The Book Borrower (9 page)

At the bus stop an old woman disapproved of carrying babies on chests, and Ruben said, Oh, leave us alone! Probably the old woman, who drew herself into a seat and inserted herself in her own tote bag, grimacing, growing smaller and smaller while the tote bag grew larger and larger—quite probably the old woman cursed her. For while Ruben crossed the street in a hurry, buttoning the shirt over Squirrel and holding her coat as closed as it would get, first she remembered her dead mother, whom she didn't like thinking about, and then Squirrel made a sound in his sleep, an
ah.
In the lobby of the hospital he awoke and she heard him slurp his thumb, so she left and walked around an endless block with more than four sides, onto a bridge over the highway, where she walked against the wind and her baby was socked by wind and was soon crying. Ruben started to circle the block again. This time she saw a bench. She took off her coat and Harry's shirt and took off Squirrel, who was shrieking by now. She pulled up her own shirt and nursed him, trying to yank the coat around her. She had never been so cold. People passed and looked at her, but nobody criticized her. When the baby fell asleep, she put him back into the sling and got dressed around him. Then she re-turned to the hospital and asked for the pass to see Deborah Laidlaw. And was handed it by someone who barely looked at her.

In the elevator, a nurse winked.

Pass in hand, Ruben hurried down the corridor where Squirrel had been born. They'd think she was tired of him—and sometimes she was. But not bringing him back.

In the room was her friend Deborah, bare-breasted, nursing someone not as large as her breast. Jill was leaning over her mother and Rose was lying on the bed next to Deborah, in her shoes. Jeremiah sat on the end of the bed taking his off, letting them thump to the faraway floor. The hospital had just that year decided to let the grimy sisters in.

—Hi, hello and welcome, said Jeremiah, standing up in his socks.

Jill and Rose pointed, and Deborah pulled Ruben down to her sweaty, milky, freckly half nakedness for a kiss. Her hospital gown, blue and pink teddy bears, was wrinkled over her shoulder. When Ruben leaned over, Squirrel bumped Deborah.

—Here's the boy!

—Shh.

—What?

—Surely he's not allowed. Nervous Ruben was all but sorry she'd come. The baby was lovely, pink and sweet, but Jeremiah saying Welcome made her shy; people welcomed are outsiders.

—Jill and Rose are allowed. It's a private room. If they ask, I'll say he's my son.

—You have them nine months apart, of course.

—We Catholics are like that. I forgot to mention him, I have so many.

Squirrel cried, but nobody came running. Ruben bounced on her heels and Jill and Rose demanded that she take him out, as if they'd never seen him before. Jill made rude noises into her new sister's face. Let's put him next to our baby and see if he's bigger, she said. Ruben liked that, but she wasn't going to do it. Jeremiah edgily put on one shoe and tied the bow carefully. Ruben found a place in the lounge chair, which was covered with the children's coats and with newspapers and books, and wished she carried enough peace inside her to quiet Squirrel just by circling her hand on his back.

But a nurse came in. That baby's not allowed in here, she said. I'm surprised at you, Mrs. Laidlaw. Introducing your baby to all those germs.

—How about my own kids' germs? They have more germs. They play in the germy mud.

—Sibling visits are permitted. But they'll have to go soon, too.

—Everybody's going, said Deborah.

It hurt Ruben's feelings. I wouldn't harm the baby! she said. She thought she might cry. She could break a rule, but only a silly rule.

—We've got to have some kind of control, said the nurse.

—What do you think I am? Ruben said. She was embarrassed. Not only had her smuggling failed to conceal Squirrel, the nurse hadn't noticed that she was attempting to conceal him. Hey, what do you think I am, the Symbionese Liberation Army?

—What's that? said Deborah.

—You know, Jeremiah said. Patty Hearst.

—Oh, right, Deborah said. Toby thinks Patty Hearst is a phony. I thought she was wonderful.

—She was tricked, said the nurse. She thought she was doing good, but she wasn't.

—That's what Toby thinks, Deborah said, like a queen, a queen with her breasts hanging out and a now sleeping new-born on her arm. Defiantly and wrongly, Deborah could insist that Ruben and the mean nurse make friends, wielding the authority of pink and blue teddy bears.

—No, it's not, said Ruben, who wanted to fight with the nurse. That's not what I think. Patty Hearst doesn't give a damn about people in trouble. She's not a real revolutionary.

—Well, the baby has to go, said the nurse, and Deborah was apologizing, ordering everyone out: You're absolutely right! I'm so sorry! We should have thought! Deborah wouldn't stop. As if, Deborah said to the nurse, working in this madhouse isn't hard enough, we're making things harder for you!

Which was not true. They had not made things harder for the nurse.

And before anybody could fight with anybody, Deborah went on: I need some rest! All of you chickens and roosters and caterpillars. Get going.

But also saving something Ruben would have spoiled. How delicate. How lovely. Ruben felt loved and held in check for her own sake, a rare feeling she always enjoyed; but she was also angry that she didn't get to have her fight.

She wanted one thump of Deborah's hand on Squirrel or on her head or her shoulder. She wished to outstay the others by a second. But Jeremiah offered a ride home and in a moment she was just a mommy in the departing crowd, helping people on with coats.

Deborah was also dismissing Mary Grace, trusting the nurse with her, which Ruben found unthinkable, and now Mary Grace in her cart was being wheeled out of the room, and Deborah announced that she would have a bowel movement and a nap in that order. The nurse scolded along behind them as they walked to the elevator. Would have thought people would have the sense!

But then Deborah came unsteadily to the door of her room and called Ruben back. Ruben turned, smiling, as the nurse turned, too, stymied, dismayed.

—What is it? said Ruben happily.

—Teach my classes this week?

—Oh, sure, said Ruben, because she and Deborah were casual outlaws together. What Patty Hearst would have been if she hadn't been violent and had thought coherently about just causes! In the elevator she couldn't imagine how she could teach Deborah's two classes in addition to her own. And was annoyed with Deborah for not making an arrangement in ad-vance. She went home and stayed up reading instead of pre-paring so many classes.

 

 

Jessie stood on our front steps, alone. She stood still for several minutes, while I watched through the window. She thrust her hands into her coat pockets. The wind on her bare neck must have felt delightful for a moment and then cruel. It blew her skirt around her legs and hobbled her. Now I'll start guessing: she thought about coming back inside, taking Sarah in her arms. A gesture that could be construed as an apology would not have come easily to my sister Jessie, but she could have found a way to joke about it and hang on to her dignity. It would have helped that our parents were asleep.

Jessie was cold and sorry, but it was late, and maybe then she remembered the conversation about free love. She didn't want more questions like that, and didn't want to lie to Sarah, and couldn't tell the truth—and so she set her shoulders and started down the street.

Or was she waiting for me to come out? Did she know I was at the window?

Jessie was too upset and awake to go to the room she rented. She went to a rooming house where a man she knew lived, knocked on his window, and in the end he sneaked her in and made love to her. He was called Maurice, and I don't think he ever hurt her, physically or in any other way. I don't think they were the least bit in love. They comforted each other—they were occasional lovers for months or years— when there was trouble. Who knows what Maurice's particular troubles were? But there were plenty of Troubles at Large if he lacked personal ones. He drew her skirt up around her knees with respect and smoothed it before he entered her. She was grateful for his care. She was also sexually aroused. She cried. Jessie almost never cried, but sex moved her. How do I know all this? I know.

“Shall I steal a carrot for you?” Maurice once asked her. They were passing a pushcart and Jessie was hungry.

She knew he didn't mean it. He wouldn't steal from a poor man. “Would it be all right if the peddler were rich?” she said.

“It would be all right for a responsible group to steal the carrot if the carrot was going to be put to good use.”

“Say we were going to feed an irresponsible horse . . .”

I think Maurice was the friend who drew Jessie to the meeting at which their group's role in the strike was devised. He had light brown hair and a salt-and-pepper mustache. Once he recited the Ten Commandments to Jessie, then apologized because anarchists reject government. He admired her short hair, lifting her hat to kiss her scalp. Jessie was at ease in bed with a man by that time. At first it had been strange, despite her strong belief that it was a fine thing for men and women to come together without being held back by laws and scruples. And despite her desire. At first the sight of a man's genitals would scare desire out of her. Not for long.

“Don't be afraid of the mounted policemen,” said one of the organizers, at the meeting to which Maurice brought Jessie. “But don't get close to them. Always look around you to see where the crowd is moving. Don't be caught alone.”

 

 

The sitter was rude about extra time. On her way to teach, Ruben broke off twigs from a hedge near the bus stop, thinking about their conversation. She began to walk to the next bus stop, keeping warm, but the bus passed her. Walking, she'd arrive just in time for her own class, and then she'd have to wait an hour to teach Deborah's class. If she'd taken the bus, she'd have had time for coffee in Carlotta's office first. She burst red-cheeked into the dim classroom, and the students all talked about it.

Emma had brought a religious pamphlet, which she tried to read out loud. Ruben kept nodding her head, trying to keep her tongue from supplying the next word too fast. But the pamphlet made tired, flushed (now chilled) Toby Ruben uncomfortable. It was not about God, which would have been fine with Ruben, atheist though she more or less was, but about men and women. The wife, read Emma, should respect her husband's . . .

—Judgment, Ruben said, reading upside down across the table. But think, Emma—is that necessarily true?

—I should hope so, said Emma.

Two of the others sniffed.

—Are you married? Ruben persisted. She thought of Harry and his judgment. For some reason she thought of Harry naked, saying, Your back or my back? Nursing made her breasts hurt and sex was easier if she was on top. But Harry's judgment could be terrible. Harry had wanted to buy a new car so Ruben could drive around town and drive to this class. They couldn't afford it. She was afraid to drive. She'd have an accident; the Squirrel would die. Policemen.

—No, said Emma. I'm separated.