who bet that no one in the audience could make her laugh. If they did, they got one thousand dollars. But no one ever did, even though some famous comedians came down to the theater.
When she retired, one of the newspapers reported that her face was actually paralyzed and she couldn’t laugh even if she wanted to.
The game is to see who can make whom laugh first.
I’ve put Uncle Martin off for days. I think he’s trying to cheer me up, and I appreciate it but I just don’t feel like being cheered up right now.
I don’t want to be rude, however; I owe them so much. So I agreed to play.
Yesterday he told me three jokes in a row: the one about the scarecrow that was so scary, the crows brought back corn they had stolen two years earlier; the one about the inventor of rubber pockets for waiters who wanted to steal soup; and a really boring one about the guy who was so cheap, he put his fingers down a moth’s throat just to get the cloth back.
Uncle Martin’s jokes aren’t very funny, but my funny faces aren’t working any better. So far, it’s a stalemate.
WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 31, 1938
Mrs. Lowenstein invited me for lunch tomorrow. She said I should come at noon. Mr. Esposito said Mrs. Lowenstein likes “young folks.” I wonder if she liked Eva, and if she knows where Eva is.
Every evening when Uncle Martin comes up with
the mail, he shakes his head, meaning there is still no letter from Daddy. Then he puts the mail in the big bowl on the stone table in the hallway and goes into the kitchen to look for something to eat.
My heart starts pounding as soon as Uncle Martin opens the door. I tell myself not to hope, but I can’t seem to stop. Just a word or two, that’s all I need. Just a word or two.
THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 1, 1938
Uncle Martin and I were in the elevator yesterday when Mr. Allen got on. Uncle Martin told Mr. Esposito a joke. (Mr. Esposito loves Uncle Martin’s jokes.)
Mr. Allen had to hold his hand over his mouth because he was about to laugh and expose his toothless grin.
He looks like a turtle when he does that. He draws his head back into his body like a real turtle.
FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 2, 1938
There must have been more than two hundred clocks in Mrs. Lowenstein’s apartment, and just as I
walked in they all started to chime twelve. I felt like I was in some kind of fantastic church.
There was so much food, I thought for sure others would be joining us, but no one did.
The dining room table was covered with bowls and platters of shrimp, celery, olives, radishes, creamed potatoes, and two roast chickens, one for each of us. Mrs. Lowenstein ate hers with her fingers, devour-ing each piece until there was just a plate of bones lying in front of her.
I tried not to stare, but it was hard not to. She didn’t speak at all during lunch because she was concentrat-ing so hard on eating her chicken.
Then she put one of her cigarettes into her long cigarette holder and she asked me if I was going to eat any more of my chicken. When I said no, she snatched it away from me, cut all the meat off the bones, divided it equally onto three plates, and put the plates on the floor for the three dogs, who gobbled it up greedily. Now I know how they stay so nice and plump.
SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 3, 1938
I went to dinner with Aunt Clara and Uncle Martin for the first time tonight. I just didn’t want to say no to them anymore.
Aunt Clara had to go to a cocktail party given by Mr. Garfinkel, who is producing Peter Pan, so we were to meet her at the restaurant.
Uncle Martin had Patrick, the chauffeur, pick her up at the party. We walked. Uncle Martin doesn’t like to take the limousine that much.
The restaurant was called Tavern on the Green, and it’s right in the middle of Central Park. (That’s the on-the-green part, I think.) I was greatly relieved that we didn’t have to go near the zoo.
It was very fancy — all the ladies wore their furs and diamonds. Uncle Martin said the meal was so
When she retired, one of the newspapers reported that her face was actually paralyzed and she couldn’t laugh even if she wanted to.
The game is to see who can make whom laugh first.
I’ve put Uncle Martin off for days. I think he’s trying to cheer me up, and I appreciate it but I just don’t feel like being cheered up right now.
I don’t want to be rude, however; I owe them so much. So I agreed to play.
Yesterday he told me three jokes in a row: the one about the scarecrow that was so scary, the crows brought back corn they had stolen two years earlier; the one about the inventor of rubber pockets for waiters who wanted to steal soup; and a really boring one about the guy who was so cheap, he put his fingers down a moth’s throat just to get the cloth back.
Uncle Martin’s jokes aren’t very funny, but my funny faces aren’t working any better. So far, it’s a stalemate.
WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 31, 1938
Mrs. Lowenstein invited me for lunch tomorrow. She said I should come at noon. Mr. Esposito said Mrs. Lowenstein likes “young folks.” I wonder if she liked Eva, and if she knows where Eva is.
Every evening when Uncle Martin comes up with
the mail, he shakes his head, meaning there is still no letter from Daddy. Then he puts the mail in the big bowl on the stone table in the hallway and goes into the kitchen to look for something to eat.
My heart starts pounding as soon as Uncle Martin opens the door. I tell myself not to hope, but I can’t seem to stop. Just a word or two, that’s all I need. Just a word or two.
THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 1, 1938
Uncle Martin and I were in the elevator yesterday when Mr. Allen got on. Uncle Martin told Mr. Esposito a joke. (Mr. Esposito loves Uncle Martin’s jokes.)
Mr. Allen had to hold his hand over his mouth because he was about to laugh and expose his toothless grin.
He looks like a turtle when he does that. He draws his head back into his body like a real turtle.
FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 2, 1938
There must have been more than two hundred clocks in Mrs. Lowenstein’s apartment, and just as I
walked in they all started to chime twelve. I felt like I was in some kind of fantastic church.
There was so much food, I thought for sure others would be joining us, but no one did.
The dining room table was covered with bowls and platters of shrimp, celery, olives, radishes, creamed potatoes, and two roast chickens, one for each of us. Mrs. Lowenstein ate hers with her fingers, devour-ing each piece until there was just a plate of bones lying in front of her.
I tried not to stare, but it was hard not to. She didn’t speak at all during lunch because she was concentrat-ing so hard on eating her chicken.
Then she put one of her cigarettes into her long cigarette holder and she asked me if I was going to eat any more of my chicken. When I said no, she snatched it away from me, cut all the meat off the bones, divided it equally onto three plates, and put the plates on the floor for the three dogs, who gobbled it up greedily. Now I know how they stay so nice and plump.
SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 3, 1938
I went to dinner with Aunt Clara and Uncle Martin for the first time tonight. I just didn’t want to say no to them anymore.
Aunt Clara had to go to a cocktail party given by Mr. Garfinkel, who is producing Peter Pan, so we were to meet her at the restaurant.
Uncle Martin had Patrick, the chauffeur, pick her up at the party. We walked. Uncle Martin doesn’t like to take the limousine that much.
The restaurant was called Tavern on the Green, and it’s right in the middle of Central Park. (That’s the on-the-green part, I think.) I was greatly relieved that we didn’t have to go near the zoo.
It was very fancy — all the ladies wore their furs and diamonds. Uncle Martin said the meal was so