“Oh, dat, means lots of tings—like pure, clean, correct sometimes, sometimes even Holy. Vifey, now you speak de Italian, de English, even de German so good, next I teach you Yiddish! How about dat? When you know dat—you can talk to half de world!”
In high starched collar, a brand-new expensive fifteen-dollar suit, courtesy of Gold’s Emporium, Rudy made a most fashionable bridegroom. His Frederika, in pale green summer lace, shocked a few for not being attired in virginal white, but when they saw she was carrying a small ivory-bound Bible from which dangled a silver rosary, she was forgiven for her shade of green.
Fritz checked the clock. “It’s been a long day, tomorrow work, so, everybody now to bed. Hannah, tonight you leave the dishes—in the morning we all get up a little early and help.”
“Vifey, you feeling okay?” Hannah asked as they slowly climbed the stairs together.
“Yes, I think so … I’m just tired, although I slept all afternoon.”
“Uh-huh. Feel down below new heaviness maybe?”
“Is that a sign that it’s time?”
“We will see. But, I tink maybe soon now, your baby get fed up living in de dark—want to come out, see de light of day.”
Thunder in the early summer air, her back strained against a persistent dull ache, she made her awkward way downstairs wishing it wasn’t Monday washday. From the big washtub, steam already fogged the kitchen window, Hannah turned to greet her, saw Jane’s face, looked quickly at the clock on the wall, told her to sit, handed her instead of the usual milky coffee, a cup of hot lemon water instead.
“Have an ache in de back by de hips, child?” Jane nodded. “Aha! By tonight I tink we have a baby!”
Clapping her hands with glee, Hannah bustled about her kitchen, canceling all preparations for washday in anticipation of birthing day, while Jane sipped water, wished it were the usual coffee and it was, after all, the dreaded washday and nothing out of the ordinary was about to happen.
Her kitchen ready, battened down, coal stove banked down until it would be needed, Hannah took charge. Taking Jane by the hand, she propelled her into the hall, took her shawl and everyday hat from the cloak stand and marched them out the front door onto the street.
“But Hannah! I can’t!” gasped Jane, adding plaintively, “I don’t have my hat on!”
“Now it is de time to walk! Up de block, down de block and so forth. No time for hat—come! We walk! Good for you and baby coming!”
Jane always remembered that endless up then down, then up again as the morning dragged on, Hannah trying to distract her, talking incessantly, telling her stories as though reading out loud from a book of fairy tales. By the time Hansel and Gretel had given way to the poor Match Girl shivering on a wintry corner, Jane’s labor had begun and, when a frog was about to be kissed by a real princess, Hannah satisfied, said they had now walked enough, it was time to go back inside—Jane upstairs to her room, while she prepared for what would be needed.
“How long?” Jane asked, feeling awful.
“Long time still. Dis your first, so don’t go fast. First time babies got big job to do, making de way so de next know where to go, get out. You go take de clothes off, put on clean nightdress, get nice and comfortable in de bed, I come up keep you company. Go, child, go!”
Hannah filled her big pots, put them on the back of the stove so the water would take its time to boil, tore the flannel she had saved into swaddling lengths, positioned the drying screen by the stove on which to hang them to warm, then with her arms full of towels and sheets, giving the clock an anxious look, Hannah went upstairs to keep Jane company.
Looking white and more than a little scared, Jane greeted Hannah’s reappearance with undisguised relief. “Hannah, be grateful you never had to go through this!”
“Hush! Dat’s de fear making you talk silly! Now we say nice prayer for de baby. Pass time!”
“No.”
“No? You not friendly wit God?”
“No.”
“Why, child? You Italian. You have de Saints for everyting. Popes even! And so many fancy churches—even better den de Irish, because dey don’t paint so beautiful like Italians—so dey just drink, sing and confess. So what’s wrong mit you?” A labor pain got in the way of an appropriate answer. “Dat was a nice one. You know, mit de Catholics and de udders, I never understand no nutting. Why everyone so different, hate de udders when dey all supposed to be believing in de same ting! In de old country we have dose troubles too. Dere we had also Lutherans—not bad people, just snooty!”
“Snooty? What’s that?”
“Nose in de air, like rich people.”
“All rich people are snooty?”
“Most. Even here, where a poor man can get important rich, become even president of de whole country—dey forget where dey come from first and look down on poor people. All over, people are people—no matter what. Dat’s why God so sorry He make them, tries to fix it all de time. Like de big flood he made and so forth. But he’s not willy-nilly. He knows de good ones from de bad ones, like wit de Passover times … like even smart animals always know who.”
“Hannah?”
“Yes, child?”
“How did you meet Fritz?”
“In school. When I was little my mama she braided my hair so I look proper for school going. Fritz, he dunked de tail into de inkwell and I punched his nose.”
Jane laughed, “How old were you?”
“Oh, I tink six. I didn’t like him until I was ten—no dat’s wrong—eleven, when some boys trow stones at me and Fritz beat dem up for it!”
Jane waited for a pain to pass before asking, “Why were boys throwing stones at you?”
“Because dey don’t like Jewish people.”
“Why?”
“Many hatings in de world ‘why’ can’t answer. Children learn what their papa and mama teach them. You remember dat—when you’re a mama, it is important get it right de first time. Come to tink of it, I never tell you of Fritz and me in de old country—I tell you a little while we wait for labor to begin, okay?”
Jane gasped, “These pains aren’t it!?”
“No, dese just announcing it’s coming—take more time before real ones start. Don’t worry. Very interesting dis having a baby—every woman say dat when it is at last all over, all de big pain right away is poof! All forgotten because of de great big joy!”