Papa's youngest brother, Uncle Jerry, was getting married. In
those days, a wedding was a strictly adult affair. The only
time that a child attended a wedding was if he was either a
brother, sister, niece or nephew of the bride or groom.
Otherwise, it was clearly understood that children were never
brought along. Our Uncle Jerry's getting married was the
greatest thing that could happen to us, because now, for the
first time in our lives, we would go to a wedding.
Rosie and I were in seventh heaven. Mama immediately took us
both to the fanciest store on Delancey Street and bought us
the fluffiest, most gorgeous white and pink organza dresses
for the occasion.
But, despite all our excitement and preparations, Rosie and I
never got to Uncle Jerry's wedding. Our fluffy new organza
dresses ended up hanging on the nail in the boarder's room,
and we ended up lying in the boarder's bed with a bad case of
measles.
We were feverish and miserable. This was the one event that
all children looked forward to all their lives! And here our
own uncle was getting married and we couldn't even attend.
That meant that until we ourselves got married, we would
never attend a wedding because with no other single uncles
around, this had been our only chance.
We cried ourselves sick till Mama, in desperation, promised
us that come what may, she would take us along to the very
next wedding that she was invited to. We were appeased.
I lay in the musty smelling room, two bleak windows looking
out on the same bleak yard that all our other rooms faced. A
pile of bedding towered in one corner, covered by a piece of
tapestry cloth, a huge wardrobe stood on the wall opposite me
alongisde a huge dresser with blackened mirror.
The mattress was springy, the pillows were huge, filled with
the feathers and down of white geese. Mama could never figure
out why the Hungarian ladies in the building were always
making such a big fuss over the old country pillows and
quilts. As far as she was concerned, if you did an honest
day's work, you could fall alseep with any kind of pillow, or
none at all. What difference did it make if the pillow was
filled with feathers or down, so long as you were healthy,
and were able to greet people with a kind word and a genuine
smile.
But as poor as they were, Babika and her old country clan
looked down their nose on this kind of talk. You were missing
class if things like linen, bedding, dishes and cut glass
were not important to you; and even if you had nothing else,
those were the things that mattered.
I could hear Rosie, a stage ahead of me in recuperation,
together with her friend in the room at the other end of the
apartment, laughing and screaming and having a ball. I lay
back, miserable with fever, lonely and unhappy. I wanted
Mama, and was angry that she had gone to the wedding and left
me alone. "Mama, stay with me," I had begged. "I'm so
sick."
"Rosie is here, and the big girl from upstairs, and Mrs.
Pollack will look in on you every few minutes." She pleaded
with me, "Please, Sudy, you know I have to go to the
wedding."
I was sure that she did. It was different when people loved
one another. Then, whatever they did was understood and
forgiven. But when relationships were strained to begin with,
you did the things that were expected of you because
otherwise, you were guilty and would never be freed of the
sin and slight that you had caused, though, in essence, maybe
nobody even cared.
So Mama went to the wedding and I lay in bed, calling to
Rosie to come play in the room where I lay alone. I called
and called. All I heard in answer was the laughter and
singing and shouting and giggling that came to me in a great
rush, but no answer to my call that continued on and on, till
exhausted from rage and fever, face stained with tears of
real self pity at my total neglect, I must have fallen
asleep.
When I awoke, Mama was beside herself, rubbing me down with
alcohol, tying ice packs to my head and praying that I not
catch a draft. I was so hoarse from all the yelling for Rosie
to keep me company that I could scarcely speak, but babbled
incoherently about the miserable time I had had all alone,
lying and crying for help and companionship in vain, while
Rosie was laughing and playing, unmindful of my misery.
When we were completely better, to compensate for our not
being at her wedding, Ethel, our new aunt, invited us up to
her new house and offered to knit us each a sweater. She had
chosen a rainbow wool so that it wouldn't show the dirt. We
came for several fittings until they were finished.
Not long afterwards, an invitation arrived for Babika, Papa
and Mama to attend the wedding of one of Papa's cousins. True
to her word, Mama again reassured us that, invited or not, we
would come along.
The day of the wedding arrived. One of Babika's nephews came
to take her to the wedding by cab; we went by subway. Rosie
and I were all dolled up in the dresses we hadn't worn to
Uncle Jerry's wedding. Her hair was done up in Shirley Temple
bottle curls that were then in style; mine was still
straight, despite the curlers I had lain in all night. But
who had time to even be disappointed when we were
anticipating the exciting events of the subway ride to the
Bronx, the wedding, the family, the music and the dancing,
the time together with both of our parents, in itself an
outing that happened so seldom.
We would hear the music from the corner and as we entered, we
saw that that wedding was already in full swing. We stood in
the doorway, taking it all in; the tremendous hall, the
magnificent crystals, the grandeur and royalty, the surging
happiness, the dancing. We stood, tapping our own toes to the
music. Several cousins nodded to us but no one came over to
where we stood in the doorway, waiting to be greeted and
invited inside. Finally Mama noticed the mother of the bride
and called out, "Blunka!" but Blunka just smiled and waved to
us and continued on her way.
"That wasn't nice," Mama said to no one in particular, and
swallowed hard.
"What did you expect her to do?" Papa asked. "She's busy with
the guests."
"That's exactly what I'm talking about. We're her guests. Why
didn't she come over and greet us?"
"Give her a chance," Papa said. "Maybe she'll come back."
After a short, gesticulating conversation with the mother of
the bride, one cousin did, finally, come over to greet Papa
and Mama, and then said, "Oh, you brought the children! But
everyone knows you don't bring children along to
weddings!"
Whenever Mama is humiliated, her eyes and nose get very red
and puffy, which happened then. As many times as she opened
her mouth to answer, she had to close it again, a funny
grinding sound coming out in place of words. Finally, Mama
pulled herself together and said that if that was the kind of
welcome we could expect, whether or not the children had been
invited, whether or not they had done the right thing in
taking us, she didn't want any part of that family. And she
pulled us all after her: we in near tears, Papa in a fury.
"Where are you going?" he demanded.
"What difference does it make? I don't want to be any place
where my children are not welcome."
"But Lillie, they really weren't invited."
"So what? We were here already. Who needs them, anyhow?" Mama
finally said with disgust. "We can have our own good time
without them."
Papa kept looking back to see if anyone was coming to call us
but the street was empty and all we could hear was the happy
strains of music, the tinkling of silver and the clinking of
dishes. Mama lifted her hand to hail a cab and told him to
take us all to Farber's restaurant on Houston St. where only
the elite ate.
Papa didn't say a word the whole time that we sped back to
the East Side, the meter running up the fare at what seemed a
fantastically rapid rate. When we arrived at the restaurant,
following the silent, angry ride, Mama gave the cabbie his
fare, tipping him an extra dollar, at which Papa squinted in
true horror, and we all walked into the restaurant, as if
marching down the aisle of our own wedding.
We were very self-conscious all the time as we ordered from a
menu that we didn't understand but dared not ask the waiter
to decipher for us, lest our lowly bearings be discovered.
Mama said she wasn't hungry, and just ate the roll on the
bread dish, but kept asking us if we wanted this or that,
names of dishes that we certainly didn't know and suspected
she didn't either.
After the meal there were ices and cake; and this time,
having seen the way Mama tipped the taxi driver, Papa said
that he would take care of the bill, leaving a quarter on the
table for the waiter. Mama looked at him with pity.
"Look, the man has been running around to serve us for almost
an hour. He gets a measly salary, probably has a household of
children to feed and clothe. How can you just leave a
quarter?" and Mama took out another and placed it alongside
Papa's. Being in a good mood after the meal, Papa didn't make
a fuss so that when Mama thought he wasn't looking, she
pressed another quarter into the waiter's hand when he
passed.
Then we all walked home, so happy to be together. Papa said
that maybe we shouldn't have left the wedding so fast. Maybe
they really didn't mean that remark about the children, but
even if they did...
At that, Mama said, "Yeah, your family is always right." But
then she stopped and reconsidered. "You know what, Hershele?
Let's forget what happened at the wedding. We had a wonderful
time and let it remain at that."
