Read Online The Hours Count by Jillian Cantor - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jillian Cantor
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was gone, and I told myself no one was watching us. That now I was becoming paranoid.
“ BOYCHIK , what a wonderful surprise!” Mr. Bergman called out when we walked in his shop and up to the counter. But even his kind, booming voice couldn’t cheer me up.
“Mildred,” Mr. Bergman said as he passed David a yellow gumdrop. David swallowed it hungrily, and I realized I hadn’t fed him breakfast yet, a thought that only made me feel worse. “I don’t have a brisket set aside for you today. Do you need something? I can go in the back and see what I can find.”
I shook my head, but I didn’t realize I was crying until Mr. Bergman pulled his handkerchief from his pocket and handed it across the counter. I used it to wipe my eyes, and Mr. Bergman put his hand on mine. The shop was quiet this morning, a Tuesday, unlike the pre-Shabbat bustle of a midday Friday that I was used to when Iusually came in here. I worried that business wasn’t as good as it once was when my father was alive.
“Bubbelah, what’s wrong?” he said gently. “Is it Ed?”
I nodded, and I wondered how Mr. Bergman could be so wise. But he had never seemed to like Ed. Before our wedding he’d told me his concerns, that Ed and I had such different pasts, that Ed was so much older than me, that none of us knew Ed nearly as well as we knew Sam, but I had brushed them all away with a flick of my wrist and had chalked up his worries to a fatherly sort of overprotectiveness.
He scowled now. “Damn Reds he’s got himself mixed up with.”
I thought of the party last night at Ethel’s. Ed’s friends. Ethel’s friends, too.
Reds,
as Mr. Bergman said with disdain as if a simple color could be worthy of so much hatred. I thought of the way Julius had held on so sweetly to Ethel last night and the kind way that that doctor, Jake, had asked me if I’d needed anything as I’d stood out on the night street in the cold. “What do you mean?” I asked him.
“He’s going to get himself in a whole heap of trouble with that crowd. You keeping up with the papers, Millie?” I told him I was, though probably not as much as I should. “All this business with Mr. Hiss.”
“Mr. Hiss?” I asked, the name sounding only vaguely familiar to me.
“Alger Hiss. Big government man. That Bentley woman called him a communist, and now they say he was a spy for Russia, too.”
I thought about what Ruth had said last night, that Bentley would
say anything
. “Maybe Miss Bentley’s lying,” I said.
“Doesn’t matter if she is or not. Alger Hiss is ruined now. I’m telling you, there aren’t many things worse than being labeled a communist these days.” He shook his head. “Look at the Hollywood Ten, rotting in jail.”
I wondered what Mr. Bergman would say if he knew that I’d gone to Ethel’s party last night, that the
Reds
Ed was mixed up with had been so kind to me and were our neighbors. I wondered what would happen if anyone found out about the politics they were discussing. But who would care anyway? Sure, maybe it was unfavorable to be labeled a communist these days, but there were no high-profile government men or Hollywood types in Ethel’s apartment last night.
I wasn’t planning on telling Mr. Bergman any of this now, though. It wasn’t Ed’s friends who were the problem, and I remembered why I’d come here and tears welled up in my eyes again. “It’s not the politics,” I said, wiping at my face with his handkerchief. “It’s . . .” I glanced at David. He stared at me intently as if he were hanging on to my every word. Was he? Did he know what I was saying even if he wouldn’t acknowledge it and respond yet? I lowered my voice and leaned in closer to Mr. Bergman. “A woman came to my apartment this morning from the Jewish Children’s Home. Ed called her.”
“I don’t understand,” he said, running his plump fingers through his thinning gray hair. I tilted my head in David’s direction, unwilling to say it out
“ BOYCHIK , what a wonderful surprise!” Mr. Bergman called out when we walked in his shop and up to the counter. But even his kind, booming voice couldn’t cheer me up.
“Mildred,” Mr. Bergman said as he passed David a yellow gumdrop. David swallowed it hungrily, and I realized I hadn’t fed him breakfast yet, a thought that only made me feel worse. “I don’t have a brisket set aside for you today. Do you need something? I can go in the back and see what I can find.”
I shook my head, but I didn’t realize I was crying until Mr. Bergman pulled his handkerchief from his pocket and handed it across the counter. I used it to wipe my eyes, and Mr. Bergman put his hand on mine. The shop was quiet this morning, a Tuesday, unlike the pre-Shabbat bustle of a midday Friday that I was used to when Iusually came in here. I worried that business wasn’t as good as it once was when my father was alive.
“Bubbelah, what’s wrong?” he said gently. “Is it Ed?”
I nodded, and I wondered how Mr. Bergman could be so wise. But he had never seemed to like Ed. Before our wedding he’d told me his concerns, that Ed and I had such different pasts, that Ed was so much older than me, that none of us knew Ed nearly as well as we knew Sam, but I had brushed them all away with a flick of my wrist and had chalked up his worries to a fatherly sort of overprotectiveness.
He scowled now. “Damn Reds he’s got himself mixed up with.”
I thought of the party last night at Ethel’s. Ed’s friends. Ethel’s friends, too.
Reds,
as Mr. Bergman said with disdain as if a simple color could be worthy of so much hatred. I thought of the way Julius had held on so sweetly to Ethel last night and the kind way that that doctor, Jake, had asked me if I’d needed anything as I’d stood out on the night street in the cold. “What do you mean?” I asked him.
“He’s going to get himself in a whole heap of trouble with that crowd. You keeping up with the papers, Millie?” I told him I was, though probably not as much as I should. “All this business with Mr. Hiss.”
“Mr. Hiss?” I asked, the name sounding only vaguely familiar to me.
“Alger Hiss. Big government man. That Bentley woman called him a communist, and now they say he was a spy for Russia, too.”
I thought about what Ruth had said last night, that Bentley would
say anything
. “Maybe Miss Bentley’s lying,” I said.
“Doesn’t matter if she is or not. Alger Hiss is ruined now. I’m telling you, there aren’t many things worse than being labeled a communist these days.” He shook his head. “Look at the Hollywood Ten, rotting in jail.”
I wondered what Mr. Bergman would say if he knew that I’d gone to Ethel’s party last night, that the
Reds
Ed was mixed up with had been so kind to me and were our neighbors. I wondered what would happen if anyone found out about the politics they were discussing. But who would care anyway? Sure, maybe it was unfavorable to be labeled a communist these days, but there were no high-profile government men or Hollywood types in Ethel’s apartment last night.
I wasn’t planning on telling Mr. Bergman any of this now, though. It wasn’t Ed’s friends who were the problem, and I remembered why I’d come here and tears welled up in my eyes again. “It’s not the politics,” I said, wiping at my face with his handkerchief. “It’s . . .” I glanced at David. He stared at me intently as if he were hanging on to my every word. Was he? Did he know what I was saying even if he wouldn’t acknowledge it and respond yet? I lowered my voice and leaned in closer to Mr. Bergman. “A woman came to my apartment this morning from the Jewish Children’s Home. Ed called her.”
“I don’t understand,” he said, running his plump fingers through his thinning gray hair. I tilted my head in David’s direction, unwilling to say it out
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