Seré Halverson - The Underside of Joy

‘Which, as I recall, no one did.’ David was the one laughing nervously now. The timer went off, and he called out, ‘Saved by the bell! Snickerdoodles for everyone,’ and went to pull them from the oven. He set them down on a table, poured mugs of coffee, and said, ‘Ma, Pop, sit. Ella, get busy in the kitchen.’ He placed a basket of lemons and a pitcher on the counter. ‘And we can even get a lemonade-out-of-lemons shot. Here, hold the knife.’

I took the knife from him. The lemon felt slippery in my grip. The photographers adjusted lights, changing positions, angles. Trying to make me look my best.

‘I can’t do this,’ I said.

‘Oh, my mistake.’ David handed me another knife. ‘Much sharper.’

‘No, David, I mean this. I mean pretending like everything’s lemonade and snickerdoodles when at this particular moment, it’s horrible and rotten. I mean not talking about what’s really going on, so people can see only what they want to see.’ Blaire took her pen and notebook out, clicked her tape recorder on, like we were celebrities and she was writing for the National Enquirer, as if anyone would care about our little family’s heartbreak.

‘Ella? Now? Really?’ David tilted his head.

‘Yeah. Really.’ I turned to Blaire. ‘Marcella’s right. I’m not Annie and Zach’s mother. I’m their stepmother. Their real mother just won custody of them and moved them to Las Vegas. My husband drowned. And this store? It was drowning in debt. We took a huge risk and remodelled it, and we’re trying to bring it back to life because we can’t bring him back to life. And that sign out there? Life’s a Picnic? Yeah, sometimes. Other times you’ve got to lay out your blanket in a barbed-wire internment camp.’ I pulled out Sergio’s ID and waved it. ‘Because the man who built this store? The sweet, hardworking, America-loving Italian immigrant who moved here to start a new life? They called him an “Enemy Alien” and he was sent away to an internment camp during World War II. Yep. Apparently, it wasn’t just the Japanese who were victims of that disgraceful human rights violation. But no one knows about it because no one talks about it!’

Joe Sr got up. He shook a finger at Blaire Markham. ‘You turn that thing off.’ She nodded and obeyed. He came to me with his eyes filled and reached for the ID. ‘Where did you find that?’

‘In one of the boxes way in the back of the attic at the store.’

‘I’ve never seen it before.’ He took it, sat back down, and opened it, and in doing so, seemed to open doors that had been shut for both him and Marcella for almost sixty years. They both stared at the pages, tears running down their faces.

I said, ‘He’s gone now. His story… It should be told.’

‘What do you care about this family?’ Marcella asked.

‘Marcella? This family is my family. You know that. You both do.’

They stared at me. David came up and tucked a strand of my hair behind my ear, then placed both of his hands on my shoulders. ‘Ella’s the best thing that’s happened to this family. You’ve said it yourself, Ma.’

Marcella nodded while she held her hankie to her eyes. Finally she said, ‘February 21, 1942. They took both our fathers. They took my papa in his slippers! They didn’t even let him go inside to put on his shoes.’ Now I understood their admonishment about Zach wearing his slippers.

Blaire held her pen to the paper but asked Marcella, ‘May I?’ Marcella looked at Joe Sr and said, ‘Not today. Maybe later. But I want to say this. I still remember a sign at the post office. I had just learned to read at school. It said, don’t speak the enemy language! speak american! That’s when we all had to learn English. Even at home, we stopped speaking Italian. We felt guilty.’

Joe Sr told us that more than six hundred thousand Italian immigrants were under regulations. Many of their homes were raided. ‘They had to stay within five miles of their homes and had an eight p.m. curfew. Like they were children.’ He said that thousands of Italian American coastal residents were relocated and had to find new places to live. The government said they couldn’t be trusted along our coastline. Fishermen lost their livelihood. Some of them came to Elbow.

‘Did both your fathers come home unharmed?’ Blaire asked.

‘Yes and no,’ Joe Sr said. ‘Papa returned after twenty-three months. But he had lost his bravado. He was quiet. He worked even harder than before. But he never wanted to talk about it.’

‘My papa,’ Marcella said, dabbing her already puffy eyes with her handkerchief again. ‘He carried home a heavy shame. Our family was changed for ever. He had once been so proud. Proud of Italia, proud of America. And Joe Sr and I?’ Marcella put her hand on his back and leaned towards us. ‘When we were children, the first words I spoke to him at school were’ — she lowered her voice to a whisper — ‘“Did they take your papa, too?” And he nodded. And that was it. We never talked about it, either. But it’ — she linked her fingers together — ‘it bound us together. Our secret. But now our secret is our curse.’

‘My brother,’ Joe Sr said, ‘he died in that war. A man gives his son, but he’s treated like the enemy. And you know what my father did? The Fourth of July, after he was released, he threw the biggest celebration this town had ever seen. That’s what started Elbow’s tradition. He said, “Let them try to call me an enemy. I’ll be the best goddamn patriot this country has ever seen.”’

David said, ‘You’ve gotta love that. I always thought you and Grandpa decorated for the Fourth with more flourish than any gay man ever has.’

Marcella leaned against Joe Sr, the tears and sobs taking over. ‘We’re cursed.’

He stroked her shoulder. ‘Joe Jr, and now Annie and Zach…’ Joe Sr’s voice trailed off. His eyes went moist.

I said, ‘Annie and Zach are not dead.’

He shook his head. ‘I know, honey. But they’re gone. Taken from us. They used the word custody with our fathers too, taken into custody. And now our government decides this too?’

We sat in silence. Blaire Markham stood. ‘Clearly, this was bad timing. As far as I’m concerned, everything said here was off the record. Unless’ — she looked directly at Joe Sr and Marcella — ‘you change your minds. Here’s my card if that’s the case. It’s an important story, and I hope you’ll consider telling it.’

After she and the photographers left, the four of us sat around the table, nibbling on the cookies, tired from it all but becoming more and more easy with one another. There were hugs and apologies, and I knew I had to tell them what I wanted to do.

I’d been holding a question as I’d walked my crazy labyrinth. Did the kids need Paige? My answer had come. It was yes. But I’d held another question too. Did the kids still need me, now that they had Paige? I knew that answer too. And so I said to David, ‘I don’t want to bail on you. But do you think you could cover things for a few weeks? I want to fix this. I want to go to Las Vegas.’

‘Of course I want you to bring Annie and Zach home. But Ella? Is there a chance in hell?’

‘Look.’ I turned to Marcella and Joe Sr. ‘You didn’t read her letters. She really did feel like she had to leave, that she had no choice. She didn’t want to walk out on Annie and Zach… or Joe, either. She was very ill. Her thinking was muddled. But she did what she thought was best. And then she was shut out. Shunned from her home. She couldn’t see her kids.’ I took a deep breath. ‘Not unlike your fathers.’

Joe Sr sat up. ‘Don’t you ever —’

‘Joseph. Stop. She’s right. This has all gone on long enough.’ She touched his rough cheek. ‘I just want my grandbabies back.’