The Hired Girl(57)

I just stopped writing this in order to examine the sole of my foot. The toe of my stocking has a hole in it, and it’s been driving me crazy all day. The hole kept lassoing my big toe and strangling it, and there was no time for me to unlace my shoe and fix it. Then the wrinkled part of the stocking crawled under the ball of my foot and made a blister. I really need new stockings, but I haven’t recovered from all the money I spent last week. But I shouldn’t be writing this, because talking about money on Shabbos is forbidden, and even though I’m not Jewish, I feel a little bit holy.

Just before sundown this evening, I ran upstairs and put on my robin’s-egg dress for Shabbos dinner; you’re supposed to look nicer than usual on Shabbos. Malka lent me an ugly little brooch made to look like a bunch of grapes, so I could look more dressed up. For once my hair went up perfectly, and I didn’t have to cover it with a cap, because I was a guest.

When I went downstairs, I saw that Mrs. Rosenbach had on a beautiful dress, black lace over mauve silk, and Mimi was in pink organdy with a green satin sash. I felt plain next to them, but I tried to be very careful with my deportment. I took short steps and didn’t move my arms.

Mrs. Rosenbach covered the table with a white cloth, and she set out two loaves of fresh-baked bread, which have an embroidered cover of their own — Mrs. Rosenbach stitched it herself, and her needlework is exquisite. Then she lit the candles. She shut her eyes and made passes through the air. Her face was still and reverent, and she whispered the blessings in Hebrew; I couldn’t understand them, but they sounded mysterious and poetical. After she lit two candles, Mimi went about the room lighting more. The candlelight made the whole room seem quieter and somehow expectant.

Malka and I set the table. It wasn’t yet sundown, but the candles have to be lit before sundown, because once Shabbos begins, you’re not supposed to light any more fires. While we were putting the finishing touches on the table, Mrs. R.’s oldest daughter, Anna, arrived, with her little boy, Oskar, and baby Irma. Baby Irma is a beautiful child with curly hair and her grandmother’s dark eyes. When Mrs. R. saw her, she held out her arms. She took Irma into her lap and dandled her and kissed her. I never saw her so affectionate before. I wouldn’t have known her for the same woman who criticized my deportment.

But all that fuss over the baby made Oskar jealous. He is a changeling of a child, frail and clever looking, with a shock of coppery hair. He reminds me of Paul Dombey in Dombey and Son. I guess he liked the look of me, because he came to me and yanked my skirt. “Come sit down,” he commanded. He has a funny, hoarse little voice. “Then I can sit on your lap.”

I was flattered. Here I was, a stranger and a Gentile, but he wanted to be close to me. He didn’t care if I was only the hired girl. I let him lead me to a chair, and he climbed into my lap. When he nestled against me, he felt soft, and he smelled like Pears soap.

He took his thumb out of his mouth long enough to speak. “Tell me a story.”

I began, “Once upon a time —” but he shook his head.

“Not a fairy story,” he said. “No princesses, no kings.”

I’d planned to tell him “Thumbelina,” but I knew my feelings would be hurt if he didn’t like it. “What kind of story do you want? What about?”

“Snakes,” he answered. “Bad snakes.”

The truth is, I don’t know much about snakes, but I took a deep breath. “Once upon a time,” I began, “there was a very large, very bad, poisonous snake.”

He nodded gravely. I could see I was on the right track. “How big?” he prompted me.

“Enormous,” I answered. “He was so big he could wrap himself around this whole house. He had pointy teeth, and he was hungry all the time.”

“What did he eat?”

I hesitated, but only for a moment. Inspiration came to me in a blinding flash. “He ate little boys.”

“Ohhhh,” said Oskar rapturously, and snuggled closer. He stuck his thumb in his mouth and gazed at me with his heart in his eyes.

From that moment on, he was mine. I told him all about that terrible snake, and the little boys he ate, and about one special boy named Oskar, who was clever enough to escape from him. It was like seizing a thread and unraveling a piece of knitting; once I had the thread, the story moved right along. By and by, I realized that the others had stopped talking and were paying attention. Mrs. Rosenbach looked amused, but approving. Mimi sidled over to a nearby table and pretended to leaf through the photograph album.