need another fifteen, twenty minutes. And can you boil green beans? I was going to fix them with bread crumbs, but …”
“I know how to do it,” Barbara said.
Papa helped Mama to her feet, and they went with Zayde into the living room.
“What happened?” Audrey asked with tears in her eyes. Barbara and I explained. Then Audrey really cried. I grabbed her shoulders hard and said we had to act brave for Mama and Papa. Barbara had her sit down to snap the ends off the green beans, and I returned to the living room to finish setting the table.
Zayde had poured glasses of whiskey for Papa and Mama, who sat at opposite ends of the sofa.
“How about some music, Charlotte?” Zayde asked Mama.
“All right.”
Every comment or gesture, however casual, felt stained by Papa’s news. When Zayde turned on the radio to the classical station, I looked at the Zenith in its handsome cabinet and wondered how long we’d be able to keep it before we had to take it to the pawnshop.
As Papa, Mama, and Zayde sipped their whiskeys, they engaged in terse bursts of talk.
“What did this cousin get laid off from?” Mama said.
“Advertising.”
“What does an advertising man know about selling shoes?”
“He’s been out of work since December,” Papa said. “He’s got two kids and a mortgage.”
“A mortgage! So he could afford to buy? Audrey, for crying out loud, put those candlesticks away.”
Audrey, who’d crept across the room to put white candles in the candlesticks, jumped.
“I’m not going to pray over candlesticks we got from Juli Fine,” Mama said. “I can’t even bear to look at them! Put them away, Audrey. Now!” She took a gulp of whiskey, then said to Papa, “So, where is this house Mr. Advertising Man has got a mortgage on?”
“West side.”
“Naturally. Did Fine at least give you severance pay?”
“Sixty dollars.”
We paid twenty-two dollars and fifty cents a month just for rent.
“Mama?” Audrey whispered. She had returned the offending candlesticks to their place within the sideboard. Now she stood miserably, holding the candles. “What should I do with these?”
“Oy, how can I think about … I don’t care, use other candlesticks.”
Tears glistening in her eyes, Audrey looked around blindly. I realized she might not know there were candles in cheap brass candlesticks in the linen closet, in case the power failed. I was going to tell her, but then she ran into the kitchen.
“Seventeen years you worked for him,” Mama said. “Long hours, overtime, any job that needed doing. You think Mr. Advertising Man with his mortgage on the west side is going to put in hours like that or get his hands dirty in the stockroom?”
“If it was your cousin and my business, wouldn’t you—”
“Don’t tell me you’re going to defend him.”
“Charlotte.” Papa put up his hand: enough. He got up to refill his glass.
“Bill’s right,” Zayde said. “Of course Fine is going to help his cousin.”
“His wife’s cousin.” Mama winced. “The radio. I don’t want to hear it after all.”
I leaped to turn it off.
How could they all be so silent? I was lifting each fork to put a folded napkin under it, oh so gently; still, the forks and napkins thundered onto the table.
“Where will you look?” Mama said after another minute.
“I’ll start with the department stores downtown.”
“To get another job selling shoes?” Zayde said.
Was it because Zayde was sitting under Uncle Harry’s photograph? Somehow, his simple comment implied not just Why would Papa want another job as a shoe salesman? but Why would anyone ever settle for such a job?
“Maybe I should ask if they need someone to run the whole department store.” Papa gave a sharp, dry laugh. “Or I’ll just call the mayor and see if he wants me to help him run the city.”
“All I’m saying, Billy,” Zayde said, “is, this is an opportunity. You can make a fresh start.”
“A fresh start, Pa. Why didn’t I think of that?”
Mama should have touched his arm and said something; it was how she always defused fights between Papa and Zayde. But she just stared into her glass of whiskey. She almost never drank alcohol except for a Friday night glass of wine.
“There’s always money to be made,” Zayde said.
“A man who worked in advertising, a graduate of UCLA, is going to spend all day on his knees trying to force shoes that are too tight over Mrs. Scharf’s bunions. What do you suggest for a man who doesn’t have a high school diploma?”
“Feh, a piece of paper. You see