A tree grows in Brooklyn - Betty Smith [8]
It happened to be one of Sauerwein’s agreeable days. “The tongue came to an end, yesterday,” he told Francie. “But I saved it for you because I know your mama likes tongue and I like your mama. You tell her that. Hear?”
“Yes sir,” whispered Francie. She looked down on the floor as she felt her face getting warm. She hated Mr. Sauerwein and would not tell Mama what he had said.
At the baker’s, she picked out four buns, carefully choosing those with the most sugar. She met Neeley outside the store. He peeped into the bag and cut a caper of delight when he saw the buns. Although he had eaten four cents’ worth of candy that morning, he was very hungry and made Francie run all the way home.
Papa did not come home for dinner. He was a free-lance singing waiter which meant that he didn’t work very often. Usually he spent Saturday morning at Union Headquarters waiting for a job to come in for him.
Francie, Neeley, and Mama had a very fine meal. Each had a thick slice of the “tongue,” two pieces of sweet-smelling rye bread spread with unsalted butter, a sugar bun apiece and a mug of strong hot coffee with a teaspoon of sweetened condensed milk on the side.
There was a special Nolan idea about the coffee. It was their one great luxury. Mama made a big potful each morning and reheated it for dinner and supper and it got stronger as the day wore on. It was an awful lot of water and very little coffee but Mama put a lump of chicory in it which made it taste strong and bitter. Each one was allowed three cups a day with milk. Other times you could help yourself to a cup of black coffee anytime you felt like it. Sometimes when you had nothing at all and it was raining and you were alone in the flat, it was wonderful to know that you could have something even though it was only a cup of black and bitter coffee.
Neeley and Francie loved coffee but seldom drank it. Today, as usual, Neeley let his coffee stand black and ate his condensed milk spread on bread. He sipped a little of the black coffee for the sake of formality. Mama poured out Francie’s coffee and put the milk in it even though she knew that the child wouldn’t drink it.
Francie loved the smell of coffee and the way it was hot. As she ate her bread and meat, she kept one hand curved about the cup enjoying its warmth. From time to time, she’d smell the bitter sweetness of it. That was better than drinking it. At the end of the meal, it went down the sink.
Mama had two sisters, Sissy and Evy, who came to the flat often. Every time they saw the coffee thrown away, they gave Mama a lecture about wasting things.
Mama explained: “Francie is entitled to one cup each meal like the rest. If it makes her feel better to throw it away rather than to drink it, all right. I think it’s good that people like us can waste something once in a while and get the feeling of how it would be to have lots of money and not have to worry about scrounging.”
This queer point of view satisfied Mama and pleased Francie. It was one of the links between the ground-down poor and the wasteful rich. The girl felt that even if she had less than anybody in Williamsburg, somehow she had more. She was richer because she had something to waste. She ate her sugar bun slowly, reluctant to have done with its sweet taste, while the coffee got ice-cold. Regally, she poured it down the sink drain feeling casually extravagant. After that, she was ready to go to Losher’s for the family’s semiweekly supply of stale bread. Mama told her that she could take a nickel and buy a stale pie if she could get one that wasn’t mashed too much.
Losher’s bread factory supplied the neighborhood stores. The bread was not wrapped in wax paper and grew stale quickly. Losher’s redeemed the stale bread from the dealers and sold