It was truly an amazing feat to behold! She shivered, she quivered, she shimmied, puffed, rattled and shook—then—exploded! Shouting, “Au revoir!” Rumpelstiltskin and his Lizzie disappeared in a cloud of dust.
Soon, Missus Schneider would no longer warrant her appendage of eight-blocks-over for, despite the many advantages of being a Ford man, her Walter, feeling his country needed him, had decided to take his wife and bank account back home to Westphalia to take up arms against the enemy. Hannah, returning from wishing them a safe journey, stopped off at Jane’s. Stirring her coffee, she sighed, shaking her head, “Why? Will you tell me why? Dat Walter give up best job he ever can have? Leave a fine free country to go shoot peoples? And for what will you tell me? … And anudder ting—dere goes de best midwife we got! What we do now for when you get next baby?”
“There isn’t going to be a next.” Jane lifted Michael down off his chair.
“Ha! Dat’s what you tink!” Hannah took a bite of Jane’s apple cake. “Dis good, Ninnie. You make it wit de dried apples like I tell you?”
“Yes, and I added a little molasses.”
“Nice … but dat woman going, can’t get over dat! What are we going to do?”
“For what? Missus Horowitz lives on the same street, so she can take over her post as Watcher—and I’m certainly not going to need her.”
“What, your John not sleep with you no more?”
“Of course he does.”
“Well, den what you tink is going to happen? Such tings a woman decides? Or God maybe? What you tink you are? Magician maybe?”
“Please don’t worry, Hannah …”
“Dis war, even so far away, make everyting topsy-turvy … everyting is changing!”
“More coffee?”
“A little too warm. De udder night, my Fritz he says maybe better we change, our name is too German. To what? I ask, and he says that some at the plant just translate—so I ask, you want we should be now Mr. and Missus Fritz Violinist? He laughed but, whole ting is not so funny.” Hannah bent down to Michael, scooped him out of his pen, and onto her hip. “Come, my Bubbeleh, we take a nice walk in de sunshine and get happy.” She started out the door. “Ninnie, you know—I just tink—dat Missus O’Reilly, de one mit de ten children? For sure she’s got to know what to do.”
Jane carried their cups to the sink, began to wash them. Hannah’s conviction that a second pregnancy was only a matter of time, completely unavoidable, disturbed her.
Hannah insisted everyone attend the first graduation ceremony of the Ford English school, scheduled to be held on July 25. She argued that as her Boys had been such fine volunteer teachers, it was only right they witnessed the triumphant fruit of their labor. Besides, as Heinz-Hermann would be amongst the graduates, she was forced to go and needed company. She had confided to Jane that now her nephew had learned English, she hoped he would get himself other work—far from Highland Park, preferably out of the whole State of Michigan—IF she was lucky!
“I know it is not nice to say, but I can’t help it! Now he makes friends with bully boys. Every night he goes—comes back—sometimes in de morning. When I ask—he snaps—none of your business … I worry—maybe he gets mixed up wit bad sort. Yesterday, you know what he says? Yellow peoples not civilized, dat’s why not get ahead as good as white peoples. And colored peoples—dey come from Africa, where dey like animals in de jungle and dat white men brought dem to America so to make dem civilized. Can you believe it? And he says dis in front of Fritz—so you can imagine de trouble! But, you know what? Dat boy just kept right on insisting—shouting every word was true—because he was quoting direct what is written in de Ford Guide schoolbook. You tink dat can be true? I don’t believe it. Fritz said in private to me, he is going to get one of dose school books and see if such tings really are written in dere.”
Dressed in lederhosen held up by suspenders embroidered with stag heads, his Tyrolean hat sporting the obligatory boar’s brush, Heinz-Hermann stood amongst Rumanians decked out as colorful gypsies, Greeks in white pleated tutus, Hollanders in perked caps and wooden shoes, Armenians in home-spun robes, Albanian goatherds in furry vests, Russians in banded tunics and tall leather boots, Italian organ grinders, only their monkeys missing, every nationality represented, garbed as though attending a theatrical costume party. The children amongst the crowd of spectators enjoyed it the most. Especially when the vast horde of adorned men upon the stage began to move down a makeshift gangplank of a cardboard ship, received diplomas, then filed obediently down into what looked like a huge black cauldron representing a melting pot, the ford english school written across its front, to be stirred with a mammoth ladle, only to reappear a short while later from out of its depth completely transformed. Every man now in a proper suit, shirt, and tie, all looking alike—newly reborn, waving little American flags in celebration of their joyous transit to Standardized Americanization, courtesy of Henry Ford.
Jane thought the whole spectacle hilarious but, as everyone was cheering, not laughing, she kept her amusement to herself. It surprised her that Hannah, even Fritz applauded as enthusiastically as the people around them.
After the ceremony, Heinz-Hermann preened, accepting congratulations, slaps on the back, as though he alone had achieved something truly laudable. Jane held back from the effusive mood, bothered by something she could not as yet name but certain that, when she could, it would turn out to be somehow disturbing.
Arrived home, she changed, put away her good clothes, gave Michael his bath, fed him supper, put him to bed refusing to read him a story because he had had enough excitement for one day. Calling to John to wash up for supper, she went downstairs. They ate in silence. Neither had much to say. Later, John read his paper while she mended, trying to sort out in her mind what was bothering her. She knew it wasn’t just the rather ridiculous spectacle of grown men dressing up only to undress, then re-dress themselves. It was much more than that. Perhaps it was why they had done so, their acquiescence, their willingness to obey any dictum of Ford’s even if that meant making fools of themselves? Had they no pride? Or, did they perhaps not even realize what had been demanded of them—that dressing up like children for a costume party, performing the ritual assigned to them, would make such fools of them? Frightened people desperate to conform, seeking safety in acceptance, allowed many abuses to be done them. Maybe that was what disturbed her so—the need of so many exploited that had made that day’s entertainment possible.
John folded his paper.
“It’s been a long day. I’m glad Hannah made us go, just goes to show what can be done if someone really cares. They’ll all remember Ford alright!”
“Yes.”
“I’m off to bed. Coming?”
“I just want to finish this.”
“Don’t forget the light. Buonanotte.”
Alone, Jane stitched by the light of the single lamp.
12