that all but the most desperate allowed themselves. For Uncle Leo, too, the Depression meant business for his bookstore on Hollywood Boulevard. People parted with rare books to get by, and Leo needed only a handful of still-wealthy collectors—or the newly wealthy, for whom there was nothing like a shelf of moldy classics to make them look cultured—to have a market. Zayde did all right, too, gambling being a comfort that even the desperate didn’t give up.
We were the ones who felt sorry for other people. Papa gave money to charity, and Mama invited “less fortunate” families to Friday night dinners. Often that meant Danny and his father or—on that Friday—our next-door neighbors, the Anshels. Mr. Anshel, who worked as a printer, had gotten his salary cut in half, and with two small children to take care of, Mrs. Anshel couldn’t go out to work. The whole Anshel family, including three-year-old David and the baby, Sharon, had thick, pasty skin. Mama said it was because they ate almost no meat but had to fill up on potatoes and beans.
To make sure the Anshels got meat that Friday—and to celebrate Roosevelt’s inauguration—Mama was roasting two chickens, prepared by rubbing garlic, parsley, and oil under their skin and dusting them with paprika and her secret ingredient, a pinch of cinnamon. The fragrance filled the house as my sisters and I performed our Friday dinner chores. It was Barbara’s and my job to transform the kitchen table. We moved the table into the living room, added two leaves, and spread out the good white cloth Mama and Papa had gotten for a wedding gift from Pearl. Then we set the table with the rose-patterned Rosenthal china, a gift shipped from the relatives in Chicago, and the crystal wine and water glasses, which were also wedding gifts. It seemed as if every wedding gift Mama and Papa had received was intended for Shabbos dinners, even though the only custom we followed was for Mama to light candles in the silver candlesticks and mumble a prayer. The candlesticks were a gift from Papa’s employer, Julius Fine, and polishing them was Audrey’s task.
Audrey had just placed the freshly polished candlesticks on the sideboard, Barbara and I were smoothing the tablecloth, and Zayde was relaxing in his armchair with a glass of whiskey when Papa came home. Was it after six already? We’d better hurry. But I checked the clock, and it wasn’t even five-thirty. Mr. Fine had let Papa leave the store early.
“Papa! Papa!” Audrey danced from one foot to the other like a puppy that couldn’t contain its joy. Poor Audrey. The harder she tried, the more Papa withdrew from her. She hadn’t figured out that there were times when none of us—not even me, his favorite because I did so well in school—should approach Papa. When he got home from work, you needed to wait until he’d put on his house slippers and had a few sips of whiskey.
Predictably, Papa ignored us and walked into the kitchen. A minute later, I heard Mama scream. Barbara, Audrey, Zayde, and I all ran toward the kitchen and crowded through the swinging door.
Mama sprawled in a chair as if her six-months-pregnant belly were a heavy beach ball that someone had flung at her and, catching it, she’d fallen backward. Her eyes were open, but her face was as pale as the Anshels’.
Papa stood over her, fanning her with a kitchen towel. “Water,” he said.
Barbara rushed to the sink and filled a glass.
“Should I call the doctor?” I said.
“No, it’s all right.” Papa took the glass from Barbara and raised it to Mama’s lips. “Mama just got a little too hot, with the oven going.”
Mama sat up straight and glared at him. “Tell them.”
Papa took a deep breath. He looked at the floor but spoke with his elocution-champion enunciation. “I lost my job.”
“Juli Fine cut your hours?” Zayde said, holding out against the full disaster of what Papa had said.
Papa shook his head. “Mrs. Fine has a cousin who got laid off three months ago. He hasn’t been able to find anything else.”
“Why does that mean Papa lost his job?” Audrey whispered to me. I pinched her arm to shut her up.
“Charlotte, why don’t you come sit in the living room and cool off?” Papa said.
“We’ll finish fixing dinner,” Barbara volunteered.
“How about I tell the Anshels someone’s sick and we can’t have company tonight?” Zayde offered.
“And let this chicken go to waste?” Mama said. “Barbara? Elaine? The chickens