I was not envious. I wasnot.I liked them both, and how could their happiness ever lessen mine?
“And by ‘flatten,’” Sophie said, “you mean, ‘What are all these Great Unwashed doing moving into our nice neighborhoods?’ They fought a war, Mom. Theysacrificed.Is this a good time to talk about liberating the concentration camps?”
“Absolutely not,” Mr. Stark said.
“I know very well what they did,” Mrs. Stark said. “And of course I wasn’t saying that. But oh, darling, we’ll need to go shopping soon for maternity clothes. Tomorrow, maybe? If you’re four months along already, you’ll need everything. What a thrill that was when I was expecting you! I wanted to wear those clothes even before I needed them.”
“Just doing our bit to contribute to the population,” David said. He hadn’t stopped smiling since he’d shared the news. “Now that Barbara’s expecting, half the women I see seem to be doing the same. It’s all those GIs coming home and wanting to get back to normal. A house, kids, the white picket fence … perfectly natural. The craving for stability after all that nihilism, because that’s what war is, wouldn’t you say, Joe? I hope so, because I’m pursuing the ‘nihilism’ angle pretty heavily in that book of mine. But I’m guessing that the schools are going to be bursting at the seams in five or ten years.”
“A little girl,” Mrs. Stark said. “Or a little boy. Well, this is just wonderful, and what a perfect time to tell us!”
My face felt frozen in its smile, and I didn’t dare look at Joe.
We ate the rest of the special meal, finishing with “Next year in Jerusalem,” after the final prayers. Sophie said, “And next year, it might actually be true. Have you seen the latest news, Joe? Everybody thinks the Jews are going to make a declarationas soon as the British leave Palestine on May fifteenth, andmakeit Israel. There’s going to be a war when they do, though, don’t you think? Because as usual, everyone hates us. The minute I’m eighteen, I’m going to go over there and help.”
“You most certainly are not,” Mrs. Stark said.
“Why,” Sophie said, “because it’ll be dangerous? Ofcourseit’ll be dangerous. But how has it worked out for the Jews to sit back and hope whatever country they’re living in doesn’t decide to slaughter them? You’d go, Joe, wouldn’t you? Don’t you want to move there and help, since you actually know how to fight?”
“No,” Joe said.
“Joe has done quite enough,” Mrs. Stark said.
“Oh,” Sophie said. “Well, probably you’re too psychologically damaged anyway. And I guess your German wife wouldn’t be too welcome. Sorry, Marguerite, but you know it’s true.”
“I do indeed know,” I said. “I have friends who will go, almost certainly. I wish them well.”
Finally, dinner was over. Once again, Joe and I weren’t allowed to help with the dishes. Sophie said, holding an armful of plates while the kitchen door swung shut behind her mother and sister, “I can’t decide whether they’re going to be talking more about you in there again, Marguerite, or just the baby. Either way, it’s going to be torture.” She sighed dramatically, but Mrs. Stark emerged from the kitchen at that moment, and Sophie said, “I’m coming, I’m coming.Geez.Can’t a person get a moment of rest around here?”
The rest of us rose, and Mr. Stark said, “Time to raise a glass, I think. Come sit in the living room, David, and we’ll break out the good Scotch and tobacco. Joe, you’ll join us?”
“No, thanks,” Joe said. “I think Marguerite and I will take a walk before bed. Settle all that dinner.”
The minute we were outside, he took my hand. “OK?” he asked.
“Of course,” I said. “It’s exciting news about the baby. Your mother is so happy.”
Joe didn’t answer, and we walked a minute in silence before I said, “I know you regret this thing that came with marrying me. You don’t have to fear saying it. I regret it very much also.”
Joe’s hand tightened on mine. “You’re nineteen years old. We’re just getting started. And we’re going to have a baby.”
“But, Joe?—”
“No,” he said. “Maybe we’ll decide to adopt one; who knows? But we’re going to do it. Besides, they’re making more strides in medicine every year. How many lives did penicillin save during the war? Tens of thousands? Hundreds of thousands? If they can do that, they can figure out hemophilia, too.”
I said, “Yes. Possibly.”
Joe turned on me. “If you don’t agree,” he said, his voice low, fierce, “tell me so. You’ve never held back yet.”
“All right.” I did my best to marshal my thoughts. “I think it may be too soon to know how we’ll feel about the risks. We have so much still to do, and I … perhaps I don’t have so much courage after all, for this frightens me. To have a son …” I had to stop.
“Fifty percent,” Joe said. “That’s all it is. Fifty percent chance that he—that she—is just fine. And fifty percent chance,ifit’s a boy, that he’ll be born with hemophilia and need some help. You know what we should do?”
“No.” I felt very tired, suddenly.
“We should go talk to somebody in the medical school. I’ll ask Professor Jacobson. He teaches Heredity, after all. He’llknow who’s best, and he’ll smooth the way, too. Do you mind me telling him?”
“No,” I said. “I didn’t cause this thing to happen, so this shame I feel … it’s foolish. I told you, too, most clearly. I didn’t try to trick you.”
