Chapter 30 Things Go Awry #2
At eleven, the plumber came, along with his helper.
Booted feet up and down the stairs and a fair amount of sawing and clanking, and then I heard David say, “Come on, Barbara. That’s it.
This way.” And Barbara saying, “I’m not a child, and I’m not interested in talking to you. I’m so mad right now, I could spit.”
Mrs. Stark called down the stairs, “We’ll be right behind you! We’re coming, darling!”
Mr. Stark said, “Wouldn’t it be better to wait at home? Why should we sit in that waiting room all afternoon? I did that when you were in there with Barbara, and it took hours. By the time she showed up, I was a nervous wreck.”
Mrs. Stark, a definite snap in her voice: “You were a nervous wreck? Pardon me? What was I doing at the time?”
Mr. Stark again: “You had ether. The doctor told me.”
Mrs. Stark: “Yes, at the end. But how about before that? How was that for me, do you think?”
And Mr. Stark, roaring a bit now: “How would I know? When have you ever told me?”
The plumber said, “First baby, is it? My wife’s had three. Pops ’em out like grapes. The attitude’s the thing. Make your mind up that it doesn’t hurt, and there you are.”
“Nobody asked you,” Mrs. Stark snapped.
“Excuse me,” he said. “Only trying to help.”
“You can help,” she said, “by fixing the leak.”
“It’s fixed,” he said. “You’ll want to get somebody in to replaster the wall, though.”
“Why aren’t you doing it?”
“I’m just the plumber, lady. Not a plasterer. That’ll be $3.40.”
“When you haven’t even fixed the wall?”
“Like I said. $3.40.”
“Fine.” Quiet for a minute, then: “Jacob? Do you have two dollars?”
“What?” he called up from downstairs.
“Two dollars,” she called back. “I don’t have enough.”
I got up, took Joe’s wallet from the bedside table, and went outside to hand her the bills.
“Thanks, miss,” the plumber said. “Say, is it Pajama Day, or what?”
“No,” I said, fighting an absurd urge to giggle. “It’s Yom Kippur. A most sacred holiday.”
He stared at me. I couldn’t blame him. Mrs. Stark was still in her dressing-gown, her hair in pincurls. Sophie, the only one dressed, was saying, “Can I finally use the bathroom, please?” Mr. Stark was saying, “Here. Two dollars.”
“Give it to Marguerite,” Mrs. Stark said.
“Why would I give it to Marguerite?”
“Because she gave it to me,” the plumber said.
“What?” Mr. Stark said.
I said, speaking slowly and clearly, “I loaned Mrs. Stark two dollars from Joe’s wallet. If you give me the two dollars, I’ll return them to Joe’s wallet.”
The plumber said, “Well, good luck, folks. I’m going now.”
I said, “I’ll see you out,” as Mr. Stark was now knocking at the bathroom door, saying, “Sophie! Your mother and I are leaving soon. Are you coming?”
Downstairs, the plumber said, “Who are you exactly, miss? You don’t seem quite as nuts as the rest of them.”
“I’m the daughter-in-law,” I said, reaching for the front door.
“Huh. Is the place always like this?”
“No,” I said. “You see, it’s Yom Kippur, The Day of Atonement, and they’re not allowed to eat and drink for twenty-four hours.”
“Why the heck not?”
“It’s a fast,” I said. “For religion. Mr. Stark is used to coffee in the morning, however. And the daughter, you see, is having a baby.”
“Yeah, I got that,” the plumber said. “Well, good luck, miss, is all I have to say.”
“Thank you,” I said, and shut the door behind him.
By noon, Mr. and Mrs. Stark had left—Sophie had declined, with rather a lot to say about the dullness of sitting in waiting rooms—and Joe was sleeping. I decided that, as there was nobody but Sophie to see me, I would take a shower—which was also forbidden on this day—and dress.
That was why I was at the kitchen table with Dorothy L. Sayers when Sophie came in, plopped herself down beside me, and said, “You realize that they won’t even be able to call me to say what Barbara’s had until about seven tonight.”
“Pardon?”
“The telephone. They can’t use it today.
They’re not supposed to drive, either, but I guess that went by the wayside.
I could have gone with them, but who knows what kind of dramas they’ll have in the hospital?
If Barbara lunges at David from her hospital bed and tries to kill him, don’t say I didn’t warn you.
You want to know why Dad was so grumpy, besides not having his coffee or anything to eat? ”
“These things are surely enough to make a man ill-tempered,” I said.
“Ill-tempered,” she said. “You have such a classy way of saying things. He’s been an absolute bear, is what.
It’s because he can’t shower and shave, and he has to go out looking like that.
” She sighed. “I’ve atoned all day. I’m going to have some soup.
” Rather defiantly, so I said, “This is a matter for your own conscience, not mine.”
On her second bowl, she asked, “So why can’t you time babies not to come on Yom Kippur?”
“Pardon?” The book was becoming very interesting. I was beginning to have a glimmer … but I must be wrong.
“You said you couldn’t time them,” she said. “Why not? If you start them when you decide to, and you know how long it takes …”
“They decide when to come,” I said. “Or one’s body decides. It’s very hard to tell which, for one can’t ask the baby. Some come early, and some late.”
“Oh.” She considered that while eating her second bagel. “It seems very inefficient.”
“Yes,” I said. “Babies are not very mechanized, I’m afraid.”
“So how do you start them?”
I blinked. “Pardon?”
“How does it happen? Exactly. I know it’s partly from the man and partly from the woman, but nobody ever explains exactly how.”
“You’re fourteen. Has your mother not explained this to you?” How had I learned? From Frau Heffinger, partially, and a bit from my very embarrassed mother, but mostly from seeing the animals at the zoo. Baboons, you know, are most immodest.
“You haven’t happened to notice,” Sophie said, “that the woman is a fossil?”
“I really think it would be best for you to ask your mother,” I said. “Or perhaps your sister.”
She sighed. “And I thought you had some guts.”
“What did your mother say,” I asked, “when you began your … your bleeding time? I believe this is called ‘menstruation.’ It’s a very difficult word to say, is it not?”
Sophie rolled her eyes. “She said I was becoming a woman. What? I was thirteen! Sure, I’ve had my Bat Mitzvah, but if I’m a woman, why do I still have to dress like this?
Anyway, I was the last one of my friends to get my period.
Now I wish it had taken longer. What a mess.
Barbara uses Tampax. I know, because I’ve seen the box at her house.
Mom, naturally, won’t hear of it. She says it isn’t proper for unmarried women.
Why on earth not? The pads are so disgusting, aren’t they? ”
“I’m very grateful for these pads,” I said. “In Germany, I used rags, for there was nothing else. Until I met Joe, and he bought the pads for me at the PX. I was terribly embarrassed the first time, but Joe is very considerate.”
“Yes, we get it, Joe’s perfect,” Sophie said. “As everybody keeps telling me. Really? Rags?”
“Refugees,” I said, “have little choice.”
“Oh.” She ate another bite of bagel. It had something called “cream cheese” on it, which was a bit like Quark, but richer and not sour. Rather delicious, in a bland sort of way.
“When this happens,” I decided I should say, “the bleeding, it’s because no baby is started.
This is the reason for the blood to collect in one’s womb.
It’s intended to make a sort of nest for the baby, if it comes.
Of course, the body can’t know whether the baby will come or not, so it must make the nest each month, and when there’s no baby, it disposes of the nest.”
“A nest of blood,” Sophie said. “Disgusting.”
“Well, no,” I said. “Rather miraculous, really.”
“So if it happens every month,” she said, “why haven’t you had a baby yet? And why did it take Barbara and David so long?”
I said, “Really, this is a matter for your mother.”
“OK,” she said. “Suppose we ask Joe.”
I blinked at her. “Joe? One doesn’t ask a man to explain such things.”
“Fine,” she said, “if you want me to stay dangerously ignorant. But I think I’ll go ask him anyway.”