head, and her dress was wrinkled.

  Joy and I instinctively moved closer to each other. My heart started pumping faster.

  Bobo narrowed her eyes and leaned down toward me. “I don’t know who the hell you think you are sitting there looking like you’re too good to wipe your own behind.”

  My eyes widened. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I glanced around to see if other people were within earshot and felt relief when I saw we were alone. Then I realized I should be more nervous. What if Bobo had a gun in the purse she had slung over her arm like a dead animal? Joy placed her hand on my shoulder in a protective gesture.

  “You think you’re getting the booby prize, don’t you, because Princess doesn’t come from a fine family? Well, let me ask you, what kind of sack of shit are we getting? You people can’t speak English right, you’re dark skinned, and you’re from Russia. No one can pronounce your name. For Princess’s sake, I tried to convince Pa that Jack wasn’t a Negro Communist, but you know what? I’m going to let him think what he wants. The only thing you people have going for you, as far as I can see, is that you’re not Jews. And if I ever hear of you giving shit to Princess, there’s going to be all hell to pay.” With that, Bobo turned on her heel and stomped off.

  It was as though someone had knocked the breath out of me. Jack, a Negro Communist? What could that possibly mean? I felt Joy shaking me.

  Joy asked, “Ma, are you okay?”

  I took a deep breath. “And on top of everything, there really is insanity in the family.”

  Arsinee joined us. “Is that woman drunk?”

  “Now you see what I’m talking about,” I said shakily. I felt off balance. It had never occurred to me that the Fosters might not want us in their family. I guess they thought of us as foreigners. We were immigrants and they were real Americans. But a sack of shit?

  The Skunk appeared at my side, and I jumped. She patted my arm kindly and said, “You look like you could use some of this, Mrs. Chuzabunyon.”

  She thrust a glass of Coke into my hand and continued, “I’m really sorry about Bobo. Mom died when Princess was a baby, and Bobo had to take over. She doesn’t mean half of what she says.”

  The Skunk seemed the kindest one in the Foster family. Besides, her hat was in place, and her dress was smooth. I said, “Thank you, Skunk.”

  Suddenly I felt thirsty, really thirsty. I gulped down the Coke, draining the glass in a flash. It was sweet, but there was an aftertaste of something like insect repellent.

  Joy grabbed the glass from me, sniffed it, and asked Skunk suspiciously, “What did you put in here?”

  The Skunk pulled a flask from the top of her dress. “Vodka. It’s medicinal.”

  We didn’t have cooking sherry in our house because Toros forbade it. At our church we used grape juice for communion. The only alcohol I had ever smelled was in the vanilla extract. Now a shot of vodka was in my stomach, and within minutes it rocketed through my blood. It felt like someone was undoing an invisible girdle inside my head.

  Joy steered me toward the exit, with Arsinee next to me, laughing out of the side of her mouth. Skunk called after us, “It will do her good, I promise you.”

  They rushed me toward the car.

  “What’s the big hurry?” I asked. I felt very sleepy, like there was syrup in my veins. “I want to sit down.” I slumped onto the parking lot blacktop.

  “Ma, get up!” Joy pulled me to my feet and sped me across the last ten feet to the car.

  “Joy, sit in the front seat with your father,” Arsinee instructed as she pushed me into the backseat.

  “What took you so long?” snapped Toros.

  “We got into a little discussion with Bobo,” said Arsinee.

  “They think Jack is a Negro Communist.” I wanted to cry. I wanted to hug Skunk. “They’re our family now.”

  “Don’t dwell on it,” Toros said firmly, steering the car onto the road. “If I weren’t a Christian, I might have taken that filthy tie and strangled Fatso with it. We should thank God we saved poor Helen.”

  “I told her to call me Mother,” I said. “She lost her mother when she was a little girl. Me too.” I saw all the motherless orphans in the world holding hands, stretched out along the toll road. Tears started rolling down my cheeks. “Toros drowned the mother mouse in a bucket with bleach, and all the babies, they were left to be eaten by the cat.”

  “What are you talking about?” Toros bellowed. We were on the highway, and he couldn’t turn around. “Why are you sitting in the backseat?”

  My sadness soured to anger. “Why are you shouting at me? Why don
’t you talk to me in that respectful tone you used with your mother? Why doesn’t Moses talk to me like that? I treated him like he was the best part of me, and now he acts like he’d be happier if I didn’t exist. We haven’t seen him in two years. Did I do something wrong? All Jack says to me is hello, the weather is nice today, mind your own business. Now he’s married into this family of drunks with naked women painted on their ties.”

  Joy said, “Ma, please calm down.”

  “My daughter loves me. I wish I had all daughters. Who needs a husband? I should have had more daughters.”

  “Zabelle, have you lost your mind? Joy, what did that Bobo woman say to your mother?”

  Arsinee snorted.

  “I am calm. I am perfectly calm, you just don’t want to hear what I have to say. Too bad for you. My tongue is loose, and you’re going to have to listen to it.” I ripped off my hat, unbuttoned my jacket, and undid the hook at the side of my skirt, which was cutting into my waist. “I’ll eat all the ice cream I want.”

  “What does ice cream have to do with anything?” shouted Toros.

  “I told you not to shout.” Weariness crept from my eyes, down my spine, to my toes in their pointed shoes. I kicked off the shoes. So Jack had married into a family that hated Communists, Negroes, Jews, and Armenians, and I was drunk. I shut my eyes, but I wasn’t really asleep.

  “She’s asleep,” said Arsinee.

  “If I didn’t know your mother, I’d suspect that she had been drinking,” commented Toros.

  Joy didn’t respond.

  Arsinee said, “It was a tough day.”

  Without opening my eyes, I said, “No one calls his own yogurt sour.” And I went to sleep.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  The Suitor

  (WATERTOWN, 1963)

  In the Armenian Brethren Church there were three kinds of women: mothers, aunties, and young women on the road to becoming one or the other. Aunties dressed in black or gray, wound their hair in neat buns, and lifted their quavering voices in song from the front pews of the church. Although a few widows sat among them, the true aunties were what they call old maids in this country.