The Whipping Club (21 page)

             
“I have never been so happy in mine,” he said and moved his own trembling hands underneath her slip. Her stockings slid down her thighs, and they entered their private world of lovers, as they had when she had let things go too far. They were in this together now, though, there was no doubt.

             
Benjamin lit a cigarette and handed it to her. “Max Berger at the Times says people took bets about our wedding,” he said. They sat quietly together smoking. Marian let out a chuckle and went to pull on her taupe nylons, picturing her Catholic ma’s horror that she’d fallen in love and had married a Jewish boy. They had been giddy enough afterwards to flag a cab; ready for the onslaught they would receive when they announced to Marian’s mother that they were the genuine article.

Benjamin squinted at Marian now, and lit a cigarette. She fanned the smoke away with her hand. Marian glanced at Beva’s shriveled hand on Benjamin’s knee, and then gave Benjamin a look. Her son could feel Marian’s uneasiness, but Beva was determined to ignore her daughter-in-law’s discomfort, as well as her own.

             
“That’s all of us at the beach, in Dollymount,” Marian said, pointing to the photograph she’d taped to the dashboard.

             
Beva nodded and craned her neck around to smile at Adrian.

“Do we have photographs! I’ll show you photographs of your father with Reb Leventhal,” she said and then clapped Benjamin’s thigh gently. Benjamin took the Mammy’s hand in his for a moment.

             
“Would you like to see your father’s photographs?” Beva said to Adrian, who simply nodded. “We’ll introduce him to the Reb soon, won’t we, Benjamin?”

             
“Oh, Jesus,” Gran McKeever mumbled into Adrian’s ear.

             
“You’d like that? And you’d like to meet some of Johanna’s new friends from the neighborhood, am I right?” Beva asked.

             
“I heard that silence,” Benjamin said, turning around to point a finger at him and Johanna. “Ah, don’t be embarrassed of who you are,” he said.

             
“I’m not, Da,” Johanna said, as Adrian cowered in his seat. At Beva’s he had peered at the white candles burning in brass candlesticks, casting a glow onto the silver veggie platters, linen tablecloth drooping to the floor. Adrian told Johanna that he knew that the Jews ate well and lived well. He’d heard that they owned all of Grafton Street. Peddlers and leeches, moneylenders who’d charge you outrageous interest—that’s what Sister Agnes once told him.

             
“Why are you hiding down there, Adrian?” Beva said.

             
Mrs. McKeever popped a chocolate in the boy’s mouth.

             
“I’m going to get the article I completed in the hospital published, even if I do it freelance at
The New World
. It’s all about catechism classes in orphanages,” Benjamin said. “And the misinformation these kids are learning about other religions.”

             
“
Please
. Don’t be doing anything that’ll upset Sister Agnes,” Marian scolded. “Everything’s going to be all right,” Marian added quickly, looking at Adrian through her rearview mirror. “The world will come round, the hard times will pass away,” Marian sighed, as she spoke into Adrian’s ear.

             
When they finally crawled out of the city and onto Mount Merrion Road toward Black Rock, the expanse of sea to their left, Marian’s sigh of contentment seemed to have an effect on the entire party. There was no more banter. Each member of the family settled down into their own thoughts, the children’s countenances peaceful. But suddenly they poked each other awake, gawked out the car window at a beehive of activity—the circus had come to the town of Sandymount. A Ferris wheel and other rides could be seen. A blur of busy workers set up the big main tent while others tended to jungle animals. Adrian and Johanna, jumping up and down in the back seat, shouted to their mother that they had to go.
Please could they go!
Marian looked at Benjamin, who frowned, and she conceded that he was right. Everyone turned around in their seats to get a last look as they sped by.

Before Ben’s morning meeting, he removed his sling. He lied to his coworkers, told them that he wa
sn’t in any pain, and swore to
Mr. Darby that he’d be typing quicker than any of them in no time. It was by that afternoon, though, that he realized his promotion as first reporter covering the North for the
Irish Times
had been quietly dismissed. He spoke late in the day about his career concerns with Mr. Darby, who denied this demotion. “You’re our best columnist, stick with that,” he said.

             
Since the ban on interviewing eyewitnesses at scenes of violence, most journalists had felt the chill factor and would steer clear of the troubles. Ben knew this, and knew that he should be grateful for his old column. Along with a medal for his bravery up North, Mr. Darby had approved Ben’s request for a new column, entitled “Dublin’s Little Domain,” that catered to the small Jewish community. He should create his own spin on local news stories, particularly Irish Jewish stories. That was the emphasis they wanted, Mr. Darby agreed. “And you’ll have complete freedom as well,” he’d added.

             
“Stories about Jewish twins born in the city, interviews with prominent Jewish members of society, a visit with the Jewish Lord Mayor of Dublin,” Ben told Marian the next morning, rubbing his upper right arm, thinking the real excitement in the journalism

career he’d dreamed about was all but over. “It’s the best Mr. Darby can offer, I’m afraid,” Ben said.

             
“You’ll have more time at home with me,” Marian told him, but he knew she was preoccupied with saving Adrian, not with spending time with him.

             
Ben felt his nerves fraying and wondered if Jo and Adrian realized something about him was amiss. It upset him that Marian was snapping at Jo yet treated Adrian with kindness because of his fragile predicament. Johanna’s brow tightened, her lips fell open in disbelief at what she believed to be her mother’s favoritism. All this attention given to Adrian, Adrian, Adrian, all the time. Even
before
the summer began, Johanna had muttered to him in the garden.

             
Ben took Marian to the Gaiety Theatre, the Wednesday matinee, to see a Marlon Brando picture.
The previous night Marian rang
Father Brennan to ask if he could w
atch the
children. The priest said he’d be happy to play table tennis with the kids, and inquired again after Ben’s sore arm. Ben and Marian agreed: Father was good to baby-sit. And they’d feel refreshed after a little time to themselves.

             
Little did they know that as they were making their way home after cake and coffee at Quinlan’s, Father Brennan sat enthralled in front of the television, disgusted by some heretic talking about contraception, while the children played unsupervised upstairs. As the couple approached the house, they heard Mrs. O’Rourke’s muffled cries and saw her hands cover her mouth. They looked up at the third story of their townhouse to find Adrian, his face covered in clown makeup, dangling Johanna by her ankles out of the attic dorme
r
window.

             
“My fucking God!” Ben ran into the house, petrified that if Adrian dropped Jo from the window, he would be incapable of catching her with only one good arm.

             
“Don’t shout at them! Don’t scare them, Ben!” Marian yelled up after him as he climbed the stairs two at a time. “Don’t startle them!” she warned. He leapt up the narrow third floor stairway, practically flew into the attic to grab Johanna before Adrian could lose his hold. Ben’s good arm gripped her thigh as he snaked the other arm around her waist and coaxed her skinny body back into the attic playroom.

             
“What in God’s name were you doing?” he yelled, wanting to slap Adrian hard. Instead he pushed the boy out of the way. Adrian fled to the corner wall. Ben hugged Johanna tightly as the two collapsed to the floor.

             
Marian, looking completely drained, pulled Adrian down with her in the corner of the room.
Ben kept his arms tight around
Johanna. The girl wore a black Halloween cat costume and her Mickey Mouse Club ears. Early evening’s cold air rushed in through the window, cooling the family as they sought to catch their breath and collect their wits.

             
“Let’s have a proper answer, young man. You’re not getting off so easily anymore. What the hell were you thinking, holding your sister out the bloody window?”

             
Suddenly Adrian stood, dropped his trousers, and gripped the wall.

             
Ben knew that it was during a child’s first year at Silverbridge that they learned to hold the bar and wait for a thrashing. For Adrian, the flogging must have started when he was around four or five years old. The waiting was as hard to endure as the leather belt itself, Ben imagined.

             
“Don’t make things worse, Ben!” Marian shouted at him.

             
“Things couldn’t be worse, Marian. Wake up! And you. Pull up your trousers, Adrian.”

             
“How the hell could you even try to come to his defense over this one?” Ben said to Marian. He rubbed Jo’s back. “No one’s going to give you a good larruping, Adrian. Though you bloody well deserve one,” he said. “Now, tell me, for God’s sake. What you were doing to your sister?”

             
“It’s our fault, Ben. We’re the ones bought them the costumes,” Marian interjected.

             
“Lots of children have costumes, Marian! They don’t hold their sisters out the goddamn window!”

             
“It’s my fault, Da. It was my idea,” Jo said, watching Adrian pull up his trousers.

             
“Ah, bloody hell, the two of you! Johanna, you know better. What in God’s name were you thinking? Don’t you ever let anyone harm you, in any way again. God damn it!”

             
Marian and Adrian stood up as Ben helped Jo to her feet.

             
“The two of you have no sense. You’re both going to bed without your tea.”

             
He lit a cigarette, relaxed a bit, grateful that no one was hurt.

             
“We have to be extra good these days, you know that, Jo. Adrian, not again,” he said, exhaling a tunnel of smoke in his direction. “Not ever.”

             
Later that evening, at Ben’s tender prodding, Jo explained how they put on their circus costumes, and then they no longer wanted to be silly old clowns but acrobats on a trapeze. Yes, she was jealous of her mother’s attentions to Adrian. That was true, but they were playing a game of pretend. That was all, she said. It was her idea to hang from the window. She had begged Adrian to do it, just for the thrill and fun of it. At first, Adrian refused, but when she threatened him with expulsion from their family, he complied. And because it had been her idea all along, she got to go first.

             
“Johanna, I know you. I can tell that the second half of your story is made up. You never threatened Adrian that he’d be sent away if he didn’t go along with your plan.”

             
Johanna shrugged. “I don’t want you to blame Adrian. I would have held him out the window next.”

             
“What has gotten into you? You know what you did was extremely dangerous?”

             
She looked down, touched her stuffed animal.

             
“Come on, Jo. Use your brains,” Ben said. He kissed her goodnight and closed her bedroom door. “Thank God you’re safe.”

             
Ben trudged down the stairs. Marian and Father Brennan were

sitting on the couch. He opened the lower cabinet of the dining room cupboard, retrieved three tumblers and the Black and White. “Marian. I think we have to consider what’s best.”

             
Marian sighed as she followed Father Brennan and took a seat at the table. Ben poured them all whiskey and took a long sip of his, grateful for the warmth sliding
down his throat. She stared at
the dusty wood floor. She was somewhere far away from him and he didn’t know how to bring her back.

             
“Marian?”

             
“What are you saying? I’m sorry,” she said.

             
“I think we may be in over our heads,” Ben said.

             
“It seems a lot to take on in a short time,” Father Brennan said.

             
Marian opened her eyes in that incredulous way she had when she was annoyed. “Why weren’t you watching them?” she asked Father Brennan. “Who are you, really?”