Seagate, New York
July 1956
To do it!
To really…
To actually make a baby with his penis; with his fluid?
Now, lying as he was, with his cheek in the soft hollow of his wife’s stomach and to know, to know that he had done it! That he, and his self serving penis had actually made a baby was…
That he had actually made a baby was—and truly, it always is—nothing short of a miracle, and…
Mitchell felt such an overflowing of love for that which he had… for that whom he now lay next to, for that which was not yet born, that once again his sentiments became too much to contain and—the many times throughout his life when his emotions had opened the valves to his heart and eyes he’d felt less than manly, now—fighting a sob, his heart lurching, biting his lip against the stinging behind his eyes and the pain within his throat, but…
With her hand flat upon his back, feeling the catch within his chest, “Shhh,” Marsha whispered to her husband. “Shhh, my baby.”
Of all of God’s miracles…
Of all of God’s miracles, to Mitchell Lipensky, one synonymous with the other, woman kind and love, above all else, is the most wondrous.
As for Marsha Goldman Lipensky…
****
Because all the years of her childhood and adolescence had been jaundiced by the perception that she had been unwanted, ignored and rejected by her mother, up until the time she became pregnant, the most wondrous of God’s miracles to Marsha had been that, since meeting him when she was barely twelve years old, of losing him that very evening, then finding him again six years later, of, once again, losing him on that very evening, then finding him one year later, of always loving him and wanting him, to Marsha, the most wondrous of God’s miracles was that Mitchell Lipensky and Marsha Goldman Lipensky were together as man and wife.
****
But now…
As though Mitchell’s approval had given validity to what she already knew, We are going to have a baby! Marsha thought. Our baby! My baby! And…
If she had anything to say about it, and knowing Mitchell, Marsha knew she’d have everything to say about it, We’ll have another baby, Marsha thought, and another, and maybe even another…
And she will love them all!
And they will all know it!
Because…
Retrospective: Chicago, Illinois; Rhea, 1936
Nausea woke her.
Not wanting to wake Eli, slipping out of bed, she walked through the darkened apartment into the bathroom, shut the door, then turned the light on.
Her eyes closed against the harsh, white glare, Rhea stood before the mirror with her palms pressed against the cold, porcelain sink. Taking a deep breath, swiping her forearm across her clammy forehead, squinting, looking at her reflection, God, I’m so pale!
Intensifying… As a wave churning in her stomach, the nausea intensified. Fighting it, Rhea attempted to hold it down but, coming into her throat, turning quickly, kneeling on the black and white ceramic tile floor, lifting the toilet seat…
Awaked by the sound of gagging coming into the bathroom, “Re, honey?” Squatting beside his wife, brushing back a few long wisps of hair that had fallen over her sweat glistened forehead, and in so doing, also feeling for a fever. “What’s wrong?”
Breathing deeply, leaning back, “Nothing, Eli,” she said without looking at him. “Go back to bed. I’ll be there in a min…” Gagging again, Rhea bent her head into the toilet…
Finished, lifting her head, she looked at her husband. Her eyes red and teary, her nose was running and a thick strand of sputum lay across her chin.
Taking a washcloth, running it under cold water, he wiped her face, rinsed the washcloth, wrung it out, folded it in thirds and, pressing it against her forehead, “Know what this reminds me of, Re?” And before she could respond, “When you were pregnant with Roger.”
“Don’t say that!” Pushing his hand away angrily, “Don’t you even think it! Goddamnit! I am not pregnant! Eli, do me a favor, will you: just leave me alone! Please, go back to bed!”
Taken back by the vehemence in her voice, “Okay, Re,” he said. “But I think you ought to call Schaffer in the morning.”
****
After three sleepless, nauseous nights, Rhea agreed with her husband; it was time to call the doctor.
“We’ll wait for the rabbit, of course, but…”
Standing at the sink, washing his hands, Rhea stared at the back of his white smock.
“…I do think it’ll be positive, and if I have my guess, it’ll be around the middle of…”
Not wanting to hear it, “No, Doc!” not letting him finish. “I can’t! I just can’t have another baby!”
“Rhea,” misunderstanding her thoughts, “I see no reason why you can’t. You’re strong, healthy, and certainly well within age.”
“You don’t understand!” Bounding off the examination table, seizing Schaffer by the lapels, “I don’t want another baby! I won’t have another baby! Please, Doc, please do something!”
“Rhea, stop it!” Holding her wrists, forcing her hands to her sides, holding them till he felt her relax, then, holding her at arms’ length, looking into her face, “We don’t even know for sure yet. But if you are…” seeing the fear. “Rhea, it is Eli’s baby…” hesitating, “isn’t it?”
Replying vaguely, “‘Eli’s baby’?” Pulling from Schaffer’s hands, going to the window, Damn! Thinking, Damn, damn DAMN! I hope to God it is Eli’s baby! Turning from the window, looking at Schaffer, feigning anger, “Of course it’s Eli’s baby! How can you ask me such a question? It’s just that… Damn it, Doc! I don’t want another baby!” Not sure whether it was the thought of having another child, the fear that it might not be her husband’s child or, most likely, both. Sensing the onset of hysteria, closing her eyes, breathing deeply, forcing herself to calm down, “Please, Doc!” she said in a soft, pleading voice. “Doctor Schaffer, please!” Imploring, “You can do something…” Hesitating before asking, “or send me to someone who…”
“Abortion? You’re asking me for an abortion?” Taking hold of her upper arms, his fingers digging painfully into the soft flesh. “How dare you!” he said incredulously. “I’ve been doctor to your family for twenty years! You know better than to ask me for an abortion!” His anger subsiding, putting an arm around her shoulders, “I’m going to give you a prescription for quarter grain Phenobarbital, and I’ll give you a call tomorrow, when we have the test results. Till then, nothing’s conclusive, so don’t worry! Go home, relax; every thing’ll be okay.” Releasing her, taking a prescription pad from the pocket of his smock, writing a moment, tearing the small sheet out, he handed it to her and, once again placing an arm about her shoulders, led Rhea out of the examination room into the waiting room where, under the watchful eye of Laurette Zabriski—Doctor Schaffer’s receptionist/nurse/assistant and bookkeeper—three and a half year old Roger had been patiently sitting on the carpeted floor, coloring in a coloring book.
“Mommy!” Seeing his mother, Roger clambered to his feet. “Why’d it take so long, Mommy. I gotta make peepee bad.”
“Come on, Roger,” taking him by the hand, “I’ll take you.” Glancing at Rhea, Schaffer steered the boy through the door of the waiting room.
Her hands shaking, Rhea took a pack of cigarettes from her purse, rummaged till she found her lighter, lit the cigarette, took a deep drag, then paced back and forth till Schaffer returned with her son.
****
The rattle of a streetcar not usually bothering her, on that day, in her hyper agitated state, each bump and clatter annoyingly jarred throughout her body.
There had been three men that Rhea had had intercourse with in the past four months: her husband, of course, and Ben Hammish, the 65 year old furrier who had trouble “getting it up,” and when he did get it up, couldn’t keep it up… Christ, she’d thought. Of all people!
And there were two “firsts.”
Paul Sorenson: One, he was not the owner of the new drug store on the corner, he was just the pharmacist, which practically put him in the “working stiff” class. But because Rhea was used to Jewish types—basically darkhaired, dark eyed men—she had been fascinated with Paul because he was the largest—once she got it in her hands, Rhea found out just how large Paul really was—and the best looking man she had ever seduced. Two: Paul had, Christ, the blondest hair and bluest eyes of anyone Rhea had even considered seducing.
Always careful, extremely careful, Rhea never allowed any man, not even 65 year old Ben Hammish, near her unless he was wearing a “skin.”
Paul? But Paul, Rhea thought, being so big, maybe it broke!
Rhea knew Eli had been wanting another child… No, Eli had been begging for another child, preferably—as if she would have anything to say about it—a girl so, Could he have? she thought. Would Eli have the guts, the nerve to do it? After all, it was possible. He could have done it without a skin, and if the room was dark enough—and it usually was—and if I went right to sleep—as she usually did; sometimes even while Eli was still doing it—how would I know? Thinking this, Rhea’s anger flared briefly, then, as much as she did not want another child, Rhea felt a ray of hope because at least the baby would be Eli’s, if in fact… But I’d make book on it! She thought, I am pregnant! But still, Knowing how I feel about it, would Eli really have the nerve to do it? To trick me into thinking he was wearing a skin? No! she concluded. In my house I’m the boss, and he knows I’d kill him, and he’d never have the guts to do it!
Yet…
Rhea’s thoughts returned to the alternatives: Ben Hammish? Sixty five year old, wilty, “shooting blanks” Ben Hammish? Ridiculous!
Paul? But Paul’s got two kids! He’d never do it without a skin. As for the prophylactic breaking? I suppose it’s possible, but not very probable. Besides, we’ve only been together during the day, and if somehow he forgot, or was too “hot” to take time to put one on, I sure as hell wouldn’t forget, or get that hot! But yet, skins, like everything else, are not always perfect, and Rhea personally knew of two women who had become pregnant—so they’d said—while taking proper precautions. But, Jesus, Paul’s so big, and if the skin did break… He’s a druggist, for God’s sake! He’d know! He’d give me something!
Once again, for at least the dozenth time, mentally ticking off her alternatives.
Ben Hammish was too preposterous to even consider, thus leaving Paul and Eli as candidates for pending fatherhood: Paul, a “loving” husband and father, twice over, would never purposely cause a pregnancy, at least with a woman other than his wife.
Eli, on the other hand, definitely a loving father and husband, just might, if he had the nerve.
Before returning home, going to the drug store on the corner, relieved to see that Paul was not there at that time, Rhea handed the Phenobarbital prescription to the store’s owner.
The next morning, smoking cigarette after cigarette, sitting on the sofa with her legs folded beneath her, gazing out the window, seeing nothing, Rhea waited for the phone to ring, as Roger, sensing his mother’s distraction, sat on the floor playing with his toys.
At eleven forty five, a.m., standing, going to her purse in the bedroom, Rhea took not one but two of the “Phenos” Doctor Schaffer had prescribed. Then, lighting another cigarette, she went to the kitchen, put water to boil in a saucepan and one slice of “Silvercup” in the toaster. Sitting, she stared out the kitchen window until she heard the water bubble. Placing two eggs in the pan, turning over the 3 minute timer, bringing it with her, returning to the window, Rhea sat till the sand ran out… Taking the pot to the sink, pouring the water down the drain, she tore the toast into small pieces in a saucer, cracked the eggs, stirred the two together, called Roger to lunch, went back to the sofa, lit another cigarette and stared out the window.
Doctor Schaffer did not call till later that afternoon.
“Goddamnit!” slamming the phone onto the cradle.
Taking two more Phenos, returning to the sofa, Okay, so I’m pregnant! she thought. There’s not a damned thing I can do about it, and when I get fat and ugly again, there’s not a damned thing I can do about that either, but, “Goddamnit!” Doubling her fists, stopping just short of pounding her stomach, “I hate you!”
Napping on the floor, Rhea’s sharp utterance woke Roger. Thinking his mother angry with him, the little boy began to cry.
“No, baby, it’s not you!” Spreading her arms, Roger came into them. Holding him, “Shhh,” she said, comforting her son. “Mama loves you!”
Well, as they say, Rhea thought, the second one’s always easer than the first, and damn it, I sure hope so!
October 15, 1936
Coming out of the ether, Rhea’s first words surprised the nurse… but not Doctor Schaffer.
“What color hair’s it got?”
“It”?
Allowed in the room a few minutes later, standing alongside the bed, Eli looked at his wife, then, “Oh, Re,” at his daughter. “She’s so beautiful!”
Pulling a chair to bedside, sitting, leaning forward, he kissed Rhea on the forehead as, reaching across her chest, gently caressing the baby’s head, “Re, we need a name.”
Truth was, Rhea so hated the thought of having another child—especially this child of dubious parentage—that, as though choosing a name would give credence to its conception and birth, she did not, could not, bring herself to consider a name.
Looking intently at the face of the swathed newborn that lay closely next to her for the first time, “I named Roger!” Rhea said. “Go on, Eli, you name it!”
“It”?
Not expecting this honor, his eyes brimming with joy and gratitude, Eli did not notice the ‘it.’ “How’s about… after my uncle Martin?” he asked. “‘Marsha’ okay with you, Re?”
In a bitter, tired sounding voice, “Yes, Eli,” Rhea replied, “‘Marsha’ will be just fine.”
So overcome with joy, that besides the “it,” Eli also did not notice the hateful inflection in her voice.
As, seeing the unmistakable…
Many infants are born with light eyes, which, in most cases darken later—especially if one parent has dark brown eyes, as did Rhea, and one parent light blue eyes, as did Eli.
Complexion? Who can tell the true complexion of a newborn?
As the color of the hair on many newborns changes as time goes on, and as the color of Eli’s hair was sandy brown.
Looking intently at the face of the swathed newborn that lay closely next to her for the first time, Paul? Eli?
Seeing the unmistakable…
Her seething fury—that Eli would surely hear about—temporarily overcome by relief…
Having no doubt now, “Eli, did you notice?” Rhea said. “She’s got your nose!”
