At thirteen, the only comfort in her otherwise joyless and friendless life was the Fulton Theater, where she went alone on Saturdays. The make-believe world seemed more real than her own. She felt a strange closeness to the actors on the stage, as if she were more related to them than to her own family, and she found herself becoming immersed in their make-believe lives.
When the matinee was over she would leave with a strange sadness. Going back to grandma’s junk store depressed her after the magical places she had just seen, so she usually delayed the return home as long as possible. She would walk down the street to the corner of Fourteenth and Harrison, turn into the Clinton Cafeteria and wait in line with a tray. Walking close to the counter she would look at the different colors of shimmering Jell-O topped with snowy white whipped cream and the crisp salads garnished with small plump tomatoes and black olives. There were enchiladas in large oblong steel pans, creamed chicken and garden peas on the steam tables. It was all so serene, so tranquil, so
different
from home…
This time she had the creamed chicken and a square of corn bread. It was worth the long walk to and from school every day to save up the nickels for this treat. When at last she returned to the junk store she walked to her room without a word of greeting to anyone and shut the door. She wanted to preserve the calm, dreamy feeling, but peace was not to be hers for long.
Sara stood framed in the doorway. “How dare you not let me know when you come home. Do you care at
all
how hard I work? Now get up and come and have supper—”
“I’m not hungry.”
“You’re not hungry? Fine. You think you’re punishing me? Well, we’ll see…just wait till your father comes home—”
Sara slammed the door and went into the kitchen where she found Molly. “She’s impossible, completely impossible. Mama, how did I ever have such a child?”
“She’s only thirteen…”
When I was thirteen, Sara thought, I would have given the world to have a mother who cared where I was and how I spent my time. Sara felt as if her life was choking her. She was still going to be a better mother than Molly had been, but she wasn’t about to get any further into the trap than she already was. She was pregnant, but this was one child she wasn’t going to have.
That night Jacob was met at the door by a very upset Molly. “Jacob, I don’t know what to do, Sara’s locked herself in the bedroom and refuses to speak to me or come out—”
“Why? What happened?”
“I don’t know, she takes everything so to heart—”
“Did you have another one of your fights?”
“No. Rachel upset her but I really don’t know what the child did that was so serious. In fact, Jacob, Sara’s been so nervous lately. I know it’s not easy all of us living here in such conditions…”
He hurried back to their room and knocked on the door. “Sara, let me in.”
No answer.
He was about to insist when he heard the key turn. Opening the door, he looked at Sara’s red-stained eyes and watched as she crossed the room to sit on their bed. It wasn’t Rachel that had upset her, not really. She couldn’t understand how hard he was working to make life better for them, that this bad time wasn’t going to last forever. Something down deep in him knew what she was feeling…after all, he’d felt it himself many times…
“Sara, I’m trying, and things will get better—”
“It has nothing to do with your trying or not trying.”
“Then what was it Rachel did that upset you?”
“She upsets me most of the time, but she’s not my most important problem.”
“What then?”
Her eyes seared through him. “I’m pregnant.”
For one brief moment Jacob wanted to hold Sara very close and tell her how happy he was, but that moment was lost in Sara’s next words.
“Tomorrow I’m having an abortion.”
Jacob stood rooted to the floor, speechless. She was destroying…no, killing, something that was a part of him too. The decision, by God, was not only hers. “Oh no you’re not. I swear, Sara, if you do this I’ll never forgive you…I mean it…”
“Then I’ll have to live without your forgiveness. I will not have this child or any other. Three is enough, I’ve suffered enough for them. I won’t sacrifice myself any more.
No more
…”
Jacob paced the floor, then turned, looked at Sara and said quietly, “Please, Sara, don’t do this…it might even be a boy…”
Was that the only consideration? Did he expect her to keep having babies until they hit the jackpot? “No, Jacob, I will
not
have this child.”
He sat down on the straight-backed wooden chair and put his hands over his eyes so Sara would not see the tears.
“I need fifty dollars, Jacob.”
He sat for a moment longer remembering the night Gittel’s first child was born and his words to Hershel. “You have a son. When you die there will be someone to say
Kaddish
for you.” He got up, counted out the money and placed it on the dresser, and left the room without a word.
For three weeks Jacob stayed away and roamed the countryside, trying to come to terms with his bitterness over Sara’s decision, and for three weeks Sara did almost nothing but cry.
The abortion had been done in the back of a dirty barbershop and for several days the bleeding was so profuse that Molly thought Sara might die. She too had pleaded with Sara not to go through with it, but no amount of reason or logic did any good.
As for Jacob, to all outward appearances he was a man of great physical and emotional strength; no one would have guessed his deep, intense fear and loneliness. When he finally did come back Sara was hugely relieved. She’d felt as lost and helpless without him as he had felt without her. Although she would never admit it, she had felt misgivings about taking a life Jacob had so wanted and she now lived with an unexpected burden of guilt. The child had been a boy—would have been—but of course she could never let Jacob know.
They would never be able to reveal their feelings to each other, and it was more than a week after Jacob’s return before they could even face or speak to each other. Eventually conversations around the table with the children began to draw them into meaningless talk. If their lives did not always run smoothly and if there were times when they grew apart, nothing would change the great need they still had for each other.
S
MITTY TAUGHT JACOB EVERY
trick, every piece of territory, which ranchers to buy from, what to look for when evaluating a calf.
Calves were three dollars a head, so Jack’s two hundred dollars bought a truckload. There was just one hitch. Smitty told Jacob that they had to do something a little irregular—their own slaughtering. The cost of sending the calves to be slaughtered would eat into the profits and they could wind up with practically nothing. Smitty suggested they rent a barn or a garage in a remote place, so they wouldn’t have the law on their tails.
They found the perfect place in Emeryville, way back in the hills. Smitty and Jacob slaughtered the calves, hung them just long enough to drain the blood and get rid of the body heat, and the next day sold whole carcasses to the Chinese butchers, who were no more impressed with government regulations than were Smitty and Jacob.
The hides were sold for four dollars a skin to a tannery, the innards for fifty cents a pound to a feed mill, and the hearts, livers, kidneys, heads and hooves brought an additional seventy-five cents a pound. That was the beautiful part about the cattle business; nothing was wasted. From an initial cost of three dollars per head, the total yield realized a profit of twenty-eight dollars.
At the end of three months Jacob put seven hundred and fifty dollars into Smitty’s sweating palm and told him that the partnership was terminated.
At first Smitty was furious, but he couldn’t really say that Jacob was being unfair. Smitty had made a lot of money, although he hadn’t invested a dime. Besides, Smitty wasn’t one to be tied down to such a large responsibility, and the work and the living conditions were grueling. Jack was a tough guy to work for. Everything had to be his way, and he was like a mechanical man who never knew when to stop. Smitty missed the pool hall and the occasional glass of beer. So, with all things considered, he didn’t feel he’d been given such a raw deal. The partnership was terminated, but not the friendship.
Jacob decided he’d learned all Smitty could teach him, the rest would come from his own acquired experience. Smitty went back to work at the Hayward Meat Packing Company and now Jacob did the work of two. He slaughtered and skinned his own calves, delivered to the trade, traveled through the countryside to Salinas, Modesto, Watsonville…he stopped at every farm along the way.
In the next few months, he learned everything that remained to be learned about the business. At long last Jacob had come out of the dark tunnel, into the warm California sun.
If Jacob felt guilty about ending the partnership with Smitty he still knew it was a wise decision. Now all the profits were his. He had earned them and now he would use them. Finally he would have a house of his own.
Jacob’s supreme moment came when he announced, “Sara, I found a house in West Oakland.”
Sara’s heart pounded. Was it possible that she would stop living in back of stores? She was too stunned to respond, but her thoughts were clearly written on her face.
Jacob smiled. “It’s true. Come, Sara, get the kids and tell your mother to close the store. I want you to see it.”
There was such excitement as the family piled into the truck that Jacob laughed out loud. As they drove along Fruitvale Boulevard Sara asked him, “How did you find this house?”
“Funny how things fall in my lap, like with Smitty. I stopped for coffee and met a butcher I know. He happened to tell me his mother died and left him a house. I asked him if he wanted to sell and he said yes—as soon as possible, because he doesn’t want to pay the county taxes. I went to see it and all I can say is it’s the most beautiful house I ever saw in my life.”
Her heart pounded even harder. “If it’s so gorgeous, why is he selling it?”
“Because he’s an old bachelor and doesn’t need all that space.”
Sara relaxed. “How much did you pay for it?”
“Twenty-five hundred dollars.”
“Jacob, we don’t have that kind of money—”
Jacob had it, but he was careful not to divulge too much to Sara. Washington Heights was still very fresh in his memory. “That’s true, but I’m giving him a down payment and a note for the balance…”
At this point Sara was no longer listening. The only thing she could think of was being her own mistress and of the hell she’d gone through living in such close quarters with mama and the children with never a moment of privacy, nowhere to hide—the same as it had been with Esther. It was about time she took charge of her own life.
Deep in thought, she was startled when Jacob came to a halt in front of the house. Everyone got out of the truck. Sara couldn’t believe her eyes. The small dingy houses in the neighborhood only emphasized the charm of the lovely old two-story wooden house. Leading to the front porch were four wide stairs and a banister on each side. The peaked roof was trimmed with filigree moldings.
Jacob took the key from his pocket and opened the door wide.
The moment Sara entered she wanted to get down on her hands and knees and kiss the floor. Breathlessly, she looked around.
The square hall was paneled in gray gumwood. Her gaze wandered to the heavy newel post and banister leading up to the second floor.
Jacob beamed as he showed his wife and her mother through the house.
The livingroom was spacious, with a tall wood mantel flanked on either side by round columns. Between the columns a mirror reflected Sara’s image. She could visualize it in winter, could almost smell the scent of burning logs. She followed Jacob into the adjoining diningroom where the wood panels towered to within two feet of the twelve-foot ceiling, ending with a cornice that ran around the entire room. How beautiful, Sara thought. She could already visualize decorative plates along the wall. The built-in buffet with the leaded glass doors must have held the previous owner’s best china.
Jacob hurried Sara and Molly into the enormous kitchen. The brown linoleum would have to be replaced, Sara thought, but she smiled as she recalled their first flat with the lime green kitchen and yellow linoleum. This was a far cry from Washington Heights.
Jacob led her to the glassed-in back porch, where an old Maytag washer still remained.
Molly summoned her back to the kitchen. “Look, Sara,” she said, sliding back the narrow wall panel. Sara looked from the kitchen side into the diningroom. The opening was between the upper cabinet and the counter of the buffet.
Sara smiled at her mother. “Jacob was right, it is beautiful.”
Molly shook her head as she remembered the house in Monte Carlo. When had she ever really forgotten? Sara thinks she’s the only one that’s ever been deprived, she thought, and I also remember having to sell my flats so Sara could have this. She tried to dismiss the jealousy. She wanted Sara to have this. Still, Jacob had never mentioned giving her back the money he owed her…
They could hear Doris and Lillian running from room to room upstairs. When Doris saw her mother come to the second floor she said breathlessly, “Five bedrooms! Which one can I have, mama?”
“We’ll see…” Sara said walking past her, scarcely hearing, thinking of the past, the future…
Of course, that’s so like mama, Rachel thought. How nice if mama had said, “What room would you like, Doris, which one would please you?” But mama was too concerned with mama. Poor papa…well, at least she wouldn’t have to sleep in the same room with Doris anymore. Whichever room she got would be hers and no one would invade her privacy.
Rachel grimaced when she heard Sara’s voice rising at Lillian, who had climbed into the bathtub and was splashing in the running water. “What are you
doing
? Oh, God, that’s all I need now is for you to come down with a cold, I don’t have enough to do—”
“Everyone come up quick,” Doris called from the attic. “Look,” Doris said, holding up the lid of the large cretonne-covered chest.