After the initial excitement of having a son passed, Mort was ambivalent. He decided that all babies were really the same, and that the only thing separating newborn boys from newborn girls was future potential.
The bris had been the highlight. After all the family occasions he had been forced to suffer through, it was finally his turn to be celebrated and honored. When he presented his son to the mohel (fulfilling “one of the sacred covenants of our people,” as he explained over and over to his daughters), Mort knew he was doing something important. It didn’t matter that he turned green as soon as the mohel started. Wasn’t it natural to feel queasy during such a significant occasion? He was sure it was. He was able to ignore his brother’s loud comments—“You all right there, Morty? Wanna go outside and get some air?”—and focus on the real significance of the day. He had a son to carry on his family’s name and traditions. So what if his sole heir was just a recently traumatized six-pound infant? One day Teddy would be much, much more than that. All Teddy needed was time.
At six months old, Teddy was a good deal smaller than Natalie. Mort viewed his lean physique as a positive and Natalie’s rolls of arm and leg pudge as repugnant. “What are they feeding her?” he asked Rose. “Bottles of schmaltz?” Rose glared at him when he said such things, but he didn’t care. After Teddy’s birth, Mort had eased up on his point system and no longer worried about counting every callous remark that escaped from his lips. He still believed his point method had merit—wasn’t Teddy proof that it worked? But he was not above making jokes at the expense of his brother’s family, especially because he believed he had finally earned the right to do so.
Joking aside, Mort was grateful to Helen. He knew she was responsible for getting Rose through the blizzard and the birth of their son safely, and he hated to think what might have happened if she hadn’t been there. Though he would never admit it, Mort secretly admired Helen for being so capable.
By the time he had reached six months of age, Teddy had become slightly more interesting to Mort. Mort enjoyed pushing him in his carriage to the park and sitting under the trees on the benches facing the baseball field. Before Teddy was born, Mort had visited the park only rarely with the girls.
The baseball field was in the very center of the park, past the duck pond and to the left of the gazebo. Mort hadn’t bothered to attend any of his nephews’ games there, but he did love baseball. It was the only sport, in his opinion, that paid due respect to the importance of averages and statistics. He decided to start educating Teddy early by bringing him to watch the local kids play. Who knew what Teddy might absorb? Mort was sure that the baby was paying attention.
“See that kid over there?” Mort would say. “The tall one with the freckles? Watch how he throws the ball. See how he does it? Nice and easy. That’s the way to do it.” Sometimes Mort’s comments were negative. “See that one up at base? He’s holding the bat all wrong. You need to turn your body and bend your knees.” And sometimes Mort would whisper his thoughts, just to make sure that none of the other parents at the field would hear. “You’ll be a better hitter than that kid by the time you’re four,” he would say.
Halfway through his first year of life, Teddy was old enough to be interesting, but still young enough to be completely under Mort’s control. Mort liked it that way—he couldn’t imagine ever loosening his grip on this child. Teddy’s future was too important to be left to chance. He would be brilliant, athletic and, one day, the president of Box Brothers. Oh, it would be fine if Abe’s boys worked there too; there were all kinds of jobs for all kinds of abilities—machine operators, truck drivers, shipping clerks, etc. But Teddy would be the one in charge. Teddy would be the brains of the operation. Mort had no doubt about that.
Chapter 18
ABE
When Joe and George were babies, one of them had always been awake. That’s how it was with twins. Abe was used to staying up nights for feedings, used to walking in circles around the house with one of the boys in his arms, trying to rock someone to sleep. Half of those nights he was so exhausted that he wasn’t even sure which one of them he was holding.
But Natalie was different. The first night he was home with her, Abe got up around three in the morning. It was habit that woke him, not crying. Helen was asleep, and it took a few moments for him to register the silence. His first reaction was panic. Why was it so quiet? He pushed off the blankets and wandered over to Helen’s side of the bed, where the bassinet was supposed to be. The room was so dark that he only realized it was there when he stubbed his toe on it. He stopped himself from crying out and waited a few moments for the pain to subside. In the meantime, his eyes adjusted to the darkness and he was able to make out Natalie, asleep and peaceful on her side. He leaned down and put his ear up against her mouth. She was breathing, thank God. But how could she sleep for this long?
Abe got back in bed, but he was restless. He lay awake, listening for the sounds of Natalie’s breathing. An hour later, he pulled the bassinet over to his side of the bed so he could hear better. He hoped the movement might wake the baby, but it didn’t. At four-thirty, Abe picked her up. He held her up in the air with his hands under her arms and her face directly across from his so he could look at her. Natalie squirmed for a few moments in his arms and opened one eye to stare at him. Abe felt like she was trying to tell him something. Let a girl get a little shut-eye, will ya? He put her back down and finally fell asleep. When she whimpered at six-thirty in the morning, Helen jumped out of bed and carried her into the kitchen.
Abe wandered out of the bedroom a few minutes later. “Why did you move the bassinet?” Helen asked him.
“She was so quiet! I couldn’t even tell if she was breathing. I got nervous.”
Helen widened her eyes at him. “This is our fifth baby, Abe. Our fifth. And you’re nervous now?
He shrugged. “The boys cried all the time. They never slept. I was too tired to be nervous. This one sleeps through the night when she’s two days old.”
“Since when is sleeping through the night a crime?”
“It’s not. But the boys always let us know if they needed something. They were hungry, they cried. Tired, they cried. Needed a change, they cried. How are we going to know what this one wants if she never cries?”
Helen burst out laughing.
“What? What’s so funny?”
“You just summed up the difference between men and women, sweetheart. Men kvetch, and women suffer in silence!”
“I’m going to take a shower,” Abe said, pretending to be disgusted.
“Bye. Daddy!” Helen lifted up one of Natalie’s tiny hands for a wave.
Steam filled up the bathroom, and Abe started thinking. Natalie was only two days old, but she was already making him question the things he thought he knew, even the way he thought about himself. He had been the father of boys. Easy. Sports question? He had it covered. Need someone to play ball? He was always game. War, politics, business, whatever. He could handle whatever the boys threw at him. Guy has a question about a girl? About sex, even? Abe hadn’t gotten that far yet with his boys, but he was sure he’d be able to figure out what to say when the time came around.
But Natalie? What was she going to ask him about? He couldn’t predict. How was he going to be any help to her? He was pretty sure Mort hadn’t been much help so far to his girls. Maybe that’s why he always seemed so disinterested. Maybe he ignored them because he didn’t know how to talk to them.
Well, Abe wasn’t going to do that. His daughter would have every advantage his boys had. He would make sure of it.
Chapter 19
HELEN
(September 1948)