A Papa Like Everyone Else

by Sydney Taylor

  “I can understand how Papa felt,” she went on. “Mama told me once that Papa was very unhappy here. He hated having to work from early morning till late at night for such a poor living. But what chance did he have to do anything else here?”

  “Papa says that in America everyone has a chance to make something of himself. The schools there are free! Can you imagine!”

  Gisella’s mouth turned down. “But maybe we won’t like it there,” she argued. “Maybe we won’t be happy. And we are happy here.”

  “Mama isn’t,” Szerena returned. “It’s just too hard for her with no husband to help her. And besides, she’s very lonesome without Papa.”

  A stab of jealousy pricked Gisella. “But she has us. We help a lot.”

  “It’s not the same, Gisella. A wife needs her husband as well as her children. Just like children need a papa as well as a mama.”

  Gisella turned away. But I don’t need him, she raged inwardly. And he doesn’t really need us. If he did, he would have found some way to have us with him long before this. He could have sold the farm and the house and everything. Then maybe he would have had enough money. No! I’m sure he didn’t want us! Well, now I don’t want him! I’m very happy right here with Mama. With Mama and Szerena!

  Two

  The clapper bell pealed. Quickly the children gathered up their slates, their pens, ink bottles, and copybooks. As soon as the teacher had stationed himself at the door, they rose and chorused, “Jo Napot Kivanok” (I wish you a good day). Then, filing past him, two by two, they paraded sedately in two straight lines down the village street. School was over for the day.

  I wonder what Mama will bring me this time, Gisella found herself thinking as she marched along. Early that morning Mama had set out for the city. Gisella had watched her walking away from the house, her slender body tipped forward with the weight of the heavy basket on each arm. In each basket lay a live goose covered with a clean white cloth. The birds were so big and fat, that their legs stuck out stiffly over the sides of the baskets.

  When the marchers came by Mrs. Tulipan’s house, they observed her busily tending her vegetable garden. “Jo Napot Kivanok, Mimi Neni,” they greeted in unison, bowing politely.

  Mrs. Tulipan smiled and waved to them, “Isten Veletek” (God be with you) she replied.

  The line thinned out as the children reached their own streets. Gisella’s thoughts returned to the geese. I hope Mama gets a lot of money for them. She worked hard fattening them up. It was way back in February when Mama had picked them out from the flock and brought them squawking indignantly into the house. She had fixed up a small pen in the front room, covered the earthen floor with fresh straw, and put the geese inside. “There!” she remembered Mama saying to the birds, “no more running around for you two. Here you stay until you’re ready for market.”

  Mama force-fed each goose several times a day. First she sat down on a mat on the floor with a big goose in her lap. Then, with her right leg holding the goose firmly, she pried open its mouth and stuffed cornmeal mush into its throat. Gisella could see the lumps sliding down the goose’s gullet. It made a gurgling sound as it swallowed.

  At first, the geese didn’t like being forced to eat. But they soon got used to it. After a while, they just lay around, too full from over-feeding to even stir. Only yesterday Szerena had cried, “Mama, these geese are so fat, they look like they’ll burst!”

  Mama looked pleased. “Yes, they’re a fine pair. Whoever gets them is sure to have some nice liver. And there’ll be plenty of rich, white fat, too.”

  By now the dwindling line of children had approached Gisella’s house. She and Szerena stepped out and skipped through their own gate.

  “Mama!” Gisella called out, but there was no answer.

  “I guess she’s not home yet,” Szerena said. Gisella waltzed about impatiently. “Oh, I wish Mama would hurry! I can’t wait to see what she’s bringing us.”

  “She told us already,” reminded Szerena. “Material for our new dresses.”

  “Oh, I don’t mean that. I mean—you know—something special—a treat!”

  Gisella plopped her things down on the long bench. “Do you remember last autumn when the peddler came, Szerena? He had a box of shiny pins and buttons and pretty necklaces. Do you remember he said we could pick out something in exchange for the old iron and rags Mama saved up for him? Or if we’d rather, he’d give us a big bowlful of fresh cherries instead?”

  “Uh-huh. I remember. We took the cherries. “Umm, mmm!”

  “They were good. But they got eaten up so fast. And then we had nothing left but pits. We should have picked something from that box. Then we would have had something that lasted.”

  Szerena scoffed, but Gisella ignored her and went on. “There was a string of blue beads. They were so pretty. Next time the peddler comes, I’m going to ask Mama if I can choose beads.”

  “Come on,” suggested Szerena, picking up her crocheting, “let’s wait outside.”

  As they went through the front room, Gisella glanced at the pen. “It looks so empty without the geese,” she remarked.

  “Don’t worry. There’ll soon be others to take their place.”

  Szerena seated herself on the wide porchlike wooden platform jutting out from the front of the house. Soon her needle was devouring the thread with amazing speed. For a while, Gisella sat beside her, scanning the road. But she grew restless. Running down the path, she began swinging on the gate. Sq-ue-ek! Sq-ue-e-ek! The hinges creaked as she rode back and forth. Finally she cried out, “We could listen for the train.”

  Szerena put her crocheting down. “All right, fidgety,” she said.

  Hand in hand, the sisters walked to the rear of the house and through the vegetable garden. They crossed the field where the bare brown earth was already dotted with tender clumps of grass. Beyond lay the railroad tracks. Standing tiptoe on the ties, they peered into the distance. No train in sight. They knelt down and pressed their ears against the cold rail. Minutes dragged by. At last they could feel the rail begin to vibrate and hear the steady singing of the metal.

  “It’s coming!” Gisella yelled, springing up excitedly. “The train’s coming! Let’s run to the station!”

  “No,” Szerena said. “We’d better get back to the house.”

  The waiting seemed endless, but just when Gisella felt she could bear it no longer, there was Mama striding toward them. They raced up the road to greet her.

  “Mama!” they cried, covering her with embraces.

  “Was it a good day?” Szerena asked.

  “Yes. Very good.” Mama looked weary, but her face was all smiles. “Wait till you see the wonderful things I brought!”

  The girls relieved Mama of the baskets and chattered excitedly all the way home. “Oh, I’m so tired.” Mama sank into the nearest chair and let out a sigh. “Just let me sit still for a minute.”

  The girls waited expectantly.

  After a moment, Mama reached into one of her baskets. Out came some yardage of cotton material prettily patterned with tiny yellow flowers on a background of deep blue. She held up the cloth against Szerena’s slim body. “It’ll make up beautifully,” she said.

  “Oh, Mama, it’s lovely!” the girls agreed.

  “There’s enough material there for both of you.”

  Gisella ran her hand over the shiny fabric. It felt clean and smooth. She held it close to her face, sniffing it. There was always such a pleasing smell about cloth that was new.

  By now, Mama was unfolding some fine white embroidery. “See! This is what I got for your underwear.” She rummaged around inside the basket. “And here’s some lace to match. For ruffles.”

  “Mama!” The girls clasped their hands in delight. Never had they seen such finery! “It’s beautiful!”

  “For once, my girls will really be dressed up on the Passover holiday,” Mama declared.

  From the other basket, Mama proceeded to take out a number of small sacks—sa
lt, sugar, assorted spices, and a jug of kerosene for the lamps. And that seemed to be all. She picked up the empty baskets and went to the storage room to put them away.

  Gisella and Szerena looked at each other. Gisella whispered, “She’s always brought us back a treat before.”

  “Maybe she had to spend too much on all the fancy material,” Szerena whispered back.

  Mama returned to the room. Was that a teasing glint in her eyes? “I suppose you thought I had forgotten something,” she said, smiling. From her apron pocket, she drew out two somethings, sparkling and blue, dangling them in the air.

  “Beads! Blue beads!” Gisella squealed.

  “Gisella!” Szerena cried. “They’re even prettier than what the peddler had!”

  “Thanks, Mama! Thanks!” The girls shouted and threw themselves upon her, hugging and kissing her.

  “Just a minute,” she protested laughingly. “There’s more!”

  “More?”

  “My regular customer was in a very good mood today. She asked, ‘How are my two girls?’ Then she gave me this little present for you.” From her other apron pocket, Mama pulled out a paper cone and unfolded it. Inside were two red whistles.

  “Such a nice lady!” Szerena exclaimed. She put her whistle to her mouth and blew. It sounded a high clear note. Then a look of delighted surprise crossed her face. She took the whistle out, licking her lips. “It’s made of candy!” she cried. “Imagine that! A candy whistle!”

  “Candy?” Gisella repeated joyfully. “We haven’t had any candy for ages and ages!”

  Szerena’s whistle was licked away very rapidly. But Gisella held on to hers. It was just the most wonderful treat! Gingerly she put the whistle to her lips and blew softly. How delicious it tasted! She bit a tiny piece off the very bottom where it wouldn’t really matter. “Mmm!” She rolled the sweetness around on her tongue.

  Suddenly she remembered Mama. “Want some, Mama?” she offered.

  Mama smiled. “No, my darling. You enjoy it.”

  “I’m not going to eat mine now. I’m going to save it for tomorrow.”

  Szerena’s whistle was all gone. But Gisella wrapped hers back in the paper and tucked it into her apron pocket. There it remained until bedtime, though every once in a while, her fingers could not resist curling themselves around it. Tomorrow, she kept promising herself.

  That night it lay under her pillow. In the morning it went back into her apron pocket.

  “Aren’t you ever going to eat it?” Szerena asked.

  “I will. Later.”

  However, by late afternoon, Gisella could hold out no longer. Leaning against the front gate, she took the whistle from its paper and carefully put it in her mouth. Gently she sucked, then withdrew it. She licked it some more. Took it out. I mustn’t eat it too fast, she cautioned herself. It may be a long time before I get any more.

  Just then she spied her friend Ilona skipping up the road. “Gisella!” Ilona shouted. “Want to come over to my house?”

  Gisella started blowing away noisily on her whistle so Ilona would notice.

  “What have you got there?” Ilona asked.

  “Oh, just a candy whistle,” Gisella replied in an offhand manner. She knew that Ilona got candy lots of times. Her papa was rich. He had a big farm, and Ilona lived in a house with a roof made of shingles. Not of mud and earth and straw, like theirs. Maybe if her papa were here, she would get candy every day. Smiling at Ilona, she said aloud, “Want some?” She turned the whistle around and held it out to her. “Here. Bite off from this side.”

  The tip was wet and slippery-gooey. As Ilona bent forward to bite, the whistle slithered through Gisella’s fingers and fell to the ground!

  “Ooh!” gasped Gisella. She stared dumbfounded at the precious candy lying in the dust at her feet. A moment ago it was bright red. Now it looked all messy. Utter dismay pulled down the corners of her mouth. It wasn’t fair! It just wasn’t! She’d been waiting and waiting—and now just look what an awful thing had happened!

  I could pick it up, she told herself in desperation. If I took it into the house and washed it off, it would be as good as new. But Ilona is watching. What would she think if I went and did a thing like that! I’d be too ashamed. Besides, I’m sure Ilona would never eat a piece of candy that had been in the dirt, even if it was washed off. It’s no use. I just have to leave it lying there.

  Oh, she thought, full of misery. If only Ilona hadn’t come by. Then I would still have my candy.

  “Too bad!” Ilona sympathized.

  Gisella forced a smile to her lips, though she felt miserable. “It doesn’t matter,” she said slowly, and ground the whistle to bits with her heel. “My mama will get me some more. Come on. We’ll go to your house.”

  She forced herself to go skipping lightheartedly along with Ilona.

  Three

  For more than a week, the kitchen in the synagogue was all hustle and bustle. Each day a different group of women, and some of the men too, had pitched in to help. Today it was for Mama’s family.

  “Mama, do you think we should take Gisella along?” teased Szerena. “She’ll only get in the way.”

  “I will not!” Gisella snapped. “I can help just as much as you!”

  “Well, all right then,” Szerena said, smiling. “You can measure the water.”

  “Now let’s see,” Mama considered, “I’ll need clean linens. And, of course, my special basket and rolling pin. They’re up in the attic.”

  “I’ll get them for you,” offered Szerena.

  “No, Szerena. The basket’s too big for you to handle,” Mama said. “You get the linen.”

  In the front room, Mama quickly climbed the ladder leading to the attic, her wide skirt billowing out with each step. In a moment, she had disappeared from view, but they could hear the boards creaking overhead.

  “I guess we can’t take the basket we always use, can we?” Gisella said.

  “You know better,” Szerena replied. “On Passover we’re not allowed to use the same utensils we use throughout the year. That’s why we have special Passover dishes. And even though we do use the same cutlery and the stove, they’ll be scoured thoroughly to make sure they’re kosher for the Passover.”

  Mama came down the ladder with the big basket bouncing before her. “Put the linen in the basket, Szerena. Then let’s all hurry and wash up. The women will be waiting.”

  Faces and arms were scrubbed diligently. Then all three donned freshly laundered cotton dresses and clean white aprons.

  “Come. Let’s go,” Mama said.

  “But, Mama, you forgot the flour!” Gisella reminded.

  “No, my child. Remember that extra-fine wheat we saved after the harvest last fall? We put it away in the special linen sack that has our name on it? Well, early this morning, while you were still asleep, I carried it to the miller for grinding. Afterward I took it to the synagogue. It’s in the kitchen there right now.”

  Gisella skipped gaily alongside Szerena. Everything about the coming holiday made things so different! “You know, Szerena, I’m glad the Jews didn’t have time to wait for their bread to rise when Moses led them out of Egypt.”

  “Why?”

  “Because then they had to eat unleavened bread. So now we have to eat it too. And I just love matzo. It’s always so crisp and makes such crunchy noises when you eat it. And it’s such fun making it.”

  “Not everyone makes their own matzo,” Mama said. “In the big cities, Jewish people buy their matzo.”

  “Buy their matzo!” Gisella exclaimed, feeling sorry for the city people. “I wouldn’t like that at all! I’m glad we live right here where we can make our own.”

  The matzo bakers were already assembled in the synagogue kitchen when they arrived. “I’m so glad to see you!” Zali Neni cried, enfolding the girls in her chubby arms.

  In Helmecz all adult men were called Bacsi (Uncle) and all older women were given the title of Neni (Aunt). Zali Neni, however, was the chi
ldren’s real aunt. No one could ever have guessed she was Mama’s sister. Mama was usually so serious and slim and had blue eyes, while Zali Neni was jolly and fat, with plump rosy cheeks and dark eyes that always sparkled brightly. Zali Neni had only sons—three of them. She missed not having a daughter, so Mama’s girls were especially dear to her. Turning to Mama, she said, “Well, Rezi, let’s get to work.”

  Whereupon the women rolled up their sleeves and gathered around the long table.

  “Bring on the flour!” cried an elderly woman.

  One of the men lifted Mama’s sack. Walking around the table, he shook out a small heap of flour in front of each place. Close behind him came Gisella and poured a measure of water into every heap.

  Immediately the women fell to stirring and mixing till each had a lump of workable dough. Gisella watched fascinated as with skill born of many years, they began to knead, their faces shiny from the heat of the big wall oven. As they worked the dough, they laughed and gossiped with one another and joked with the men. Back and forth, back and forth, the lump rolled beneath the heel of the hand, till it lay in a smooth, roundish mound. Wielding a long knife, a man set about quickly slicing the mounds into proper sized pieces. Again each piece was kneaded, and then with swift sure strokes, the women began using their rolling pins.

  Roll, roll, and turn the dough—roll and roll and turn—and before Gisella’s admiring eyes, the pieces were transformed into a tableful of large flat circles. She saw Mama was beaming with pride, because Szerena stood working right along with the women.

  “Could I have a piece of dough,” she ventured, “so I could make my own matzo?”

  “Why not?” laughed Zali Neni, and threw a piece of dough across to Gisella. “Here, darling, enjoy yourself.”

  Gisella flashed her a pleased smile. Prickles of excitement bubbled through her. In this gay, lively place, with everyone lending a hand, work became a joyous thing. Back and forth she seesawed the rolling pin the way the women did. “It feels so bouncy!” she cried, giggling.

  “It’s supposed to,” Szerena said in her big sister manner, “otherwise you couldn’t shape it.”