Hilda and Pearl (33 page)

The path curved. It might not be the shortest way back to the subway after all—we were quite far from the subway. A little earlier, we'd walked through a tunnel under a road, and now we came to the tunnel. It was raining hard and it kept thundering. Two young men were already taking shelter in the tunnel. We hurried inside. On the way through before, we'd stopped to call hello and hear the echo. Now Simon tentatively said, “Hello? Hello?” The thunder was strange in the tunnel.

All at once Frances began to cry. “Bank! Bank!” she wailed. It was her word for her blanket, and with actual panic I realized that I didn't have it. I was carrying a handbag and a diaper bag. The blanket had been in the diaper bag along with our lunch and a couple of bottles. I reached into the diaper bag but I knew the blanket wasn't there. The bag wasn't full enough. I'd taken the blanket out and let her hold it while we looked at the animals, but I had it when we sat on the bench. I might have left it there, or I might have left it on a bench near the lake.

Frances was crying hard, and Simon was looking at me with terrible concern. “You didn't lose Francie's blanket, did you, Aunt Hilda?” he said soberly.

“I hope not,” I said. I looked up at Pearl.

“I'll get it,” she said in an instant, before it even occurred to me that there was anything we could do. Pearl handed me her pocket-book and her straw hat and took off into the rain, running back the way we'd come in her tight skirt and high-heeled open-toed shoes.

“Where's Mommy going?” said Simon.

“Pearl, don't be silly!” I called.

“She'll be struck by lightning,” he said. Frances had sat down on the dirty ground in the tunnel and was still crying. Rivulets of water were running in, and puddles and streams were forming, the rain was so sudden and hard. The two young men turned and looked at us, but didn't say anything. I crouched with the two handbags and the diaper bag to pick up Frances, and stayed low, holding her on my knees, to talk to Simon.

“She'll be all right,” I said, though I was worried too, and I thought he could probably tell I was worried.

“No, you don't understand, she could get hit by lightning,” he said.

I knew that people did get struck in Central Park, it wasn't just a silly fear. “Not so close to the big buildings,” I said, though. “Only in the other part of the park. It won't happen.”

But I was worried, and Simon wasn't convinced. “It could happen,” he said. He walked closer to the end of the tunnel from which Pearl had run, and stood with his hands in his pockets, watching the sheets of rain and waiting for her.

Frances sobbed and I held her against me. Finally I put the bags down on the muddy ground. Every time there was a clap of thunder now, Frances screamed. Simon came over and held on to her foot. “The
thunder
can't hurt us,” he said, and when she didn't answer, began shouting it again and again, “The thunder can't hurt us! The thunder can't hurt us!” His voice echoed and bounced and the two young men stared. I rocked Frances, her muddy shoes kicking against me, and used one hand to stroke Simon's back and shoulder.

At last, suddenly, Pearl was behind us—she'd come from the other direction—soaking wet, laughing, holding out the soaked blanket. Frances stopped crying abruptly and took it, then wriggled out of my arms and sat down in the mud, holding it to her face. I felt terrible that I could not do for her what that scrap of flannel could do. Simon, who did not like to hug his mother, crouched near her and began wiping her shoes with his hands.

“It was in the zoo,” Pearl said. “On the bench in the zoo. You noodle. You left it on the bench in the zoo.”

It was as if she was proud of me. Her hair was flat against her head, which made her nose look large and her chin jut out. Her blouse and skirt were translucent, clinging to her body.

“Are you all right?” I said, and put out my arms to her, and Pearl made a funny sound; I wasn't sure whether it was a combination of laughing and being out of breath or whether she was crying.

“What is it, Mommy, were you afraid?” Simon said.

Pearl came into my arms and put her head close to mine. “I wasn't afraid,” she said, “but I'm so cold.” She pulled my arms closer around her. “I don't know why I did that,” she said. “It's not going to rain forever. We could have waited. It wasn't going away.”

“I don't know why you did it either,” I said.

“Now I'm so cold,” she said. I held her until the rain dwindled and stopped, and then we walked—wet and dirty—to the subway.

When Frances was four I got a sore throat, then a bladder infection. I was sick all spring, and finally Nathan said I should go away for a week or two. Someone he knew suggested a place on Long Island, a sort of rooming house on the beach. I took Frances with me. There was no one to take care of her when he was at work, and I'd have missed her. And I took Pearl with me to help take care of Frances. She deserved a vacation, too, we told her. She was working in an office but they gave her some time off. It was early June and we spent about ten days on Long Island. Some of the guests in the rooming house lived there all the time, or all through the warm months, but others came for a week or two. Meals weren't served but you could leave your groceries in the refrigerator and cook for yourself. Pearl was worried about leaving Simon with Mike. “He has no patience with Simon,” she said. But Simon was still in school, so we couldn't take him with us.

Mike drove us out there on a Saturday with our valises. Simon came along and at the last minute I thought Pearl might not stay. Simon was nonchalant, though. Mike helped us carry our things in. The landlady wasn't home, but she'd asked one of the other guests—a young woman who'd lived there all winter—to show us our room. “I'm Gussie,” said the young woman. She asked Frances, “Do you want to see my bird?”

“Where is it?” said Frances. She probably thought Gussie had a bird in her pocket that might fly out at any moment. She pulled back.

“Upstairs. I'll show you later.” She walked us down the corridor and we all went into our room. It was large, with a threadbare dark red rug and a plank floor around it. A big bed was in the middle of the room and a crib was in one corner. There were four windows, all in a row, and outside were pine trees. The windows were open and I smelled the trees and the salt water nearby.

“She's sorry there isn't a cot,” Gussie said. “You asked for a cot.”

At home Frances had a bed. I think I'd expected that she would sleep with me and the cot would be for Pearl.

“Can you go in there?” Gussie said now to Frances, leaning over to talk to her. She was skinny, with dyed blond hair. She was probably thirty, but she seemed like a girl. She was wearing a bathing suit, though it wasn't hot out.

“Is there a bird in there?” said Frances.

“No, honey, no bird. Let me show you.” She picked up Frances and put her into the crib, shoes and all. I thought she'd object but she lay down. It wasn't much longer than she was. She lay on her back, arms and legs spread, her skirt up so her underpants showed. “Where's the bird?” she said.

“She forgot to tell you,” Gussie was saying to me, shrugging, apparently in the direction of the landlady's room. “Someone else is using the cot.”

“It's all right,” said Pearl, and that was when I was afraid she'd say she wasn't staying. Simon was looking out the windows into the trees. Mike stood holding the suitcases.

“You'll be all right with him?” said Pearl to Mike, moving her chin in Simon's direction.

“Of course,” said Mike. “Why shouldn't I be all right? Come on, Tiger, we'll head back to town. Got a long drive ahead of us.” He put down the bags.

Pearl seized Simon and kissed him, but he wrestled away from her and followed Mike.

“I think maybe it's better when I'm not there,” she said, after they were gone.

“He looks like a nice kid,” said Gussie.

“He's a good boy,” Pearl said.

“Can I show her around?” she said to us. “What's your name, honey?”

“Frances Levenson,” said my daughter.

“Okay, Fran, let's go,” said Gussie. I didn't think Frances would want to go off with Gussie, but she did.

“Do you really have a bird?” I said as they left.

“A canary. His name is Rosie.”

“Rosie is a girl's name,” said Frances.

“It's short for Franklin Delano Roosevelt,” said Gussie. “I had another one called Eleanor, but she died.”

When they were gone, Pearl kicked off her shoes and lay down on the bed. I opened my suitcase. “Do you mind if I take this dresser?” I said. There were two.

“Whichever you want.”

“Is this all right?” I persisted.

“Why shouldn't it be all right?”

“You don't mind sharing a bed, do you?”

“I don't mind,” said Pearl. After a while she stood up and unpacked her own clothes. I was putting my underwear into the first drawer, my blouses underneath, and so forth, but she just filled one drawer randomly, then the other.

When Gussie brought Frances back she offered to show us around too. I wanted to go exploring by ourselves but Pearl said yes. Next to the house was a big shady lawn with a hammock and picnic tables. A young couple was lying on a blanket in a sunny place at the end of the lawn. A small cottage was near the house and Gussie said more guests stayed there. “We all get along,” she said. “We have good times.”

She pointed us toward the beach and said she had to go wash her hair, and Pearl and Frances and I set out by ourselves. It wasn't far, just down a dirt road past a store where you could buy snacks and suntan lotion during the season. Past it was the beach, covered with rocks and pebbles. Long Island Sound, which was gray, stretched into the distance. Little, overlapping waves made a low, steady noise reaching the shore. Far away I could see a boat. I liked the smell, and the sound of the gulls mewing. The beach went as far as I could see in one direction, but in the other, a dune cut off our view. We began to walk, while Frances came behind us. She picked up shells and carried them.

“She's nice,” said Pearl.

“Gussie?”

“Uh-huh.”

“I don't know.” I thought she was too eager to make friends. I wanted to be alone with Pearl and Frances.

That night Gussie said she was cooking fried chicken and it would be silly for us not to have some. Besides, we had no food. We had thought there was a store within walking distance, but it turned out you had to get a ride with the landlady, and she went when she went. We were glad to have Gussie's fried chicken that night, and after that she suggested that we share food and it seemed easier. She had a car.

The third or fourth day Gussie and Frances and Pearl went down to the beach. I was reading and didn't go, and as soon as they left, I was sorry. I lay on the bed, with the breeze blowing in, and played with the tufts on the bedspread. Then I fell asleep. They were still gone when I woke up. I had a dry mouth, and I went into the kitchen to find something to drink. No one was there. The house was big, but only a few people were staying there just then. The landlady went into town a lot. She worked part-time at the post office.

I made coffee and went back to our room. I was annoyed with Pearl for going off without me, even though I could have said something at the time and I didn't. I remembered a time when Pearl had just married Mike and they were living with us. I was angry with her for being young and pretty, for finding her way so easily into the household. I wanted her to suffer, I think. I'd get angry with her for no reason and she'd just take it. I'd confuse her on purpose.

I heard them coming back. Pearl came into the bedroom, eating something out of one hand. “Where's the baby?” I said.

“She's asleep. I was carrying her and she fell asleep in my arms. I put her down on the living room couch.”

“What are you eating?”

“Crackerjacks. Frances is fine, Hilda.”

“You kept her out awfully long. No wonder she's tired.”

“We got to talking,” Pearl said.

“I don't know what you and Gussie find to discuss for so long,” I said.

“Nothing,” said Pearl. “Are you angry with me?”

“No. Why should I be angry? I have no reason to be angry.”

“Just checking,” she said.

That night all the guests gathered in the living room and played charades. It was Gussie's idea. It was a good idea, I had to admit. I resisted it because I was starting to dislike her. But the charades got funnier and funnier, at least so it seemed. Pearl crawled on the floor, pretending to be a mouse, and Frances shrieked with laughter. Gussie guessed everything before I'd even started to think about what it could be.

That night I couldn't sleep. I tried to keep still but I kept shifting around in bed. My arms and legs felt cramped. I thought Pearl was asleep but at last she sat up. “What is it?” she said.

I didn't answer.