The Book Borrower (10 page)

She made herself stop. Well, let's do math.

—When is the test? said Lily.

—I don't know, said Ruben, but I'll ask Carlotta. You're right. It's time to sign you up. You and Cecile.

—Not me? said Emma.

—I don't think you're ready.

—Oh, you don't love me because I'm stupid, Emma said.

—Emma doesn't mean it, said Mary.

Emma was smiling. Cecile's white, that's why you want her to take the test. She was talking in a baby voice, teasing.

When Carlotta came through, shouting encouragement as usual, Ruben asked about the test, but Carlotta wanted to talk about Deborah's baby. Miss Toby, have you seen that new child?

—I have.

—And is she a fine child or not?

—A fine child, said Ruben. A very fine child.

Carlotta left and they looked at the next page in the math book, a chart about taxes. Emma couldn't imagine what a chart might be. They had been through this. But the others grew quicker each week. They answered the questions, fighting and laughing, working it out. Sometimes they could answer more quickly than Ruben. Maybe even Mary could take the test.

When the class was over Emma left in a hurry. The pamphlet from her church, “A Woman Finds God,” lay on the table, and Emma ran back and took it. She didn't hug Ruben. When Ruben left it was snowing a sharp gray snow. She couldn't go for a walk after walking to the school in the first place. She didn't want to stay in the basement room.

Amid dingy houses and gas stations she found a coffee shop and had coffee and a doughnut. She left in the stinging snow. Even now it was early. Sometimes an hour will not pass.

When she and Deborah talked, Ruben didn't imagine Deborah teaching at the same table in the same basement. For some reason she imagined a different room, but of course Deborah taught in the same basement room. Deborah had eight students, not just five, and Ruben would have to meet another class in the morning. The feel of the room was different, and for a moment, walking in, Ruben thought it was a different room after all, or a different table. Food was all over the table: Tootsie Rolls and M&M's, which Ruben liked too much, and a box of cookies and a bottle of Coke. Everything glowed yellow; when she looked up she saw a light fixture she'd never noticed. Why hadn't Carlotta showed her?

—Where do you turn on that light? she said, not even stop-ping to say hello. Hands pointed to a perfectly visible switch on a wall.

—I've been teaching in the dark!

—You're Deborah's friend. Have you seen the baby?

They were friendlier than her own group. There were three white women and five black ones; Ruben was ashamed to have counted. They offered her candy and cookies. They even had small square napkins. She ate. She wondered who had paid for this food. Should she offer to contribute or would that be offensive?

They simply refused to do math. They claimed Deborah said they'd learn more if they did it at home on their own. They sat back confidently, a little ways from the table, not leaning. The table did not jiggle. They kept their hands in their laps or on their broad, no doubt tired knees, each soothing her own long-suffering knees. All their lives they had worked to come to this place, where they could spend an hour in the middle of the day eating candy and talking, but not, please, about math.

It was hard to quiet them. They talked about their nails, and examined their polished nails. It seemed one of the women had polished everybody's nails at the last class.

—In class? Prissy Ruben.

—It was my report.

—We do reports. Today's her report. The woman who would give a report, that day, was wearing a red felt hat with a small curved brim. She was a tiny, mischievous-looking black woman.

—Her report was on nail polish? What's yours on?

—Ghana.

—Oh! All right. Let's hear it.

But it wasn't ready. Ruben opened the big book to grammar exercises. The boy with the big dogs were late.

She explained.

—But the boy was late and the dogs were late. That's more than one. That's plural, said somebody.

Another woman disagreed. It just doesn't sound right. The boy with the big dogs were late.

—We did this one last week, someone else said. Deborah definitely said it's The boy with the big dogs were late.

—You've already done these?

—No, she's just saying that. She likes mixing you up.

—We don't usually do these book questions.

—Well, what do you do?

—Lady, we don't do very much, said one of the women. And that is a fact.

—We're tired, said somebody else. It's late.

The hour-long class took four hours. Ruben ended it ten minutes early and tried to spend a lot of time gathering her belongings, but still it was eight minutes early when she left the room, turning off the light. In the office, where Ruben had to pick up her check, Emma was talking to Carlotta, with a baby on her hip. If Emma could bring a baby to class, maybe she could learn. Maybe her brain was on her hip and the baby would stimulate it.

Ruben walked into the office, stood behind Emma, and ran her hand over the baby's back. Emma didn't turn, but she said, He doesn't need to be poked. He's overtired.

Doesn't it soothe him? She wanted Emma to turn and see it was she, and laugh and apologize for speaking grouchily to her. But Emma looked over her shoulder and turned back, and Ruben thought that she'd been complaining about her, prob-ably complaining that Ruben wouldn't let her take the test. Carlotta looked at Ruben curiously, frowning a little as if she were quite slow, but it was necessary to get something across to her.

—I must put this child to bed, Emma said.

—We'll talk, said Carlotta.

Emma walked past Ruben and out of the office. The little boy whimpered.

—Did you like that crowd of ladies? Carlotta said. That is a big class. I wouldn't give such a big class to anybody but Deborah.

—It's not too big, Ruben said.

—And you are a fine teacher, too, I am sure, said Carlotta. You don't have Deborah's experience, of course.

Ruben thought she was a better teacher than Deborah, and adding up a job here and a job there, she had more experience. Deborah had worked here longer, and Ruben had never taught in a program quite like this before—that much was true. But she was angry. She wanted to be praised because her ladies were ready to take the test.

—I wish Emma could take the test like the others, Ruben said. I know it's hard for her that she isn't ready.

—Oh, I don't think she minds much, Carlotta said. She doesn't need her equivalency diploma for this job. She just wants to please you. But you know, Miss Toby, there is some-thing I must discuss with you. Carlotta sat down in her chair and Ruben leaned on the table opposite her. Carlotta said, Emma's faith is important to her.

—Her faith?

—She said you made light of her faith today, said Carlotta.

—Oh, no, I would never do that, Ruben said.

—She said she had a pamphlet from her church, and you told her it was untrue. Now, she respects you, Miss Toby, and I can see that you are a strong intellect, someone we are proud to have here. But a woman's faith. Well, maybe it's hard, but we try to understand one another's faith.

Ruben, who could make a speech at breakfast about freedom of religion, didn't know what to say. Then she said, The pamphlet was not about religion. It was about something else. About men dominating women.

—It was from her church. I am sure you will remember, next time. Carlotta searched on her desk for the envelope with the check and gave it to Ruben, and Ruben turned to leave.

Then she found herself turning back. Funny about Deborah, she said. Of course you're right. She's a fabulous teacher. Obviously they all love her.

—They do.

—Yet they spend their time eating candy and having their nails polished in class. I wouldn't do that. Somehow she teaches them anyway. Somehow they get ready to take the test.

—Their nails?

—Well, I guess they are giving reports. One of them gave a report on nail polish, and she polished all the others' nails. Ruben was laughing a little, trembling a little. But they take the test anyway! she said in a high voice, shaking her head in wonder. She knew that only one of Deborah's students had taken the test in a year, and Deborah had said that one was different.

—Most of them don't care about the test, said Carlotta. They just want the skills.

—Polishing nails? Look, I'm white, Ruben said. Some of these students are white, some black. She quoted the Carlotta of her imagination, who would be scandalized if Ruben did what Deborah was doing. I think not teaching them anything is condescending. As if black people couldn't learn.

—You think your friend is not teaching them anything?

—Well, maybe it's not that bad, Ruben said. I don't know. It doesn't seem as if she is. And she hurried home, where Squirrel had screamed for an hour and a half and the sitter was in tears. Ruben paid the sitter and sent her home, nursed her frantic baby in bed until she was calmer and Squirrel fell asleep, his head on her numb arm. If she moved him to his crib, he'd wake up. If she eased her arm out and left the room, he'd roll off the bed. In tiny movements minutes apart she extricated her arm. Now he lay on his stomach, slanted across the bedspread, his bottom hunched up. The brown hair on his head swirled around its place of origin. How did it know where to begin? The Squirrel wore a blue shirt and a cloth diaper and rubber pants. Ruben felt the diaper: damp but not sopping. She curved her body around his and reached for the book on the table next to the bed. As always, her glasses were dirty, and she licked them, which really didn't help.

 

 

When the trolley men went out in January 1921, the city of Boynton, Massachusetts, did not immediately lose its temper. Women bundled up in the clear, cold air and walked to the shops, calling “Does you good!” to one another. Men walked to work or took out the Ford that ordinarily waited in the garage until Sunday. Since autos had become so popular, they pointed out, the trolleys didn't matter as much. Of course that was why the fare was going up to eight cents and wages were being cut. Riders were disappearing. Still, people told one another, the trolley men had legitimate needs and concerns, and perhaps the company would find a just way to solve this problem quickly.

The company immediately hired scabs, who, however, would come from Boston and would not arrive for several days. The newspaper called the scabs “strikebreakers,” which made them seem noble. Like the
Denver Post,
the
Boynton Herald
opposed the strike. I read the editorial aloud at our dinner table, and dug my nails into my palms. The newspaper said that as soon as the strikebreakers arrived, the trolleys would run again and everything would be fine. The strikers would learn their lesson.

Surely, the women in the shops told one another, patting their chests and smiling after their unusual exertion, surely it would all be settled and the scabs would never come at all. Meanwhile, with everyone out except two obstinate motormen who could not act as part of a group, the trolleys were in the barn and the silence on Main Street was startling. Horses were more in evidence, but in truth, not many in Boynton still kept a buggy.

A nephew of my father's was one of the striking motor-men. “Uncle Saul, we must eat!” Cousin Joe had said at a family dinner on Sunday.

“But I never saw Cousin Joe do anything
except
eat,” Sarah whispered to me. Joe was fat and ordinarily silent. “Maybe,” said Sarah, “he just means it's time for dinner!” Sarah was worried about the strike, but she was excited, these days, exuberant. “One more week until Warrie's birthday party,” she said to me as we walked home that night from our aunt and uncle's house.

I had to think for a minute before I remembered Warrie. Then I was shocked. “But the trolleys may not be running,” said.

“Oh, they'll fix the problem by then,” Sarah said.