A tree grows in Brooklyn - Betty Smith [94]
Neeley shoved the marble in his pocket and announced that he had presents, too. He ran into the bedroom, crawled under his cot and came out with a sticky bag. He thrust it at Mama, saying “You share them out.” He stood in a corner. Mama opened the bag. There was a striped candy cane for each one. Mama went into ecstasies. She said it was the prettiest present she had ever had. She kissed Neeley three times. Francie tried very hard not to be jealous because Mama made more fuss over Neeley’s present than hers.
It was in that same week that Francie told another great lie. Aunt Evy brought over two tickets. Some Protestant organization was giving a celebration for the poor of all faiths. There would be a decorated Christmas tree on the stage, a Christmas play, carol singing and a gift for each child. Katie couldn’t see it—Catholic children at a Protestant party. Evy urged tolerance. Mama finally gave in and Francie and Neeley went to the party.
It was in a large auditorium. The boys sat on one side and the girls on the other. The celebration was fine except that the play was religious and dull. After the play, church ladies went down the aisle and gave each child a gift. All the girls got checker boards and all the boys got lotto games. After a little more singing, a lady came out on the stage and announced a special surprise.
The surprise was a lovely little girl, exquisitely dressed, who came from the wings carrying a beautiful doll. The doll was a foot high, had real yellow hair and blue eyes that opened and shut, with real eyelashes. The lady led the child forward and made a speech.
“This little girl is named Mary.” Little Mary smiled and bowed. The little girls in the audience smiled up at her and some of the boys who were approaching adolescence whistled shrilly. “Mary’s mother bought this doll and had clothes made for it just like the clothes little Mary is wearing.”
Little Mary stepped forward and held the doll high in the air. Then she let the lady hold it while she spread her skirt and made a curtsey. It was true, saw Francie. The doll’s lace-trimmed blue silk dress, pink hair bow, black patent leather slippers and white silk socks duplicated exactly the clothes of the beautiful Mary.
“Now,” said the lady, “this doll is named Mary after the kind little girl who is giving her away.” Again the little girl smiled graciously. “Mary wants to give the doll to some poor little girl in the audience who is named Mary.” Like wind on growing corn, a rippling murmur came from all the little girls in the audience. “Is there any poor little girl in the audience named Mary?”
There was a great hush. There were at least a hundred Marys in that audience. It was that adjective “poor” that struck them dumb. No Mary would stand up, no matter how much she wanted the doll, and be a symbol of all the poor little girls in the audience. They began whispering to each other that they weren’t poor and had better dolls home and better clothes than that girl, too, only they didn’t feel like wearing them. Francie sat numb, longing for that doll with all her soul.
“What?” said the lady. “No Marys?” She waited and made her announcement again. No response. She spoke regretfully. “Too bad there are no Marys. Little Mary will have to take the doll home again.” The little girl smiled and bowed and turned to leave the stage with the doll.
Francie couldn’t stand it, she couldn’t stand it. It was like when the teacher was going to throw the pumpkin pie in the wastebasket. She stood up and held her hand high in the air. The lady saw it and stopped the little girl from leaving the stage.
“Ah! We do have a Mary, a very bashful Mary but a Mary just the same. Come right up on the stage, Mary.”
Feverish