A FBOW excerpt in Sequence: Marsha & Retro 4/Pro 1

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 Marsha’s 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, ‘Marsha 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 realisation that she had been unwanted. That she had been ignored by her closest relatives and rejected by her mother.

The most wondrous of God’s miracles— to Marsha Goldman — had been that since meeting him in 1948 when she was barely thirteen years old. Of losing him that very same evening, then finding him again six years later and of once again losing him that very evening. Then finding ‘each other’ one year later. Of ‘always’ loving him and wanting him — to Marsha Goldman Lipensky— the most wondrous of God’s miracles was that Mitchell Lipensky and Marsha Lipensky were together as man and wife and that she would be the mother of their child.

****

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 4:

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 she looked 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 she lifted the toilet seat…

Awakened by the sound of gagging coming into the bathroom…

“Re, honey?” Squatting beside his wife while 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 and running it under cold water he wiped her face then rinsed the washcloth, wrung it out, folded it in thirds and pressed it against her forehead.

“Know what this reminds me of, Re?” 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 favour 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 ‘cours’ 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 mightnot be her husband’s child or, most likely, both. Sensing the onset of hysteria. Closing her eyes and 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 then 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 pee pee 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 and 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 thereupon 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 dark haired, dark eyed men—she had been fascinated with Paul Sorenson 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’, Rhea thought, the blondest hair and bluest eyes of anyone she 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 though either 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?

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 know 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, hand in hand with her son Rhea walked 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 while 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 AM, going to her purse in the bedroom Rhea took not one but two of the ‘Phenos’ Doctor Schaffer had prescribed.

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, reversing the three minute timer and bringing it with her she returned to the window and sat till the sand ran out…

Taking the pot to the sink andpouring the water down the drain, she tore the toast into small pieces in a saucer, cracked the eggs, stirred the two together and called Roger to lunch

Back to the sofa she lit another cigarette and stared out the window.

Doctor Schaffer did not call until later that afternoon.

“ ‘God damn it’!” Slamming the phone onto the cradle.

Taking two more Phenos and returning to the sofa,

Knowing she was, but now confirmed…

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, “God damn it!” 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 easier 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 caressed the baby’s head.

“Re, we need a name.”

Truth was Rhea Goldman 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.’

Thinking a lonf moment. “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 his wife’s voice.

As seeing the unmistakable…

Many infants are born with light eyes which, in mamy 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 colour of the hair on many newborns changes as time goes on and as the colour 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!”

‘Prospective’ 1: September 1942 Chicago, Illinois Polk Street Grammar School

Mrs. Hartstein’s finger running down the printed roster for her first grade class. ‘Marsha Goldman’.?

“Marsha Goldman, please raise your hand.”

The little girl in the second seat of the third row raised her hand.

“Good morning, Marsha...Sweetie, what is your middle name?”

“Middle name?”

 Next FBOW excerpt in sequence: “Pregnant!” The Response