The Whipping Club (19 page)

Beva heard the engine of Benjamin’s spiffy automobile and watched from the living room window as Marian parked the car smack on the street in front of her pale yellow doo
r. She watched Johanna get out
of the car, skinny and small-boned, the living spit of herself, or so she thought but would never say so to Marian. Her arthritic shoulder

and neck pain had worsened in the days since Marian’s phone call.
             

             
She glanced at the dining table, which she had taken extra time to set, the white lace tablecloth new for this occasion. Time had slowed for her, living on her own. The girl Patsy only came on Mondays and Thursdays to straighten up. Sabbath dinners were now less of a production, sometimes taken alone. But there was the occasional bingo outing at the Adelaide Road Synagogue on Tuesday nights, Estelle and Rita, from the Board of Guardians, still checked on her bi-monthly.

             
Enough time
had
passed, Beva thought as Marian stood before her with a surprisingly docile look. She could tell from her daughter-in-law’s expression that she noted how Beva had aged. Her face was leathery now, and her posture had worsened. Marian stalled by the door, gathering her thoughts, no doubt, as Johanna bustled into the living room. Marian’s mother, Mrs. McKeever, stood holding the hand of a sturdy-looking young man while Marian herself seemed gobsmacked that her ma had actually come to the Jewish district.

             
Mrs. McKeever held her nose from the atrocious smells coming from the Canal, introduced herself, then peered inside the house. Beva watched Mrs. McKeever standing there in her wool coat worn to the bone, the wrinkles around her squinting blue eyes, as she examined the
mezuzah
affixed to the front door. She began to babble about something or other when Beva gestured for them to enter. Mrs. McKeever shoved a soda bread into her hands, an Irish housewarming.

             
“And who’s this little person?” Beva asked, touching the boy’s shoulder, hoping she wasn’t wearing the condescending smile adults offer children.

             
“He’s someone special,” Mrs. McKeever said. “Go on in.” She gave him a push and he walked toward Johanna into the living room. Beva looked at the platter of meat kasha on the server. Catholics only eat fish on a Friday, Beva knew, but this was Sunday, so Mrs. McKeever should let the kids try a little.

             
Everyone crowding inside the narrow foyer made her aware of how much smaller it seemed since the last time Ben’s girlfriend had stood there, and she was glad for the homey smell of latkes wafting by. All that was needed were the bowls of applesauce and sour cream from the Frigidaire.

             
“We should be going,” Marian said, not moving from the doorway.

             
“What? You just got here. You said we’d sit for tea!” Beva said, watching Johanna show the boy the photographs of Benjamin. “We’d have a nosh before we get Benjamin, you said.” Disappointment was apparent in her voice.

             
“I hope you haven’t gone to too much trouble,” Marian said and reluctantly entered. The dining table was set for four. The same black radio projected a din of Yiddish music. “Come in, Ma,” Marian urged.
             
“Take that troubled look off your face. You’re not in China, for God’s sake,” she muttered under her breath.

             
Patsy took their coats, and Marian led her mother over to the bookshelf where they studied the display of photographs as if they were an exhibit in a museum.

             
“At least, let’s sit down for a
minute
,” Beva pleaded, and set an extra plate, all her extended pleasantries unexpected, even to herself. She looked at the homemade
challah
and gefilte fish on the table, the same fish Marian had refused to eat on the night she kicked them out of her life for good. The kids rushed to the table.

             
“I can tell Johanna’s friend here is a good eater, isn’t he,” she said, scooping some applesauce and latkes onto his plate.

             
Mrs. McKeever stood by her chair with a genteel smile, and then offered an awkward laugh as Beva pulled out her chair and motioned for her to sit down. “We passed a Jewish synagogue on our way here,” Mrs. McKeever blurted.

             
Beva gave her a quizzical look as she placed latkes on her plate.

             
“These pancakes look delicious,” Mrs. McKeever said rather loudly, looking at the boy.

             
Beva could see the tension on Marian’s face, and in her movements, and she felt a sword fight coming on.

             
“We’d better tell her,” Johanna whispered.

             
“Eat, Jo,” Marian said and opened her eyes wide. “There are bigger things, though, for us to discuss than this meal, as lovely as it is,” Marian began.

             
“We have news, Bubbe,” Johanna said, her impish face in full bloom.

             
She plopped down. “I don’t have an
y energy left for this. I’m
verklempt
. Is there more bad news?”

             
“We have good news, Bubbe,” Johanna said. Beva reached over and pinched her pretty little cheek.

             
“We have, have we? A
mitzvah
, I hope?”

             
“This is Adrian, my eleven-year-old brother,” Johanna announced between bites.

             
“What? What do you mean?” Beva suddenly felt confused.

             
“What did I tell you, Johanna? Run out back and play, both of you,” Marian ordered.

             
“But–”

             
“You heard your mother,” Mrs. McKeever said, taking Adrian and Johanna’s hands, and escorting the two of them outside.

             
They stood still, looking at each other across the table.

             
“Ben and I had a son, Beva. Our son has been in a Home all this time, Beva. An orphanage.”

             
She stood and came closer, grabbed the back of a chair. “You know I often thought about you, how you must have felt. But I had no idea of any of this, Marian.”

             
“Nothing would have changed—had you known.” She unclasped her hands. “Certainly, we wouldn’t have been married with your consent.”

             
“How dare you.” Beva’s hand went rigid as if to slap Marian across the face. 

             
Marian looked startled. “Excuse me?”

             
“Do you think you’re the only one who has suffered all these years? You’re the only one who has a right to be angry?”

             
“That hellatious night was the cause–”

             
“Do you think I would rather live like this, without a family around me?” She put her hands on her hips.

             
“You insisted our relationship would never work,” Marian said, her voice getting loud. “‘What about the
kinder
?’ You said. Did you think–”

             
“Yes, I said that, but I didn’t know you were pregnant!” Beva shouted.

             
They both heard the back door bang. Marian’s ma stood there for a moment and then slammed it shut and walked in.

             
“We can hear you outside,” Mrs. McKeever said.

             
“Here he is in my backyard. My grandson. He doesn’t know me.”

             
“You wanted me gone. Let’s be honest here.”

             
“Don’t continue to do to Benjamin and Johanna and now my grandson what you’ve been doing all these years, blaming me for everything.”

             
“Why did you hate me so much without giving us a chance?”

             
“Why haven’t you come round to see me, Marian? Why did you keep my Johanna from me all those years?” She shot back. She noticed that Marian’s hands were shaking.

             
“You wouldn’t budge. Just like the rest of the world.”

             
“Marian, I’m an old lady. You’re young and strong. It’s not always the parent that should make amends. Honor thy mother and father,” she said. “That’s what both our religions believe.”

             
“So you know, I’ve asked Ben about you,” Marian said, more softly this time.

             
“And I’ve asked Benjamin about you. Some middle man he turned out to be, my Benjamin. When did he know? What does Benjamin think about all this?”

             
Marian shook her head and took a sip of water.

             
She threw her hands up in the air. “You know, I had a funny feeling the minute I saw him.” She paused and looked at Marian. “Don’t tell me anymore. I’ll die of grief.”

             
“Please,” Marian said. “Let’s not talk about it ever again.”

             
“My daughter’s right,” Mrs. McKeever chimed in. “You have different ways, but let me tell you. Some things are better left unsaid, Mrs. Ellis.”

             
“I can see in your eyes you’re as strong as ever,” Marian said.

             
She arched her eyebrows and looked at her daughter-in-law, who was still a beauty. Could it be that Marian just gave her a small compliment?

             
“I didn’t know you were pregnant. I’m not a Catholic,” Beva muttered. “I don’t know what I would have done had I known, and neither do you.”

             
“I’ve had enough,” Mrs. McKeever said and huffed over to the closet. Grabbed her coat. “I am a Catholic and so is Marian,” she blurted. She tied her scarf in a proud manner and turned to Marian. “I followed you. Went to buy you cold tablets—you looked knackered—but I followed you instead. My daughter paced back and forth over St. Stephen’s Green with a handkerchief covering her mouth, shoving herself into the telephone box every ten minutes.”

             
“Your phone rang and rang, off the hook,” Marian said.

“I’d changed my mind. I want
ed to tell Ben I was pregnant.
We would have married right away, with or without your consent, Beva. Why didn’t you answer the phone?” Marian said.

             
“Sam died that night, do you understand? He died.” Beva sat quietly for a moment. “Right after you left, Benjamin came in, terribly upset at me. I sent him to get Dr. Eisen. It was over so fast.”

             
“Listen, you. Marian didn’t kill your husband,” Mrs. McKeever said.

             
“I never said–”

             
“I don’t want another word. Adrian can hear, you know,” Mrs. McKeever hissed.

             
Marian put an arm around her ma, awkwardly, before Mrs. McKeever grabbed the kids’ coats and made for the back door.

             
“Well,” Marian sighed, obviously exhausted and no doubt worried sick, too, about Benjamin. “We all have to move on. A united front is what we need now. Any dissonance could hurt Adrian’s chances of coming home to us for good.”

             
Beva shook her head again in her way, in slight short movements, and tasted the coral lipstick creasing across her tight lips.

             
“You don’t need to accept me. You need to accept him,” Marian said.

             
“I will,” Beva conceded.

             
“Not
Adrian
, although you must do that, too. I’m talking about your own son,” Marian said.

             
Beva’s eyes felt dry.

             
“Don’t say Jews stick together, or anything like that, either, please,” Marian said. “We all stick together now.”

             
“I don’t remember saying anything like that,” she said, a bit defensively. “I think I just said that, as Jews, we integrate; we don’t assimilate.”

             
“Memory is selective, Beva. You said too much, but we only seem to remember our own best selves,” Marian said and let out a huge sigh.

             
Beva sat. They looked at each other for a moment longer. “I have a grandson,” she said, nodding, incapable of saying anything about her past actions, incapable of asking for forgiveness. But she could see there was a calmer expression on Marian’s face, the tightness around her mouth and eyes seemed to have relaxed. An unmistakable shift had taken place in these few minutes since her son’s family had stood on her doorstep. Although there was no denying that the tension had not completely lifted, there was no mistake that Marian felt relief that this meeting had finally happened.