Evan Hunter - Streets of Gold

I am losing them.

When they were infants, I held them in my arms at night, each and separately, and fed them their bottles and learned to change their diapers, though I was fearful at first of the safety pins. I bent over their cribs, and sniffed the sweet aroma of their baby smells, and powdered their bottoms, and listened to them giggling in wonder or surprise at each new discovery they made, and told them each and separately, over and over again, “I love you.”

I love them still.

But they are becoming men too soon.

At least once a month, and sometimes twice, Immigrant America came into our Wasp America living room in Talmadge. There was always good reason for these get-togethers. My mother’s birthday was October first, and mine was the fifteenth. Honest Abe’s birthday was in November. December meant Christmas. Sophie’s birthday was in January, Michael celebrated his in February. March was sometimes Passover and Easter both. Rebecca had been born in April and so had David (we had planned to name him April, if he’d been a girl). Mother’s Day came in May, and Father’s Day in June, and July 7 was my grandfather’s birthday, and August was Davina’s (we never celebrated Sett’s, fuck him), and Andrew had been born in September, and on my block that added up to a full year of family reunions, such as they were.

Rebecca despised them.

STELLA: He doesn’t have a xylophone in the band.

JIMMY: I couldn’t think of a word starting with X, Stella.

STELLA: Still, it don’t make sense if that isn’t what he has in his band, Ike, do you remember Goomah Katie in Newark, New Jersey? Her grandson got appointed principal of a high school.

SETH: You should get yourself a new tax lawyer, Ike. There are new gimmicks coming up every day, of the week, and that kahker you’ve got working for you is straight out of Charles Dickens. You know those jazz books you wrote? Did you know you can donate the manuscripts to a university library and get a big deduction?

DAVINA: Let me tell you what happened Friday. I got on the subway at Fifty-ninth and Lex, and this little Puerto Rican started, well, feeling me up, and I. . .

SOPHIE: You should have slapped his face for him!

DAVINA: No, what I did was reach behind me and take his hand in mine. I held it all the way downtown.

ABE: He probably thought you were falling in love with him, darling.

DAVINA: At least it stopped him.

JIMMY: Anyone want to play cards? Abe? Some poker?

SOPHIE: It’s chilly in here. Do you find it chilly in here?

ABE: Well, frankly, Ike, I don’t know what Becky’s so upset about. I figured with Sophie dead, may she rest in peace, if anything should happen to me...

ME: I understand that, Pop. But Davina says you drew up a new will, is that right?

ABE: That’s right.

ME: And you’ve left everything to her.

ABE: Well, yes. What’s the matter with that? Seth isn’t a millionaire, you know. I figure you’ve taken good care of Becky, chas vesholem anything should happen to you. And I know you’ve got trust funds set up for the kids...

ME: Pop, that isn’t the point.

ABE: Then what’s the point? I think I’m missing the point.

ME: The point is you’re hurting Rebecca.

ABE: You’re making this up.

ME: Why would I make it up?

ABE: How do I know? Maybe you want the money.

ME: Pop, you can shove the money up your ass, for all I care. I’m talking about the fact that you have two daughters, and you’re hurting one of them by leaving everything you’ve got to the other one, to Davina.

ABE: Davina should have kept her mouth shut. I told her in private, and now she’s causing trouble.

ME: Pop, you’re the one causing trouble. Why don’t you change the will?

ABE: If it means that much to Becky, I’ll change it already. I don’t know why it should mean so much to her. She’s got plenty. You got plenty, the two of you together.

ME: Shall I tell her you’ll change it?

ABE: It’s not even that much money. What do you think it is, a fortune? It’s a couple of thousand dollars, that’s all.

ME: Shall I tell her?

ABE: Tell her, tell her.

ME: When will you change it?

ABE: I’ll get around to it.

JIMMY: Seth? Some cards? A little pinochle?

STELLA: Never you mind ! This is Mother’s Day. The men are supposed to do the dishes. Am I right, Rebecca?

DAVINA: Where’s Harriet today? Did you give her the day off?

STELLA: Certainly. Harriet’s a mother, too, right, Rebecca? We’re all entitled to the day off.

SETH: Davina’s not a mother. Let her do the dishes. Like Jimmy said in the poem.

JIMMY: Well, what’s new, Ike? Anything new? Any new records or anything?

GRANDPA: Ike, play something for us. Come on, give us a little tune on the piano. You never play for just the family no more.

ME: Grandpa?

GRANDPA: Sì, Ignazio?

ME: Are you all right?

GRANDPA: Sì.

ME: Grandpa?

GRANDPA: That was nice of your father. To mention Tessie. In the poem.

SETH: What is it? Is the old man crying?

DAVINA: Rebecca, have you got a minute?

REBECCA: Sure. What’s the matter?

DAVINA: Come upstairs, okay?

JIMMY: Seth? Some cards? Stella, I put a new deck of cards in your purse.

STELLA: He’s crippled, your father. Get them yourself!

REBECCA: What is it?

DAVINA: Why didn’t you invite Daddy here today?

REBECCA: I did invite him.

DAVINA: But you told him not to bring Donna.

REBECCA: I told him nothing of the sort.