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Gerda's Journal (continued) Last week, they took the child away. Previously, before the suicide attempt, someone had let her parents know where she was. They had come here, we learned later from the lawyer the court appointed. Had found her. It wasn't her real father, but a stepfather, her mother's second husband, the first having died. What resulted from this visit? Money, a little. A hundred a month, but more available, anything she could want if she'd just "give all this up, come back and straighten up." Give up her husband, too? Nobody knew what had been said except Mary herself. A hundred dollars was better than nothing, but did she even accept that? She worked somewhere, some little clerking job, but had to leave because of speaking too little French. Kept alert for something from the dance companies. Had not abandoned hope. One morning she had called to say she could no longer afford to stay on at Seymour Street. Then, before Gordon could chase over to see about her after work, she had pinned the note to the child, left the child with a friend upstairs who baby-sat for her, and jumped from the dresser with the sheet twisted into a rope and tied around her neck. She'd knotted it overhead to the pipes that ran across her ceiling. She had gone to the library and read up on the process. Everything was supposed to be over in a few minutes. But the baby-sitter did not cooperate. She cheated and opened the note before she was supposed to, and got the police there, double quick. They were at the door before Mary had quit coughing, though before they were actually in she had fainted. After the trial and the psychiatric interviews, the baby was supposed to have gone back to the grandmother, Mary's mother, who 130 2 Voices from Afar 131 lived in Philadelphia. The judge had ordered this. Mary temporized. The baby was too sick to travel, she said; and when they came to check up she hid it, lied about where it was, staved them off. Finally she had to give in. She let them drive her to the border. Under the gaze of the woman from the city probation office, she stuck the baby into her mother's arms, then turned quickly away,all shaken up, having had to hear said to her, having said in return, who knew what? We couldn't imagine. At any rate, she refused to go with the parents. Refused comfort, safety, soft beds, warm rooms, and the company of her own child. Did not cry on the way home. Just sat perfectly still, perfectly silent. "Couldn't this be from drugs?" I suggested. "I mean, they're all on them, aren't they?" "I don't think so," Gordon said. "She's too . . . stung. Even for that." He reflected on the word he had used. It was unusual. When I go to see her, I make a point of asking, "Is Kathy happy with your mother? What's she like?" "You mean Kate Davis?" she asks me in her wry narrow voice, giving the stepfather's name, never sayingMother. "You like him, at least, don't you? You named the baby for your mother, didn't you? That must mean something." "The little money he sends helps. But I can't stand to go there. Not with her." "What's wrong with her?" No answer. "What did she do to you?" "After my father died . . . we were just the two of us. You must have heard of the silver hairbrush treatment." She even laughs, a clean little gurgle of sound. Honest and pure, like spring water. "You mean being spanked with one?" My turn to laugh. "But does it take a silver one?" "Sure it does. And think how it feels across your face." The laugh gets a crazy edge to it. "And locked in closets." "Lined in velvet," I speculate, and since she's smiling, quieter, I'm bold enough to say, "What has happened to your husband?You told the court you didn't know." "I know but I can't say. It's why I have to stay where he left me. He'll come back. When he does, I'll be through with this probation and they won't be able to keep Kathy. We'll work. In summer we [3.128.203.143] Project MUSE (2024...

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