Henry Roth - Mercy of a Rude Stream - The Complete Novels

“You know I’ve always put you on a pedestal.”

“Oh, pooh. You’ve seen me in every state of disarray, and some not very pretty ones. I’ve never hesitated to tell you about my distress, and I don’t think you ought to hesitate to tell me about yours. Believe me, I’m more interested in helping you at the moment than being on a pedestal. But I can’t — unless you tell me what’s wrong.” Her brown eyes never wavered from his, and as direct as her look was her tone of voice. “What is making you so unhappy? What is it?”

“Well. .” Pleats went the long way on a dress, up and down; so those must be ruffles on her tan skirt, folds that went the other way.

“I’ve turned to you on dozens of occasions,” she said.

“Yes.” Leaning sideways was like token toppling. “You’ve heard me talk about my Aunt Mamie.”

“Is she the obese one?”

“Obese is right. She can’t cross her legs. Looks like a balloon. I’ve told you about her.”

“She gives you a dollar from time to time, you’ve said.”

“Good-hearted, yeah.” Before him black kimono swam into black velvet couch cover, above them a ringed face circled. “She has a daughter named Stella. I’ve been having sexual relations with her.”

Interval of quiet, the quiet of comprehension; her eyes averted in momentary comprehension. What she knew, she would never unknow. “You never mentioned her, to my knowledge, Ira. Stella?”

“Yeah. My aunt’s oldest daughter — older daughter.” He felt the need for grammatical rigor, as if it were a support. “She has two daughters.” He knew that behind the solemn face listening so intently all the correct anticipations had been formed. “I’ve been having sex with her off and on I don’t know how long.”

“How old is she?”

“All of sixteen.”

Edith concealed surprise, only sighed very slightly.

“Anyway, I guess she’s pregnant.”

“Why? Why do you say that?”

“She hasn’t had her period — she hasn’t menstruated in five days — I mean she’s five days overdue.” The wicker creaked as he tossed himself wrathfully.

“For pity’s sake, child, five days overdue in a sixteen-year-old is nothing unusual. You can’t expect the established rhythm of a mature woman in a sixteen-year-old.”

“No? Not even five days?”

“Oh, they may skip even longer than that, an entire period. Has she been subject to any kind of stress, or emotional upset?”

“Not that I know of. She’s kind of — kind of — well, I don’t know. On the outside, what would you say? Slow.”

“She’s probably not pregnant at all. She’s not overworking?”

“She goes to business school.”

“Of course, there are blockages; something may go wrong with the organism. Only a doctor could tell.”

“So she may not be pregnant at all.”

“I wouldn’t be the least surprised if she isn’t.”

“Well, I feel better — and I feel worse.” He pushed his glasses back up. “What if it goes on seven days, eight days, nine days?”

“She’d better see a doctor. Any practitioner can tell by what’s called a dilation whether she’s pregnant or not. That’s how I found out I was.” Her very normalcy of tone, her matter-of-factness, sent her statement skimming out of plausibility: See a doctor! “Why don’t you bring her here?” Edith suggested. “I’ll take her to see Dr. Trower. He’s not an abortionist. He’s just a general practitioner, but—”

“Oh, no!” Ira groaned. “Oh, no!”

“Why, Ira? I don’t understand.”

“Bring her here!”

“Why not?”

“Oh, God! She’s a tub.”

“Don’t be a goose, Ira,” Edith rebuked sharply. “She’s an adolescent. What did you think I would expect an adolescent girl to look like? Heavens. She’s going through an entire physiological change.”

“Oh, Jesus, wait till you see her.”

“Ira!”

“Yeah. What a dumb tub.”

“Will you please be practical?”

“Yeah.”

“And exercise a little common sense?”

“I thought there was something she could take. I thought maybe you had something left over you could give me. Some drug. I thought you said something about ergo—”

“Ergot.”

“How?”

Edith spelled the word out. And then added: “It can only be had by a doctor’s prescription, and it may be too dangerous for an adolescent in any case. I don’t know. I’m not a doctor.”

“So what can she do? What’s safe? All right, tell me. What did you try? Did you go to a doctor right away? My mother—” he began, interrupted himself: “What?”

“There are two things she can safely do, pregnant or not. They didn’t work for me — neither did the ergot. But they may for her.”

“Yeah, what? I gotta get back there by two o’clock.”

“Oh, is she waiting to hear?”

“Yeah. It’s my best chance to tell her.”

“She can try very hot baths. As hot as she can stand them. And a strong cathartic: castor oil. As I say, nothing helped me. The embryo must have been attached to me like iron.”

“Hot baths. Castor oil,” he repeated with doleful earnestness.

“And if nothing works — and as I say, you’re unduly worried, I don’t believe she’s pregnant — bring her here after a few more days. A few more days won’t matter one way or the other — if she is pregnant.”

“Like when? When should I bring her?”

“I’m free all afternoon Friday. I can make an appointment with the girl in my doctor’s office the day before. Of course, I can cancel it if she’s menstruating by then.”

“Friday.” The only thing that kept him from wringing his hands was counting his fingers. “Today is Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday. Ten days.”

“But even then only a doctor’s examination can tell whether she’s pregnant or not. Are you the only one having sex relations with her?”

“I don’t know. I guess so. . I never asked. . I just hung around till I got a chance.”

A silence as she contemplated him. He could feel an unspent sigh lodge deep in his gut.

“Ira, may I ask how long it’s been going on?”

“Since she was fourteen. Since I was a sophomore at CCNY.”

“Almost as long as I’ve known you.”

“That’s right.”

She shook her head the slightest bit. “I thought you were completely attached to your mother. I thought you were completely withdrawn into yourself, shy and unawakened. I suppose I can’t be blamed for misjudging you. I’m not blaming you. I’m just surprised that I did. You never spoke about girls. You spoke mostly about your mother. Your sister occasionally. And of course, there you were, such as close friend of Larry’s.”

“Yeah. You can see why.” Her dainty fingertips played among themselves; her level brown eyes invited an explanation. “Why I never mentioned girls.”

She shook her head — in sympathy. “Child, don’t punish yourself so. You are what you are, and it’s your extreme sensitivity that’s to blame, if anything. Besides, I’m sure that kind of thing is very, very common. Sexual experiences begin much earlier than people realize, or pretend they do. The few times one hears or reads about it — between cousins and even closer relations — incest—”

“Yeah?”

“They’re probably no more than tips of the iceberg. Your aunt never suspected?”

“I told you. She thought I came there for the dollar she gave me. Makes it treacherous, doesn’t it?” His voice thickened, and he hemmed to clear it, smirked: “I wanted to play a decent part — where you were concerned — you know?”

“You poor lamb. What time do you think you could get her here Friday? Where is she? She’s not employed yet?”