A FBOW excerpt in sequence: Mixed Blood

Bensonhurst, New York

July 30, 1956

Leaning across the seat, “Hi, baby,” he opened the door.

Sitting. “Hi!” Kissing briefly. “So,” Marsha asked, “how was your day?”

“Well, it started out kind’a shitty.” Glancing in the rear view mirror, he pulled away from the curb. “Because I’m not such a hot typist, I got shipped from the office to a place ‘way’ back called the Addressograph room.”

“Oh! And does this bother you?”

“Yeah, it did. At first a lot. But there’s this other… uh, ‘really’ interesting guy there about my age by the name of ‘Ruby Meyers’.”

“ ‘Meyers’! He Jewish?”

“He’s, uh…”—deciding—“Yeah, he is. We hit it off pretty good and it looks like him’n’me could really be friends.”

Marsha knew that although her husband had spoken jokingly about the men in the office not shooting paper clips or rubber bands at him, he ‘was’ upset over the lack of friendship there. However, “ ‘Ruby’?” Marsha questioned the unlikely first name— at least for a man.

“He’s from ‘Baltimore’...” — as though that explained the name— “...and lives in Brooklyn because his girlfriend lives there. I’m going to be giving him a lift to the office and home every day, and thought that maybe him and Sherry—that’s his girlfriend—maybe they can come over for dinner Saturday evening then we can stay home and talk, or go to a movie.”

“ ‘Mitchell’!”

“I ‘know’!” Patting her inner thigh. “I told him I’d check with you first.”

“You’re learning.”

“So, is it okay?”

Figuring she could use a friend, too. Also, since being married last December this would be the first opportunity to entertain in her own home. “ ‘Saturday’? Actually excited at the thought. “Sure! What should I make?” Adding, “That I ‘can’ make.”

“Let’s keep it simple.” Remembering Ruby had said that he was kosher…That he was ‘kind’ of kosher. Also knowing that his wife was not—to say the least— much of a cook. “How’s about baked chicken, mashed potatoes, peas and salad.”

Thinking a moment. ‘Baked chicken and mashed potatoes’. “Yeah...” Marsha said, “...I can make that!”

Seagate, New York —

August 4, 1956

Turning the flame beneath the pan of boiling peas off. Stirring a melting chunk of butter in the mashed potatoes then putting the wooden spoon in the sink, Marsha went to stand beside her husband as he opened the door.

As her husband opened the door, Marsha’s eyes…

“Ruby, hi!” Shaking hands, “Come on in.”

“Mitch,” looking from Mitchell to Marsha, “this is my fiancee, Sherry.”

“Hi, Sherry.” Shaking her hand. “I’m glad to meet you.” Standing aside. “This is my wife, Marsha.”

Marsha’s eyes widening. “Uh...” her mouth opening. Swallowing nervously Marsha shot a glance at her husband, then attempting to regain some semblance of composure, held her hand forward to the tall and—by any standard—beautiful Negro girl standing alongside her husband’s new ‘interesting Jewish friend’, Rubidoux Meyers, whom she recognised as not ‘exactly’ white but also not exactly ‘colored’ either, “…Hi!”

“Marcie,” closing the door, “this is Ruby and Sherry.”

Returning the handshake, “Hello, Marsha,” Sherry said in a soft, but nervous tone of voice. “It’s so nice of you to invite us here.”

Noting the— not unexpected — surprised look on her face. “Hi, Marsha,” Ruby said. “You’re just as pretty as Mitch here said you were.” Then, “For desert,” handing her a pink, cardboard box containing a bakery made chocolate cake.

“He didn’t tell you about me… ‘us’, did he?”

“Oh, ‘sure’!” Marsha punched Mitchell— not too softly on the shoulder. “He told me you were from Baltimore and a, uh…” trying to think of his exact words, “…an interesting Jewish guy about his age.”

“Well, that’s all true . I am Jewish. I am about his age and just by looking at me you ‘do’ know that if nothing else, I certainly ‘do’ look interesting.”

Having been given ‘not’ the slightest hint that the couple entering her home would be ‘colored’… Well, one of the two, ‘colored’.

Her husband’s omission ‘not’ allowing her to be made aware of and prepare for, a flash of anger as a gleam of distant lightening charged her humanistic sensibilities, but as that gleam of far off lightening, the flash of anger dissipated just as quickly.

Looking from Ruby to Sherry, thinking, Our first guests. “Come on...” Marsha said in a ‘sincerely’ welcoming tone, “...sit down.” Leading Sherry and Ruby to the sofa.

Both women looking for ‘words’:

“Welcome to our little...” looking directly at Sherry, “... and I ‘do’ mean ‘welcome’, and I do mean our ‘little’ home.”

Looking about the one room apartment. “It may be small...” said sincerely, “... but it’s beautiful. Did you do the decorating?”

“Thank you… But no, I didn’t decorate it. I was in Chicago until we were married and, believe it or not...” jerking her thumb over her shoulder, in the direction of Mitchell, “...Ding Dong did it.

“You know, Mitch, you ‘really’ should have told Marsha who we are!”

“Hey, Ruby! After our discussion on the way to the garage the other day, I’ve decided that I am no longer going to think of you as white… uh,..” Looking at him. Correcting himself, “...I’m no longer thinking of you as white or black, and if Sherry will allow me; and knowing her, I know Marsha also, we’d just like to think of you both as ‘friends’.”

****

Introductory, getting to know each other as ‘couples’ conversation— though a bit strained at first— however now speaking as ‘friends’ and as friends also now having ‘broken bread’ for the first time...

Extremely pleased that her first foray into the preparation of a meal other than merely for her husband and herself apparently turned out so well... At least so said Sherry, Ruby and her husband — However what else could her husband say other than…

“ ‘Great’ dinner, baby!”

****

Dinner through, on either end of the sofa, their shoes off Sherry and Marsha each sat with one leg folded beneath the other. Their shoes off, too, sitting on the floor Ruby

and Mitchell had their backs against the sofa. Her hand on his head, Sherry’s fingers were entwined in Ruby’s longer than regulation, near platinum colored hair. Her left hand over his shoulder, Mitchell and Marsha held hands. All four held cordial glasses of liqueur.

“It’s really unbelievable! Even now, in 1956! Even in the north! And it drives papa crazy!”

“I never thought about it before, Ruby. But is it ‘really’ the same? From white people and, uh…”

“Mitchell, ‘blood is blood’! It doesn’t matter if it’s from a white person or a shvartzer! B-Positive ‘is’ B-positive! And lately, according to papa, hospitals are all short of it and mostly the only blood they have in good supply for transfusions comes from shvartzers.

It happens all the time in papa’s hospital: They’ll bring a bleeding accident victim in and he or she won’t have an address or phone number on them, or the hospital can’t reach anyone in time to get permission and the person ‘could have been saved’! But they ‘won’t’ use the blood of a shvartzer on a white person without… not ‘just’ permission, but ‘written’ permission—even if that person’s dying. And it drives my father absolutely ‘fucking’ crazy!” Looking at Marsha. “Sorry for the profanity.”

The infusion and mixing of Caucasian with Negro blood a concept neither had thought of and actually did not know ‘what’ to think of... So not sure how to respond to Ruby’s impassioned discourse, Marsha and Mitchell sat quietly for a prolonged moment…

Breaking the suddenly depressive mood… “Oh, no! It’s okay!” Returning to Ruby’s statement. “Be as ‘profane as you want. I don’t mind because your friend here...” yanking genteelly on Mitchell’s hair, “...taught me how to swear.”

“He ‘taught’ you?” Sherry questioned, looking at Mitchell who shrugged his shoulders.

Giggling, “You ‘didn’t’ know how to swear?”

“No, Sherry… ‘Really’, Marsha would ‘never’ say ‘any’ swear words and told me that she just ‘couldn’t’ swear.”

Catching the humor of this conversation. “Marcy, everyone knows how to swear!”

“No, Ruby.. Well yes, she knew the words but would never say the words until I...” said proudly, thumbing his chest “...taught her. Now she can say anything! Right, baby?”

Comically rolling her eyes, Marsha also shrugged her shoulders.

Go ahead, baby, say something dirty,”

“No.”

“Come on, baby. Show our guests what a good teacher I am.”

“Yeah!” Sighing. “How’s ‘bout some more fuckin’ booze?”

“Woman to woman...” Sherry said, “… I knew you could do it!”

Glad Marsha had changed the subject.

Pulling the cork on the bottle of liqueur he refilled Ruby’s glass and added a bit to Marsha’s, Sherry’s and his own glass.

****

Living throughout their lives in ‘white’ neighbourhoods, Marsha as Mitchell had never harboured prejudices. But unlike her husband, Marsha had not experienced living on the west side of Chicago when the change from Caucasian to Negro had occurred. Also, she had never met a ‘Junior Johnson’ and his friends and hadn’t the opportunity to realise, as Mitchell had thought, ‘they’re kids, just like us, only with brown skin’.

Also, Marsha hadn’t the experience of three years in the military to meet and learn that some Negros, like some white people, you liked and others you didn’t.

Never having Negros in her home before. Or for that matter never being in anyone else's home with a Negro unless a maid.

****

Afraid of offending her company, earlier in the evening Marsha— as Sherry— had carefully weighed each word she’d spoken. But now, unused to alcohol of any type. Working on her re-filled cordial glass of 100 proof liqueur. Listening to Ruby and having become completely relaxed with her two guests, “Ruby...” she asked, “...how come you use the word ‘shvartzer’ instead of ‘colored’ or ‘Negro’?”

Wondering the same thing he’d chosen not to ask because, familiar with the Yiddish—actually German— word ‘shvartzer’, Mitchell found it an easier word to use when conversing with Ruby.

Taking a last sip of liqueur, motioning with his glass, “Thanks, Mitch.” It was refilled.

“Marcie...” his head turned to the side looking at her, “...I, as I’m sure we all do, ‘hate’ the word ‘nigger and nigger is derivative slang of Negro. And the word ‘colored’ sounds to me like they’re talking down to me—like colored is the word they use when they don’t want to admit that there are two other races in the world ‘besides’ the white race and yet they don’t want to be ‘so’ crass as to use the word nigger. Especially...” slurring his words , “... in my case just what color is ‘colored’?… So I guess that leaves only one word and that word, for me, says it so perfectly: ‘shvartz’ is German for ‘black’ so ‘shvartzer’ is a person that is black. And even thought I’m really... ‘really’ white...” lifting his free hand, rotating his wrist, “I am ‘really’ black.”

“That makes sense.” Her words slurred also. “I guess.” Marsha added.

“Yeah, Marcie, I think it does. So until someone comes up with something better to call us… Although ‘Black American’ would be just ‘fine’ with me. But until then I’m going to keep calling us shvartzers.” Turning about, getting onto his knees he kissed Sherry on the mouth. “Okay with you, my love?”

Responding. Draping both arms over his shoulders. “Sure, my ‘honey-boy’. Whatever you call yourself is okay with me.” Kissing his forehead. “So long as you ‘always’ call me ‘your love’.”

“Hey!” Standing a bit wobbly. “Who’s ready for coffee and some of that ‘great’ looking chocolate cake?”

“ ‘Me’!”

“Yeah, Mitchie...” going to the kitchen, “...somehow I knew you’d be wanting cake!” Marsha began to put cups and saucers onto the table.

Getting onto his feet. Feeling a bit wobbly. “Oh, yeah...” Ruby said, “...I ‘sure’ could use a cup of coffee.”

Following, “I’ll give you a hand,” Sherry began pouring coffee from the electric percolator.

****

Quietly thoughtful a minute or so…

“Having you here tonight,” looking at Sherry, “reminded me of something I haven’t thought of in years. Something that happened when I was, oh… ten or eleven.”

Taking a sip of coffee, Marsha put the cup down.

“My parents and aunts own small summer cottages in a little place called ‘Lakeside’ in Michigan. One summer my cousin and myself went to summer school in ‘Benton Harbor’, which is about twelve miles away and we were picked up and brought back by a school bus.

“One day two friends, kids from school, twins, a brother and sister that lived on the other side of the highway not too far from us came home with us… My mother and father always stayed in Chicago during the week and came to the country on week- ends.

“So it was only my older brother, ‘Roger’ and me in our cottage, and because I knew he’d be at the beach and we’d have the cottage all to ourselves. That day after school we had a party there with—here it’s ‘soda’, but in the mid-west it’s called ‘pop’—so we had a party the cottage with pop and cookies and potato chips.”

Taking another sip of coffee, now looking at Ruby.

“We were playing a game someone thought up. We put all kinds of clothing in a pillowcase and the kid that was ‘it’ would take something from the pillowcase, put it on over their clothes and act out some kind of a charade. It was very funny and we were having a really good time and I guess we were making a whole lot of noise because…”

Stopping, thinking a moment. “You know...” Marsha said more to herself than to those at the table, “...one of my favourite people always used to be my Aunt Ida. I could never remember why… Not until ‘now’ why she stopped being my favourite aunt. Anyway...” bringing her focus back to the three at the table, “...I guess the four of us were making a lot of noise and Aunt Ida came in.” Stopping again. “You know what, Mitch? I think she ‘had’ to be drunk! The thought never occurred to me before, but thinking about it, now I’m ‘sure’ of it!

“At the time it didn’t make any sense to me or to her ‘own’ daughter or certainly the other two kids who didn’t know her. But when you’re a kid lots of things adults do don’t make sense. Anyway, Aunt Ida came into the cottage screaming and when she saw the twins she absolutely had a fit and started yelling at me: ‘What are ‘they’ doing here? Why are ‘they’ here? Get ‘them’ out of here’!... I’d ‘never’ been so embarrassed in my whole life!”

“Let me guess: the twins were shvartzers.”

Looking at Ruby. “Yes...” Marsha said, “...they were. The next day on the bus my cousin and me tried talking to the twins but they ignored us. We kept trying to make up but they wouldn’t talk to us no matter what we said and pretty soon we got mad at them for not understanding that it wasn’t our fault and by the end of that day we stopped trying altogether.”

Looking down at her lap. “And that was the very last time I ever tried being friendly with…”

“A shvartzer.”

Lifting her head. “Yes.” Looking directly into Ruby’s green eyes, reaching across the table Marsha took hold of his and Sherry’s hands. “I’m sorry about that and I’m glad to know both of you and am ‘truly’ happy to have you here.”

Squeezing her hand. “Marsha, you’re a ‘mensch’ and we’re glad to know you, too.”

“ ‘Mensch’?”

“Sherry...” Ruby explained, “... ‘mensch’ means a person of ‘good feelings’. A mensch is someone who ‘does’, or ‘tries’ to do the right thing.”

****

Said in the darkness, “You know, you ‘really’ should have told me!”

But he hadn’t.

He’d wanted to see Marsha’s reaction to Ruby and now that he had…

“Come on!”

In a lilting tone of voice. “Nope!”

“You had a good time, didn’t you?”

“Yup.”

Pleadingly. “ ‘Come on’!”

Good naturedly. “Nope.”

Questioningly. “You liked them, didn’t you?”

“Yup.”

Moving to her side of the bed, nuzzling her breast. “So…?”

Turning onto her stomach, becoming unmuzzled. Though she really ‘did’ want to, “I don’t want to!”

August 5, 1956

Awakening while it was still dark. Going to the bathroom, he urinated. Lying down again. Glancing at the luminous face of the clock, thinking, I’m going to have to get up in an hour. He remembered this day was Sunday and that he and Marsha were planning on driving to Manhattan to see Judy Garland in person at the ‘Paramount theatre’...

In a few minutes he fell asleep again.

10:23 AM.

The drapes still pulled, the room in subdued shades of daylight, the flushing of the toilet woke him.

Having slept nude: Stretching, he sensuously ran his hands over his chest and stomach, then rubbed the hard shaft of his urine swelled erection between the palms of his hands causing a deliciously warm friction.

Aware of the sequence of Marsha’s bathroom habits…

Knowing she would not be out for at least another five minutes. Throwing the summer quilt off he went to the kitchen and— not wanting to splash water on the floor— stuffed his upright penis between his thighs so he might get right up against the sink, Mitchell washed his face with dish soap.

Rarely sleeping later then she did. Hearing Mitchell move about and the sound of running water in the kitchen. “Mitchie, hi!” she called through the closed door. “Did I wake you?”

When they’d gone to bed the night before, Mitchell wasn’t sure if Marsha was ‘really’ angry at him for not telling her about Ruby and Sherry before they’d arrived.

He’d learned that if not sure of his wife’s anger it was best to leave her alone and not knowing if she was angry, ‘if’ she was would she still be angry this morning.

True, Marsha had refused his sexual advances last night, but he ‘always’ made sexual advances and she often refused…

Even if she was not angry at him.

This morning the wife was ‘not’ angry at the husband…

Not at all!

As for ‘Judy Garland’?

Next FBOW excerpt in sequence: "A Very Memorable Day"