A FBOW excerpt in sequence: Marsha Goldman/Retrospective 5

Seagate, New York

July 3, 1956

He was pretty sure she was joking, but he’d learned the best way to avoid an argument with Marsha was to agree with her because— as so often happened between them— arguments started with only a joking or unthoughtful word.

Unfortunately, at times Mitchell seemed to have a penchant for unthoughtful words. Then, in his opinion, ‘mountains were made out of molehills’ because, in his opinion, Marsha had a distorted perception of how a husband should react to his wife.

So now he did not pursue that long ago night and just dropped it. Which was advice he often gave himself. Sadly, though, it was advice that he would think of, consider what he was about to say, consider dropping it… then, more often than not, say it anyway.

****

“You know...” she said softly, “...I always loved the country. I loved it more than anything in life.”

Remembering sadly. “But I guess I always knew the country was just a way for my mother to get rid of me. All the other women stayed with their kids, but not ‘my’ mother! She ‘always’ left me there alone. Oh, Roger was there and my aunts and some friends I called ‘aunt’ or ‘uncle,’ but I was left alone. Even when mother was there I was alone.

Hearing Marsha’s softly spoken words. Feeling her warm breath on his face…

In a few minutes Marsha realised Mitchell was asleep and, turning over, nestling her backside into the comfortable crook of his stomach and crotch, she tried to sleep…

But her mind drifting, she remembered the misery of life with her mother. But she also remembered the summers, the ‘wonderful’ summers of her life.

As For Marsha Goldman

Retrospective 5 :1944

Chicago, Illinois—Lakeside, Michigan

Leaning through the open window, “You okay on your pillow, baby?”

Bending her head backwards, looking up at him, “Yes, Daddy.”

“You comfortable enough?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Everyone set? We got everything?”

“Yes, Eli.” someone said tiredly. “We’ve got ‘everything’, Eli!”

“Anyone have to go to the toilet?”

“ ‘Christ’,” one of the men in the front said good naturedly, “he’s ‘such’ a nudnick!”

“No, Eli...” one of the women in the back giggled. “...no-one’s got to go ‘potty’.”

Reaching through the open window, cradling the back of the little girl’s head— protecting it from being bumped— solidly closing the rear door, Eli pulled the handle up from the inside, locking it.

The ropes holding the bale of items atop the car and the overly loaded, ajar, trunk lid were checked once again then— taking the outside position— sitting on the front seat and pulling the door shut. “Okay, Harry,” Eli said, “let ’er rip!”

****

‘Harry Rafkin’, the driver and owner of the pre-war Cadillac was married to ‘Sadie’, the eldest of the sisters, whom—her mother excluded—considered herself the matriarch of the family.

The man sitting in the middle of the front seat was ‘Stanley Bernstein’, who was married to Ida.

‘Ida Bernstein’, nicknamed ‘Duchess’,” was a regal appearing woman who ‘always’ spoke properly, ‘always’ carried herself erect and was usually ‘royally’, if not noticeably ‘soused’.

‘Rhea’, the youngest and by far the most beautiful of the sisters, sat sandwiched between Sadie and Ida.

Rhea’s bare feet rested on the girl’s outstretched legs..

But the girl didn’t mind. Matter of fact Marsha ‘loved’ the feel of her mother touching her— even if it was’ only’ because there was no place else for Rhea to comfortably put her feet.

Marsha’s brother, ‘Roger’, and ‘Maxine’, who was her younger cousin—by four months—had left for ‘Lakeside’ an hour earlier with ‘David’ and ‘Rose Wolf’ and their two children, ‘Robert’ and ‘Sharon’. The Wolfs were neighbours and close friends, having known the sisters and their husbands for years.

****

When ‘Mrs. Dombroski’, the old lady that owned the grove of summer cottages passed away two years earlier, knowing they would receive more money if sold separately rather than as a whole, her children offered the eight, two bedroom cottages to their present tenants at a cost below individual market value.

Each of the sisters, along with the Wolfs, took advantage of the opportunity.

Slightly more than a hundred miles from the Goldman apartment on the near north side of Chicago, the route to Lakeside led along ‘Lake Michigan’, through ‘Chicago’s’ south side and the sulphur smelling town of ‘Hammond, Indiana’ and across the tip of Indiana into the state of ‘Michigan’.

When the demographics along the two lane highway changed from urban to rural, overhanging trees and high, grass covered embankments lined either side of the well travelled road. Fruit and cider stands abounded in both directions to catch travellers going and, or, coming.

****

Reaching behind the seat Eli patted his daughter’s knee to get her attention, then rubbing his thumb and forefinger together, indicated that he wanted to hold her hand.

Holding it, Marsha felt her ‘daddy’s’ strength .

There were calluses on the tips of Eli’s fingers and the pads of his palm, yet his hand was absolutely clean and each fingernail— with a perfect white crescent— was perfectly trimmed and filed.

Moving her face to it, rubbing her cheek in the palm of her daddy’s hand, the young girl could smell the slight, clean scent of ‘Vegal Lilac’.

****

All of her life! Whenever she would smell even the slightest hint of ‘Vegal Lilac’ or a reasonable facsimile, a feeling of nostalgia would overtake Marsha and she would be reminded of this moment and her father’s after shave lotion.

****

Through Illinois…

Through Michigan City, Indiana and over the ‘singing bridge’…

Into the state of Michigan.

‘Only eighteen miles to go’!

Here’s ‘New Buffalo’! Eight miles to go!

Here’s the ‘Union Pier Bowl’ and the ‘Old Road’ cut off.

Only two miles to go!

Here’s ‘Captain Dan’s Fish and Shrimp’, and here…

‘Here’!

Take a left off the highway. Go to the first dirt road. Take a right and…

‘Oh, God’!

There it is!

The short road ending in a cul-de-sac, each of the eight cottages were separated by a dirt driveway and a tangle of lilac and raspberry bushes.

“We’re here!”

Back in ‘the country’.

Smell the pine trees, the flowering bushes, the lake! Smell the air!

‘So’ cool! ‘’So’ sweet!

Oh, God! We’re back!

Marsha ‘loved’ it there! More than anything in her life, Marsha loved the country! The beach! The lake! The summertime friends…

The one thing missing, the one thing that would make her summer perfect: ‘Mother’.

The men must work, Marsha was aware of this. But her aunt Sadie and her aunt Ida and Mrs. Wolf, whom she called ‘Aunt Rose’ and all the other mothers in the grove remained with their children. So why couldn’t, why wouldn’t her mother stay too?

Maybe…? Maybe this summer she would.

On Sunday evenings well after dinner the men: Uncle Harry, Uncle Stan, and Mister Wolf, whom Marsha called ‘Uncle David’ and her daddy all piled into Harry Rafkin’s Cadillac leaving David Wolf’s Buick for the women to use for shopping or in the event of an emergency and drove back to Chicago…

And last year and the year before, for the two years the family had been summering at Lakeside, Rhea returned to Chicago with them.

It was not as though she ‘had’ to go, Rhea ‘wanted’ to go, and nobody—so they said—could understand why, or if they did no one admitted as to why they ‘thought’ she wanted to go, or what she did alone in the hot apartment during the day while Eli was at work from early morning to late evening Monday through Friday afternoon when the men and Rhea got together once again to drive back to Lakeside for the weekend.

If Eli had ever tried to understand the motivations of his wife, he had long since given up trying. Or, more then likely, seemingly he didn’t want to know.

Rhea rationalised leaving her children alone with the thought that Roger could —more or less take care of himself and, to some degree, his sister. Besides, Rhea knew that her sisters and the other women of the cove were there to help supervise and watch over Roger and Marsha.

Sadly, she was mistaken on all counts.

Roger, like many older siblings disliked his sister at first thinking of her as an interloper, a pest that came along and diluted his parents love and attention.

Concerning the love of his mother though, Roger had no need to worry for all Rhea had ever wanted was one child: Roger. Any outward display of motherly love or attention to Marsha was given ‘only’ for the benefit of other people, was accidental or was administered by Rhea as sarcasm that Roger sometimes misconstrue d as affection.

The affection his father readily bestowed on Marsha was a far different matter, of course. Although he could not put his feelings into words, even at age twelve Roger considered Eli an inconsequential dupe and a cuckold, and truly did not care if his sister received all of their father’s love and attention because Roger blamed him, because…

****

On May 12, 1943, having an earache and excused from school, eleven year old Roger Goldman had been sent home at 1:40 PM.

Expecting his mother to be napping or out as she so often was when he came home from school, using his back-door key Roger let himself into the two bedroom apartment.

First going to the room that he ‘very’ unhappily shared with his seven year old sister then. upon hearing a strange kind of whimpering sound coming from the far end of the apartment, approaching quietly and standing just outside the not quite fully closed door of his parents bedroom, looking through the crack, there…

Lying nude on the bed, his legs spread from side to side, was Manuel Berger: ‘Uncle’ Manny, and…

Her back to him. Though of course he had never seen her naked, Roger knew it was his mother because of her long, black hair. And besides, who else would be on his mother’s bed?

On her haunches, her buttocks, rectum and the hairy underside of her vulva open to her son’s view— positioned between Uncle Manny’s thighs, hunched over with her mouth on Uncle Manny’s…

Because even an eleven year old boy knows the guttural names for minimally two of the components of his body, most especially ‘that’ component…

Why’s mom kissin’ Uncle Manny’s prick? Roger had wondered naively. Then, because most eleven year old boys — at least in his school— had seen at least one ‘eight-pager’. Holy cow, he thought disgustedly, she’s givin’ Uncle Manny a blow job! And as he—also by courtesy of eight-pagers—knew the guttural names of some female body components, most especially ‘tha’ component. ‘Wow’! he thought…

But because she was his mother, he ‘really didn’t want to look…

But because he was eleven and curious and she was female and exposed, after all, and because he thought she was beautiful and he loved her and ‘especially’ loved being held to her bosom, at times Roger did wonder about his mother and whenever the occasion presented itself he would go out of his way to sneak a look at—the other known female component, or components—her ‘tits’.

And because this was the very first time he’d ‘ever’ had the opportunity to see ‘that’ , even if she was his mother — though repulsed by, ‘one’: That he’d caught his mother giving Uncle Manny a blow job. By, ‘two’: That his mother was naked. By, three: That he was looking at his mother naked andbr ‘four’: That even though he was repulsed by numbers one, two, and three…I got a boner! So, hardly daring to breath, Roger did look and, ‘Wow’! he thought again. That’s what a lady’s cunt looks like!

Later... Consciously Roger had tried to block the scene from his mind, but subconsciously couldn’t and after a nocturnal emission with his mother as, ‘literally’ ‘the girl of his dreams’—and a few emissions that were not nocturnal—which caused him a great amount of guilt that he juxtaposed as anger at his father because Roger truly believed, or wanted to believe, that his father did not know about his mother. Otherwise, as a member of the male sex, Roger wondered, Otherwise why wouldn’t he kill her?

Roger did, nonetheless, blame Eli for allowing this to happen. But because of ‘Myron’, his very best friend whose parents were divorced, who cried daily because of this, Roger refused to mention the incident with Uncle Manny to his father, or anyone else.

****

As for the sisters…

Shortly after the birth of Marsha, Rhea began to repeat the pattern she had started when Roger was two, but had to be careful and only allow her ‘friends’ to visit while her then four year old son was napping.

Occasionally, if a ‘special’ friend came to visit, to be sure Roger slept a little longer and a little sounder, Rhea would crush a quarter—and now and then half—of a ‘phino’ and feed it to her son in a teaspoon of applesauce.

One year later, when Roger began his half day session of kindergarten things became easier for Rhea. Then, when he began school full ime it opened the day completely and it wasn’t too hard for the next two years, until…

Born in 1936, when approaching four Marsha began to ask questions about ‘that man’, Rhea started to find excuses for dropping her daughter off at the homes of either Sadie or Ida and soon, at least regarding Marsha, she became an all but absentee mother.

****

Sadie Rafkin: Although not really wanting to know the truth about her baby sister, deep down Sadie knew Rhea was seeing other men. But possibly because she herself had strong—although totally repressed—feelings about the possibility of having an affair because, ‘after all’, Harry Rafkin— the butcher was probably the least romantic man on the face of the earth… Also, in a totally subdued way, Sadie envied Rhea’s beauty and admired the ‘chutzpah’—the nerve— to do what she herself could just fantasise about.

Ida Bernstein’— nicknamed ‘Duchess’ for her regal appearance: The picture of naiveté, Ida believed only in what she saw and what was logically apparent. In her eyes neither Sadie or Rhea could, nor would ever do ‘anything’ that might be construe d as morally improper. Ida had a deep, enduring love for her husband and the mere thought of either Stanley or herself ever being with another person was preposterous.

‘However’, for all of Ida’s proper bearing and thoughts she did have a number of secret friends—Friends with the names of ‘Chevas Regal’, ‘Cutty Sark’, ‘Haig Haig’. And not being a prejudicial person, at least when it came to scotch, ‘Jonnie Walker’ preferably ‘Black’ but ‘Red’ was acceptable.

*** Lavishing whatever attention and motherly love Rhea had on the boy, both sisters knew that although their younger sister was a good mother to Roger, she was absolutely the opposite to her daughter.

It soon became apparent, even to Ida, that their sister would try to pass her responsibility onto either or both of her sisters whenever possible.

In the beginning, caring for Marsha really did not bother either Sadie or Ida because they each had their own children and one more sweet little girl once a week or so wouldn’t make that much difference.

In time, though, Sadie and Ida began to feel that it just wasn’t right for Marsha to be deprived of the loving care and attention of her own mother. So the two sisters entered into a conspiracy and— so they’d convinced themselves, ‘If we don’t watch over Marsha or even feed Marsha; if we pay no attention to Marsha,’—so they’d erroneously reasoned— ‘sooner or later Rhea will get the idea and accept her responsibility and begin to act like a mother to her daughter also’.

But Rhea didn’t, and…

The major problem for Marsha was that Sadie and Ida rarely turned their sister down when asked to leave her daughter in their care. But once in the home of her aunts Marsha was all but ignored.

When she was younger the sisters would, whenever possible, feed their children before Marsha arrived or after she left, so on many occasions the little girl did not eat at all. When she became older, Marsha would be sent home when it came time for lunch or dinner.

Of course, this ill treatment of their niece did cause Sadie and Ida—who were basically good people—guilt.

‘But it’s for Marsha’s own good’. they’d rationalise. “And if we don’t take care of her, maybe her mother will!”

But Rhea never did.

Retrospective 5: 1944 Continuing...

In the cove of summer cottages, three were owned by the sisters, one by the Wolfs, and the other four by people that became known to Marsha as uncles Gene, George, Adam and Noah, and aunts Riva, Ruth, Estelle and Mina.

Bringing most of what would be needed, some of the families had made the trip to Lakeside over the Memorial Day weekend for the purpose of having the utilities turned on and the cottages cleaned and ready for occupancy once school ended.

As Harry Rafkin’s Cadillac pulled into the cove, the people that had arrived the day before or earlier that day came out of their cottages to greet the newcomers. A few of the summer friends had not seen or even spoken to each other since ‘Labor Day’ the year before.

As the men unpacked the car, the women put the perishables into their refrigerators and the canned goods on the shelves. Beds were made with fresh, sweet smelling linens. The faucets to sinks and bathtubs were turned on and the water ran brown with rust, then clean and clear.

Although some of the people did not mind drinking it, the tap water did have a strong sulphur scent. So once unpacked —pulling an old rusted wagon — Eli, Stan and Harry went across the highway to a nearby woods that had a swift running stream of sweet, cold water. On the wagon were four empty five gallon bottles for the fresh water… and a full bottle of mosquito repellent.

Some of the children were given money along with ration tickets and sent down the road to ‘Red Dot Grocery’ to buy milk and butter where they were greeted warmly by Dorothy, the owner.

****

 WOOMPFF!

Twelve years later, though Marsha did not remember or realise why— when it happened to Mitchell it seemed vaguely familiar and for some reason very funny.

****

 WOOMPFF!

“ ‘Goddamnit’!”

“Stanley’s done it again!” Rhea said to Sadie.

In the kitchen… “ ‘Jesus Christ’!” ...on his hands and knees...“I ‘hate’ when that happens!” ...in front of the water heater —although since it had become a yearly, beginning of summer ritual, one would think Stanley ‘would’ have learned after the first two times that he’d had part of his left eyebrow and all of the hair singed off his right arm—Stanley Bernstein had done it once again.

“ ‘Stanley’...” Ida scolded, “...if I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times! Light the match ‘before’ you turn the gas on and if the match breaks or goes out, give it a chance to air out ‘before’ you try lighting it again!”

“That fu…” remembering there were children and ladies present. “...uh, god-damned water heater gets me every god-damned time! So...” he asked angrily, “...do I have any eyebrow left?”

Suppressing a giggle as she smoothed butter over her husband’s recently denuded arm. “Yes, Stanley,” Ida answered. “Uh, some of it… more or less.”

**** 

The delicious odour of barbecuing hamburgers and hot dogs wafting over the cove, the children sat on the grass or the wooden steps of the cottages reacquainting themselves. Getting caught up on ‘what’s new’ and what happened to whom over the past ten months as they’d waited for Uncle Harry to call…

“Hey, who’s ready for lunch?”

Being a butcher with his own shop, Harry was able—at times—to sneak some meat products past the scrutiny of the war rationing inspectors.

Harry rationalised his unpatriotic behaviour by sharing the meat with his close friends and relatives on ‘special’ occasions.

The opening of summer was one of those special occasions.

Crowding around the brick barbecue in front of the Rafkin cottage—that Harry, with the help of Eli and Stan, had built last summer—the entire group joined in the feast.

****

Lunch over…

Changing into their bathing suits, Leonora ‘Leni’ Field, the daughter of the family who owned the cottage directly across from the Goldman’s; Sharon Wolf; Marsha and Maxine Bernstein— Marsha’s best friend and younger cousin, by four months—rushed to the beach.

The girls walked along the dirt road, across the cracked asphalt of the ‘old highway’ then, rather than going the additional hundred yards to the ‘Public Beach Access’, scrambling down the well beaten path of a fairly steep embankment…

‘There it is’!

“Oh, God!”

“Can you ‘believe’ it?”

“We’re back! We’re ‘really’ back!”

‘The beach’!

Savouring the moment, the girls stood in the hot sand shading their eyes against the million pinpoints of the sun’s glare on the rippling water… Then feeling the burning sand on the soles of their as of yet tender feet, they dashed to the dark sand at water’s edge and the lapping coolness of Lake Michigan.

Looking for familiar faces of summers past, the four girls trudged through sand and shallow water to their longstanding ‘special’ place behind Red Dot Grocery, halfway between the water’s edge and the grassy embankment.

Running as far toward the misty horizon as the eye will allow, the crooked shoreline followed a slight curve in both directions.

Looking to the south towards Union Pier, rising eerily out of sand and water — like the broken ribs of a beached, long dead prehistoric monster— were the hazy remnants of the old, burnt pier that, so rumor has it, was the result of a 1920’s gun battle between federal agents and a gang of Al Capon’s bootleggers.

Walking in the opposite direction, the girls passed a group of teenage boys who were—what else?—looking for girls. But passing this group of spindly legged, flat chested girls the boys did not venture even a cursory backward glance… ‘this’ year.

Approaching ‘their spot’ the girls saw that there were adults with young children, some kids their age they didn’t know, and…

“Hey!” Starting to run. “ ‘Hey’!” Marsha’s blanket and towel trailing behind. “ ‘Shelly’!” Small geysers of hot sand thrown up by the motion of her feet stinging the backs of her calves, “Shelly, hi!”

Hearing her name called, a plump, sunburned girl with frizzy red hair looked up. Shading her eyes with the palm of her hand, “Marcie!” Bounding off her blanket. Running to each other the two girls embraced for a moment then, in a high pitched, animated conversation, walked back to Shelly’s blanket.

Over the entire beach, blankets were spread on patches of sand that became each person’s, or group’s, territory. ‘ ‘Their’ private spot. And unless some adult or another kid unknowingly trespassed, that was precisely where that person or group could be found on any beach day.

Vacation had officially begun.

But then, on Sunday evening…

“Don’t look so sad! Mother and I’ll be back on Friday. I’ll see you Friday evening! Okay?” Tilting her head upward, “Okay, baby?” Kissing her forehead, Eli got into the back seat.

Hugging Roger, Rhea kissed his cheek.

Turning away as Marsha approached leaving the girl standing awkwardly by herself.

Stepping into the car, sitting alongside her husband Rhea slammed the door shut then leaning her head through the window, blowing a kiss, “Bye, Marsha.”

Starting the car, Harry Rafkin reversed out of the cove...

Putting his arm out the window, he waved to his family then shifted to first and stepped lightly on the accelerator.

As the Cadillac pulled out of the cove and turned to the left, poking her head through the window again, “Bye, kids, I’ll see you on Friday!” Rhea threw a kiss in the direction of her two children.

Stuffing his hands in his pockets, Roger turned away and letting the screen door slam shut, walked into the cottage.

Wisps of brown dust thrown by the car’s wheels still floating on air, looking to where ir had been, Marsha listened to the lowering pitch of the sound of the car’s motor. As the car’s gears went from low to high, the sound became faint… then disappeared.

Slamming screen doors reverberated as children and ‘their’ mothers went into cottages together.

She was once again alone.

Five months from her eighth birthday, Marsha Goldman was tall for her age; tall and thin. Showing little muscle tone, Marsha’s calves, thighs, buttocks and stomach were straight, starting and ending with only the slightest protuberance. Marsha had short cut, tightly curled black hair and dark brown expressive eyes. Her mouth was small and her nose, a gift from her father, had a slight hook and was, for a child, a bit longer than best suited for her oval shaped face. A gift from her mother, Marsha had a smooth, olive complexion that—even with but one weekend in the sun—was showing the beginnings of a deep, golden tan.

Sighing. Fighting tears. Turning from the lost sight and sound of the automobile, slowly walking up the four wooden steps— also allowing the screen door to slam shut— Marsha went through the screened porch into the cottage.

At the kitchen sink Roger was spreading thick layers of jelly and peanut butter onto two slices of ‘Silvercup’ bread.

Scrapping a straight backed wooden chair across the linoleum covered floor— sitting at the red and white checkered oilclothe covered table— Marsha waited as her brother poured a glass of milk, put the milk and jelly back into the refrigerator, slammed the door shut with his behind and sat across from her.

“Roge, why’s mother hate me so much?”

Her left elbow on the table, her chin resting in the palm of her hand, looking intently at her brother the girl awaited his answer.

Biting into the gloppy sandwich. Deliberately chewing noisily and slowly, Roger washed it down with a large gulp of milk before answering: “She doesn’t hate you, Marsha. Mother ‘loooves’ you!”

The sarcasm lost on his sister. “How can you say that, Roge? She ‘hates’ me! The only time she ever even talks to me is when she’s hollering, and she never touches me or kisses me or nothin’!”

“Oh, yeah! How’s ‘bout just last night, then?”

Marsha thought back.

They had dinner at the Rafkin’s. Afterwards the families sat in the living room talking. Uncle Stan on the sofa and leaning against the sofa, Aunt Ida sat on the carpeted floor between his legs. Stan and Ida’s daughter, Maxine, was sitting between her mother’s outstretched legs as Ida brushed her daughter’s long, light blonde hair.

On the floor also, her back against the easy chair that Eli sat on, moking, Rhea held a large glass ashtray on her lap.

Lying on her stomach on the floor alongside her mother, suddenly, for one fleeting joyful moment, Marsha felt the touch of her mother’s hand in her hair… Then, Roger coming in the room — as though caught in the act of doing something to be ashamed of — as though caught within the embrace of one of her lovers, Rhea hastily jerked her hand away. It had happened so quickly that Marsha was not sure it had happened at all. And if it did, if Roger had even seen it.

“You mean in Aunt Sadie’s living room?”

“Yeah! She was touchin’ you then!”

“How can you say that, Roge? She was only trying to show Aunt Sadie and Aunt Ida that once in a while even she can be a mother, too. And it’s the only time that I can remember her ever touching me without pulling my hair or hitting me or pinching me!”

“Look, I don’t wanna talk ‘bout this no more an’ ...”

Actually Roger was glad when his parents left them alone because then he was able to eat what he wanted and was able to come and go as he wanted… and was able to do whatever he wanted to his sister.

“...I gotta get goin’!”

Standing, leaving his glass, dish and napkin on the table. Jerking his thumb in the direction of the sink and open bottles of peanut butter and jelly that he’d left.

“I’m gonna meet the guys over at the Palladium, so how’s ‘bout cleanin’ this up for me!” Spoken not as a question, but a demand.

“Roge, wait!” Marsha hesitated, considered, then, “I wanna ask you somethin’ ‘bout somethin’.”

“Yeah, okay, but...” looking at his watch, “...make it fast!”

Marsha had wanted to talk to her brother about this for some time, but had been afraid. Hesitating again, wondering— now that she had the opportunity— if she should say anything at all.

“So?”

“Roge…” faltering, “you know mother, uh, mother sometimes does bad things with other men…”

In the past thinking she ‘had’ to know!

Nonetheless embarrassed that his sister did know and was even speaking of it as though if not speaking of it, it didn’t exist.

Embarrassed that ‘anyone’ knew about his mother!

Consumed with guilt over his erotic— near nightly masturbatory ‘maternal’ sexual fantasy when he lay nude with his own mother...

Roger simultaneously seized the back of a chair with one hand and flung it across the kitchen as he slapped her face with his other hand causing the frightened girl’s head to fall from the palm of her hand.’

Twisting his fingers tightly in Marsha’s hair, Roger jerked upward then pushed downward, smashing his seven year old sister’s forehead hard onto the table.

“Don’t’ch’ya ever, ‘ever’ say that to me…” twisting her hair in his fist so Marsha’s neck wrenched and her face turned upward. “…or ‘anyone’! Ever! Don’t’ch’ya ever!” Yanking her hair, the upward pressure pulling Marsha’s eyes open, forced her off the chair onto her feet.

“If you ‘ever’ tell anyone maybe dad’ll kill her…” shaking the little girl’s head by her hair, his spittle spraying her face, “...or maybe they’ll get a divorce like Myron’s ma’n’pa; an’ if they do you’n’me’ll be alone an’ I’ll give you away to gypsies an’ you’ll never see no one you know again!”

Aware of Marsha’s love for their father, Roger added, “An’ especially you’ll ‘never’, ‘never’ get to see your daddy again ‘cause he’ll hate you for tellin’! An’ it’ll all be your fault! ‘Hear me’?” Shaking her head by her hair. “You ‘understand’ what I’m tellin’ you? You ‘understand’?”

In pain! “ ‘Yes’!” Terrified, she tried to nod her head. But her hair held so tightly she could barely move it.

“Roger, please! You’re hurting me! ‘Please’ let me go! I ‘promise’ I won’t never say ‘anything’ to ‘anyone’! Please let me go! ‘Please’!”

Breathing harshly, Roger opened his fist and Marsha slumped onto the chair.

“Just you remember!” Holding his clenched fist under her nose. “Don’t’ch’ya tell no one! ‘Never’!”

Crying tears of sadness, pain, and fear. “Roger, I’ve known ‘bout mother and other men since I was little and I never told no one and I’d ‘never’ tell daddy ‘cause it would make him feel so bad knowing mother doesn’t love him.”

“Well, it don’t mean she don’t love him, it just means she’s…” Having no idea how to explain his thoughts regarding their mother, Roger stopped speaking, went into the bedroom he shared with his sister and returned a moment later wearing his ‘White Sox’ baseball jacket... “Look, I ‘don’t wanna talk ‘bout this no more.” Adding threateningly. “ ‘ever’! ‘Understand’?”

Slightly nodding her head. “yes.”

An’ I’m late now and goin’ an’ ‘don’t’ know when I’ll be back.” Starting out the cottage door, turning back and once again shaking a fist. “If you ‘ever’ ay a word…”

Her eyes focused on the menacing fist, Marsha said nothing but the fear on her face telling Roger all he had to know.

Turning away — his heavy footsteps echoing in the cinder-block raised cottage— Roger angrily slammed the screen door behind him.

Sitting perfectly still trying to overcome the outburst of her brother’s anger and the fear he’d instilled in her. Although her eyes were focused on some distant point far beyond the closed screen door, the peripheral vision of Marsha’s mind saw only the absolute emptiness of the small cottage.

In a while— rubbing the beginning bump on her forehead— rising from the table she went to the refrigerator and made a thinly spread peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Placing the sandwich on a paper towel the little girl poured half a glass of milk and—having been warned. Knowing how fast ants can come from nowhere— putting the milk, jelly and peanut butter away Marsha then cleared her brother’s glass, plate and napkin from the table, washed and dried them, then wiped the table, sink and counter with a soapy dishcloth.

Turning the radio on, Marsh went to the screened porch where she sat on a canvas lawn-chair with the half glass of milk at her feet and the sandwich upon her lap, that she picked at with her fingertips.

‘Amos’n’Andy’ was on the radio…

Sitting in the— by then semi-darkness of the screened porch looking directly across the cove through the screened porch of the ‘Field’ cottage Marsha Goldman did not notice nor hear ‘Amos’n’Andy’…

What she did hear and see though was laughter and the little girl watched enviously as Leni and her mother sat at the table in their brightly lit kitchen playing checkers.

Next FBOW excerpt in sequence: Down The Gangplank