| Deviant Series (For Better or Worse)
|
|
Deviant 4: Effect & Affect
Lakeside, Michigan
June 16, 1958 : 10:45 a.m.
****
You want me to call the police for you, Marcie?”
“Yes! Please, Dottie, get them on the phone for me.”
Dialing “O,” Dorothy asked the operator to connect her with the state police.
While waiting, stubborn pride aside, I need Mitchie! Marsha Lipensky came to a decision.
_______________________________________________________________________
Chicago, Illinois
June 16, 1958: 10:45 a.m.
Licking the sugar off his fingers, “So, Lippy,” the scruffy looking young man that had directed Mitchell to Tony Esposito his first day on the job, Earl Krupper, asked, “you want to or not?”
Both bare chested young men sat in the shade of a tall parapet on the partially finished city parking facility upper deck.
Still haunted by the dream he’d had the night before, finished with the sweet roll, sipping coffee, his knees drawn to his chest, his eyes closed, Mitchell’s back and head rested upon the parapet.
****
He’d been working in a big, fancy house doing carpentry. And because a dream is a dream, he’d also installed some wall to wall carpets.
The woman was a haughty, pretty blonde, someone he did not recognize. Her husband there also, seemed a nice guy and somewhat familiar. Leaning over a table, the three of them were going over some papers when a friend of the woman came in. She was tall and thin, had shoulder length black hair and wore a yellow slack suit. When he turned he saw it was Marsha and his heart dropped because she acted as though she didn’t know him.
After all, he was only a shlepper (inconsequential laborer) and why would Marsha know a shlepper?
Afraid to say anything, he pretended not to know her also, as all the while what he desperately wanted to do was to take Marsha into his arms and say, “Don’t you know me, Marcie? I love you! How could you just stop loving me? How could you forget who I am? I love you!” But instead, he pretended ambivalence.
****
“Come on, Mitch, how long you gonna wait till you go out again? She’s a nice, cute, almost eighteen year old girl, and she’s Jewish, yet!”
“I know!” Opening his eyes, Mitchell looked at him. “You’ve told me, and I’ve told you I don’t know if I’m ready to go out with another girl yet… Especially a ‘nice, almost eighteen year old Jewish girl’.”
“You’re not ready yet, huh? What’s it now, two months?”
Thinking, Today’s what…? The sixteenth. She left in April, on the twenty-third. “Yeah,” he said, “almost two months.”
“Yeah! Well, if you want to sit on your ass and wait till your wife decides to come back—if she decides to come back—then I guess that’s your problem.”
“Yeah,” said sadly, “guess it is.” Brightening, “And I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”
The last of the first Pepsi of the day gurgling down Earl’s throat, “Urrrppp!” belching loudly. “What’s that, schmucko?”
“Schmucko, huh?” As always, tickled when a non Jew used slang Yiddish words. “What I don’t understand, Earl, is how come they’re letting their daughter go out with a goy?” (Goy: Gentile boy)
“They’re, uh, a different kind of Jewish, Mitch. Mister Rabinovitz said they’re… I think he said they’re Reformed or Reform Jews, something like that.”
“Reformed or Reform Jews? Never heard of ’em.”
“Well, I guess with what they went through, during the war and all, some things just don’t seem to matter to them like they did before. Maybe they still matter with most other Jewish people, but with the Rabinovitz’, now they just kind’a take people at face value and if a guy’s a good guy and he don’t go ’round throwing 'Jesus Christ' in their faces, and if he don’t do any really bad stuff…”
“Like smoke reefer or rape their daughter?”
Smiling, “Yeah, kind’a. And if the guy’s sure to bring their daughter home on time, it don’t seem to matter too much to them. And so far the Rabinovitz’ and me are getting along just fine.”
“Yeah, and it doesn’t hurt if that guy’s going to be a lawyer… Even if he’s a goy lawyer, eh?”
“Yeah! That’s if the guy ever gets through school!” Earl laughed. “I ever tell you how Connie’s sister got her name?”
“How your girlfriend’s sister got her name? Yeah, sure, putz; that’s all I want now, is to sit here and hear how your girlfriend’s sister got her name. Sounds almost as interesting as watching your beard grow.”
“No, this is really funny!”
“Okay, go ahead.” Standing, Mitchell leaned against the parapet.
“The Rabinovitz’ lived in Germany when Hitler came to power…”
“Hitler? This is supposed to be funny?”
“Yeah! Well not the Hitler part, but the part about what Connie’s sister’s name is. Anyway, when Hitler came to power, I guess about 1931 or ’32, the Rabinovitz’ didn’t think it would be all that bad in Germany. But then in a couple’a months it got real bad, you know, for Jews, so they packed up and because his shoe company had a factory in Naples…”
“Naples? Like Italy?”
Pulling himself to his feet, “Yeah, schmucko, Italy!” Going about four yards to the left, facing the inside corner of the parapet, unzipping his fly, talking to Mitchell over his shoulder, as he did, Earl urinated against the wall. “They were there just a little while when Connie was born. Because they were living in Italy and getting refuge then, things weren’t too bad, and they wanted to give her an Italian name, so they choose…”
“Constance? That’s an Italian name?”
“Yeah, I guess.” Turning, zipping his fly, walking back, Earl leaned against the wall. “About a year later Mussolini stole their business, to make boots for the army. And because they were German Jews, the three of ’em were put into a kind’a prison and it was only a matter of time till they’d be sent to back to Germany, I guess to a concentration camp.
“Really?” Becoming interested.
“Yeah! But fortunately for them, Mister Rabinovitz had lots of rich goy friends in Naples and they were able to bribe some high up who got them out of prison. But because they’d bribed their way out of prison, the Rabinovitz’ couldn’t stay in Italy, so they decided to make a try for America. But even though Naples is on the Mediterranean, they couldn’t just hop a ship to America, so they had to go another way. It gets kind of confusing to me here and I’m not too sure about the timing. Anyway, going the safest way they could go, somehow the Rabinovitz’ ended up in China.”
“China! How’d they get to China?”
“Beats the shit out’a me, Mitch. But the only way they could get here was to go through China, and, boy, did they ever have a rough time! Connie tells me her father had to have his appendix removed and the doctor only had liquor to put him to sleep with.”
“Holy, shit!”
“Yeah, and after taking nearly two years to get from Italy to America, by that time Mrs. Rabinovitz was pregnant again. And just before the war began, on the ship, on the way here she had another daughter. And because it took so long and they worked so hard to get to America, they wanted to give their baby a real American name…”
“We’re getting to the funny part now?”
“Yeah. They wanted a real American name but couldn’t think of one. But then Mrs. Rabinovitz remembered the name of a girl they’d seen in… You read the funnies, Mitch?”
“Huh?” Thrown a moment by the out of context question. “You mean like funnies in the newspaper?”
“Okay you guys!” Standing below, hands cupped to his mouth, “Break’s over!” Tony Esposito yelled. “Off your asses!”
“Yeah!” Earl said. “In particular, the funnies in the News.”
Taking the debris of their morning break with them, they began down the makeshift stairway.
“Yeah, I read the funnies in the Daily News. So what?”
Dropping his trash in a can, “You read L’il Abner?”
“Sure!” Mitchell said, dropping his trash also. “Don’t everybody?”
“Yeah, but you have no idea how many people do read L’il Abner!”
Before Earl went back to shlepping conduit and Mitchell 2X4’s, Earl said, “Did you know L’il Abner’s translated in dozens of languages and printed in hundreds of newspapers, and before the war one of those languages was German, and on the ship here, when their baby was born, Mrs. Rabinovitz remembered, and the most… The only true American name they could think of was… You know what L’il Abner’s girlfriend’s name is?”
“Yeah sure!” Then it dawned on him. “Oh, no! Don’t tell me!”
“Yeah!” Earl laughed. “That’s it!”
“Jesus! You want to fix me up with Daisy Mae Rabinovitz?”
****
Skokie, Illinois
June 24, 1958
Coming from work. Entering the house…
“It came!”
“From Marsha?”
“Yeah!”
“Yeah? No kidding!” The words he’d prayed to hear, on this day finally did.
“Yeah!” Mortie, followed by Larry, came from the den with an envelope in his hand.
Knowing just how much his big brother had been looking forward to receiving this letter, “Here, Mitchie,” Morton said happily. “You got a letter from Mikey.”
From Mikey? There was additional postage on the thick envelope. Addressed to him in Marsha’s neat, small handwriting, the return address on the corner read: ‘Michael Lipensky, c/o Red Dot Grocery, R.R. 2, Lakeside, Michigan.’
“Yeah, I ‘knew’ it! That is where they are!” Looking at his two youngerbrothers, he considered going upstairs to read the letter in private, but knowing that they, too, missed Marsha and Michael and that they, also, had waited day after day for a letter from Marsha. Going to the kitchen, Mitchell sat at the table and, his hands shaking, opened the flap and removed a folded sheet of school notebook paper. Unfolding it, inside were four pictures. Catching his breath, a mist covering his eyes, he slowly looked at each picture then handed it to Lawrence, who studied the picture then gave it to Morton.
Two were snapshots of Michael at the beach. In one he was sitting naked in the sand at water’s edge. The second showed him standing precariously in the sand with his knees and arms akimbo, trying to balance himself for the seconds it took to snap this picture before falling. There was a picture of him sitting on wooden steps in front of a cottage. The last was before a storefront with the name Red Dot Grocery lettered on the window that had Michael standing with both hands held aloft by his mother, who was standing behind him. Wearing cut off ‘Levi’ shorts and an off the shoulder blouse, Marsha’s long, slender legs were spread to either side of her son. Smiling, her face was tilted upward. Leaning forward the —Knowing her husband. Knowing what ‘got’ to him, this pose purposely taken— the fissure formed by her hanging breasts under the yawning blouse was clearly visible and, Oh, God, Mitchell thought, she looks so good! Handing the last picture to his brother, taking a deep breath, he read:
____________________________________________________
June 20, 1958
Dear Daddy;
Mommy thought you would like to see some pictures of me so you can see how much I’ve grown.
We are living in Mama and Papa’s cottage in Michigan and go to the beach almost ever day, and even if I can’t swim yet, Mommy always takes me in the water so I can splash.
Now that it is summer and warmer I am having a good time, but I miss you and would like you to come and visit me.
Your son,
Mikey
___________________________________________________
Rereading the letter, Mitchell’s mind lingered on, ‘I miss you and would like you to come and visit me’.
Marsha wrote this letter, not Michael. Of course, he thought. And what she’s saying is that she misses me and wants me to come to her. “Oh, God!” Standing, grabbing Morton, hugging him, “Marsha wants me to come there!”
****
Marsha wanted the letter to sound noncommittal, or at least have the appearance of being noncommittal, Marsha had written and rewritten the short, simple letter a number of times.
There were so many things she wanted to say to Mitchell, but yet so many things she did not want to say. Especially regarding the, in retrospect, stupid reason she had taken their son and all of their furniture and left her husband giving instructions to all that knew her to ‘not’ tell him where they had gone. Yes! Including today’s horrible experience with, ‘Nate’. there were so many things that Marsha wanted to say to her husband, at least in any way that he’d be able to know that that’s what she really wanted to say.
****
Mitchell, thinking, If only she’d have ended it with ‘Love, Mikey’ rather than “Your son, Mikey.” But, grasping at straws—thinking that he ‘knew’ his wife — He further thought, If Marsha really didn’t care what I think, she would have written ‘Love!’ But because she really does care, but doesn’t want me to know she cares, she wrote, “Your son, Mikey,” and really does still love me!
****
Marsha had given that a lot of thought, and decided the words ‘I miss you and would like you to come and visit me’ were enough, because saying ‘Love, Mikey’ instead of “Your son, Mikey” would, in her opinion, definitely tell Mitchell that she did still love him—which she most certainly did—but Marsha did not want Mitchell to think that she did until she knew if he still did love her, especially since— so she thought— he hadn’t taken the initiative to locate her… or make the first move.
****
And this picture! Mitchell’s eyes focused on Marsha’s bare legs and the deep fissure formed by her hanging breasts. She knows how to get to me! She knew this picture would turn me on! Remembering, knowing what was hidden beneath the blouse and under the cut off jeans did, indeed…
****
Turn him on! Marsha thought. I want to send a picture that’ll turn him on! Studying, then deciding on one of the three pictures that she had asked Dorothy to shoot outside her store a few days before her encounter with Gordon Nathanson.
The fully exposed roll of film had remained in the Kodak camera at the bottom of the diaper bag until Marsha had met the despoiler of her paradise; until the catalytic meeting had caused Marsha to have the film developed, then make the contact with her husband.
****
Sure now, or at least pretty sure, that Marsha still loved him, the dark cloud that Mitchell had lived under for two months, almost to the day, lifted.
Going to the calendar that hung on the back of the broom closet door.Today’s Tuesday and I’d love to see them this weekend. Hell, I’d love to see them right now! But, he thought wisely, Let her suffer a little, too. And besides, lifting the page, turning to July, he saw, The Fourth is on Friday and I’d rather spend three days than two.
____________________________________________________
June 24, 1958
Dear Mikey;
You will never know how happy I was to get your letter today.
You have grown so much and look so pretty that I just can’t wait to see you, so why don’t you tell your mommy, if it is okay with her, that I will come to visit you over the Fourth of July weekend.
I know that is ten days away, but then I can be with you three days instead of just two. So I will be there on Friday at about eleven in the morning, and will stay with you until Sunday night. But tell mommy not to worry, because, if she would rather, I will not sleep there but will find a room someplace else...— Knowing that on the fourth of July weekend, finding a room would be completely impossible. Meaning, where else could he sleep but there, in the cottage where one thing could lead to another — ...Or if mommy wants to, maybe she can find a room for me.
Mikey, I can’t wait to see you!
Daddy
__________________________________________________
Mitchell had considered mentioning his new job, but then thought better of it and, damned if I’ll say I love her before she says she loves me! Wanting his letter to be at least as noncommittal as hers. Licking the envelope flap, “Hey, guys, I wanna get this to the post office! Cricket, come on, I’ll take you for a ride!” Holding the screen door open, he stood aside as the Dalmatian ran though the door and, her whip like tail wagging, waited till he opened the car door to let her in.
****
“Brenda, hi! It’s Mitch Lipensky. How are you?”
“Fine, 'Mitch',” she said loud enough for her husband—who was at the table finishing dinner—to hear. “How are you?”
“I’m just fine. At least now I am. How’s Denny?”
“Denny’s fine, too. Your Mom’n’dad? The kids?”
“Fine. Everyone’s okay.”
Polite salutations through, the line silent a moment.
“Uh, Roger around?”
“Oh, yes, sure, Mitch… Roge, it’s Mitch Lipensky.”
Not particularly fond of his brother-in-law, bringing his coffee to the phone, “Hey, Mitch!”
Actually despising his brother-in-law, “Roger! How’ve you been?”
“Okay, Mitch. You?”
“Fine… Listen, Roge, I heard from your sister today and I’m going to see her and my son over the Fourth, but I don’t know how to find your parent’s place and thought maybe you’d give me instructions.”
“Mitch, I told you last time…” Turning to Brenda, he shrugged his shoulders. “...I can’t help you.”
“No, Roge! I really did hear from Marsha! She sent me a letter and asked if I’d come to see her’n’Mikey, but didn’t give me the address, only…” looking at the return address on the envelope, “care of ‘Red Dot Grocery’, on Rural Route Two, Lakeside.”
Roger knew that if his sister hadn’t told his brother-in-law he would have had no way of knowing about ‘Red Dot’ “Okay, Mitch.” Always hating it and relieved the secrecy was over “You remember how to get to Union Pier?”
“No. Maybe. Not really. Last time I was there I was sixteen and wasn’t driving yet.”
“Okay, you got a pencil?”
“Yeah, but go slowly.”
“Okay. Look, all you got to do is go south on the Outer Drive till it becomes Lake Shore Drive, that’s U.S. 41. Stay on ‘41’ and it’ll become ‘90’, and that’ll take you through Hammond and Gary to ‘94’. Just stay on that through Michigan City and New Buffalo and then, when you pass the Union Pier turn off, go about three miles and watch for the twin watertowers on your left, and make the next left! Go about fifty yards and turn right onto the dirt road, and that’s it, second cottage on the left… Got it?”
“Lake Shore becomes 41, then 90 to 94. Go past Union Pier to the first left past the towers, right on the dirt road… Right?”
“Right!”
“Got’ch’ya! Thanks, Roger."”
****
“Mitchell,” looking at the pictures he’d handed her as soon as they came through the door. Seeing how her grandson had grown since she’d last seen him, and how much of his life she had missed. Holding back tears. “I’m very glad you’ve heard from Marsha, and I’m glad you’re going to see Michael. Only…”
“Only don’t just fall into bed with her like you did last time. ” Walter, his father interjected. “The two of you have lots of things to settle!”
Sighing. “Yeah, dad,” knowing he was right, “I know.” However...
Upon seeing his wife and son and well aware of his physical attraction and passion for Marsha and his longing to reclaim and reunite his family and aware of Marsha’s volatile temperament and all that they 'did' have to settle between themselves, Mitchell wondered how much of the anger that had built up within his mind and heart over this absolutely— at least in his mind— senseless, thoughtless, torturous prolonged separation should/could he bring forward without fracturing this, hopeful, forthcoming resurrection?
Part 4 of 5
To be continued
