shake of her head and a pained look on her face.
I gave my sister barely a nod, but I knew that she had read in it my own message of thanks for her reminder to proceed with extreme caution. “The whole thing is,” I spoke directly to my parents, but I wondered if Sharon caught thenew tone of conciliation in my voice, “that for an awful long time I’ve wanted to travel ... see foreign places.
“Remember those movies, Three Coins in the Fountain and that other one—uh ... The Last Time I Saw Paris? Know how many times I saw those films?” I could tell that this was no time to ask them to count movie stubs. “Well, I saw them each four times because I just love foreign scenery and now I want to see it for real! Can you understand that?”
My father jumped to his feet. On his face raged a fury so insane that I questioned his ability to control it, even with my grown-woman status. I sucked in every bit of air my lungs could accommodate and it wasn’t until I saw my breasts swell that I understood why.
It must have worked, too, because while his rage was ongoing—“Well, unlike you and your kind, I love this country! I’d kill for this country!”—his potential for violence against me seemed to have subsided. “This is the greatest, most wonderful country on God’s green earth and if you had”—he snapped his fingers as though snapping away dirt—“a single ounce of patriotism, then this family wouldn’t have been ruined by your treason!”
So he’s still with that, is he? Still with Anton. Well, let them be. What do I care? Sticks and stones. I’m not upset. It’s practically exactly what I expected. Sticks and stones ... sticks and—I pressed an index finger against the point of burning, of icy burning just beneath my ribs. My head, my stomach began to revolve. Spinning faster and faster without benefit of a single control.
I got to my feet, slapping my hand across my mouth. To the bathroom. Fast! The room revolved then darkened withoutblackening. Never, not in my whole life, have I ever fainted. Wouldn’t faint now.
As I threw open the bathroom door and positioned my head directly above the bowl, I heard my mother call my name. “Patricia, don’t you dare puke on that floor!”
12
F OR A WHOLE month now, and for the second time in my life, I’ve become Jenkinsville’s number one topic of conversation. Edna Louise Jackson was one of the first people to ask me about it. “You really and truly intend to go to Paris, France?”
“Yes.”
“Well, what in the world for?”
“It’s hard to explain. I’ve always wanted to travel, you know, see things I’ve never—”
“My daddy told me that he heard that your daddy wrote you right out of his will.”
“Really?” I lied. “I hadn’t heard that.” At least not since the previous night. But it isn’t the threat of being disinherited that’s so hard to bear, although someday if I’m poor and can’t find work, it will be. The really hard thing is what he said to me on Wednesday after driving back in from Memphis.
“Patricia,” he had said in a voice so calm that it was downright scary. “You oughta know that the real reason I went into Memphis today wasn’t to buy goods for the store.”
“Yes, sir,” I answered, waiting for the inevitable verbal ax to come bisecting my brain.
“My main reason for going to Memphis was to have a talk, and I mean to tell you, I had a long talk with Rabbi Goodstein.”
Rabbi Goodstein? The Rabbi Goodstein of weddings, High Holy Days, Brises, and Bar Mitzvahs? I searched for the connection. “Sir?”
“Disinheritance,” said my father, speaking with inordinate slowness, “is too goddamn good for you. After what you’ve put this family through. The public disgrace with that Nazi and now ... now this! This sneaking off to Europe.”
“Sneaking is when you don’t tell. I told. Please just remember that I told!”
My pleading voice, though, must have alerted my mother because she came
I gave my sister barely a nod, but I knew that she had read in it my own message of thanks for her reminder to proceed with extreme caution. “The whole thing is,” I spoke directly to my parents, but I wondered if Sharon caught thenew tone of conciliation in my voice, “that for an awful long time I’ve wanted to travel ... see foreign places.
“Remember those movies, Three Coins in the Fountain and that other one—uh ... The Last Time I Saw Paris? Know how many times I saw those films?” I could tell that this was no time to ask them to count movie stubs. “Well, I saw them each four times because I just love foreign scenery and now I want to see it for real! Can you understand that?”
My father jumped to his feet. On his face raged a fury so insane that I questioned his ability to control it, even with my grown-woman status. I sucked in every bit of air my lungs could accommodate and it wasn’t until I saw my breasts swell that I understood why.
It must have worked, too, because while his rage was ongoing—“Well, unlike you and your kind, I love this country! I’d kill for this country!”—his potential for violence against me seemed to have subsided. “This is the greatest, most wonderful country on God’s green earth and if you had”—he snapped his fingers as though snapping away dirt—“a single ounce of patriotism, then this family wouldn’t have been ruined by your treason!”
So he’s still with that, is he? Still with Anton. Well, let them be. What do I care? Sticks and stones. I’m not upset. It’s practically exactly what I expected. Sticks and stones ... sticks and—I pressed an index finger against the point of burning, of icy burning just beneath my ribs. My head, my stomach began to revolve. Spinning faster and faster without benefit of a single control.
I got to my feet, slapping my hand across my mouth. To the bathroom. Fast! The room revolved then darkened withoutblackening. Never, not in my whole life, have I ever fainted. Wouldn’t faint now.
As I threw open the bathroom door and positioned my head directly above the bowl, I heard my mother call my name. “Patricia, don’t you dare puke on that floor!”
12
F OR A WHOLE month now, and for the second time in my life, I’ve become Jenkinsville’s number one topic of conversation. Edna Louise Jackson was one of the first people to ask me about it. “You really and truly intend to go to Paris, France?”
“Yes.”
“Well, what in the world for?”
“It’s hard to explain. I’ve always wanted to travel, you know, see things I’ve never—”
“My daddy told me that he heard that your daddy wrote you right out of his will.”
“Really?” I lied. “I hadn’t heard that.” At least not since the previous night. But it isn’t the threat of being disinherited that’s so hard to bear, although someday if I’m poor and can’t find work, it will be. The really hard thing is what he said to me on Wednesday after driving back in from Memphis.
“Patricia,” he had said in a voice so calm that it was downright scary. “You oughta know that the real reason I went into Memphis today wasn’t to buy goods for the store.”
“Yes, sir,” I answered, waiting for the inevitable verbal ax to come bisecting my brain.
“My main reason for going to Memphis was to have a talk, and I mean to tell you, I had a long talk with Rabbi Goodstein.”
Rabbi Goodstein? The Rabbi Goodstein of weddings, High Holy Days, Brises, and Bar Mitzvahs? I searched for the connection. “Sir?”
“Disinheritance,” said my father, speaking with inordinate slowness, “is too goddamn good for you. After what you’ve put this family through. The public disgrace with that Nazi and now ... now this! This sneaking off to Europe.”
“Sneaking is when you don’t tell. I told. Please just remember that I told!”
My pleading voice, though, must have alerted my mother because she came
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