Бетти Смит - Maggie-Now

But, he told her, he might be able to make it Friday night if that was all right with her. She told him that would be fine. And she thought: He's trying to let me doyen easy. I know I'll never see him again.

"Good night," he said.

"Good-by," she whispered. She turtled and w ent into the house.

filer father Noms standing by the No. indo\v. He let the curtain fall back into place when she came in.

lVlaggie-Now knew he'd seen them together and she was dully surprised that he hadn't come out and made a fuss.

"I seen him! I seen hint," said Pat exultantly, "the little bit of a man what you think is in love with you."

"Oh, Papa," she cried out, "he isn't, he isn't. No one is in love with me."

He felt her despair and was jubilant, thinking it was all over her friendship with the man. Perversely, however, he was indignant that the man wasn't; in love with her.

"He's not worth your little finger," he said.

She 10017ed at him, waiting for the quick retort to come into her mind. It didn't come. She said: "I'll get you up early tomorrow so you can go to six o'clock Mass before work."

~ ~o8 1 "What f or? "

"Because tomorrow's Holy Thursday."

"It's enough to go on Sunday," he mumbled. "Once in a while," he added.

"I'll get you up early for Mass," she said. She went into her room and he heard a sound he'd never heard before:

the key turning in the lock of her door.

Why alla' she go and do that for, he mused, just because I didn't say right away I'd go to Mass? Just for that, I won't go.

Sadly, Maggie-Now prepared for bed, convinced that she'd never see Claude again. I should have been more careful, she thought, watched myself more and not told him everything about myself and I shouldn't have shower so plain how much I liked him.

After all, what do I know about him? Nothing, come to think of it. And the things I told him about me!

And all the wonderful things he said to me the first two nights! And tonight, nothing. He never said a word about my dress or noticed that I'd washed my hair or even, she swallowed a sob, how I smelled! That's how I know it's all over.

Ah, well, no use being a fool, she thought as she turned out the light. Like Papa said, he's not the only pebble on the beach. He's not the only man in the world. She sat up suddenly in the dark. But he is! I'o me, he's the only man in the world and I want him no matter what! If I can't have him, I don't want anyone else.

She couldn't get Pat up the next morning to go to Mass.

He said his back hurt. She and Denny went to the eight o'clock Mass. When Pat came home that night, he noticed with relief that there were no wet towels, no steamy bathroom or scent of soap and powder. And she had cooked his favorite supper: breaded veal cutlets, mashed potatoes, stewed tomatoes thickened with a slice of rye bread, and an open-faced apple cake from the baker's.

Also the coffee was good and strong the way he liked it.

Ah, the good girl, thought Pat. She's making it up to me the way she tormented me by going out with that feller. Sure and she had a fight with the little man and sensible girl what she is, she gave him the gate. Now she's glad she's got a father to fall back on.

He had a feeling of well-being. It made him generous.

"Have another piece of cake, Denny," he said.

[209]

— ou took the last piece already,!' said Delmy.

Pat shoved his piece of cake over to Denny. "Have it, do,'' he said. "I ain't touched it yet." He turned to Maggie-Now. "Girl. dear, being's tomorrow is Good Friday, I'll go to Mass."

"I'll try to get you up early," she said without interest.

'~You don't need to. I'll go to the eight o'clock with you and Denny."

"You'll be late for work."

"Half an hour. I'll make it up Saturday afternoon. The way I look at it," he said, "a family should stick together;

go to church together."

"Ah, Papa! " she said, and gave him her wide smile.

GOOD FRIDAY was alway s a somber day, but the Good Friday of April 6, 19~7, was more somber than usual. The morning papers carried the news that the House of Representatives had finished the ratification and formal declaration of war with Germany was expected hourly.

The church was crow deaf for the eight o'clock Mass.

Workingmen stood in the back: the letter carrier, bag slung over shoulder, pausing in his rounds to attend Mass;

the uniformed cop deserting his beat for ten minutes; Pat among them in his street cleaner's uniform, and others.

Few missed Mass that Good Friday.

After lunch, Maggie-Now took Denny shopping with her to buy the fish and vegetables for supper and the huckleberry pie; and dye and eggs for colored Easter eggs.

The streets seemed unusually crowded and people moved about slowly or stood silently in groups as though waiting for something to happen. She heard one man ask another what had happened.

The man said: "They say we're in the war." He shrugged.

[210] "But I don't know. You hear all kinds of things nowadays."

Within the hour, the extras were on the streets. The word "War" was in black letters six inches high.

"War!" read Denny, proud that that was another three-letter word he could read.

There it was. President Wilson had signed the declaration of war at 1:13 P.M., Good Friday, April 6, 1917. The President had made a statement: "America has found herself."

The people of the neighborhood were one with each other as they were always when there was a blizzard or a great fire, a child raped and murdered by a fiend in the neighborhood or some other great catastrophe. People spoke to each other without formality or preamble.

"War is terrible," said a woman, a stranger to Maggie-Now.

"Yes," agreed Maggie-Now.

"But it's more terrible when it starts on our Lord's Day, Good Friday. And the time one-thirteen. That's unlucky and it makes it more terrible."

"War by itself," said another stranger, "is terrible, no matter what."

Maggie-Now and the first woman agreed.

Later in the afternoon, there was proof positive that America was at war. The kids in the street had already invented a war game. Maggie-Now and Denny watched from the front window. Three boys, about Denny's age, had their sawed-off-broomstick shinny sticks aimed at the enemy. They stood in a row. The "enemy" was a little kid of three, his sodden, baby-wet diaper hanging out the legs of his manly little pants. They had placed an upside-down white enameled child's chamber pot on his head for a Hun's helmet.

"Bang, bang, bang," they shouted. The little kid stood there, bewildered.

"You're supposed to be dead," yelled a kid.

"Fall down, you Goddamn bologna," said another kid.

And the little kid stood there and cried and baby-wet his diaper some more.

"Can I go out and play? " asked Dennis.

"No!" said Maggie-Now.

"Why? "

t211]

'Because I say so," she said sharply.

"Why do you say so?"

"Because," she said more gently, "this is the day our Lord died and it's not right to play such games on this day." She pulled down the shades.

Pat was relieved that night when he came home from work (full of theories about the war which he was anxious to give voice to) to smell fish frying. She wasn't going out, then!

For no woman in her right mind, he thought, would K