Florence Adler Swims Forever(80)

Mr. Hirsch threaded his fingers together and gave her a sad smile that didn’t touch his eyes. “Things would be much easier if you were an American citizen.”

“What would change?”

“Your parents would qualify for a preference visa. Spouses of U.S. citizens get first preference, and parents get second preference.”

“So, they’d skip to the front of the line?”

“Not exactly. The consul might still give them the runaround. But candidates for preference visas don’t have to worry about proving that they won’t be a public charge.”

“What about converting a student visa to a permanent visa? Applying for citizenship through the regular channels?”

“It’s all such a mess right now. It might take years. Or never happen at all. My understanding is that you’d have to leave the U.S. and wait out the application process somewhere else—maybe Canada, or Cuba.”

“And if I married?”

“It’s relatively simple. You wouldn’t have to worry about the visas, just apply for citizenship. You—or rather, your husband—would file a petition with the commissioner general of immigration at the Department of Labor, requesting that your parents’ visa application be classified as nonquota, or preference. They’d look at your marriage license, maybe do a little additional digging, and then inform the State Department of your request. The result would be that the consul would move your parents’ visa application from the quota pile to the nonquota pile, and as you know, the nonquota pile moves much faster.”

Anna thought of Stuart. In the pool the other night, and later when he helped her pull her wet dress over her head, she could have sworn he wanted to kiss her. She had wanted it, too, in a different way than she’d wanted Florence’s kiss, the night she received the letter. With Stuart, she had felt a quiet thumping in her chest that made it difficult to focus on anything he said. It was as if a gong had been struck somewhere in her center, the sound and its accompanying vibrations reverberating outward, toward her face, her hands, her feet.

“Do you have children, Mr. Hirsch?”

“Yes, four daughters and a son.”

“And if one of your daughters did what you’re proposing—turned down college to marry instead—would you be angry?”

“If her husband could support her and she thought he would make her happy, no.”

“What if he was a gentile?”

Mr. Hirsch squeezed his lips together. The room was so quiet Anna could hear the ticking of the clock that sat across the room, on the corner of his desk.

“We live in trying times, Miss Epstein.”

“So, you might forgive her?”

“I might.”



* * *



Anna returned to the apartment for just long enough to retrieve her copy of The Magic Mountain and remove a five-dollar bill from its pages. She tucked the money in her purse and took it to the Block Bathing Suit Co. on the corner of Pacific Avenue and St. James Place, where she placed it on the counter.

One of the saleswomen, a girl who couldn’t have been much older than Anna, asked if she could help her, and Anna tried not to think of how she’d explain such frivolity to her mother, when she said, “I want to buy the most beautiful bathing suit you’ve got.”

It was as if the girl understood Anna’s urgency, could sense that something important was on the line. Immediately, she began plucking suits of every shape and color out of the drawers behind the counter. “Do you know your size?” she asked as she eyed Anna’s bust.

“I don’t. I’m sorry.”

“It doesn’t matter,” said the salesgirl as she led Anna toward a dressing room in the back of the store. “Get undressed.”

For a half an hour, the girl handed Anna one bathing suit after another. “That one you’re wearing was featured in the Atlantic City Press last weekend. Did you catch the piece Alicia Hart wrote?”

“What was it about?” Anna asked through the curtain as she yanked the legs of a black-and-white suit down around her thighs. It wasn’t flattering.

“Checking up on your weight before you buy a new swimsuit.”

Anna made a face in the mirror. “I guess I don’t have time for that.”

“Try this one,” said the girl as she dangled an emerald-green bathing suit around the edge of the curtain.

Anna seized it at once. “It’s a beautiful color.”

“I think it will look nice with your hair.”

Anna was in it in a flash. “Oh, wow,” she said as she looked at herself in the mirror. She didn’t think she’d ever seen a suit so pretty. It was made of nylon, not wool, and tied around her neck, leaving her back exposed. The suit pushed and pulled in all the right places—accentuating her small waistline and breasts—but it was the color that made the biggest impression. In the suit, Anna’s ordinarily pale skin glowed.

The salesgirl peeked her head into the dressing room, and when she saw that Anna was dressed, pushed back the curtain so she could see her properly. “You look lovely.”

Anna stared at her reflection, from all angles, trying to see herself as she imagined Stuart might.

“If you don’t buy that suit right now, I’m going to call my manager.”