The Silents

18

CHAPTER {8 THIS TIME Mama couldn't run to the Rubensteins. She couldn't leave the safety ofher apartment and walk down Washtenaw Avenue to get help. Even if she could, I didn't know what she would have asked for. Papa hadn't lost his job; he had lost his courage, weary from the burden, afraid ofthe future, angry at those who hadn't supported Mama. I believed it was all in his mind. Her friends hadn't abandoned her, but I wondered with deep hurt why the Rubensteins hadn't made that one concession: learning to fingerspell and sign in her hands. While AI and Adelaide went off to work, I sat with Mama in the living room, feeling sick to my stomach, the nausea rolling in waves over me. Mama was still holding her hands in her lap, unwilling to talk, so I curled up with my knees to my chest and tried to weather the batde in my stomach. What did I expect the Rubensteins to do? They had had their share ofshtimmer calling all their lives, and they had protected her from the time they were children. Zadie had seen to it. Aunt Nettie had gone to school with her, holding her hand while crossing the street to protect her from unheard cars and taunting children. Aunt Selma and Aunt Marian had made sure we wanted nothing. And it came to me, as I wiped my forehead of the sweat that poured down to my ears, that it was our turn now. AI was right. But could we convince my father? Would I strip him ofhis manhood with offers of caring? It was too much to sort out, feeling my own misery now. It was a big one this time-a tidal wave ofbile working its way 154 up from my stomach to my throat. I sat up and ran to the bathroom to heave the bitter stuff. Mama, feeling my footsteps through her feet, ran after my shadow. She caught up with me as I reached the toilet. "What's wrong?" "Nothing, Mama. I'm pregnant." "A baby? Oh, that's wonderful," she said, clapping her hands. "My first grandchild. Come. I'll take you back to the kitchen." "No, want sit on the sofa." "All right. You sit on sofa. I bring you tea." "No, don't want tea." "All right. I bring you tapioca pudding. Settle your stomach." We were talking deaf talk. I was the child again, feeling miserable . She was in a hurry to comfort me. All the little words got lost. I laid my head against the sofa arm and let her feed me. The tapioca pudding went down, the tiny bits of fruit cocktail shimmering in a sea ofwhite. "I know this good. I eat myselfwhen I pregnant. Feel better?" "Yes." "Good. You sleep. I sit chair, wait for Papa get up. You sleep. Wait." She walked to the closet and brought out the afghan that Mrs. Luft had given her for their twentieth anniversary. Rows of colors, burgundy, rust, green, beautifully crocheted. I wondered if she remembered the colors. She draped it over me and went back to sit in her chair. "Wonderful," she said to the Persian rug, "Sha have baby. Addle get married." Then she folded her hands in her lap and smiled. The window behind her was open, and the buzzing from the neighbors who were sitting on the front bench filtered through the living room. I tried hard to listen to their noises, and then I didn't care anymore. I fell asleep. My MOTHER made dinner, turning on gas jets, pulling dishes from the pantry, counting out the silverware, and setting it on the table. She tore the head oflettuce apart and put I55 wedges in each dish. The cabbage soup smelled wonderful, but I knew I couldn't eat it. Adelaide walked into the kitchen and sat down. "My new ring," she said, waving her finger. "Got it last night. I was going to show it to you earlier, but well...." "It's beautiful." "It is, isn't it?" she said, polishing it with her napkin. We could hear AI and Arthur, Adelaide's fiance, laughing in Papa's bedroom. My God, they were laughing! About what? Man talk, I heard. "Did you hit him from the front or the back?" Arthur asked. Arthur must have swung his arms...