I had to explain then, of course, and Joe looked more troubled than ever. “Well, don’t worry,” he said. “I’ll get a job stocking shelves or washing dishes or something, in between summer school, and if you can’t pick something up—well, you’ve never had much of a vacation, as far as I can see. Maybe this will be your chance.”
“A vacation?” I said. “No, I haven’t had that. But I don’t think I was made for—for lying by the shore with suntan oil on my back. It sounds very dull, and also very hot. And I enjoy talking to people, truly. By summer, I’ll sound less German. I’ll work hard at it. And I’ll tell employers, and customers, too, if they do ask ..." I frowned into the distance, then laughed. “That I’m a refugee, and talking of the war is painful to me. That I’ve married an American, and am so happy to be in this beautiful country, and wish only to work hard to help my husband with his studies. This will sound very dutiful, I think, and it won’t be a lie, because Iwasa refugee, and Idon’twish to talk of my life in Germany. And if there are no jobs for women in Palo Alto, I’ll take the train to San Jose and find one there. Someplace where one will not meet any odious Frenchmen. And I think we must have our Easter dinner despite all, for one cannot give up everything. Even Dr. Müller, you know, needed his pipe and his tea to be happy. The life of the mind is very nourishing, but one can’t eat and drink books. No, I think we must buy the lamb.”
“Fine,” Joe said. “If you’re sure. But if you want to go to college once I’m done …”
“If I do,” I said, “I’ll tell you so, and we’ll make a plan. Together.”
23
THE ALMOST-GODLESS
On a Friday evening a few weeks later, we were in San Francisco again, for it was Passover, and just as I hadn’t been able to miss Mass on Easter, Joe had needed to observe this holiday.
So far, it seemed to consist of a meal that was a service in itself, with prayers and rituals and special foods. This seemed practical, for one didn’t even need to go to a synagogue to worship in this way, and food did tend to bring people together; didn’t Christians always have a special dinner at Christmas?
I didn’t say that, of course; while the reasons for particular religious traditions often seemed obvious to me—porkcouldcarry a most terrible disease, I’d learned from Susie, and shellfish, too, could be dangerous if eaten at the wrong time of year—nobody wanted an outsider’s analysis of their religious practices. That was why I’d confined myself so far to saying, “Oh, how delicious,” and expressing interest in the concept of not eating leavened bread. Which was apparently because, when the Israelites had been freed from Egyptian slavery,they’d fled in such haste that they hadn’t had time for their bread to rise. Three thousand years ago.
And I’d thoughtmyfamily dwelled too much on history and tradition. Mentally, I put this into the category of “Sacrifice and the taming of appetites is good for the soul, and it’s especially good if the entire community sacrifices together,” like not eating meat on Fridays for Catholics, and kept my mouth shut.
Unfortunately, almost as soon as I’d decided on this noble course, Mrs. Stark said, “I hope you’ve been able to buy plenty of matzo and matzo meal for the week, Marguerite. No other flour is allowed, you know. But I assume Joe has explained our dietary laws and your duties,” while graciously handing me a platter of something called ‘gefilte fish.’ It was rather good, like a liver dumpling but made with fish. Itwasa dumpling, in fact, as the matzo balls in the chicken soup had been also. Joe would enjoy liver dumplings, and calves’ liver was inexpensive. I could try making them; I mostly remembered how. One could purchase cans of beef broth for the soup, and although it wasn’t quite the same as making it oneself, it was certainly more like Frau Heffinger’s beef stock than the Velveeta cheese was like Gouda.
Wait. What had Mrs. Stark said? No flour? Nobread?I sat with my fork halfway to my mouth and groped for an answer, as this was the first I’d heard of such a thing. I hadn’t bought the least bit of pork since coming to America, though, not even bacon! This had been a great sacrifice, but no bread? To a German, one might as well have said, “No water.”
To my relief, Joe stepped in. “Yes, the supermarket carries both. Fortunately.” He smiled guilelessly, as if he were contemplating all the delicious meals I would soon create with these flat and tasteless biscuits.
I was just wiping my metaphorical brow when Mr. Stark said, “How are your classes going, Joe? That’s quite the heavyschedule you’ve put on yourself, but a married man has these constraints, I suppose.”
“Fine,” Joe said. “Compared to fighting a war or interviewing war criminals, it isn’t bad at all. And Marguerite helps. She’s doing the Philosophy reading along with me and looks over my class notes. We have extremely erudite conversations over dinner, most of which involve me saying, ‘Huh?’ and, ‘What is hetalkingabout?’”
“So you’re saying she’s smarter than you?” That was Sophie, of course, who seemed to delight in stirring up trouble. It went along with the perching; Sophie probablywouldbecome a scientist, the kind that observes people and writes clever papers about them.
“I don’t have to say it,” Joe said. “The profs already have. Marguerite audited Human Genetics after I took it—I told Professor Jacobson that she’d read my textbook on her own, and that sealed the deal—and she got the highest grade on the final exam of any student this year. And before you say it, of course he let her take the exam. How could he not, with her on the edge of her seat during every class, writing down every word he said and only wanting to know how to learn even more? Now they seem to have roped in half the faculty, and she’s auditingtwocourses. Next quarter, who knows? They love her there. They think she should be in college. I think so too, for that matter.”
“But I thought she was helping you by working,” Mrs. Stark said. She looked appalled, as if I’d taken to smoking a pipe and spitting.
“That’s my point, Mom,” Joe said. “Sheishelping me. And don’t worry, she’s working in the bookstore, too. She hasn’t stopped working since she got here. She’s a hard woman to wear out, that’s all.”
“I wonder you have the time, Marguerite,” Mrs. Stark said. “With your household duties too? Or are you usingconvenience foods? I thought we’d established that those aren’t acceptable items to serve your husband. And this is the time to economize, you know. Once you have a baby, the bills just seem to add up. Building up your savings beforehand is critical.”
“Is this the part of the evening where you ask them when they’re going to get around to giving you grandchildren?” Sophie asked. “Non-Jewish grandchildren, of course, so maybe not.”
“Of course not,” Mrs. Stark said stiffly. “Don’t be silly.”
“It’s quite remarkable that nobodyhashad any children,” Sophie said. “What was it you were saying to Dad recently? I think it was?—”
David headed off this journey to disaster. “On that note,” he said, “Barbara and I have an announcement to make.”
“No,”Mrs. Stark breathed.
“Yes,” Barbara said, smiling happily.
“Oh, darling,” Mrs. Stark said. “Oh, that’s wonderful. How soon?”
“A little more than five months, the doctor says.” That was David.
“And I’m only hearing now?” Mrs. Stark said. “But how will we have time? So much shopping to do. Oh—the shower. I assume one of your friends will be throwing that for you? And won’t you have to move? That apartment is really too small. Yes, it’s two bedrooms, but David uses one as an office, doesn’t he? And really, it’s time you had a house. Jacob, surely you can pull some strings and find them something. There’s so much competition in the market now, with everybody and anybody buying a house. It’s the GI Bill, of course. It does tend to … flatten things.”
Joe said, “Congratulations. Both of you. That’s great news.” He shook hands with David, who looked proud and happy, asa man should, and smiled at Barbara, who looked flushed and a bit embarrassed, but very pretty.
