Well, then. You got what you wanted from the experience, I’m assuming.
Maybe, said the patient. I don’t know yet.
In any case, you’ve gone and done it. You found the mythical birth mother. Maria G., who is now—what is it?—Michal Gersh-something.
Gershon.
And you know all about her and where she lives.
She paused.
And what comes next? asked her mother.
She took a short sip of her drink.
Can we expect that we’ll be losing you? asked her mother with a toss of her head. Are we to think that you’ll be—ha! ha!—“running off” to her?
What was this? thought the patient. Could it be that her mother feared losing her? Had she really spent all those years afraid that someone would appear, some family person from the darkness of Europe, and snatch her away?
Right then, the patient told Dr. Schussler, I thought it might even be true that this mother loved me. In her way.
No, Mother, the patient said. I’m staying here. I’m not going off to live with her.
Ah, said her mother.
Meaning what? the patient thought.
But, darling, her mother continued, doesn’t it bother you that you come from … all that?
All that.
No, it wasn’t love, the patient decided. That “ah” was relief that she retained, for herself alone, the prerogatives of “mother.”
You’re the one who’s bothered by it, dearest Mother.
Don’t say that, darling.
You’re the one who doesn’t want anyone to know that your adopted daughter is really a lesbian daughter of a Jew.
Her mother clacked down her glass. Why must you always throw this in my face! Can’t you understand how much it upsets me? That you’re not going to have a husband, that—
That I’m not going to produce grandchildren for you. But in any case, Mother, they would be Jews too. All of them. Jewishness goes from mother to child. The father doesn’t matter. I could marry stuffy Prince Charles, and your little grandchildren would still be Jews. Jew after Jew after Jew.
Her mother bolted from the sofa, opened the sliding door so forcefully that it shook. She took one step onto the patio. But when she saw her drink was nearly gone, she raced back in to “refresh” it. Then she strode back outside.
The wind invaded the room. The long curtains bordering the door were flung to and fro. Something in the kitchen blew off a shelf; it was a plastic napkin holder, the patient saw, and white cocktail napkins were swirling up and around before settling to the floor.
The patient went out to the patio and stood next to her mother, who was leaning on a railing, drink in hand. They said nothing for a long while. The crash and hiss of the dangerous North Pacific rose up to fill the silence between adoptive mother and daughter. Occasionally, the mother sipped her drink, the tinkling of the ice adding a high, clear ring to the air. Alcoholic wind chime, thought the patient.
Maybe you should go live with her, said her mother finally.
What?
Maybe you should go live there. Maybe there you’ll be better … placed.
You mean it would be easier for you.
No. I’m thinking of you. It’s so obvious you’re not happy with me.
The patient grabbed the railing. It seemed cruel to come right out and say, It’s true. I was never happy with you.
But it doesn’t matter what you think, she finally said. Or what I think. Michal doesn’t want me.
She doesn’t want you there? asked her mother, her head whipping around. Doesn’t want you …
Either. That’s what you’re going to say, right? She doesn’t want me either.
Don’t say that! How can you say that!
The patient laughed. I know you, Mother. Don’t think I don’t know you. But it makes no difference anyway. Either, neither, both. Doesn’t matter. Michal thinks I’m better off here. You think I’m better off there. Well, at least my two dear mothers agree on something.
Oh! said her mother. Why do you keep talking about all this? Why do you want to go and upset everyone? Because that’s what you’ve done. That’s exactly what you’ve done.
She whirled her whole body around to face the patient, then stood tipping sideways when she came to the end of the turn, the vodka having gotten to her.
That poor woman in Israel, she went on with a hint of boozy anger. You went barging into her life. No warning. Here I am, here I am, your long-lost daughter. And you’ve upset yourself with all this questioning. And most of all, you’ve upset me—brought this all up