Mitla Pass - Leon Uris [173]
Bubba was older and slower, but did not forget Leah’s footbath routine. Gideon curled up in a broken, legless, spring-protruding, overstuffed couch, placed randomly in a corner of the kitchen. Moses slipped out of his shop to eavesdrop from the back porch while setting his rattraps, a dozen of them, some heavy enough to stop a cow.
As Leah’s feet soaked, Hannah went about her Sabbath baking, rolling and curling dough and twisting it deftly into knots, to be baked into challah bread. She gave Gideon a bowl to lick the last of the cookie batter from.
“Momma, I slaved, I scrimped. That little momser Nathan squeezed every penny. If it hadn’t been for me going from door to door to find him work, we would have starved.”
“I told you from the beginning, he was a no-goodnik. So, maybe you’ll listen to Momma, now.”
“I had to steal milk from the neighbor’s doorstep for that child.”
“A no-good Charlie, that’s what. Those Communists make nothing but trouble. Good riddance,” Bubba said, with a mock spit to the floor. “So, where’s Molly?”
“A mother’s heart could break,” Leah said. “She insisted on staying in Norfolk with the excuse, now hear this, so that she could graduate with her class. Like Western High School in Baltimore was a garbage dump. The truth is that Molly may be up to some monkey shines with this Danny Shapiro boy. It’s no secret what he’s after.”
“Kenst shtarben aveck.”
“He’s from a family of Mongolians, or something. They’re one step above the shvartzers. I begged her, ‘Molly, don’t throw your life away on this boy. What kind of a future will he give you?’ I might as well have been talking to the wall. Children these days don’t listen to a single word you tell them. Just pray she doesn’t come to Baltimore with a little present in her belly.”
“The head of a shmuck has no conscience,” Hannah agreed.
“So, where will we put up Gideon?”
“Upstairs in the front room with Al and Fanny’s children.”
JESUS, Gideon thought.
A hair-trigger rattrap sprung and Moses cursed, outside. The front door bell rang.
“Moses!” Hannah called. “There’s a customer. Probably Mr. Sachs for a fitting.”
Moses shuffled into the kitchen, the fringe from his prayer shawl showing beneath his greasy vest. He pointed a bony finger at Gideon. “You didn’t have your bar mitzvah. You go to shul and learn so you can be called to the Torah.”
“I’m not going to Hebrew school,” Gideon said defiantly.
“You’re a goy!”
“Shaddup and see who’s at the front door,” Hannah commanded.
“This boy is not going to die a natural death,” his grandfather bellowed and shuffled out of the room.
“Hub em in dread,” Hannah said after her husband left. “He doesn’t earn enough money to feed a canary. Three dollars’ earnings for him is a big week. And Fanny’s husband, Al Singer, is no prize. We’ve been living on the five dollars Lazar gives and maybe a few dollars from that wop Abruzzi.”
“And Gilbert Diamond with his millions?” Leah asked.
“From him we get bupkes.”
“Jake Rubenstein also doesn’t contribute?”
“When has Jake Rubenstein had two nickels to rub together? Nu, let me go next door and phone Pearl and have the wop bring over a rollaway bed. Leah, you’ll sleep in the middle room with me.”
Leah pointed to the front door in inquiry about Moses.
“The alter kocker? He has a cot in the shop. It’s too good for him. He doesn’t put fifty cents on the table for the kitchen.”
“Well, never you mind,” Leah said, “I won’t be here for very long. Momma, sit down, I have something to tell you. Sit, sit. Speak Yiddish.”
Gideon understood perfectly, as had Molly before him.
“Momma, I’m only here till after Sabbath. I have been invited to go up to New York City, can you imagine?”
Hannah looked at her daughter knowingly, wiped her hands, and sat and sighed.
“I met ... I think this is Mr. Dream Man, a dentist.”
“So soon, already?”
“Actually, I met him last summer, quite by accident. I was at Virginia Beach and he was down on vacation with his family from New York.”
“With his mother and father?