One Eye Laughing, the Other Weeping

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AUSTRIA T9 NtW Y9RK
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D ea r A merica

ONE EYE LAUGHING,

†E O†ER WEEPING

†E DIARY OF JULIE WEI>

BY
B
ARRY
D
ENENBERG

Scholastic Inc. New York

PART ONE

VIENNA, AUSTRIA 1938

SUNDAY, JANUARY 2, 1938

Daddy came home very late
again
last night. It may be a holiday for everyone else in Vienna, but not for Daddy.

I kept reading and reading, trying to stay awake (I simply
cannot
go to sleep until I
know
that Daddy is home), hoping that at any moment I would hear the elevator doors open and close with their clash and clang, footsteps echoing in the hollow hallway, and the sound of his key sliding slowly into the door lock.

But I must have dozed off because the next thing I knew I could smell his eau de cologne and he was giv-ing me my good-night kiss. Daddy
never
,
ever
goes to bed without giving me my good-night kiss.

Daddy sees more patients each year, which means he sees less of
me
each year. I wish it wasn’t so but Daddy is simply devoted to his patients.

He doesn’t even come home for his noontime meal like he used to. When I was little he
always
,
always
did unless, of course, someone had an emergency. Milli

says when I was little I insisted on standing out on the front balcony until I saw Daddy coming home.

Milli would make sure everything was ready — Daddy didn’t have time to waste because he had to rush off to his afternoon house calls and then return to the office by three, where he would always find a crowded waiting room.

He liked to eat quietly and not have to talk because it was his only break from the tedious pressure of worrying about his patients. I would just sit there silently, watching him eat.

They all call him “The Doctor.” Not “doctor” or “Doctor Weiss,” just “The Doctor,” with a capital T, as if for them there is no other.

Milli says I used to tell anyone who would listen that if they went to my father they would
never
,
ever
get sick (which made Daddy laugh every time he heard it. Daddy is pretty serious most of the time and it’s hard to make him laugh. I’m the only one who can. He calls me his precious jewel. That’s because of my name, Julie).

At least the night before last he was home on time. We all drank a toast to my birthday and the New Year (they’re both on the
same exact day
). It was my first sip

of champagne and I don’t see why everyone makes such a fuss about it.

Mother didn’t drink
any
, not even to make the toast. She never drinks
anything
— not wine or champagne, even on special occasions like this. She said it makes her too nervous.

Daddy always makes the toast, but this year all he said was that he wished everyone a healthy New Year, which was pretty brief for him (usually he’s much more eloquent than that).

Daddy gave me the diary I am writing in at this very moment and the silver-plated fountain pen I’m using. He wrote on the card:
Because I know you have so much to say.
The diary is covered with a bright red silky material and there’s a ribbon so I can keep my place. Of course it was not exactly a surprise. I saw it at Heller’s Book and Stationery Store weeks ago and have been hinting ever since.

But the pen
was
a surprise — it came in its own little case and rests on a little velvet bed with a gold band that holds it gently in place. It’s my first
very own
fountain pen. When I’m finished writing I’ll carefully put my new fountain pen back in its case.

Mother gave me a small silver locket but she didn’t

put anything in it because she thought it might be nice if I decided for myself what that should be.

Max gave me a book of Rilke’s poems because that’s his favorite poet. Inside he wrote:

To my sister, Julie:

“Nearby is the country they call life. You will know it by its seriousness.

Give me your hand.”

Sometimes I can recognize my brother by his seriousness, although I must say it is a beautiful book.

The problem with Max is that he thinks he’s smarter than everyone. He even thinks he’s smarter than me just because he skipped the third grade and I didn’t, which was only because I didn’t want to. (If I wanted to I could have.)

He’s eighteen and goes to Vienna University. Max is
very
serious, as I said, and
very
ambitious: He wants to be a famous lawyer someday.

I’m glad he’s on crutches. I’m
glad
he broke his leg ski-ing in the Alps. He thinks he’s the best at everything.

Milli made my two favorite birthday desserts: co-conut cookies and almond-paste coffee cake. Plus her annual birthday present: gold-wrapped chocolate coins, one for each year.

MONDAY, JANUARY 3, 1938

Milli played solitaire while I told her how badly Max has been behaving lately. She’s usually playing solitaire when I come home from school, and I have to say that sometimes I think she plays solitaire
all day long.
(She says she likes it because it’s something she can do on her own and it helps her not to think — which wouldn’t appeal to me in the
slightest
— why would anyone want to play something that helped them not to think? I like to think.)

Since he’s been attending the university Max acts like he’s a thousand years old. I’ve started calling him Maestro Max, which he clearly dislikes (I’m delighted to say).

He used to be more likable. We used to talk a lot — he loved to help me with my problems, you could tell. He always knew the
exact right
thing to say, like that time last year when Sophy and I had that horrible fight

because she couldn’t stop laughing after I had my hair cut very short. It wasn’t the least bit funny because up to then my hair had
never
been cut and was almost down to my waist. I just felt like I needed a drastic change and all my best friend could do was laugh.

Now he has a sign up that says
NON INTROITUS
, which means “No Entry” in Latin. Of course I don’t pay any attention and just go right in, same as I always did. I told him I don’t speak Latin.

Milli didn’t get a chance to tell me what she thought about all this because Mother was pressing the buzzer and Milli had to go see what she wanted.

Milli’s the only one of the staff who Mother
really
trusts. She’s the only one who’s allowed to dust the paintings in the living room that are Mother’s pride and joy.

Mother rules the staff with an iron hand — sometimes she spends all morning going over the chores. Each and every one of them is afraid of her, except for Milli.

Mother gets
very
upset if everything doesn’t go precisely as planned and right now everything is
not
going precisely as planned.

For one thing, she’s working herself into a state

planning her annual dinner party. This year there will be eighteen guests — four more than last year. Milli said Mother wants to move to a bigger apartment because our dining room is so small since it only seats twenty comfortably. I’m not sure if Mother’s joking, or Milli is, or both.

Mother has only herself to blame for the mess she’s in. If she hadn’t fired the cook she wouldn’t be in such a panic.