A Castle in Brooklyn(28)
On occasions when she wasn’t visited by Sally during the day, Esther was joined by Florrie, who would pop in most mornings after the men had left for work, with a tin of warm muffins straight from the oven or material for a pattern she was sewing for a new skirt or dress. Once she walked in with a yellow-and-white baby blanket knitted by her aunt Yetta.
“Put it right away or else it’s bad luck,” Esther warned, and spit on the floor.
Most days, if it was sunny, the two ventured out for a walk in the local park or shopped at a flea market. When the weather turned foul and rain pounded against the panes, they would stay indoors, playing cards or listening to Frank Sinatra or Anthony Dominick Benedetto, the crooner, or as he was best known, Tony Bennett, on the radio. Mostly, though, they just talked. There always seemed to be something to talk about.
It was just before dinner at 6:00 p.m. and two days before her due date, on the night of the general election when the country would decide if it would be the serious, contentious vice president or the young, determined senator who would be the next president. Esther was setting down a plate of lamb chops and white rice when she felt a trickle slide down her thigh and leg. She wasn’t quite sure what it was, a loosening of the bladder or something else. She quickly wiped it down with a napkin, but when it happened again, this time with a stronger gush of water, she called for Jacob.
Jacob and Zalman were sitting in the living room, reading the papers, when Jacob heard her. Shortly after, the doctor was called, and they headed for the hospital. Esther was nervous, Jacob almost delirious with anticipation as he drove, while Zalman stayed back at home.
They stood at the nursery window just hours after the birth. Esther observed Jacob as they brought the child to him. As he stared ahead, it appeared that Jacob couldn’t seem to find his breath, and immediately the color seeped from his cheeks. He tapped on the glass that separated him from the nurse, her mouth covered with a cloth, and the tiny pink creature asleep in her arms. As the couple set their eyes on their miracle, it hardly seemed real that this placid infant with closed eyes and five fingers on each hand was an actual human being. That this being, this person, with Esther’s billowy rosy cheeks, and long gangly legs so like Jacob’s, was actually their son.
Esther’s recovery was faster than any of them had expected. Even after spending a week in the hospital following an emergency C-section, she took to the child’s care naturally, just as if she had been doing it all her life. When Jacob came home after a long day of business dealings (days that were longer now since Boris was still somewhat incapacitated after the heart attack), Esther would have his meal waiting for him, still warm on the kitchen table as she greeted him, her auburn hair brushed and shiny, eyelids coated a sky blue, her lips pursed in a pink kiss. If it happened to be a night when the baby was fussy, Zalman would help out by rocking the cradle as he had one eye on Gunsmoke or another of his favorite shows on the TV. Florrie, who was known as Aunt Florrie by this time, would visit often, adding an extra homemade blanket to the baby’s crib, sleeking down his fine yellow hair. She would still accompany them on weekends, when besides the park, they would visit Coney Island or the Bronx Zoo. And by the time he turned five, the boy had even been to a couple of Yankees games and had begun what would turn into a formidable collection of baseball cards, including his favorite, Mickey Mantle.
As the house with its kitchen wallpaper decorated with green and yellow teakettles, a second air conditioner for the couple’s bedroom, even a color TV, flourished, so did the child. Gary was not a rambunctious boy like most his age, but rather introspective, preferring time alone reviewing his growing stamp collection or reading the Berenstain Bears series. What he loved most of all, though, was accompanying Jacob to work and listening as his father patiently explained all about the buying and maintaining of apartments and houses, as well as the importance of saving for the future, even if it started with a few pennies in a ceramic piggy bank. Esther marveled at how the child was becoming each day more of his father’s son. From the set of his jaw to his high forehead to his height, which made him appear at least two years older than the others in his grade, he was indeed the mirror image of Jacob. All except for the blue eyes. Those were hers.
By the time their son had entered first grade, the couple knew that despite their good fortune, they had another problem. But neither spoke of it.
Esther touched her fingertips to the mezuzah by the door before entering and placed the heavy packages filled with the week’s groceries onto the kitchen table. She smiled as she heard the first dull musical note float up into the air from where Gary and Zalman were seated at the piano in the living room. She was glad that Zalman offered to give the boy instructions, and after only some initial hesitance, because he really would much rather have been reading the comics or organizing his collection of baseball cards or even watching the latest installment of The Three Stooges—which all seemed to be much more fun when you are only eight years old—Gary relented. And now that his interest had been piqued, she was sure it wouldn’t be long before she heard the familiar melody of “Clair de Lune” once again fill the house, now by a much younger set of fingers. Gary was just about the same age she was when she had learned to play.
“What’s for dinner, Mommy?”
Esther was startled to find Gary at her side as she stood pouring the noodles into a colander over the sink.
“Your favorite. Meatballs and spaghetti,” she said, tapping the metal to get the last of the water out before adding the spaghetti into a large Corelle bowl. She wiped her hands on the red-and-white-checkered apron at her waist and smiled down at her child.