“You said it!” Zoltan sighed.
Fritz knocked out his pipe. “Okay! When the time comes, we volunteer! John, you can take on the Italians. Stan, the Rumanians, Johann the Hollanders, Carl and Peter the Poles. Rudy and me, we will take the Germans. We’ll get my friend Bruno for the Serbs and Hermann for the Slovaks! Well, good night, everybody!”
Jane, following her husband upstairs, couldn’t help wondering what an endless room would sound like, filled with thousands of men all shouting words at one time!
The Michigan winter dragged on. Jane, now well advanced into her pregnancy, became housebound. Once they showed, ladies did not parade their condition in public. Although she thought such exaggerated public delicacy overdone, Jane knew she had to obey Hannah’s instructions not to embarrass convention. Besides, she agreed that her now misshapen body was not a pleasant sight, even to herself. That John did not have her aversion to it puzzled her. Helping Hannah with the housework, finishing the new drapes for the parlor, kept Jane busy and out of sight, in her spare time becoming acquainted with Mr. Emerson’s idealistic philosophy for living. A little difficult to grasp, but much more stimulating than Mr. McGuffey’s stoic parables.
They hung the new drapes made up from a bolt of patterned velveteen they had found on special offer in one of the catalogs. Hannah stood back to admire Jane’s handiwork and the color she had chosen.
“Goes perfect mit de chairs—and look how good dey hang! No bubbles, no place! Better den store made—wonderful! Vifey, you so good wit needle and big help wit de wash and de pressing, I’ve been contemplating, I split money with you for dat! Only right.”
“Oh, no Hannah!” Jane protested.
“Yes! Fair is fair! Anyway, good for you have a little someting—no beg husband for to have. You work hard, you get paid! American way! Shush! When Hannah make up her mind—stop right dere!”
So Jane took to poring over Hannah’s catalogs, marveling at the wonders that Mr. Sears and Mr. Roebuck had to offer, counted her precious coins, hoping that by Christmas she would have enough saved to send away for a new razor strap for John.
Deep in sylvan woods with Ralph Waldo Emerson, Jane heard Hannah’s excited voice calling her. “Vifey! Come! Come down quick—in de parlor! He is here our salesman who travels!”
On entering the parlor, Jane thought the wizened little man perched on the love seat, bowed legs barely touching the floor, an apparition from a child’s fairy tale whose name escaped her. But, when he jumped to his little feet, bowed gallantly before her, she knew! Mr. Ebberhardt Isador Fishbein, salesman in ladies’ unmentionables, that included an astonishing diverse selection of corsets was, for Jane, always Rumpelstiltskin. No other name suited him so well. Having been Hannah’s very first boarder, he was a cherished figure of the Geiger boardinghouse coming and going at will as he covered his territory laden down by his sample cases that seemed bigger than he. Whenever Rumpelstiltskin was in residence, everyone hung on the words of one who had seen big cities—been as far as Missouri and beyond.
Mr. Fishbein was not at all sensitive about his size. On the contrary, he considered his arrested appearance to be a most valuable asset. “Like a child I am, a small boy!” was his way of describing his diminutive stature and, because of it an innocence of all things lascivious was automatically assumed. Husband and lovers thought him harmless, ladies could inspect, evaluate the most intimate of undergarments without the slightest embarrassment at having a grown man present. Rumpelstiltskin’s sales book was like a fascinating travelogue. Moistening a fingertip, he would flip pages until he found an entry worthy of his listener’s attention, then launch himself into entertaining them. “Poughkeepsie—sold one Madame Fry’s. #1.50 one dozen Barters Duplex corsets—sizes 18 to 30. $9.00. Have you ever been to Poughkeepsie? If you haven’t—count yourself lucky” was one of his favorite opening lines.
The morning when Jane first met Hannah’s traveling salesman and she asked him where he had been this time, Rumpelstiltskin put down his coffee cup, took a deep breath and replied, “San Francisco!” in the voice of a man in love. “Now there is a city! A true Phoenix, risen from the ashes. It inspires one to poetry! And the ladies, Oiy! You should see the ladies! Powdered and perfumed—they rustle when they walk. That’s because their petticoats are of the finest imported taffeta. Only the best will do for my ladies up on Knob Hill. That’s where the wealthy barons have built their mansions. Beautiful vistas. I never schlep my case of cottons up that hill—only the one containing silks and satins, maybe some French dimity, light as air, if it’s summer and, of course, no matter what time of the year, as they are always in great demand—my beribboned peignoirs for wealthy ladies that are so rich, they lounge.”
Jane, agog, asked, “What is that?”
With a tip of a tiny finger, Rumpelstiltskin flicked a cake crumb from his bottom lip. “Well, my dear. If you have never done it, it is rather difficult to describe.” Turning to Hannah, “Isn’t that so, Sweet Lady?” She, knowing how much he was enjoying himself, smiled. “You see, our dear Hannah agrees. Mrs. Jane, having just made your charming acquaintance, may I be so forward as to address you by your Christian name?” Jane, mesmerized, nodded. “Kind of you, much obliged. Now where were we? Oh yes! To lounge. The art of lounging, for it is an art, requires first and foremost a suitable piece of furniture to do it on. Preferably ornate, upholstered in either peach or baby blue damask—long enough to take the full length of a form supine. This reclined form must be languid. Preferably one alabaster arm tucked in back of the head, the other trailing, wrist limpid. The bias-cut skirt of my top-line peignoir cascading to the floor in casual perfection. A pale pink rose in one hand resting against a porcelain-like cheek would also do, but is not a pivotal necessity. What is essential is the mood of ennui, ennui, and more ennui!”
Hannah applauded, Rumpelstiltskin giggled, and Jane was thoroughly at sea.
“Ach! My Ebbely, how you talk! Forever I could listen! But—look vat you do to dis poor child. She doesn’t know you—so can’t figger if you joking or what.”
A penitent Ebberhardt Fishbein jumped down from the love seat and, going over to Jane, bowed.
“Forgive my theatrical nature, oh so Statuesque Mother-to-be, but a new audience is such temptation—I simply can’t help myself! By the way of making amends, dear lady, allow me to offer you a pair of my top-of-the-line ladies’ garters, trimmed in genuine Chantilly lace of cream and baby rosebuds.”
“Vifey, now you know how come dis man can sell anyting to anybody. Even de ice to de Eskimos, I swear!”