Jewish Mothers Never Die: A Novel by Natalie David-Weill Page A

accused by others.
    “If you want me to admit that I sent Gummo off to fight in World War I in Chico’s place, I won’t deny it. I chose him to go because he was the least talented of his brothers for comedy and could add nothing to their act.”
    Rebecca’s horror must have shown on her face because Minnie excused herself.
    “I did everything I could so my boys wouldn’t be called up. I bought a farm outside Chicago because farmers were excused from the draft, but it didn’t help; Gummo had to go be a hero. I know I was unfair, but he came out of it just fine, and when he returned, he had the perfect pretext for turning his back on the stage, which he hated. Instead, he became an excellent promoter and manager of his brothers.”
    “You always find a way to be right,” Jeanne remarked.
    “Precisely. And everyone knew it. Family meant everything to me, and I was the one in charge. The boys were successful because they were so closely knit. They were ‘The Marx Brothers’ above all, even if each of them had his own identity: Chico the Italian, Zeppo the ladies’ man, Harpo the silent clown. Groucho was the most famous, as you know, but only because his career spanned more than seventy years. He was a star of music hall and Broadway, movies, radio and television. He wrote seven books, including the hilarious Memoirs of a Mangy Lover, a play, two screenplays and almost one hundred articles . . . Still, he wouldn’t have come to much without his brothers. Even when he wrote alone, he used them for material. I’ll give you an example of something he said to justify his refusal to write a humor column: ‘How can anyone do this every day? What is there important enough in the world to fill up this much white space every 24 hours? Why don’t they just leave it blank and say Harpo wrote it?’”
    Minnie burst out laughing. She was feeling jovial now. Touching up her red lipstick, she proposed a game of musical chairs. Jeanne Proust and Amalia Freud thought it a splendid idea. Rebecca, on the other hand, detested the game; since there is always one chair less than there are players, someone is always the odd one out. She hesitated. Alive, she would never have accepted, as she was always the loser. However, if such rational and intelligent women as Amalia and Jeanne insisted so much, she could hardly refuse. Minnie gave a new rendition of the vaudeville tune she was singing when they came in. They all laughed like little kids. Dumbfounded, Rebecca watched them run and push each other and throw themselves on the chairs with so much conviction that she forgot to play. She was the only one standing as the older women in their long black dresses guffawed at her.

6
    Rebecca
    I’ve made mistakes in my life. For one thing, I was born. That was my first mistake.
    Woody Allen
    I refuse to join any club that would have me as a member.
    Groucho Marx
    Rebecca wanted to be alone to think about these women whom she was beginning to know intimately. Louise Cohen seemed the most honest to her; she put her son on a pedestal like the others but she could still harbor doubts about how she had raised him. Mina fascinated her; she would forever be in love with her Romain, who was some kind of rare perfection. Still, she found her too competitive to ever become a true friend. Minnie Marx treated her like a domineering mother, the same way she treated everyone else. Amalia Freud intimidated her. And she was careful about Jeanne Proust, too well behaved to be totally honest.
    She ventured further than she had before, but there was nothing to be found: only the blue, cloudless sky and silence. A total emptiness beckoned the mind to let go of all preoccupations. Everything that Rebecca had been, everything that had made up her being, now seemed far away to her. She let herself float . . . It was heavenly. She wondered if this was the ultimate high that drug addicts seek, to be outside oneself in a thick and restful, cottony cloud. When she was