Oreo (19 page)

Oreo came out of the bathroom. She put the books back on the shelf. “I wonder what the
weather’s going to be like,” she said for Hap’s benefit as she dialed the phone number on
the sheet of paper.

The voice on the other end of the line said, “GI. May we help you?”

Oreo hung up. She had read an article about GI in a newsmagazine. Which one?

“What they say?” asked Hap from the kitchen.

“Partly sunny,” Oreo said abstractedly.

“Heard chance of rain on my radio this morning. They don’t know no more about weather than
my big toe. Less. At least my big toe know when it gon rain.”

Oreo was not really listening. “I have to go in a few minutes. I was only hired until”—she
looked at the clock on the far wall—“eleven.” That gave her ten minutes to go through the
family telephone book.

“Guess she figured that’d give me time to fix this here mess,” Hap said.

“Guess so.” Oreo found what she wanted on a page headed “Emergency Numbers.” She copied
down the three names and numbers. Then she looked in the white pages for the nearest branch
of the public library. It was only a few blocks away.

Oreo said good-bye to Hap and the boys. As she closed the door to 2-C, she could hear
Marvin telling Hap, “You know what? Anna was here yesterday and . . .”

After an hour’s research at St. Agnes, she had found what she wanted. It
had taken almost that long to find a pay phone that wasn’t broken. She made the first two
calls knowing that, as usual, neither would be the one she wanted. But she did not know
which number would be the last, and right, one until she had called the other two. The first
of the three doctors turned out to be a dentist. Just before she hung up on his
receptionist, Oreo told her that everything was fine—her cavity was at that very moment
filling itself, and she no longer needed an appointment. The next doctor was Mildred
Schwartz’s voodoo consultant, Dr. Macumba. Oreo hung up after telling him that for three
sundowns he must avoid spicy foods and women who did not shave their legs. She heard him
choke on what sounded like a hot sausage or a hairy leg.

The third doctor was the right one, Dr. Resnick, the Schwartzes’ family physician. She told
him that she worked for the Schwartzes and that she desperately needed a strong prescription
for her menstrual cramps, which were about to descend on her (or whatever direction they
came from) that very day. He said, chuckling knowledgeably, that menstrual cramps were all
in her head. She marveled at his knowledge, saying that just went to show how smart doctors
were, because she had lo these many years thought the cramps were in her uterus. She pleaded
with him to humor her, and he condescended to allow her to come to his office for a
prescription. The
mitzvoth
he must perform daily, she exclaimed, thanking him, and
was in his office in fifteen minutes. Five minutes after she arrived, she had a prescription
for a placebo. She threw the top half into the nearest wastebasket. She also had an envelope
and a sheet of stationery that she had stolen from Dr. Resnick on which were embossed, in
dignified medico black, his name, address, and telephone number. She had one more stop to
make before she went to GI.

She spent half an hour perfecting her forgery of Dr. Resnick’s
scrambled-egg signature. Then she rented a typewriter and composed a letter. Its chief
paragraph was:

She handed the sealed envelope to a man with a head as knobby as a potato
and a shaggy, rounded snout of a beard that made him look like a botch of an American bison,
the Wolfman, and Cocteau’s Beast—an Irving. He slit open the envelope, read the letter, and
subjected Oreo to untoward scrutiny. She tried to look dull-normal when he said what she had
expected someone to say.

“I’ll have to verify this with Dr. Resnick.”

Oreo replaced dull-normal with sullen-hurt, the look of the congenitally insulted. “He jus’
gib me de ’scription. Say fill it.” She had decided to use Hap’s economical sentence
structure and Louise’s down-home accent.

“I still have to verify it, miss,” he said, smiling like a shaggy potato—almost
imperceptibly.

“He jus’ gib it to me,” she repeated sullenly. “Say fill it.” Irving picked up the phone
and dialed the number at the top of Oreo’s letter. “Dr. Resnick? GI here. I have a young
lady here.” He put his hand over the mouthpiece. “What’s your name, girlie?”

“Christie.”

“A Miss Christie.” He chuckled. “She says you just gave her a ‘prescription’ and told her
to fill it.”

Oreo could hear what sounded like angry barking at the other end.

Irving held the phone away from his ear. “Okay, okay, sir. You can’t be too careful in
these cases, you know. Just wanted to double-check.”

“I work fo’ ’em,” Oreo said petulantly when he hung up. “Send me fo’ ’scriptions all de
time,” she added, just loud enough to lead him to believe that she had not meant him to hear
her.

“I have to run this through the computer,” said Irving. “Only take a minute.” He left
the room.

Oreo counted the dots in the wallpaper design while he was gone. She got to 381 before he
returned. She would have to tell Louise to play it.

“Now, just as a last, final check, what’s the name of account number 865-30-2602?”

“Huh?” said Oreo dull-normally.

“The people you work for, what’s their name?”

“Now, what Mr. Sam’s las’ name?” she asked herself. “Begin with a
S
. Don’t tell me. I get
it shortly.” She bit her lip. “Schwartz,” she said triumphantly. “That what it is—Schwartz.”

Irving smiled his unseemly potato smile. “Good girl. It never hurts to check.”

“Ain’t it the truth,” said Oreo, smiling her cookie smile.

She walked out of Generation, Incorporated, swinging her cane and
whistling “Hatikvah.” When she tired of that, she switched to “Lift Ev’ry Voice and Sing.” A
special shipping container, about the size of a bread box, knocked against her leg as she
walked. In the container were sixty vials of frozen sperm.

Piecing together all she had learned from Hap, Marvin, and Edgar, what
she had known and now knew, Oreo’s scenario went like this: Helen and Samuel meet in
college, lust after each other, make out like minks, get married, and make out like minks.
In a moment of calm (while the sheets are being changed), they determine to give the world
human evidence of their endearment. Jacob would
shep
such
naches
from his
first grandchild, he would forgive, forget, and make a new will. “At the rate we’re going,
it’s a wonder I’m not pregnant already,” Helen says. “It’s understandable, sweetheart,”
Samuel says, “up to now, we’ve been taking precautions.” “Of course,” says Helen, “what are
you using, honey?” “What am
I
using? I thought
you
were using something.” Gravid pause. They decide to have checkups. “Low sperm
count,” says the doctor. “Sorry about that.” Samuel is desolate. Then he sees an ad for New
York City’s first research center for artificial insemination. Samuel fills vial after vial
with semen. GI centrifuges, concentrates, and freezes the issue in liquid nitrogen at minus
321 degrees Fahrenheit.
Superimpositions of symbolic swiving and sets of vials being
defrosted
. Nine months later: “It’s a girl!” But Jacob does not forgive, forget, or
make a new will. In fact, he says, “This you call my
aynekel
? In any war between
Israel and Egypt, may all the Arabs have eyes like you got.” Perhaps a boy? They try—getting
and spending and thawing for days on end. In the fullness of time, Jimmie C. is born. But
even before that, Jacob has made clear: “Kosher
kinder
or you’ll get
makkes
.” And even before
that
, Helen and Samuel have split up. Solely
over Jacob’s
gelt
? Perhaps, perhaps not. In any case, Samuel determines to make his
own fortune.
Montage of
Variety
headlines of the “O’s Pop Top Flop” genre
.

After years of floppolas, Samuel meets Mildred. Miraculously, his luck seems to change. He
starts pulling down heavy change doing commercials. He marries his luck. He can qualify for
Jacob’s loot as soon as Mildred has a totsicle. What a
bulba
: Jacob hates her. Make
that two
bulbas
: Samuel hates her. She’s weird, with her arm in the air and her
Lucretia Borgia lab. Samuel reasons: Why should I risk making another boo-boo and lose all
that mazuma? Luck or no luck, I’ll give her grounds for divorce. I’ll even let Jacob pick my
next wife. Why take chances? I have a potential fortune stored there at GI. All I need is
the right oven and—hoo-ha!—bread!

One of Samuel’s flops must have been a play about Theseus—hence his
legendary clues. Of course, the clues had been meant only to make Oreo
think
of the
legend of Theseus. They had had nothing to do with any of her actual adventures. But since
from the beginning she had determined what each item on her list signified, she would
complete her task and ascribe meaning now, at the end. She took out her list and crossed off
“Lucky number” (865-30-2602); “Amazing,” which she felt should have been “A-mazing” (trying to
find her way through the labyrinth of the subway); and “Sails” (her black headband and its
mirror image). The last she crossed off a bit sadly.

Samuel had chosen to style himself “Aegeus.” Perhaps he had played the part. Oreo had
refreshed her memory of the legend in the library. (She had also found the newsmagazine
story on artificial insemination—an invaluable guide to making the withdrawal from the GI
sperm bank.) Theseus could be said to have had two fathers—Aegeus and Poseidon. Oreo and
Jimmie C. could also be said to have had two fathers—Samuel at room temperature and Samuel
frozen. Had the freezing process brought to Samuel’s
tsedoodelt
mind the god of
flowing waters? His brains had definitely been in his
tuchis
—definitely.

Jacob deserved a few days to mourn in peace. Meanwhile, she would deposit
Samuel’s semen in the sperm bank of her choice. There was no rush. The frozen tadpoles would
keep for at least five days in their special container. She had been tempted at first to
destroy the vials. But she was not ready to see Samuel die twice in two days. She thought of
her mother. Helen would probably say, “Your father’s dead. Let him rest in peace,” and urge
her to spill the seed. Her grandfather James would probably tell her to soak Jacob for every
cent she could get in return for the vials.

But why not give Jacob an opportunity for what she was pleased to call a Judeo-Négro
concordat? He was, after all, her paternal grandfather. They shared misfortune. Perhaps, in
these circumstances, he would greet his granddaughter as a
zayde
should, with love
and affection. If he did, she might give him the vials as a present. It was no skin off her
skin. If, on the other hand, Jacob’s greeting was not all that she felt a grandfather’s
should be, well, then . . . She would have to think about how best to impress upon
Jacob the full import of her actions, how make him appreciate her fleeting possession of
divine caprice as she poured the last of his strain down the drain. It was all up to Jacob,
of course. The way he acted would in large part determine the way she acted. She would allow
for his still fresh grief, his shock when she told him who she was and how she got there.
Yes, she would cut him some slack. But, for all that, she would not forget herself
completely.

Oreo put her package down at the intersection, resting one sandaled foot lightly on top of
it as she waited for the light to change. She idly twirled her walking stick, smiled her
cookie smile, and whispered slowly and contentedly to herself, “
Nemo me impune
lacessit
.”

Pandion and Pylia beget Aegeus. Pittheus and wife (let’s call her Neglectedea) beget
Aethra. Aegeus visits old friend Pittheus. On the same night, both Aegeus and randy sea-god
Poseidon sleep with Aethra. Aethra conceives. Who’s the father? Generous Poseidon to Aegeus:
“I’ve got enough kids—he’s yours.” Aegeus to Aethra: “Well, I’ll have to be getting back
to Athens now. Send the kid to me when he can lift this rock and recover the sword and
sandals I’m leaving under it.”

Aethra names her son Theseus (“tokens deposited”). “Boy, it’s hot in here,” says visiting
relative Heracles (Hercules), flinging off the skin of the Nemean lion he’s slain. Young
Theseus and playmates enter, see lion. Playmates panic. Theseus attacks lion. “Brave lad.”
Later, he invents wrestling.

When Theseus is sixteen, Aethra says, “I’ve got something to tell you.” Theseus lifts rock,
retrieves sword and sandals, and sets out to see his father. He decides to take the overland route because it’s dangerous. He wants to be another Heracles.

Epidauris: Theseus kills the lame bandit Periphetes, who’d been dispatching tourists with a
club of brass (or iron). Theseus confiscates the club (Heracles has one like it).

Isthmus of Corinth: Sinis likes to play games with people and trees. You bend this tree,
see; then you tie . . . Theseus does unto Sinis what Sinis, etc.

Crommyon: Thesus kills a wild sow.

The Cliffs of Megaris: “Wash my feet,” the bandit Sciron (“parasol”) would say to passing
strangers, and then he would punt them into the sea. Theseus does unto Sciron . . .

Eleusis: Cercyon likes to wrestle wayfarers to the death. Theseus invented wrestling,
remember?

Corydallus: Procrustes has a long bed and a short bed (or one bed). He fits overnight
guests to his bed(s) by racking or lopping. Theseus does unto Procrustes . . .

Cephissus River, Attica: Theseus has done unto so many that he takes time out for
purification.

Temple of Apollo Delphinius (the Dolphin), Athens: Hard-hats building the temple make
unseemly comments to Theseus, believing that our hero (in braids and white robe) is either a
girl or gay. Theseus tosses their oxcart (or ox) over the temple.

The Palace, Athens: Aegeus has married Medea. She knows that Theseus is not just another
stranger. If he’s who she thinks he is her child(ren) won’t get to sit on the throne. Medea
to Aegeus about the Stranger: “He’s dangerous, poison him.” But Aegeus recognizes his token
sword, knocks the poisoned cup to the ground. “My son!” General rejoicing. Medea and
child(ren) take flight (she has a dragon-drawn chariot).

Months Later: Ambassadors from Crete come to Athens. “Well, here it is that time again.
Where are the seven youths and seven maidens we need for the Minotaur’s dinner, in tribute
for [another story] the murder of Androgeus?” (Cretan king Minos’ wife Pasiphaë and a white
bull were the proud progenitors of a fine half-bull, half-human with a taste for all-human
flesh.) Theseus says, “I’ll go with the gang and kill the Minotaur, Dad.” “Son, be careful.
And for Zeus’ sake, change the black sails on this death ship to white ones if you’re
successfull.” “Black sails to white—okay, Dad.”

Crete: Theseus boasts, “I’m a son of Poseidon.” “Who isn’t?” says Minos. “But prove it.”
Minos tosses his ring into the sea. Theseus dives in and, with the help of Amphitrite and/or
lesser Nereids, retrieves it, along with a golden (or jeweled) crown (“You have to lay it on
thick with these Cretans”). Ariadne, Minos’ daughter, ever a softy for a showboat, gives
Theseus a sword and a ball of string so that he can find his way through the Minotaur’s
Labyrinth (built by Daedalus), kill it/him, and find his way out again.

All the baddies are killed; all the youths and maidens get away. Theseus abandons Ariadne
on the island of Naxos. “I just can’t stand to be in anyone’s debt. Besides, Athena or
Minerva or whatever her name is came to me in a dream and told me to do it. Now, was I
supposed to change the sail if I was suc
cess
ful or
un
successful?”

Athens: Aegeus, seeing the black-sailed ship, flings himself into the sea—hence its name,
Aegean.

White is the talismanic color in the Theseus legend, eight the magic number.

Further Adventures of the Hero: Theseus and the Amazons; Theseus and Phaedra and
Hippolytus; Theseus and Pereithous and Helen and Hades.