Sugar House (9780991192519) (2 page)

There was a price to pay for such a high
wage, however. Joe's father had many scars from droplets of molten
iron searing his skin as he poured the red-hot metal into molds for
engine blocks. Blanca told Joe that before coming home at night
from work, Ojciec would pull the balls of iron out of his skin.
Mikołaj was lucky in one small respect: he worked with his two
brothers, Alexy and Feliks
.
Working together gave the men
confidence that they could avoid the kinds of fatal accidents that
occurred in the factory.

Nearing the front steps of the new school,
Joe saw his father laying bricks for the entryway.

Joe shouted hello to his father above the
noise of the hammering and sawing. "Cześć, Ojciec! (Hi,
Father)"

Ojciec turned to him and smiled. "A little
late, Joe, are we?"

"Yes sir. Matka took longer shopping than
expected."

Ojciec laughed under his dark handlebar
mustache. "Gossiping again at the market, I am sure. Well, what can
I expect for supper when I get home this evening, for all the time
spent in getting it? Maybe golabki (stuffed cabbage) with rice and
mushrooms, or perhaps ox tongue in gray sauce?"

"No, Ojciec. We're having cheese pierogi with
fried onions and cucumber salad."

"Ahh… always a favorite dish of mine when
your mother makes it."

Tossing a quarter into the air, he said "Find
a milk truck and buy some fresh sour cream for the pierogi. Let's
surprise Matka and your little brother. Small extravagances make
life worth living, right Joe?"

"Yes! Oh yes, Ojciec!" Joe said, smiling ear
to ear. Walking away he wondered the reason for his father's good
mood. During the week, he came home tired and worn out, staying
awake only to eat supper and then retiring before Joe went to
sleep. Ojciec was usually more relaxed on Saturdays, but to splurge
on sour cream was extraordinary. Joe walked to the sidewalk and
began to search for a milkman delivering his wares.

Avoiding two horse drawn carriages, a Model T
and a Liberty-Brush runabout, he crossed the street. Heading south
toward the busier part of the city, he allowed himself to sightsee
a little and enjoy the revelry of a sunny Saturday. The windows and
doors of the houses lining the street were propped open on this
mid-September day. Cabbage, sauerkraut and onion aromas drifted
onto the sidewalk as the women in the neighborhood prepared supper
for their families. Searching but finding no sign of a milkman, Joe
continued toward the Irish district, a few blocks south.

Rounding the corner, he saw two red-haired
boys playing with a Ouija board on the front porch of their home.
He crossed to the other side of the brick street, not paying
attention to the road; he almost stepped in horse dung. His priest,
Father Gatowski, had just preached about the evils of the Ouija
board last week at Mass.

"Ouija boards are the Devil's toy! God has
spelled it out for us in the Holy Book." Father Gatowski had
shouted from his pulpit. " 'There shall not be found among you any
one that maketh his son or his daughter to pass through fire, or
that useth divination, or an observer of times, an enchanter, or a
witch, or a charmer, or a consulter with familiar spirits, or a
wizard, or a necromancer. For all that do these things are an
abomination unto the LORD: and because these abominations the LORD
thy God doth drive them out from before thee. Thou shalt be perfect
with the LORD thy God.' Deuteronomy 18:10-13."

The priest had slammed the bible shut on the
pulpit waving and pointing his finger at the congregation as he
continued. "God has forewarned you in his most righteous way of
knowing what is to come. Listen to his teachings! These modern toys
being sold to our young souls in the false title of entertainment
are a straight path to Hell! Do not allow your young children to
surround themselves with the evil spirits of this world."

Of course, Joe being a young boy, he had not
paid attention to the sermon until the priest yelled "Hell!"; and
even then he hadn't understood what the priest was speaking about
until his mother sat him down in the kitchen after Mass. She told
him that if he ever played with a Ouija board that his soul would
burn in Hell for eternity.

Joe hastened away from the sinful game and
stepped onto the opposite sidewalk, colliding into a young woman
with a parasol. She started to fall forward, unable to keep her
balance thanks to her hobble skirt. Joe snapped out his hand at the
last moment and grabbed her by the elbow to help right her.

"Are ye not an imp and angel in one crib?'"
said the pretty lady in a lilting Irish accent, once she regained
her balance.

Puzzled by this response, Joe stared into her
eyes and quietly said in his best English, "I'm sorry, ma'am. I
should've been paying attention to what was ahead of me and not
behind."

Laughing, the young woman responded by
straightening Joe's cap and said, "Now if that were the advice we
all followed through life, I know, by God, all us folks down here
on Earth would have an easier time of it, to be sure." Fixing her
large light pink hat upon her head, confident that her wardrobe was
returned to order, she turned her attention fully to Joe. "My! What
an amazing color your eyes are. They remind me of the sea by my
village in Ireland, they do."

"Thank you, ma'am. And again I am sorry to
have bumped into you." Joe turned to go.

"No use worrying yourself, young lad. Tis
only a stepmother would blame you. Now before you rush off again
and injure some other innocent lady, perhaps you should tell me
where ya' were headed in such a hurry."

"Well… . I was…" Joe started.

"Out with it, wee one. I am just trying to
head ya' in the right direction, I am. Obviously you are not in
your own neighborhood." She smiled kindly down at Joe as she
twirled her parasol behind her shoulder.

His eyes dimmed slightly at her comment, as
he had been feeling confident that he'd perfected his American
accent during the last school year. "Well, I
was
looking for
the milkman, but I had to run from the other side of the street to
get away from a board game."

The pretty lady started to laugh again but
stopped when she saw how seriously Joe was staring at her. "Why on
God's green earth would a fine, smart young chap be afraid of a
child's toy?"

"Because the Devil lives in it!" Joe
responded assuredly. He pointed across the street to where the two
boys were still playing the game.

She pulled the light pink rim of her hat up
and peered across the sunny street and saw what Joe was referring
to. "Those two monkeys are my little brothers, full of mischief and
snake tails as they are. They're trouble to be sure, but no more
possessed of the Devil than any other ten-year-old boys. 'Tis just
a game, it is. No more worrying for ya'. Now, I saw the milkman
headed left on the next street just before ya' jostled me, my lad.
Scurry along and you might catch him yet."

"Thanks, ma'am!" Turning to run toward where
the milkman had headed, he heard the woman call, "And watch out for
evil toys and lasses out for a stroll!"

Joe found the delivery truck on the next
block and bought the sour cream. Carrying the glass bottle
carefully, he headed directly home to avoid any further
difficulties.

Joe bounced up the steps of the two-family house his
family shared with his uncle and aunt, Wujek Alexy and Ciotka
Hedwig (Uncle Alex and Aunt Hattie). Joe could smell onions
simmering in the kitchen, and he heard his three female cousins
playing next door. He opened his own front door and hung his hat in
the hallway.

The house was typical for this area of
Polonia, as his neighborhood was called in Detroit. Each home had a
separate entrance, its own kitchen and living area downstairs and
bedrooms upstairs. Matka and Aunt Hattie were good friends, and
both enjoyed gardening in the backyard and gossiping in their
wooden chairs on the porch in the evenings.

What Joe did not enjoy however, was sharing
anything
with his cousins, Marya, Pauline and Emilia. Marya
was ten years old, extremely bossy and always telling Joe what to
do and how he should do it. His mother had instructed Joe to
pretend to go along with the older girl for the peace of the
family. He
was
two years younger after all. Occasionally
when Marya had to watch Emilia for his aunt, he and Pauline would
play stickball in the backyard or on the street with the other
children from the neighborhood. But ordinarily, Marya would yell
out the window for Pauline to come back inside to help with some
kind of cleaning or cooking. Emilia was two years old, like Joe's
brother Frank, and therefore was inconsequential to the mind of a
busy eight-year-old boy.

Joe walked into the kitchen with the sour
cream behind his back. Luckily for him, Matka was giving Frank a
piece of a sugar cookie, and her back was turned toward the door.
Joe slipped the sour cream into the icebox, on the top shelf,
behind the milk bottles. He wanted to let his father have the
gratification of presenting it at supper. It was all Joe could do
not to tell his mother. Relieved of his surprise, Joe turned his
attention to the goings-on in the kitchen.

Aunt Hattie was rolling dough for the
pierogi. She was a short woman with a wide girth. Her sleeves were
rolled up to her elbows, and her traditional black dress swayed at
her ankles as she pushed the dough on the wooden kitchen table with
a rolling pin. Perspiration had formed on her brow and she wiped it
off with the hem of her apron while humming
Czerwone
Jabłuszko
, a cheerful folk song. Hattie had married Joe's uncle
in Poland and had stayed behind with his cousin Marya until Uncle
Alexy had saved enough money for their passage. Two years in a
turbulent country without her husband had given Hattie a strong
independent streak that Uncle Alexy found challenging, to say the
least. Although not yet a citizen, Aunt Hattie spent any spare time
she had campaigning for women's suffrage. She witnessed the
atrocities committed by the Prussian army, and as a result she
believed that all citizens should have a say in their government's
activities.

The large, shiny black stove on the back wall
had been left by the previous tenants and was fairly modern. The
oven door had Detroit Stove Works in ornate raised lettering on the
front. The stove was burning coal and generating more heat on the
already warm late summer day.

Matka dipped a cloth into the hot water
reservoir next to the stove's firebox and wiped down the sink.

The kitchen was narrow and dark with only one
window, above the sink, that provided little light. Matka washed
the small window every week when the smoke from the stove and
kerosene lamps began to darken the panes. Joe's mother had selected
a dark wallpaper for the kitchen in an attempt to camouflage the
smoke stains. A large wooden tub, used both for the family's weekly
baths on Saturday night and for washing the family's laundry sat in
the corner with the washboard. (It was Joe's job to draw the water
from a pump in the backyard for cooking and cleaning.) One lone
picture, of Our Lady of Częstochowa, hung on the wall near the
table. Matka had hung a pretty flowered cloth in front of the sink
to hide shelves underneath which held her pots and pans. She'd sewn
a matching tablecloth that was used for suppers in the small
kitchen.

Matka opened doors of the hutch which held
the family's few dishes, pulled out a glass tumbler and crossed the
worn wooden floor to the kitchen table. Ciotka Hedwig and Matka
were preparing supper in Blanca's kitchen because Aunt Hattie's
stove was small and difficult to cook on.

Frank was satisfied to chew on his cookie,
and Matka sat at the table. She turned the tumbler upside down and
used it to cut out circles for the pierogi.

Joe greeted his mother. "Cześć Matka."

"Joe. You're back. How was Father?" she asked
in Polish. Matka knew almost no English and Ojciec spoke only a
little.

"Ojciec's in a good mood. He didn't care that
I was a few minutes late," replied Joe.

Blanca turned to Hedwig and said, "Well, what
could be causing this cheery mood, I wonder?"

"Who cares?" said Aunt Hattie. "Just be glad
for it. Perhaps it will help with the news about… well, you
know."

"Yes, let us just thank the Lord for it.
Perhaps God did hear me praying last night," replied Matka.

Joe held his tongue and didn't ask his mother
what the news was. Children could not interrupt adult conversation,
and the women were obviously trying to keep something from him. Of
course, being a young boy and being Joe he was all the more curious
and determined to figure out what was going on.

"Matka?"

"Yes?"

"Can I help put the filling in the pierogi?"
Joe said, looking up sweetly at his mother.

"Why, yes. Thank you, my son. I can't
remember the last time you helped me cook in the kitchen,
especially on such a lovely day, and a Saturday at that!" Joe
thought he saw her turn to his aunt and wink.

Joe began scooping small amounts of a cottage
cheese and egg mixture onto the small dough circles. As he did this
he peered at Matka from the corner of his eyes. After a couple of
minutes, the two women appeared to have forgotten he was there and
began discussing a neighbor who lived four doors down the
street.

"I saw five men come out of Mrs. Ludwicka's
house at six yesterday morning," his mother said to Aunt Hattie.
"Then, not forty-five minutes, later I saw two men going in. Ten
minutes later, three more went in the front door, and when I left
for the market a half-hour later, another man, very large this
time, walked up the stairs and went in. All were dirty and tired,
looking like they had just got off work at the automobile plant."
Matka continued pushing the round drinking glass into the rolled
out dough and pressing out small circles which she handed to
Joe.