A tree grows in Brooklyn - Betty Smith [141]
Francie didn’t understand a word of what her grandmother had said, but she answered, “Yes, Granma.”
Going home in the trolley, Francie held the shoebox in her lap because Mama had no lap now. Francie thought deep thoughts during the ride. “If what Granma Mary Rommely said is true, then it must be that no one ever dies, really. Papa is gone, but he’s still here in many ways. He’s here in Neeley who looks just like him and in Mama who knew him so long. He’s here in his mother who began him and who is still living. Maybe I will have a boy some day who looks like Papa and has all of Papa’s good without the drinking. And that boy will have a boy. And that boy will have a boy. It might be there is no real death.” Her thoughts went to McGarrity. “No one would ever believe there was any part of Papa in him.” She thought of Mrs. McGarrity and how she had made it easy for her to sit down and eat that jello. Something clicked in Francie’s mind! She knew all of a sudden what was different about Sissy. She spoke to her mother.
“Aunt Sissy doesn’t use that strong sweet perfume any more, does she, Mama?”
“No. She doesn’t have to, any more.”
“Why?”
“She’s got her baby now and a man to look after her and the baby.”
Francie wanted to ask more questions but Mama had her eyes closed and was leaning her head back against the seat. She looked white and tired and Francie decided not to bother her any more. She’d have to figure it out for herself.
“It must be,” she thought, “that this using strong perfume is tied up somehow with a woman wanting a baby and wanting to find a man who can give her a baby and look after it and her too.” She put that nugget of knowledge away with all the others that she was continually collecting.
Francie was beginning to get a headache. She didn’t know whether it was caused by the excitement of holding the baby, the bouncing trolley car, the idea of Papa or the discovery about Sissy’s perfume. Maybe it was because she was getting up so early in the mornings now, and being so busy all day. Maybe it was because it was the time in the month when she could look for a headache anyhow.
“Well,” Francie decided, “I guess the thing that is giving me this headache is life—and nothing else but.”
“Don’t be silly,” said Mama quietly, still leaning back with her eyes closed. “Aunt Sissy’s kitchen was too hot. I have a headache, myself.”
Francie jumped. Was it getting so that Mama could look right into her mind even with her eyes closed? Then she remembered that she had forgotten she was thinking and had said that last thought about life out loud. She laughed for the first time since Papa had died and Mama opened her eyes and smiled.
39
FRANCIE AND NEELEY WERE CONFIRMED IN MAY. FRANCIE WAS ALMOST fourteen and a half years old and Neeley was just a year younger. Sissy, who was an expert seamstress, made Francie’s simple white muslin dress. Katie managed to buy her white kid slippers and a pair of long white silk stockings. They were Francie’s first silk stockings. Neeley wore the black suit he got for his father’s funeral.
There was a legend in the neighborhood that any three wishes made on that day, would come true. One had to be an impossible wish, another a wish that you could make come true yourself, and the third had to be a wish for when you grew up. Francie’s impossible wish was that her straight brown hair change into golden curly hair like Neeley’s. Her second wish was that she’d have a nice speaking voice like Mama and Evy and Sissy, and her third wish, for when she was grown up, was that she’d travel all over the world. Neeley wished: one, that he’d become very wealthy; two, that he’d get better marks on his report card; and, three, that he wouldn’t drink like Papa when he grew up.
There was an iron-bound convention in Brooklyn that children must have their picture taken by a regular photographer when they were confirmed. Katie couldn’t afford to have pictures made. She