“No,” I said, fighting an absurd urge to giggle. “It’s Yom Kippur. A most sacred holiday.”
He stared at me. I couldn’t blame him. Mrs. Stark was still in her dressing-gown, her hair in pincurls. Sophie, the only one dressed, was saying, “Can I finally use the bathroom, please?” Mr. Stark was saying, “Here. Two dollars.”
“Give it to Marguerite,” Mrs. Stark said.
“Why would I give it to Marguerite?”
“Because she gave it to me,” the plumber said.
“What?” Mr. Stark said.
I said, speaking slowly and clearly, “I loaned Mrs. Stark two dollars from Joe’s wallet. If you give me the two dollars, I’ll return them to Joe’s wallet.”
The plumber said, “Well, good luck, folks. I’m going now.”
I said, “I’ll see you out,” as Mr. Stark was now knocking at the bathroom door, saying, “Sophie! Your mother and I are leaving soon. Are you coming?”
Downstairs, the plumber said, “Who are you exactly, miss? You don’t seem quite as nuts as the rest of them.”
“I’m the daughter-in-law,” I said, reaching for the front door.
“Huh. Is the place always like this?”
“No,” I said. “You see, it’s Yom Kippur, The Day of Atonement, and they’re not allowed to eat and drink for twenty-four hours.”
“Why the heck not?”
“It’s a fast,” I said. “For religion. Mr. Stark is used to coffee in the morning, however. And the daughter, you see, is having a baby.”
“Yeah, I gotthat,”the plumber said. “Well, good luck, miss, is all I have to say.”
“Thank you,” I said, and shut the door behind him.
By noon, Mr. and Mrs. Stark had left—Sophie had declined, with rather a lot to say about the dullness of sitting in waiting rooms—and Joe was sleeping. I decided that, as there was nobody but Sophie to see me, I would take a shower—which was also forbidden on this day—and dress.
That was why I was at the kitchen table with Dorothy L. Sayers when Sophie came in, plopped herself down beside me, and said, “You realize that they won’t even be able to call me to say what Barbara’s had until about seven tonight.”
“Pardon?”
“The telephone. They can’t use it today. They’re not supposed to drive, either, but I guessthatwent by the wayside. I could have gone with them, but who knows what kind of dramas they’ll have in the hospital? If Barbara lunges at David from her hospital bed and tries to kill him, don’t say I didn’t warn you. You want to know why Dad was so grumpy, besides not having his coffee or anything to eat?”
“These things are surely enough to make a man ill-tempered,” I said.
“Ill-tempered,” she said. “You have such a classy way of saying things. He’s been an absolute bear, is what. It’s because he can’t shower and shave, and he has to go out looking like that.” She sighed. “I’ve atoned all day. I’m going to have some soup.” Rather defiantly, so I said, “This is a matter for your own conscience, not mine.”
On her second bowl, she asked, “So why can’t you time babies not to come on Yom Kippur?”
“Pardon?” The book was becoming very interesting. I was beginning to have a glimmer … but I must be wrong.
“You said you couldn’t time them,” she said. “Why not? Ifyou start them when you decide to, and you know how long it takes …”
“They decide when to come,” I said. “Or one’s body decides. It’s very hard to tell which, for one can’t ask the baby. Some come early, and some late.”
“Oh.” She considered that while eating her second bagel. “It seems very inefficient.”
“Yes,” I said. “Babies are not very mechanized, I’m afraid.”
“So howdoyou start them?”
