The Hired Girl(58)

I knew she was listening. The funny thing was, I think I was worth listening to. Oskar was spellbound. The snake was in its death throes when the men came back from Temple. Oskar slid off my lap and ran to hug his grandfather, who picked him up and spun him upside down.

When we went into the dining room, Mr. Rosenbach blessed his children in Hebrew, starting with Anna and ending with baby Irma. He caught his wife’s eyes, smiled at her, and began to sing. He has a fine voice — rich and resonant; Malka told me he was singing from the Proverbs of Solomon, all about the worth of a good woman. It’s a Jewish custom for a man to praise his wife for all the work she does for Shabbos. I thought it was splendid for a husband to praise his wife every single week, but I also thought it would be more to the point to praise Malka and me, because we were the ones who did the shopping and cooking and cleaning.

After the song, we sat around the table. There was a big cup of wine at Mr. Rosenbach’s place, and he blessed it and drank from it and passed it to the others; even Oskar had a sip. At first I was on edge, because the way he held it reminded me of a priest, and I was afraid the Jews copied the ritual from the Holy Mass, which would be blasphemy. But then I remembered that Mr. Rosenbach said that Our Lord was a Jew, so the kiddush — that’s what the wine blessing is called — probably came before the Holy Mass and not the other way around. Now that I’m writing this, I wonder if Jesus was saying kiddush at the Last Supper. I shall ask Mr. Rosenbach; I think it is quite an intelligent question, and perhaps he will be pleased with me.

After the kiddush, we washed our hands, and Mr. Rosenbach blessed the bread. But in the middle of the blessing, Irma spat up, just as Mimi says she does. She was like a little volcano; I wouldn’t have thought such a tiny creature could make such a mess. Mimi jumped out of her seat with her fingers pinching her nose. Mr. Rosenbach made Jewish noises of sympathy, and everyone started passing their napkins to Anna — whom I should really call Mrs. Friedhoff because she’s married to a Mr. Isaac Friedhoff, who travels all the time because he’s in railroads.

I seized the opportunity to prove myself. I commanded, “Don’t worry, I’ll fix everything!” I seized the dirty napkins and plates and silverware and rushed them downstairs to the kitchen. I ran a bowl of soapy water and put the water and towels and clean plates and a clean tablecloth in the dumbwaiter. Then I ran back upstairs and set the table — luckily, none of the food had been served. After the places were set, I took off Irma’s dress — she was just fine in her petticoat, it being so hot — and ran the dress downstairs to soak. I felt like kind of a heroine, because the Rosenbachs aren’t supposed to work on Shabbos, and if I hadn’t been there, they would have had to choose between having that mess and breaking Shabbos.

When I came back into the room, Mrs. Rosenbach raised her eyes to the ceiling and said, “What did we do before Janet came here?” At first I glowed with pride, but then I saw that it was an unlucky thing for her to say, because it put Malka in a bad humor.

It was a beautiful dinner. The food was delicious — soup with dumplings, and baked stuffed fish and roast chicken, and bread (but no butter), and red cabbage and cucumber salad and applesauce, and raspberry pudding and meringues for dessert. There was singing, too — some of the songs are kind of melancholy, but everyone seems happy when they sing them. I was happy, too: after I fixed up Irma, I felt that I belonged, even if I wasn’t a Jew.

After dinner I had the cleaning up to do: a five-course dinner for eight people — nine if you count baby Irma, who didn’t eat much but certainly made her share of the mess! I took off my shoes and stockings — oh, what a relief to get rid of that stocking! — and washed the dishes in my bare feet.

The sight of me dealing with a mountain of dirty dishes seemed to restore Malka’s good humor. Before I came, she could only rinse the dishes in cold water and set them aside to be washed after Shabbos. But I’m allowed to use hot water and a sponge because I’m a Gentile. Malka sat in the rocking chair and kept me company. She had the Thomashefsky cat on her lap, though you’re not supposed to stroke an animal on Shabbos. Malka swears that Thomashefsky is more set on being petted on Shabbos than at any other time, and he butts her hand until she renders his due portion of caresses.

Once the dishes were washed, Malka let me go upstairs to read — I’m reading a very thrilling book called The Moonstone. At one point, the heroine says, “I ache with indignation, and I burn with fatigue”— or maybe it’s the other way around.