The Ruby Slippers (20 page)

‘Oh, sweet boy!’ She stretches up on tippy-toes, frames his face in her hands and kisses it. Then she hurries off to get him ‘a little something’ from her pantry, while he smiles, pleased as Punch. He will get to see the girl Rain again and she, in turn, will see him in the best, blest, possible light.

■ ♦ ■

Sorry, Shibby. Loads on my plate, but better now. Get together soon, yeah?

His fingers flittering deftly across the screen of his cell:

Tried to call you but no answer. Everything OK? Love you lots, Dad
.

He presses ‘send’ and sits back, relieved. He truly wants to make amends, to allow fresh possibilities to grow. Of course, he has no idea, and nor does his daughter, that Corinne has been intercepting everything. First she makes sure that Siobhan is in her room, or out of the house, or engrossed in her homework. Then she slips into the kitchen with Siobhan’s phone, which is always lying around someplace. Finally, slyly and systematically, she opens up her daughter’s message boxes, finds his messages and eradicates them, one by one – each and every whiny voicemail, every last self-pitying, pathetic text.

■ ♦ ■

Proud is not the word for it. Aunt Crystal can barely keep her feet on the ground as she floats in for Sunday Temple at the Pentecostal Tabernacle, her prodigal nephew on her arm. Scrubbed and smart, Harrison is all smiles and humility, the stud removed from his nose. Passing through the great glass doors, though, he feels genuinely nervous: if God wanted to strike him down, this would be the time and place and, more to the point, there are holy people here who can maybe see the sin crawling all over him and know him for what he is. It takes him back to when he used to come here as a kid and felt the same pangs of guilt just because he had broken a window kicking a ball. How much worse was this, pretending to be a believer just because he wanted to lay his hands on a gorgeous girl?

People are already up on their feet, testifying, shambling, shaking their heads and speaking in tongues as the minister speechifies at the front. Crystal leans on him as they walk up the aisle, her hand dainty in his, her prize exhibit on display. They squeeze into a pew as others brush by, eager to take their place on God’s dance floor. A young man, not much older than Harrison, approaches the minister and assistants take hold of him. The minister plants his hand between the man’s eyes and he falls back like he’s been zapped with a cattle prod. Then he’s up on his feet, looking dazed and slurring out words that sound like a drunk Polish person Harrison once saw the wrong end of Broadway.

The choir strikes up and suddenly the place is all swaying and singing. It gives him time to allow his eyes to rove around the hall. There she is, up front and opposite him, with the couple he saw at the night kitchen. She stands a head taller and even more beautiful then he remembers, in a powder-blue dress that belongs to these days and the old days at the same time. The look on her raised-up face is sweet and real and loving of God; how could he ever hope to be near her? Maybe he should join the line of people waiting to get themselves zapped and fall into the arms of the Lord. On the other hand, maybe he should wait until people get together after the service and have coffee and cookies.

Harrison stays quietly in the pew, while Aunt Crystal gets so excited she takes herself to the floor and speaks in tongues, and even raises her hands and twirls around like a young thing. He, meanwhile, wears the face of an angel, sitting there all lit up and trying hard not to yawn. Every now and then he makes sure to call out a word or two, like, ‘Oh, yes sir!’ and ‘Ain’t that the truth’, whenever the minister makes some godly pronouncement.

An hour or so later, when it’s all over, Crystal folds his arm in hers and leads him to the back of the Tabernacle, next to the vestry, where elders and the like gather for refreshments. She makes a fuss of introducing Harrison to all gathered there and he puts on the perfect imitation of the nice home-boy who speaks when spoken to and listens with eyes aglow. When at last she does the honours between him and Rain’s parents, they are all smiles and holding out hands: ‘Hello again. And how are you since we saw you that night?’ they ask, which surprises Aunt Crystal a little, but it is just one among the many momentary confusions she’s grown used to living with. Harrison finds himself standing in front of the lovely girl this whole crazy charade is for. His eyes are cast down and he is truly shy as she reaches out her hand to him. How strange and sweet to be touched by the hand of the vision he saw in the drizzling night!

‘Hi. How are you?’ she asks, all light and breathy. ‘Good.’ His mumbled reply saying next to nothing. Such a deadhead he is again, unable to string two words together, whereas she is nothing but gracious: ‘I was wondering if you might come here some time.’

He cannot speak for joy and misery together. She has thought of him, thought of him somewhere in her own time and space. ‘Tell me – I forgot to ask,’ she carries on, ‘how did it go with your frozen man?’ He looks at her blank-faced. ‘That time you came to the night kitchen, you were talking crazy about how you could freeze to death inside a refrigerator.’ It clicks at last. Here is something he can hold onto, something he can talk about: ‘Oh, yeah, yeah. That was weird. A friend of mine kinda locked himself in a cold store, but he was good in the end – cool.’

‘He sure musta been,’ she flashes back. So, she’s good for a joke too. Harrison really wants to be with this girl. He would go to church every Sunday for ten years and walk on coals to impress her and make her care about him. Which is why he brings her a cup of coffee, takes her to one side and, forgetting that he came in all humble, begins to talk. And in no time his words are falling over each other to clue her in on all kinds of cool things about himself – his music, his plans for life and his solutions to the problems facing planet Earth. And in amongst it all, he slips one humungous lie. He tells her that soon, by way of an inheritance, he is going to come into a very large sum of money, only he doesn’t like to talk about it right now. Rain glances across at Great Aunt Crystal, who has latched on to her folks and is going nineteen to the dozen. ‘Nuthin’ to do with her – other side,’ he whispers, but even as he says it, Harrison wonders what makes him come out with this stuff; he hasn’t even had a sniff of the damn shoes yet and there isn’t a penny to his name. Of course he knows what it comes down to. He’s a poor black boy with a shitty past and no future to talk of. Who wouldn’t boast and lie to get away from that? When Rain leans in and says, ‘Money and possessions mean nothing. A pure heart has no need of a swanky mansion,’ he hears the words but doesn’t get the message. By the time the coffee cups are drained and the old folks are showing signs of moving on, Harrison has found out that Rain is pretty much grounded for the time being, studying for her exams. Although she doesn’t offer her number or anything, it occurs to him that she volunteered the information, he didn’t drag it out of her, so maybe she will see him again. At least she didn’t tell him to get lost, and all the time they spoke together, she didn’t once lose that awesome smile.

H
E
returns home, bright and sprightly, the feeling of cleanliness inside him now, and a last rescued bundle under his arm. But the moment he sets foot inside the deli his spirit is dashed again, for there is Grace, hopping up and down and yelling in his face: ‘God’s sakes, Michael, ya forgot all about it, didn’t ya? We was supposed to be at Jenny’s a half-hour ago. Now, put all that crap down and go get dressed!’

A good old-fashioned Sunday roast, just the four of them and the grandchildren, given they had seen so little of each other since Christmas. That’s what was said, but when they got to Jenny’s place in Brooklyn, there were thirteen at the table.

Michael sees the betrayal coming in tiny signs: the relentless chewing of beef, covering awkward silences; the shushing of the children when they hardly spoke; the half-baked talk about the weather and the Yankees over apple pie and ice cream. No particle of conversation is allowed to flourish and direct attention away from what is to come.

When the kids are packed off to watch TV, Michael knows he’s up for a grilling. He should have seen it coming. This past week has been difficult enough: clipped conversations, accusing silences at mealtimes, steely looks in the store, and at night Grace deliberately losing herself in the TV. He had hoped her anger would abate with time, but if anything it has mounted. He surveys the seven faces surrounding him. Jenny, sitting hand in hand with her mother. She always was a tough nut, from when he first saw her in the cradle, and as she herself is fond of saying, she ‘don’t take shit from no one’. It’s true: she would always dish it before she was dealt it. Next to Jenny, her husband Karl, who happens to be a policeman – big, tough and uncomplicated, except today, when he has been painfully polite and held in check. Then there’s kind Suzy, who has always been, secretly, Michael’s favourite, and her man Dan, who happens to be a trucker – a couple who look good together and share a sharp sense of humour. Finally, there’s pretty, practical June, who loves her poppa and never was one for confrontation, but who’s now wearing to order a storm-dark face. Her husband Maurice, a pest-control agent, has the same expression. He, too, is easy-going by nature, but today he hasn’t once cracked his tired old joke about he and Karl the cop being in the same trade. Michael feels a fool for not realizing it was all a set-up, and for walking slap-bang into it.

Jenny starts the ball rolling: ‘So, what is going on with these shoes?’ No polite overture, no show of interest in how the ruby slippers were acquired. Aunt Rosa is not worthy of a mention.

He casts a reproachful glare in Grace’s direction. It was their secret and she spilled it; another first.

‘Poppa, did you hear me? What is going on?’ During the big, awkward silence that follows, Dan looks at the ceiling, Maurice drums his fingers on the table and June looks at the floor. So, they are all in on it. Well, he will not respond to their rudeness, will not just roll over and give them what they want. ‘Come on, Poppa. Please . . . don’t play games with us.’

‘OK,’ he says, drawing in breath for the fray. ‘Perhaps
you
should tell us what is going on, since you all seem to know already!’ He flashes an accusing glance at Grace who, fighting back tears, simply cannot hold her peace. ‘I’ll say it: your father wants these slippers to be a wonderful symbol of God knows what. He wants to put them in a glass case and make the world a better place. Abracadabra! As if that will make us both happy in our retirement!’

Grace’s cold sarcasm stings him into indignation: ‘One moment! I did not . . . That is not what I said—’

‘It’s exactly what you said! You wanna take what should be our comfort in our old age, our children’s inheritance, and blow it. Blow it on this ridiculous idea that—’

‘I did not! Not once did I—’

‘OK, OK . . .’ So now Karl intervenes, playing the role of the big-spirited guy. ‘Let’s hear what Michael has to say.’

Who are they to grant him his say? Who are they to ‘allow’? Is this a court of law they are in? But then Maurice throws in his pennyworth: ‘I agree,’ he says. ‘Perhaps Poppa should tell us exactly what he had in mind.’

‘Hmph,’ replies ‘Poppa’, stubborn to the last, but then Suzy joins in, speaking calmly, imploringly: ‘Poppa, please just tell us what you want. Don’t you think we all deserve to know?’

This weighs heavy on Michael. The last thing he wants is to go against his lovely, kind-hearted daughter. Sighing deeply, he draws himself up to present his defence:

‘Well . . .’ he begins. ‘Well . . .’

It does not go well. They do not like his muddled story of fairytale castles in the old world, of wicked Nazis and starving peasants. They do not like his stubborn refusal to put aside his own tragic history. They do not like his ideas of symbols, dreams and magical meanings. They
do
like the idea of the slippers being worth a lot of money and they
do
like to imagine how such a sum could make him and Momma happy in their old age. And, without saying it outright, they also like the idea that one day, when heaven forbid both of them are gone, the same money, wisely invested, would bring them happiness when divided each to each, and after them to the children, the children’s children and the children of the children’s children. It is Karl, the man of law, who sets this biblical seal on the matter, and it is met with a solemn nodding of heads. Michael is left in no doubt as to where he stands. The question of legality is not even raised, and he knows that if it came to it, they would all stick to the story that the slippers were Judy Garland’s gift to her faithful dresser, who then passed these precious things to kith and kin. The family’s moral right to the slippers will not and cannot be undone. But still he will not give way. It’s all very well to go on about what
they
deserve, but the one person who deserves anything in all this is lying in the hospital, and not one of them has mentioned her name. Damned if he will allow them to bully him.

‘At the end of the day, it’s for your mother and I to make the right decision, and I can assure you that we will do what is right and proper.’

A chorus of protest breaks out, so loud the children come running back into the room. ‘As I say,’ he shouts above the babble. ‘As – I – say!’ and he hits the table. Silence falls. Michael simply loosens his collar, tugs at his shirt-cuffs, sits down and pours himself a glass of water, done with words.

All the way back in the cab they are not talking: she in her stony silence; he sitting up, stiff and self-righteous. As soon as they are back in the deli, she clunks upstairs to the apartment, while he hangs back, resentful. She can sulk as much as she likes. Laying down the law with one hand; stealing with the other. It’s just not on.

■ ♦ ■

And this is how, after many complications, with another girl to give each other courage, I came to Germany, to Hamburg, which at that time was an extraordinary place and so busy and exciting for a young girl who was bright and full of hunger for everything that life can offer, and who was not afraid to wait at tables or to lie about her age. But also this was the time of terrible things in Germany. Hitler had come to power, with the Brownshirts like an army in the streets, with their flags and banners flying to show their strength. All kinds of rumours were going round about what they would do to Jews and foreigners and all they saw as enemies. Why I should come to Germany at this time is so great irony because this was the place that was nearest to America in my imagination, the streets so wide and busy, the buildings so modern and people rushing everywhere. But soon I saw that underneath all this was cruelty and suffering, that for every man goes past in an automobile, another walks past in rags; that for every woman who passes by with her bag full of groceries, another one sits begging in the gutter. So many people also looking out over their shoulder, either to make sure someone does not steal from them and they can eat that night, or to make sure they do not come to the wrong attention
.