The Silents

13

CHAPTER 13 ON DECEMBER 7 that year, the radio blared dreadful news, and 1 ran to my father to tell him. The Tribune was spread before him on the kitchen table, his eyes busy with reading. "Papa, Papa," 1 poked him, insisting he turn to face me. "What?" he demanded impatiendy, throwing his hands in the air. "The Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor. 1 just heard it on the radio. Where's Pearl Harbor?" He moaned loudly, which frightened me, and his eyes were bright with surprise. He didn't answer. He looked back at the paper, then realized that the radio had told it that very instant and the paper was as useless as yesterday's news. He folded it up and hurried into the living room to tell Mama. She'd been sitting in her chair reading, fidgeting with the lamp, turning it first one way and then the other to get the best light. The sun hadn't come out yet. It was cold and ugly outside. He pulled the book out ofher hands and informed her. "Pearl Harbor?" Mama asked. "Yes, Hawaii," Papa told her. "I know. 1 know." So that's where it was. The announcer's voice sounded hysterical . His words came in a clip clip, repeating the news again and again. "The radio's still talking about it, Papa." "What else does it say?" "Bombs from planes. An airfield. 1 didn't get the name. What does it mean?" 103 "It means war," he said. "Turn it off. I don't want you listening anymore." "Listen to music," Mama suggested. I switched the dial. Everything was the same. "There is no music. There's nothing but the news." "Then turn it off." I turned the radio offwhile Papa slipped a coat over his shoulders and left the house. I watched him through the window as he walked toward the candy store. Some of his deaf friends were coming out oftheir buildings and walking in the same direction. They would meet at Mandel's to discuss the situation. This time he didn't want me along. I followed Mama into the kitchen. "Is there going to be a war, Mama?" "I'm afraid so," she cried. "But we don't have to worry, do we?" "How do I know?" she said angrily. "This is terrible." In a frenzy ofactivity, she began pulling cans from the pantry, putting them back, sponging down the sink, and wiping it. She turned to look at me and forced a smile, "This is nothing for you to worry about. I'm sure it will be over soon. Why don't you read your comics? Maybe later we'll go to Pierce's for corned beef sandwiches." As if this last spurt of calming energy had drained her, she sank into the kitchen chair and neatly folded her hands. I knew by the way she sat, eyes focusing internally, that she wanted to think, so I walked back to the living room and opened the window to look for Papa on the street. A blast of cold air blew the lace curtains up and over me. Papa was nowhere to be seen, but there was plenty of activity on the street. Neighbors were pouring out oftheir buildings, huddling in groups and talking . Men mostly. The women, like Mama, were probably sitting in their kitchen chairs with their hands folded. Mama had been muttering "terrible" for months, every time she read the newspaper. She said it when I told her Timmy's 104 grandmother had died. It was the second time in my life that death had become something to talk about, but this time it was far away, and I handled it with courage and, I thought, understanding . One afternoon Timmy had come to sit on our steps with a bewildered, sad look on his face. "My grandmother's dead," he explained. "She lived in Germany. I never knew her, but now she's dead, and everybody at home is crying about it." "I'm sorry to hear it, Timmy. Germany is very far away. I don't suppose you'll be going to the funeral," I said, trying to make him feel better. Using my own experience as a connection, I told him I wasn't allowed to go to my grandmother's funeral. "Too young," I explained. "Are you nuts? Nobody can go to Germany. Don't...