The Two-Family House(22)

The remainder of that night was even murkier. Judith took one of the babies from her mother and rocked it in her arms. “Oh my gosh, I completely forgot!” Judith said. “Which is which? I mean, which one is my cousin and which is my…?” Her aunt and mother looked at each other for what seemed like a very long time. Her mother answered first. “You’re holding your cousin Natalie.” Then her mother gestured toward the baby she was holding and spoke very softly. “This is your brother, Theodore.”

At some point, Judith had left the apartment to tell Harry and the other children the news. The snow stopped, the sky lightened and people began to stir in the streets.

The midwife must have returned from the kitchen after Judith had gone upstairs. She must have cleaned the babies then, written down their names on the certificates and said her goodbyes. She must have. But Judith couldn’t remember that part. She could only remember the part that came before. She searched her memory over and over, just as she’d searched the living room floor for the lollipop wrapper. But just like the wrapper, the midwife was gone.





Part Two





Chapter 17





MORT


After the initial excitement of having a son passed, Mort was ambivalent. He decided that all babies were really the same, and that the only thing separating newborn boys from newborn girls was future potential.

The bris had been the highlight. After all the family occasions he had been forced to suffer through, it was finally his turn to be celebrated and honored. When he presented his son to the mohel (fulfilling “one of the sacred covenants of our people,” as he explained over and over to his daughters), Mort knew he was doing something important. It didn’t matter that he turned green as soon as the mohel started. Wasn’t it natural to feel queasy during such a significant occasion? He was sure it was. He was able to ignore his brother’s loud comments—“You all right there, Morty? Wanna go outside and get some air?”—and focus on the real significance of the day. He had a son to carry on his family’s name and traditions. So what if his sole heir was just a recently traumatized six-pound infant? One day Teddy would be much, much more than that. All Teddy needed was time.

At six months old, Teddy was a good deal smaller than Natalie. Mort viewed his lean physique as a positive and Natalie’s rolls of arm and leg pudge as repugnant. “What are they feeding her?” he asked Rose. “Bottles of schmaltz?” Rose glared at him when he said such things, but he didn’t care. After Teddy’s birth, Mort had eased up on his point system and no longer worried about counting every callous remark that escaped from his lips. He still believed his point method had merit—wasn’t Teddy proof that it worked? But he was not above making jokes at the expense of his brother’s family, especially because he believed he had finally earned the right to do so.

Joking aside, Mort was grateful to Helen. He knew she was responsible for getting Rose through the blizzard and the birth of their son safely, and he hated to think what might have happened if she hadn’t been there. Though he would never admit it, Mort secretly admired Helen for being so capable.

By the time he had reached six months of age, Teddy had become slightly more interesting to Mort. Mort enjoyed pushing him in his carriage to the park and sitting under the trees on the benches facing the baseball field. Before Teddy was born, Mort had visited the park only rarely with the girls.

The baseball field was in the very center of the park, past the duck pond and to the left of the gazebo. Mort hadn’t bothered to attend any of his nephews’ games there, but he did love baseball. It was the only sport, in his opinion, that paid due respect to the importance of averages and statistics. He decided to start educating Teddy early by bringing him to watch the local kids play. Who knew what Teddy might absorb? Mort was sure that the baby was paying attention.

“See that kid over there?” Mort would say. “The tall one with the freckles? Watch how he throws the ball. See how he does it? Nice and easy. That’s the way to do it.” Sometimes Mort’s comments were negative. “See that one up at base? He’s holding the bat all wrong. You need to turn your body and bend your knees.” And sometimes Mort would whisper his thoughts, just to make sure that none of the other parents at the field would hear. “You’ll be a better hitter than that kid by the time you’re four,” he would say.

Halfway through his first year of life, Teddy was old enough to be interesting, but still young enough to be completely under Mort’s control. Mort liked it that way—he couldn’t imagine ever loosening his grip on this child. Teddy’s future was too important to be left to chance. He would be brilliant, athletic and, one day, the president of Box Brothers. Oh, it would be fine if Abe’s boys worked there too; there were all kinds of jobs for all kinds of abilities—machine operators, truck drivers, shipping clerks, etc. But Teddy would be the one in charge. Teddy would be the brains of the operation. Mort had no doubt about that.





Chapter 18





ABE


When Joe and George were babies, one of them had always been awake. That’s how it was with twins. Abe was used to staying up nights for feedings, used to walking in circles around the house with one of the boys in his arms, trying to rock someone to sleep. Half of those nights he was so exhausted that he wasn’t even sure which one of them he was holding.