In Case We're Separated by Alice Mattison Page A

compass—she was taking trig this term—tall, curly-haired Lilly dug in an already deep welt on the back of her arm.
    â€œWhat are you doing?” Ruth said in a harsh whisper. Before she’d spoken, the compass had been dropped, the sleeve pulled down, while Lilly turned the back of her head toward her sister and looked at the notebook. Their mother was calling Ruth to the phone.
    To commit suicide, Ruth explained silently to herself as she went—still in her coat, leaving the kitchen garbage near the door, quickly abandoning her plan to take out the bedroom trash—one would cut the underside of one’s wrists, not the tops. But with lips and tongue she had to force to form the word she said, “Hello?” into the receiver.
    The caller was a man Ruth didn’t know, the treasurer, he said, of the temple. “I just wanted to tell you,” he began—but he sounded harsh. He wanted to tell her that all the members of her Girl Scout troop had to attend Friday night services that week. “Youth Night,” he explained. “Required.”
    â€œRequired?” said Ruth.
    â€œThat’s right.”
    â€œIt can’t be required ,” Ruth said, a little sleepily. It was hard to pay attention, but what this man wanted didn’t seem to make sense. “I won’t see them for a week,” she said.
    â€œYou’d better call them on the phone, then.” He had a high, hurried voice.
    â€œAnd it’s up to them,” Ruth went on reasonably. “I can’t make them come. Maybe they won’t want to.” She’d never heard of Youth Night. Had Mrs. Freedman rushed to the phone? Had one of her Jewish scouts arrived home singing “O Holy Night”?
    â€œIt’s required,” he said. “Your troop is sponsored by the temple. It participates in temple activities.”
    Ruth remembered something from the leader’s handbook about sponsored troops. “Oh,” she said. “No. It’s not a sponsored troop. That’s something else. We just meet there.”
    â€œLook, I’ve been in scouting for years.”
    â€œBoy Scouting or Girl Scouting?” said Ruth, aware of the bedroom door being closed firmly.
    â€œBoth!” said the treasurer.
    â€œOh, but they’re completely different organizations,” Ruth said fluidly. Suddenly she felt able to speak convincingly, at length, to anyone. She held the receiver in her right hand, and with her left, she fingered the bottles in her pocket, running her finger on their metal caps and glass necks and paper labels. “In Girl Scouting,” she said, “a troop that meets in a church or a synagogue is not necessarily sponsored. This troop isn’t, and it includes girls who aren’t Jewish, as well as Jewish girls who don’t belong to the temple. The troop will not expound Jewish theory.”
    â€œI’m not asking you to expound Jewish theory—”
    â€œI think you are,” Ruth said.
    â€œLook, are you Jewish?” the treasurer demanded suddenly.
    â€œI don’t think that’s relevant,” Ruth said. Her mother was standing behind her, listening. Ruth took her hand out of her pocket.
    â€œBut are you Jewish?” said the treasurer.
    â€œMy family background is Jewish.” Past her mother, who looked baffled, was the closed bedroom door.
    â€œYour family background is Jewish,” the man persisted, “but are you Jewish ?”
    â€œNo,” said Ruth at last. The man laughed or growled and hung up.
    â€œWhat did he want?” said her mother as Ruth turned from the phone.
    â€œGo talk to Lillian,” she said, almost in tears.
    â€œWhat does Lilly have to do with it?”
    â€œJust talk to her.”
    No great poets were Girl Scout leaders. No Girl Scout leaders were great poets. Ruth picked up the bag of garbage and left the apartment. She was of no use to her sister: she was too happy.