"No thanks."
"A cookie? A piece of fruit?"
"I'm fine, Mamma," Marian spoke extra loudly. Hannah had moved from the front hall to the parlor. It was only four weeks since they had last seen each other, but it seemed to Marian that Mamma's hearing had deteriorated a little.
"You look like you put on a little weight in California," Hannah said, carrying her beaver coat, screwing on the diamond earrings that Ralph loved because they were glittery.
"You look lovely Mamma," Marian was cheerfully trying to change the subject.
"Did you put on a little weight while you were in Los Angeles?" Mamma asked again.
Marian knew she had. And maybe another pound since getting back. Coming back from warm sunshine to the cold grey city was always a jolt. This time the jolt was more than a jolt — she didn't want to think why — she just knew she had to stop stuffing in food as if it were going out of style. "I'm going back to the office grind tomorrow, so I'll lose anything I may have gained," Marian helped her mother into her coat, resolving to skip all office lunches and coffee breaks. "Isn't Aunt Paula coming with us today?"
"Sammy's son is on his mid-term vacation, and dear Natasha's bringing her little ones over. Paula's having Sunday dinner for all four of her grandchildren!"
The grandchildren Aunt Paula had and Hannah did not have were a sorrow on the list of sorrows that Marian's mother never mentioned, but sometimes the list was as heavy on Marian as if it had been mentioned many times.
While they were settling into the limousine, Mamma went on talking about
her
children,
her
busy day — she had been answering letters from her network of Mothers. She started telling Marian what Mrs. Frank was going through with Shirley, and what Mrs. Benson had decided to do about poor little Bobby.
Mamma's talk was as rain on the roof, continuous, monotonous. Though the chauffeur had put on the heat, Marian felt cold. The day was grey, her mood was grey, more wintery and bleak than the world outside. The trees that whizzed by the car window were dark blotches.
"Bernie could you put on the radio, please?" Marian called to the chauffeur. Bernie tuned to a Sunday church program. Marian closed her eyes. The blotches became shapes on an ink blot test, ugly dark thoughts. The Church music made Marian feel like crying. It always did, all those people — joined in unison, together under one cathedral roof.
"Marian darling, what's the matter? Are you feeling all right?" Mamma asked.
How tempting it was to answer Mamma's question. Marian wanted to put her head on her mother's lap and be comforted, but it was too late to start being that kind of daughter.
"I'm fine, Mamma."
"You're very quiet, dear."
"I'm just thinking about this and that."
"Is it something to do with Ferris' business? He mentioned something last time I spoke to him."
"Yes. Ferris is having difficulties with his partner. You remember Ferris' business partner, Charles Riche?"
Mamma lived in the ornate, velvet and silver antique world of widows who were cared for and protected by umbrellas of trust funds, brokers, and family lawyers. There were no temperamental promiscuous homosexuals creating problems in Mamma's world. Lovers, ex-lovers playing around and sleeping around belonged in Marian's world, and in Ferris' world.
"You see Mamma, Charles got himself involved..." Instead of explaining, some perverse reflex made her invent a half-way story that reflected what was on her mind. "Charles has been playing around with some other woman. When his wife found out that Charles was unfaithful, it got very ugly."
"I didn't know Charles was married."
"Yes he is. He was. I don't know where the marriage stands now."
"Ah, well, you're in for it dear." Mamma sighed.
"Oh no, Mamma, it's not me!"
"Of course not dear, I know you and Ferris don't have problems that way but let me tell you — I've seen this happen — it's always very messy! No wonder you're worried. You and Ferris are in for a bad time with your friend Charles I'm afraid."
The game was backfiring. "I'm sure they'll work it out, Mamma."
"Ah, but it
never
works out."
Her mother was making it sound like a fatal illness. "Maybe it didn't in your day Mamma, but these days people — they're very free about sex — there's wife-swapping, orgies, a lot of playing around!"
"But look at the divorce rates dear. Thank God I had a man like your father."
Marian watched her mother brushing the sheared beaver, patting it as if she were patting herself on the back. "Mamma, were you ever worried about Daddy that way?"
"Worried about my Anatol?"
"Didn't you ever worry about the models? And what about his secretary? She was very young and very pretty — you never wondered when he came home late? "
"My dear child, a woman
always
knows if her man is unfaithful. There are all sorts of little ways you know... Your father and I loved each other. Like you and Ferris, we had a real marriage!" Mamma patted Marian's hand reassuringly.
"But Mamma, what would you have done? Suppose you found out Daddy had slipped, you wouldn't have thrown him out or divorced him, would you?"
"Marian darling, as smart as you are, you're still such a child in so many ways. I wasn't born yesterday. I knew your father had temptations. But Anatol knew it would be the end of our marriage if he strayed." Mamma was looking out of her window as they were coming into the town where the institution was located, shaking her head sadly. "My dear child, she'll leave him!"
"Who?" Marian was trying to absorb what Mamma was saying into memories of the past and
now
. "What do you mean?"
"The wife — Charles' wife will leave him sooner or later."
"Ah, well, I don't know about that Mamma." Maria spoke softly. "She loves him. She loves him very much, I'm afraid."
They were turning onto the long winding drive way that went up the hill to the main building.
Sounds of children playing came through the closed windows of the limousine. If you weren't looking out of the window you would be certain you were passing through a children's play yard. No matter how many times they'd driven up that driveway, it was always astounding — to realize that the full grown men and women were not pretending, they
were
just children — six, seven, at most eight-years-old.
Less handicapped patients stayed in a training school behind the trees. More retarded patients were in the central building outside of which Bernie was now parking.
"Why don't you stand in the line for us Mamma. While you're getting our visitor's passes I can telephone Ferris."
In the phone booth, Marian counted twenty rings. Then she let it ring twenty times at Ferris' office, and when there was no answer there either, she rejoined her Mother in the line.
Ralph was sitting in his blue chair, sipping fruit juice from a straw which an attendant was holding to his lips.
"Say hello to your Mother, Ralphy," the attendant said, taking the straw from Ralph's mouth.
Ralph didn't say hello. He pouted, he did not like the straw being taken away, the flow of grape juice stopping.
"Let him finish." Hannah dug in her purse for one of the packages.
Ralph wasn't his usual laughing and gurgling as Hannah flitted about making baby talk conversation, making a ceremony of placing a candy cane in his hand. With her pocketbook full of prettily wrapped candy and toy surprises, she was like a fairy godmother, each visit trying to cast a spell that would make her son laugh and jabber like a normal happy boy.
The candy cane fell onto the floor. The next surprise elicited no response. He didn't even bother to tear off the wrapping.
Mamma handed Marian the last of the packages. "Marian, you read to Ralph, I've got a bit of a headache."
Marian pulled her chair close to Ralph's. The book had pop-ups. Ralph smiled at the palm tree that grew up from the center of the first two pages and when she turned the page to show him the pop-up dog, he just yawned. He seemed to forget to close his mouth and saliva dribbled onto his chin.
That was when Marian noticed the silver-white stubble. She'd never seen white in his beard before, but he was usually clean shaven.
Somehow, until that moment, Marian had never allowed herself to think about Ralph as an older man.
Marian watched, while her Mamma fed Ralph lunch. It was a job that ordinarily delighted Hannah — to see her boy gobbling up everything so greedily but all Ralph gobbled was the mashed potatoes. He hit at the spoon so that the green peas fell down on the bib, he spit out the hamburger so that bits of the meat flew at Mamma's face and she had to put up a hand to protect herself.
Ralph drank the juice and milk, then closed his eyes.
It was like air escaping from a balloon, the way Hannah immediately began to sag. "Mamma, why don't we got to the visitor's cafeteria and have a bite. I haven't had anything today except orange juice." Marian said, breaking her
no lunch
resolution.
When tea and cookies were in front of her Mother, Marian excused herself. First, she had a nurse page Dr. Benedict. Then, she tried Ferris' office number again.
After twenty rings there was still no answer.
"Maybe he's in the recording booth or he's in the darkroom. Or he went out for coffee," Marian reasoned, hurrying back to the table, because she saw that Dr. Benedict was there, already talking with Mamma.
"The Doctor is saying that your brother has some kind of heart problem," Mamma announced, as Marian pulled up a chair.
"I was explaining to your Mother that your brother's condition may just be temporary, but Ralph's heart muscle does not seem to be functioning properly. It may be just an irregularity, I'm not a specialist in that field." Using medical terms, Dr. Benedict went on to suggest that Ralph's symptoms indicated a premature ageing syndrome that was typical of certain retarded adults, especially males.
"My husband had arterial blockage — is that what Ralph has? Could he have a heart attack?"
"That's not the problem, is it Doctor?" Marian wanted Benedict to give them more information. She knew he wouldn't if Hannah was too upset.
"Mrs. Melnik, we may have to consider a surgical procedure."
"Surgical procedure!" Hannah's voice went up an octave. "You want my Ralph to have surgery?"
"Mamma, the Doctor is just saying that surgery is one of the possibilities. Why don't we listen — "
Hannah did not want to hear what Benedict had to say. "We need to talk to a nutritionist about Vitamin B-15 and steroids. And we have to arrange a consultation with a neurologist. The problem might be psychosomatic, we've got to have a consultation with a psychologist, someone very good!"
"We'll get the best, Mrs. Melnik, but it will cost money," Dr. Benedict said, taking out his notepad.
It always cost money to get Ralph the best — clothing, private room, hand-picked attendants, as well as extras — sunlamp, special diets, the privilege of being shaved every day — hundreds of thousands of dollars had gone into keeping Ralph a happy boy in the body of a man.
Marian slipped away to telephone again. The line was busy. There wasn't time to wait around and try once more, but she breathed a deep sigh of relief. "At least I know Ferris is there at work, at his office!"
Back in the luxurious padded isolation of their limousine, with snow flurries blowing past the window, beginning to build a lace pattern on the glass that blocked out the dimming outside world, the muffled thump of tires on the slushy highway lulled the mother into a doze but not the daughter.
…
P
oor Mamma, poor Charles, poor Charles' wife...
The rhythm of it wouldn't let her alone, it kept nagging, repeating.
++++++++++
Chapter 12
"Oh be careful, my nails are still wet!" Andrea kissed Ferris on the mouth with her hands outstretched like a puppet and closed the door with an elbow. "Are you hungry? I've got pizza I can heat up, or what about artichokes? A beer? Scotch? Oops, I'm out of scotch, what about a vodka martini? I didn't know if you were going to want to go out for a Sunday brunch so I didn't get dressed, but I can be ready for anything in two minutes!"
Andrea danced about her room, moving ashtrays, pillows, magazine, box of cheese crackers, a half-eaten apple from one place to another, disappearing behind a bamboo partition then magically re-appearing with glasses. All the while her fingers were twittering. The heel of her hand, the palm, the elbows and knees, even her feet were doing the arranging, shifting, carrying since her fingernails were still drying.
Andrea's black hair was flying. The man's shirt she was wearing had two buttons buttoned in the middle. There were flashes of dainty breasts and bright red bikini underpants as she put the helter-skelter of her room into amazingly good order.
Ice bucket, liquor, a jar of cocktail olives were conjured up out of nowhere just as sometimes breakfast had seemed to materialize, not from kitchen but from outer space. Ferris was never certain which one of the bamboo screens or bamboo blinds actually masked kitchenette.