The Book Borrower Page 6

  —Hi, hello and welcome, said Jeremiah, standing up in his socks.

  Jill and Rose pointed, and Deborah pulled Ruben down to her sweaty, milky, freckly half nakedness for a kiss. Her hospital gown, blue and pink teddy bears, was wrinkled over her shoulder. When Ruben leaned over, Squirrel bumped Deborah.

  —Here’s the boy!

  —Shh.

  —What?

  —Surely he’s not allowed. Nervous Ruben was all but sorry she’d come. The baby was lovely, pink and sweet, but Jeremiah saying Welcome made her shy; people welcomed are outsiders.

  —Jill and Rose are allowed. It’s a private room. If they ask, I’ll say he’s my son.

  —You have them nine months apart, of course.

  —We Catholics are like that. I forgot to mention him, I have so many.

  Squirrel cried, but nobody came running. Ruben bounced on her heels and Jill and Rose demanded that she take him out, as if they’d never seen him before. Jill made rude noises into her new sister’s face. Let’s put him next to our baby and see if he’s bigger, she said. Ruben liked that, but she wasn’t going to do it. Jeremiah edgily put on one shoe and tied the bow carefully. Ruben found a place in the lounge chair, which was covered with the children’s coats and with newspapers and books, and wished she carried enough peace inside her to quiet Squirrel just by circling her hand on his back.

  But a nurse came in. That baby’s not allowed in here, she said. I’m surprised at you, Mrs. Laidlaw. Introducing your baby to all those germs.

  —How about my own kids’ germs? They have more germs. They play in the germy mud.

  —Sibling visits are permitted. But they’ll have to go soon, too.

  —Everybody’s going, said Deborah.

  It hurt Ruben’s feelings. I wouldn’t harm the baby! she said. She thought she might cry. She could break a rule, but only a silly rule.

  —We’ve got to have some kind of control, said the nurse.

  —What do you think I am? Ruben said. She was embarrassed. Not only had her smuggling failed to conceal Squirrel, the nurse hadn’t noticed that she was attempting to conceal him. Hey, what do you think I am, the Symbionese Liberation Army?

  —What’s that? said Deborah.

  —You know, Jeremiah said. Patty Hearst.

  —Oh, right, Deborah said. Toby thinks Patty Hearst is a phony. I thought she was wonderful.

  —She was tricked, said the nurse. She thought she was doing good, but she wasn’t.

  —That’s what Toby thinks, Deborah said, like a queen, a queen with her breasts hanging out and a now sleeping new-born on her arm. Defiantly and wrongly, Deborah could insist that Ruben and the mean nurse make friends, wielding the authority of pink and blue teddy bears.

  —No, it’s not, said Ruben, who wanted to fight with the nurse. That’s not what I think. Patty Hearst doesn’t give a damn about people in trouble. She’s not a real revolutionary.

  —Well, the baby has to go, said the nurse, and Deborah was apologizing, ordering everyone out: You’re absolutely right! I’m so sorry! We should have thought! Deborah wouldn’t stop. As if, Deborah said to the nurse, working in this madhouse isn’t hard enough, we’re making things harder for you!

  Which was not true. They had not made things harder for the nurse.

  And before anybody could fight with anybody, Deborah went on: I need some rest! All of you chickens and roosters and caterpillars. Get going.

  But also saving something Ruben would have spoiled. How delicate. How lovely. Ruben felt loved and held in check for her own sake, a rare feeling she always enjoyed; but she was also angry that she didn’t get to have her fight.

  She wanted one thump of Deborah’s hand on Squirrel or on her head or her shoulder. She wished to outstay the others by a second. But Jeremiah offered a ride home and in a moment she was just a mommy in the departing crowd, helping people on with coats.

  Deborah was also dismissing Mary Grace, trusting the nurse with her, which Ruben found unthinkable, and now Mary Grace in her cart was being wheeled out of the room, and Deborah announced that she would have a bowel movement and a nap in that order. The nurse scolded along behind them as they walked to the elevator. Would have thought people would have the sense!

  But then Deborah came unsteadily to the door of her room and called Ruben back. Ruben turned, smiling, as the nurse turned, too, stymied, dismayed.

  —What is it? said Ruben happily.

  —Teach my classes this week?

  —Oh, sure, said Ruben, because she and Deborah were casual outlaws together. What Patty Hearst would have been if she hadn’t been violent and had thought coherently about just causes! In the elevator she couldn’t imagine how she could teach Deborah’s two classes in addition to her own. And was annoyed with Deborah for not making an arrangement in ad-vance. She went home and stayed up reading instead of pre-paring so many classes.

  Jessie stood on our front steps, alone. She stood still for several minutes, while I watched through the window. She thrust her hands into her coat pockets. The wind on her bare neck must have felt delightful for a moment and then cruel. It blew her skirt around her legs and hobbled her. Now I’ll start guessing: she thought about coming back inside, taking Sarah in her arms. A gesture that could be construed as an apology would not have come easily to my sister Jessie, but she could have found a way to joke about it and hang on to her dignity. It would have helped that our parents were asleep.

  Jessie was cold and sorry, but it was late, and maybe then she remembered the conversation about free love. She didn’t want more questions like that, and didn’t want to lie to Sarah, and couldn’t tell the truth—and so she set her shoulders and started down the street.

  Or was she waiting for me to come out? Did she know I was at the window?

  Jessie was too upset and awake to go to the room she rented. She went to a rooming house where a man she knew lived, knocked on his window, and in the end he sneaked her in and made love to her. He was called Maurice, and I don’t think he ever hurt her, physically or in any other way. I don’t think they were the least bit in love. They comforted each other—they were occasional lovers for months or years— when there was trouble. Who knows what Maurice’s particular troubles were? But there were plenty of Troubles at Large if he lacked personal ones. He drew her skirt up around her knees with respect and smoothed it before he entered her. She was grateful for his care. She was also sexually aroused. She cried. Jessie almost never cried, but sex moved her. How do I know all this? I know.

  “Shall I steal a carrot for you?” Maurice once asked her. They were passing a pushcart and Jessie was hungry.

  She knew he didn’t mean it. He wouldn’t steal from a poor man. “Would it be all right if the peddler were rich?” she said.

  “It would be all right for a responsible group to steal the carrot if the carrot was going to be put to good use.”

  “Say we were going to feed an irresponsible horse . . .”

  I think Maurice was the friend who drew Jessie to the meeting at which their group’s role in the strike was devised. He had light brown hair and a salt-and-pepper mustache. Once he recited the Ten Commandments to Jessie, then apologized because anarchists reject government. He admired her short hair, lifting her hat to kiss her scalp. Jessie was at ease in bed with a man by that time. At first it had been strange, despite her strong belief that it was a fine thing for men and women to come together without being held back by laws and scruples. And despite her desire. At first the sight of a man’s genitals would scare desire out of her. Not for long.

  “Don’t be afraid of the mounted policemen,” said one of the organizers, at the meeting to which Maurice brought Jessie. “But don’t get close to them. Always look around you to see where the crowd is moving. Don’t be caught alone.”

  The sitter was rude about extra time. On her way to teach, Ruben broke off twigs from a hedge near the bus stop, thinking about their conversation. She began to walk to the next bus stop, keeping warm,
but the bus passed her. Walking, she’d arrive just in time for her own class, and then she’d have to wait an hour to teach Deborah’s class. If she’d taken the bus, she’d have had time for coffee in Carlotta’s office first. She burst red-cheeked into the dim classroom, and the students all talked about it.

  Emma had brought a religious pamphlet, which she tried to read out loud. Ruben kept nodding her head, trying to keep her tongue from supplying the next word too fast. But the pamphlet made tired, flushed (now chilled) Toby Ruben uncomfortable. It was not about God, which would have been fine with Ruben, atheist though she more or less was, but about men and women. The wife, read Emma, should respect her husband’s . . .

  —Judgment, Ruben said, reading upside down across the table. But think, Emma—is that necessarily true?

  —I should hope so, said Emma.

  Two of the others sniffed.

  —Are you married? Ruben persisted. She thought of Harry and his judgment. For some reason she thought of Harry naked, saying, Your back or my back? Nursing made her breasts hurt and sex was easier if she was on top. But Harry’s judgment could be terrible. Harry had wanted to buy a new car so Ruben could drive around town and drive to this class. They couldn’t afford it. She was afraid to drive. She’d have an accident; the Squirrel would die. Policemen.

  —No, said Emma. I’m separated.

  She made herself stop. Well, let’s do math.

  —When is the test? said Lily.

  —I don’t know, said Ruben, but I’ll ask Carlotta. You’re right. It’s time to sign you up. You and Cecile.

  —Not me? said Emma.

  —I don’t think you’re ready.

  —Oh, you don’t love me because I’m stupid, Emma said.

  —Emma doesn’t mean it, said Mary.

  Emma was smiling. Cecile’s white, that’s why you want her to take the test. She was talking in a baby voice, teasing.

  When Carlotta came through, shouting encouragement as usual, Ruben asked about the test, but Carlotta wanted to talk about Deborah’s baby. Miss Toby, have you seen that new child?

  —I have.

  —And is she a fine child or not?

  —A fine child, said Ruben. A very fine child.

  Carlotta left and they looked at the next page in the math book, a chart about taxes. Emma couldn’t imagine what a chart might be. They had been through this. But the others grew quicker each week. They answered the questions, fighting and laughing, working it out. Sometimes they could answer more quickly than Ruben. Maybe even Mary could take the test.

  When the class was over Emma left in a hurry. The pamphlet from her church, “A Woman Finds God,” lay on the table, and Emma ran back and took it. She didn’t hug Ruben. When Ruben left it was snowing a sharp gray snow. She couldn’t go for a walk after walking to the school in the first place. She didn’t want to stay in the basement room.

  Amid dingy houses and gas stations she found a coffee shop and had coffee and a doughnut. She left in the stinging snow. Even now it was early. Sometimes an hour will not pass.

  When she and Deborah talked, Ruben didn’t imagine Deborah teaching at the same table in the same basement. For some reason she imagined a different room, but of course Deborah taught in the same basement room. Deborah had eight students, not just five, and Ruben would have to meet another class in the morning. The feel of the room was different, and for a moment, walking in, Ruben thought it was a different room after all, or a different table. Food was all over the table: Tootsie Rolls and M&M’s, which Ruben liked too much, and a box of cookies and a bottle of Coke. Everything glowed yellow; when she looked up she saw a light fixture she’d never noticed. Why hadn’t Carlotta showed her?

  —Where do you turn on that light? she said, not even stop-ping to say hello. Hands pointed to a perfectly visible switch on a wall.

  —I’ve been teaching in the dark!

  —You’re Deborah’s friend. Have you seen the baby?

  They were friendlier than her own group. There were three white women and five black ones; Ruben was ashamed to have counted. They offered her candy and cookies. They even had small square napkins. She ate. She wondered who had paid for this food. Should she offer to contribute or would that be offensive?

  They simply refused to do math. They claimed Deborah said they’d learn more if they did it at home on their own. They sat back confidently, a little ways from the table, not leaning. The table did not jiggle. They kept their hands in their laps or on their broad, no doubt tired knees, each soothing her own long-suffering knees. All their lives they had worked to come to this place, where they could spend an hour in the middle of the day eating candy and talking, but not, please, about math.

  It was hard to quiet them. They talked about their nails, and examined their polished nails. It seemed one of the women had polished everybody’s nails at the last class.

  —In class? Prissy Ruben.

  —It was my report.

  —We do reports. Today’s her report. The woman who would give a report, that day, was wearing a red felt hat with a small curved brim. She was a tiny, mischievous-looking black woman.

  —Her report was on nail polish? What’s yours on?

  —Ghana.

  —Oh! All right. Let’s hear it.

  But it wasn’t ready. Ruben opened the big book to grammar exercises. The boy with the big dogs were late.

  She explained.

  —But the boy was late and the dogs were late. That’s more than one. That’s plural, said somebody.

  Another woman disagreed. It just doesn’t sound right. The boy with the big dogs were late.

  —We did this one last week, someone else said. Deborah definitely said it’s The boy with the big dogs were late.

  —You’ve already done these?

  —No, she’s just saying that. She likes mixing you up.

  —We don’t usually do these book questions.

  —Well, what do you do?

  —Lady, we don’t do very much, said one of the women. And that is a fact.

  —We’re tired, said somebody else. It’s late.

  The hour-long class took four hours. Ruben ended it ten minutes early and tried to spend a lot of time gathering her belongings, but still it was eight minutes early when she left the room, turning off the light. In the office, where Ruben had to pick up her check, Emma was talking to Carlotta, with a baby on her hip. If Emma could bring a baby to class, maybe she could learn. Maybe her brain was on her hip and the baby would stimulate it.

  Ruben walked into the office, stood behind Emma, and ran her hand over the baby’s back. Emma didn’t turn, but she said, He doesn’t need to be poked. He’s overtired.

  Doesn’t it soothe him? She wanted Emma to turn and see it was she, and laugh and apologize for speaking grouchily to her. But Emma looked over her shoulder and turned back, and Ruben thought that she’d been complaining about her, prob-ably complaining that Ruben wouldn’t let her take the test. Carlotta looked at Ruben curiously, frowning a little as if she were quite slow, but it was necessary to get something across to her.

  —I must put this child to bed, Emma said.

  —We’ll talk, said Carlotta.

  Emma walked past Ruben and out of the office. The little boy whimpered.

  —Did you like that crowd of ladies? Carlotta said. That is a big class. I wouldn’t give such a big class to anybody but Deborah.

  —It’s not too big, Ruben said.

  —And you are a fine teacher, too, I am sure, said Carlotta. You don’t have Deborah’s experience, of course.

  Ruben thought she was a better teacher than Deborah, and adding up a job here and a job there, she had more experience. Deborah had worked here longer, and Ruben had never taught in a program quite like this before—that much was true. But she was angry. She wanted to be praised because her ladies were ready to take the test.

  —I wish Emma could take the test like the others, Ruben said. I know it’s hard for her that she isn’t ready.<
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  —Oh, I don’t think she minds much, Carlotta said. She doesn’t need her equivalency diploma for this job. She just wants to please you. But you know, Miss Toby, there is some-thing I must discuss with you. Carlotta sat down in her chair and Ruben leaned on the table opposite her. Carlotta said, Emma’s faith is important to her.

  —Her faith?

  —She said you made light of her faith today, said Carlotta.

  —Oh, no, I would never do that, Ruben said.

  —She said she had a pamphlet from her church, and you told her it was untrue. Now, she respects you, Miss Toby, and I can see that you are a strong intellect, someone we are proud to have here. But a woman’s faith. Well, maybe it’s hard, but we try to understand one another’s faith.

  Ruben, who could make a speech at breakfast about freedom of religion, didn’t know what to say. Then she said, The pamphlet was not about religion. It was about something else. About men dominating women.

  —It was from her church. I am sure you will remember, next time. Carlotta searched on her desk for the envelope with the check and gave it to Ruben, and Ruben turned to leave.

  Then she found herself turning back. Funny about Deborah, she said. Of course you’re right. She’s a fabulous teacher. Obviously they all love her.

  —They do.

  —Yet they spend their time eating candy and having their nails polished in class. I wouldn’t do that. Somehow she teaches them anyway. Somehow they get ready to take the test.

  —Their nails?

  —Well, I guess they are giving reports. One of them gave a report on nail polish, and she polished all the others’ nails. Ruben was laughing a little, trembling a little. But they take the test anyway! she said in a high voice, shaking her head in wonder. She knew that only one of Deborah’s students had taken the test in a year, and Deborah had said that one was different.