Too Jewish (16 page)

* * *

A shot of antihistamine brought Darby back to normal. She slept it off in a little room in the ER. Joycelyn was with us, so I let her stay with Darby. I had to find Bernie. All I could think to do was phone my father. It was late afternoon; I'd catch him before or after lunch.

Daddy was back at his office. "Are you calling to spy?" he said.

"No, I'm at the hospital," I said.

"Are you all right?" he said. He sounded guilty more than anything.

"Nothing's wrong with me. It's Darby."

Now he got peeved. "Well, is
she
all right?"

I told him she was fine now, that she'd given me a good scare. I gave him the medical details. He said my mother would be right over. I told him I needed my husband; was he there? No, Bernie was going back to work. He wanted to call my mother. "Aren't you going to ask what hospital?" I said.

He was silent for a moment. He knew only Touro. He was the type who'd tell any ambulance, "Touro," even if he was injured out at the lake. "I assumed Touro," he said. "Evidently not."

"She got the best of care," I said. "I took her to Charity."

"Are you out of your mind?" He was very loud. I'd never heard him be loud at work before. He was the only Jew in his office, so he made a point of not acting Jewish. Even if he was the only one in the firm who stereotyped Jews. He wasn't the only one who didn't like Jews, but he was the only one who had preconceived notions about what one acted like.

I was in a public place, so I kept my voice low. "It was an emergency," I said. "I couldn't afford an emergency."

"You could have called your mother."

"Not in an emergency," I said.

"What's that supposed to mean?" He still was hollering.

As always I was the levelheaded one. "It means there was no time," I said. "You're taking offense where none was meant."

"What if someone sees you there?"

I looked around. I wasn't among his peers. "Nobody from Temple Sinai has walked in yet," I said.

"Well, that's where your classmates will do their residencies after medical school."

I told him I had to hang up; my three minutes were over. They really were, even after two minutes.

* * *

My story didn't take long to tell Bernie. He said it almost gave him perspective. My near-disaster could be held up against his setback. Gratitude for a child was powerful, but even that wasn't a strong enough antidote. After nearly losing Darby, we surely would start taking Darby for granted again eventually and not ache over her. But we would still have hurt from my parents.

Bernie's plan had been ingenious. I didn't know he'd been reading the paper every single day at lunchtime. He found it in the lunchroom: no one touched the money section at Krauss's. He studied the stock market and taught himself. He didn't need Wharton any more than he needed the University of Mannheim. He could be a stockbroker, and he figured he had a client base: all the old Germans. They came here with nothing, and then they made money, more than they knew what to do with. He was sure no one appreciated their business. If anything, brokers tolerated their business. Bernie went to my father with a proposition.

"Take me in as an apprentice," he said to my father. He bought him a late lunch, a ham and swiss po-boy. He pitched a guaranteed commission flow. He had figures. He knew what he was talking about.

My father gave him a lecture on New Orleans social structure. It was the story we all knew. Daddy was the only Jew in the firm. That subject never came up in the office; we all knew that. It helped that the Adlers had been here since before the Civil War; we all knew that, too.

Bernie had used the New York argument: if he couldn't succeed in New Orleans, he was guaranteed to do so in New York. That flummoxed my father. He needed me here, though he didn't come out and say it. I figured it wasn't because he loved me; I was here to make my mother feel good by making me feel bad. Daddy had said, no, wait, maybe one day, right now Bernie was just the wrong kind of Jew: he came right out and said it. Bernie was baffled because he'd already given up most of his religion. "Imagine what my mother would have said about your father's sandwich," Bernie said to me.

Then he said, "Your father said being Jewish has nothing to do with religion."

Daddy wanted Bernie to be a philanthropist. That would help make Bernie the right kind of Jew. He was saying this to Bernie while I was on the receiving end of philanthropy from non-Jews. I was at Charity Hospital, an institution founded by Catholic nuns.

"Basically he said no," I said.

"I studied for a year for nothing," Bernie said.

I wanted to say,
And he got to look down on us.
But there was no point.

We were sitting in the nook we called our kitchen. It wasn't time to cook dinner. A knock came at the door. No one ever came to our door. We paid the rent a day or two early, and we never bothered the neighbors; we already were on top of them. I asked who it was; it wasn't the best neighborhood.

"Open up, Letty." It was my mother, who'd never set foot in our apartment.

My parents stormed in. That's the only way to put it. It doesn't take much to storm a studio apartment. The place was orderly; at least it seemed that way to me. The bed was made, the toys were in the playpen, clothes were on a neat line, dishes were clean.

"Oh, my good God," my mother said.

"Hush," my father said.

"Do you have plans for the evening?" my mother said. Her voice was pure Uptown.

"The usual," I said.

They had plans for our evening. They'd probably talked more than they had in years. My mother and I were going out to dinner, while Daddy was staying home with Bernie. To have a talk. Twice in one day, an abundance of riches: I could read Bernie's mind. And what about Darby? I figured Darby was part of this, but they'd forgotten about Darby. Darby, whose frightening trip into Christian charity probably had triggered all this bounty. "Oh, dear," my mother said to my father. "What do we do with the child?"

"Didn't you raise one once?" he said to my mother.

"Well, yes."

"Then take her with you."

Darby wasn't the big deal. Though obviously she'd made them nervous a few hours ago. I hoped about her health.

She rode on my lap all the way to the Chinese restaurant. Cantonese was all the way out on Jefferson Highway. My mother wanted to eat family style, but she wanted food that was off-putting to a small child, everything mixed together. Darby was accustomed to three things on a plate, nothing touching. Meat, starch, vegetable. I boiled a lot of food because that was what Bernie grew up with. Boiling food in New Orleans seemed sacrilegious, unless it was seafood. And we didn't eat seafood. Darby and I got moo goo gai pan without sauce. I could pick it apart easily. My mother got huffy. She talked about food, what was coming, what she usually ate, what I usually ate, what Darby ate, what came, what spilled. Remarkable. We lasted ten minutes after the food came. We had takeout for the men. "Don't call them the men,'" my mother said. "Why not?" I said. "It bothers me, that's all."

* * *

At first I thought it was Daddy's finest moment. I'd have called it his one fine moment, because Daddy didn't tell Bernie about my wedding day. At least I assumed he didn't. Good for Daddy. It's probably why I missed what Daddy was really up to. But Bernie saw nothing fine in what Daddy was offering. Bernie opened his cartons of Chinese food and didn't sigh with his usual pleasure. We could hear my parents' car door slam on the street, and Bernie relaxed a little. But only a little. He had no good decision to make.

My father made his wedding offer again. No three-year clause this time, but the divorce provision was there. The lease was covered as long as I was all right, and part of all right was married. Which was strange, it seemed at that moment, given how little they had wanted me to marry Bernie.

"He's testing me," Bernie said. "He wants to see if he can buy me. And then he'll own me as long as I do what he wants."

"You think my parents actually were affected by something today?" I said. I was hoping this was not about my having gone to Charity. But I didn't think their being emotionally impacted was possible. I didn't think even Darby's narrow escape would have gotten their attention. They didn't seem like loving grandparents. By loving I meant
loving.
I figured I would know affection if I ever saw it. It would come with being valued.

"If you're thinking that Darby scared them, I don't think so," Bernie said. "I actually can imagine your mother enjoying the drama of a funeral. Think of all the attention. And the new dress."

"Bernie!" I said, and then I had to smile, because he was right.

I was holding Darby, and I kissed her on the forehead. "So?" I said

"So, I think your father has two big fears, and he doesn't know which is worse. Either you go to New York and become a New York Jew, or you stay here, and you become a poor New York Jew. Either way, he's mortified."

"His mortification sounds good to me," I said. I felt confident my father wasn't going to send me to Queens. I could stay right here and prove my worth.

"So here's where his mind goes. He's figured out if I don't take care of you to his liking, he knows where you'll wind up."

Now I was getting the message. I knew where they thought I'd wind up all right if my marriage failed. "In their house," I said. "That's what other girls do. My mother's had the full picture of how I can embarrass them. Charity's the worst. But me working is a close second. Imagine leaving a baby at home with a maid. What would she tell her friends? She has no idea that I'd rather live under a bridge. But that would be really awful to tell her friends."

Bernie started eating. Usually he was happy about the guarantees in Chinese food. Never any dairy. No seafood if you said no seafood. No pork unless you asked for it. "People watch other people?"

"Sure," I said. "That's anywhere."

"That's New Orleans and Nazi Germany," he said.

I had no idea. I'd never lived anywhere else, but neither had Bernie. I wouldn't bring it up.

I was sure Bernie had said no. I waited to hear what had happened. I didn't ask. I waited. Finally, it all came down to his loving me. That was all Bernie had, me and Darby. He had to take it, he had to prove himself. He could sell Axel's merchandise. What about my mother's bad mouth? My father admitted nothing. My mother would say
nice
things, if Bernie had
nice
items. But Bernie had to work on that. Daddy had put his arm around Bernie. Oh, no. Oh, yes. Bernie had made his muscles stay loose. Guy to guy, fur's not too appealing. Bernie had shrugged, and he'd given his best smile. "Okay, son," my father had said. "You're not from these parts. It's too hot for fur. Country people don't even have much use for it. Now skins, snake skins, alligator skins, you might think about that." I didn't know Daddy knew about the country. No, Bernie said, he meant alligator bags from New York. Daddy might have had a point. "Snakes?" Bernie said. He looked at his chow mein and put down his fork again.

"Talk to Axel," I said.

"How did I let this happen?" Bernie said.

I could feel it all over myself. I knew why. They knew when to bring on the power.

I once was a very social girl. I belonged to a sorority in college, and I gave parties in high school. Even during the Great Depression, it didn't take much. Sugar rations could be stretched; food didn't matter much anyway. I had phonograph records, and my parents were happy to clear out the dining room, as long as my mother approved the guest list. Of course I invited people like Shirley and dared my mother to throw them out. In college the sorority house was built for parties. Then I turned eighteen, so I could drink. I found out what fun really felt like. I liked to smooch, anybody and everybody.

A party when I was married didn't sound like fun, it sounded frightening and disgusting. Well, it sounded that way because it wasn't by Bernie and me. It was for Bernie and me. My parents were going to do it. We were going to be adults at an adult party, whether we liked it or not. They didn't come out and say that, but they meant that. "It's time for a launch!" my mother said. "Like a debutante party!" She thought I didn't know irony when I saw it.

I told her it was unnecessary. "Your husband already has given his notice that he intends to leave," she said. "This is his one chance."

"How did you get control over Bernie?" I screamed.

"We don't want control over him," she said. She sounded as if she were saying she didn't want control over the worms in the dirt in her yard.

She was willing to give Bernie's business a stamp of approval. She just didn't feel like going around like his sales representative. It was one thing to be mean; it was another thing to be kind. She had her limits. She would invite all the wives who filled their days running little shops to a party, and they would see Bernie looking like he was loved. Daddy would invite his clients. They had total say, the full length of Canal Street, even Mr. Kern. Bernie would be mingling, and he would be their equal. He would be eating the same hors d'oeuvres. He would have the same access to Daddy.

"Invite a few friends," my mother said to us. "The bigger the crowd, the better."

"You sure?" I said. I meant about the size of the crowd. How would anyone see Bernie?

"I'm sure your friends are lovely," my mother said. "Except the ones who aren't lovely, and you know who they are."

She was testing. She wanted me to realize I wasn't doing well since I'd left home.

"I don't want to do this," Bernie said to me.

I asked him why not, though I already knew why not. It would be miserable. "Because no good can come of it," he said. "I'm not talking about the party itself. I'm talking about the fact of it. Long after it's over, they will have
given
it. We'll be sorry. We're going to hear about the fact of it until the day they die."

"Invite your German friends," I said.

"Now that's being foolish," Bernie said.

I was feeling challenged by my mother. The crowd was going to be huge. The food was going to be excellent, but maybe not kosher. "Will they eat in a non-kosher house?"