off the main dining room that they could make their own.
Uncle Dennis had determined the seating. Aunt Grace at one end. He himself at the other. Papa and Bea flanking Grace. Stevie beside Papa, Edith beside Bea. Mamma next to Edith, beside Uncle Dennis. Mamma and Aunt Grace sat at opposite ends of the table, then, without actually facing each other.
The tablecloth was red-and-white checkerboard and the glass ashtrays, jumbo-sized, said “Chuck’s Chop House—Dine Distinctively” on the bottom. The matchbooks in the ashtrays said the same thing, only with an exclamation point: “Dine Distinctively!”
Chuck’s Chop House turned out to be owned by a patient of Uncle Dennis’s, who came over and introduced himself, very informally: “Hello, hello, I’m Chuck!” he boomed jubilantly. He slung his arm over Uncle Dennis’s shoulder and declared, “Here’s the medico keeping me alive!”—which only made a person wish Chuck looked healthier. He was very fat and very red-faced, and Bea suspected he might be a lush. He shook hands with everyone, even Stevie and Edith, and said, “So it’s a birthday, huh?” and told a story, actually quite humorous, about picking up the wrong bag at Hudson’s and bringing home a Pretty Miss Perfect doll for his son’s tenth birthday. Then he said to Aunt Grace, “The birthday girl—you don’t watch out, you’ll turn thirty!” His laughter rang so boisterously, it echoed in the alcove after he’d gone.
But if there was something clownish about Chuck (buffoonish , Papa would have said, the Italian buffone obviously behind it—there were many such oddities in his English), his departure introduced a sense of letdown. The evening needed a clown, a distraction.
… Not that Aunt Grace could have looked more settled and sedate. She was wearing a new cream-colored dress with a pin Bea herself had made, many years ago. And her earrings? Did Mamma notice her earrings? They were the pearl earrings Mamma had given her on her birthday five years before, when Grace turned thirty-five.
Without comment or explanation, Mamma had refused to get dressed up. She was wearing—conspicuous plainness—a brown dress that was really a housedress. Her hair needed brushing. She hadn’t said a single word on the drive over.
Uncle Dennis had arranged everything, even what they would eat.No need for menus. They were all brought bowls of ham and split-pea soup. Mamma tasted exactly two spoonfuls—Bea watched closely—before pushing her bowl aside. The others made a point of exclaiming over the soup, which truly was tasty; why shouldn’t a birthday dinner be held at a restaurant? A bread basket circulated. There was pop for the children—today Bea was included among them—and white wine for the grownups.
After the last of the soup had been mopped up with the bread, Uncle Dennis announced that the next course would be baked whitefish. It was slow to arrive. Papa eventually asked Uncle Dennis about the War. Uncle Dennis prided himself on seeing through what he called “the propaganda.” It was true of our government as well—you shouldn’t believe everything they told you. That was just the nature of war.
Now let’s see … Germany was facing four possible alternatives in Russia. A retreat, which probably made the most sense strategically but would be disastrous psychologically. Two, just dig in, but this, too, might be ruinous for them: nothing’s harder than to be an occupying army in only partially occupied territory. Three, they could swing south, toward better weather—but away from the targets they most needed to hit. Four, they could prepare an all-out further attack—though if this push failed, they would be helpless on their eastern front. Meanwhile, the generals in Washington were preparing—count on it, and before the year was out—to open a western front, almost certainly in Belgium. Wherever it was, many American boys would be lost—far greater casualties than anything
Uncle Dennis had determined the seating. Aunt Grace at one end. He himself at the other. Papa and Bea flanking Grace. Stevie beside Papa, Edith beside Bea. Mamma next to Edith, beside Uncle Dennis. Mamma and Aunt Grace sat at opposite ends of the table, then, without actually facing each other.
The tablecloth was red-and-white checkerboard and the glass ashtrays, jumbo-sized, said “Chuck’s Chop House—Dine Distinctively” on the bottom. The matchbooks in the ashtrays said the same thing, only with an exclamation point: “Dine Distinctively!”
Chuck’s Chop House turned out to be owned by a patient of Uncle Dennis’s, who came over and introduced himself, very informally: “Hello, hello, I’m Chuck!” he boomed jubilantly. He slung his arm over Uncle Dennis’s shoulder and declared, “Here’s the medico keeping me alive!”—which only made a person wish Chuck looked healthier. He was very fat and very red-faced, and Bea suspected he might be a lush. He shook hands with everyone, even Stevie and Edith, and said, “So it’s a birthday, huh?” and told a story, actually quite humorous, about picking up the wrong bag at Hudson’s and bringing home a Pretty Miss Perfect doll for his son’s tenth birthday. Then he said to Aunt Grace, “The birthday girl—you don’t watch out, you’ll turn thirty!” His laughter rang so boisterously, it echoed in the alcove after he’d gone.
But if there was something clownish about Chuck (buffoonish , Papa would have said, the Italian buffone obviously behind it—there were many such oddities in his English), his departure introduced a sense of letdown. The evening needed a clown, a distraction.
… Not that Aunt Grace could have looked more settled and sedate. She was wearing a new cream-colored dress with a pin Bea herself had made, many years ago. And her earrings? Did Mamma notice her earrings? They were the pearl earrings Mamma had given her on her birthday five years before, when Grace turned thirty-five.
Without comment or explanation, Mamma had refused to get dressed up. She was wearing—conspicuous plainness—a brown dress that was really a housedress. Her hair needed brushing. She hadn’t said a single word on the drive over.
Uncle Dennis had arranged everything, even what they would eat.No need for menus. They were all brought bowls of ham and split-pea soup. Mamma tasted exactly two spoonfuls—Bea watched closely—before pushing her bowl aside. The others made a point of exclaiming over the soup, which truly was tasty; why shouldn’t a birthday dinner be held at a restaurant? A bread basket circulated. There was pop for the children—today Bea was included among them—and white wine for the grownups.
After the last of the soup had been mopped up with the bread, Uncle Dennis announced that the next course would be baked whitefish. It was slow to arrive. Papa eventually asked Uncle Dennis about the War. Uncle Dennis prided himself on seeing through what he called “the propaganda.” It was true of our government as well—you shouldn’t believe everything they told you. That was just the nature of war.
Now let’s see … Germany was facing four possible alternatives in Russia. A retreat, which probably made the most sense strategically but would be disastrous psychologically. Two, just dig in, but this, too, might be ruinous for them: nothing’s harder than to be an occupying army in only partially occupied territory. Three, they could swing south, toward better weather—but away from the targets they most needed to hit. Four, they could prepare an all-out further attack—though if this push failed, they would be helpless on their eastern front. Meanwhile, the generals in Washington were preparing—count on it, and before the year was out—to open a western front, almost certainly in Belgium. Wherever it was, many American boys would be lost—far greater casualties than anything
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