A Castle in Brooklyn(26)
Something stirred in him, and he ran upstairs before he could think what it was.
TWELVE
Jacob
His house was not a home. Not yet. A home required the patter of small bare feet against the floorboards, the excited shouts of play in the backyard, the soft tinkle of a lullaby spinning slowly above the crib. A home required children.
When Jacob was very young, he wanted superpowers, to fly high above the clouds in command of a world he did not yet fully understand. As he grew older, as he observed his uncertain parents and all that was around them begin to collapse, he had longed for stability, a place from which he was not forced to escape, a place he could call his own. And now that he had found that thing, a home he had helped build with his own hands, a wife who welcomed him at the end of each day with hot soup and sweet kisses, things were still not quite right.
Jacob woke up each morning with a gnawing in his belly, and the gnawing grew each month as Esther emerged from the bathroom, her sad eyes traced with resignation. After years of working and striving and loving the woman he never dreamed could be his, Jacob had to admit one thing to himself. The things he had dreamed of and now had were as intangible as air without someone to pass them down to. Jacob had one last dream, the same dream his parents had, and their parents before them.
Although neither he nor Esther spoke openly of the problem, there were subtle signs of discontent. Unlike Zalman, who appeared soothed once he walked through the door and sank into the blue velvet sofa as if all his cares of the day had been washed away, Jacob felt a tense shadow over him. Worse yet, he noticed that Esther seemed preoccupied even as she greeted him with a kiss at the door at day’s end. Their lovemaking was now different too. The two came to each other without the customary excitement. They went through the motions mechanically in an almost businesslike manner.
Despite the veil of dread that had settled over the couple, Jacob tried his best to buoy his wife’s spirits. Hardly a weekend passed without an excursion to a nearby park or Rockaway Beach, bleacher seats at a Yankees game if the weather was good. Winters when the weather was harsh, their time was spent delighting in a plethora of activities: Radio City Music Hall, the Metropolitan Museum of Art, a Broadway musical. Occasionally, they would be accompanied by Zalman if he found the event to be of particular interest, like a concert or an art exhibit; and Florrie might come, too, for her husband, it seemed, preferred to spend his free time watching I Love Lucy, reading the papers while smoking Camels, one pack after another. Jacob was always glad for the company of the friends who, unlike himself, could spend hours talking about nothing in particular. It was good for Esther, a diversion.
Whenever they walked amid the tussle of crowds on Forty-Second Street and a child on a scooter would cut abruptly in front of them, or he caught sight of a father trying to maneuver a large baby carriage, Jacob would hold his wife’s hand a little tighter. There was so much he wanted to say to her, but at these times the words eluded him. He was grateful to have Zalman nearby with a joke, or a comment about the potholes in the road. And, at least for a moment, he would forget.
Jacob wondered if he shared Esther’s thoughts, her worries. Did she know, could she guess as she slept with an unlined forehead and measured breaths, that he lay awake thinking of the house he had built, the future, and why he had been spared only to have a life with no heirs?
One evening, Jacob came home early to find Esther seated on the sofa, crying. Zalman was next to her, a consoling arm around her shoulders. When she looked up, seeing him at the door, the surprise served only to heighten her sobs. Jacob felt as if his heart might break.
When she finally lifted her head, he could see she was red faced, her cheeks awash in tears.
“Oh, Jacob, I didn’t want to bother you with this. It is just one woman’s silliness.”
Jacob moved closer, touching her shoulder as Zalman removed his arm from her and, with a knowing nod, went quietly upstairs.
“Please, my dear, what’s wrong?” said Jacob softly as he kissed the salty tears away from her cheek.
“I was late, and I didn’t tell you. Oh, Jacob, I had even baked a chocolate cake yesterday to celebrate! This time I thought—I was so sure that—”
Jacob waited then as a new wave of tears flooded her cheeks.
“But this morning, oh, I went to the bathroom, and—oh, Jacob!” And again, emotion burst forth.
Jacob encircled her with his arms, feeling her body spent and fragile next to his. They remained locked in the embrace until finally Esther’s breath slowed, her last tear dried. He wanted to tell her that tomorrow the clouds would part and, just as surely as the sun would rise in the sky, they, too, would have a new beginning. He wanted to say that he had been through worse, far worse, in his lifetime, and even though it seemed that he had lost it all, then like a dream he had found her! And things were good, after all, weren’t they? He wanted her to know that the building of the house made of sturdy brick and stone, its bright-red roof and towering oak tree in the backyard, could signal only a bright future for them both, that this setback was only that, he was sure. But that evening, as the filter of darkness swept over the moon, Jacob didn’t say any of that. How could he? He wasn’t even sure if he believed the words himself.
THIRTEEN
Esther
The year was 1960. The Organization of the Petroleum Exporting Countries, or OPEC, was created, the first weather satellite was launched by the United States, John F. Kennedy was elected president of the United States, and a child, a son, was born to Jacob and Esther Stein. They named the boy Gary, after Gershon, an uncle Jacob favored.