Chapter 34

Dear Mama:

Third semester, and I still pinch myself to prove I’m really here. My new roommate, Irene, is sweet, rich but not stuck up. The UCLA diving team is top notch. I’m practicing a longer handstand and straighter angle of entry, also a winning smile for the judges. Not too much, though. Overcorrecting a smile can get you marked down as much as overcorrecting a dive.

My favourite class is journalism with Dr Morton Stein. Other professors focus on the boring mechanics of writing, like making the subject and verb agree. He cares more about the content, like making a story newsworthy. He says if we pay attention to how a piece reads, then writing it will flow. Professor Stein’s main interest is labour issues. You’d like him.

Are you still taking the bus up for Parents Weekend? If you come Friday morning, you can go to journalism class with me that afternoon. My next assignment is to interview you about why you came to America and ended up in California. I know you hate questions but you don’t want me to get a failing grade, do you? So pretty please put your mouth in gear. Too bad you can’t drive a base car here, but hopefully Captain Morris will let you take the whole day off.

Amore e baci,

Gemma

Captain Morris would, if he were still Tazia’s boss. And let her make up the lost hours. However, he’s been replaced by Captain Nimitz, a stickler for rules. Not only must Tazia forfeit wages to visit Gemma, she has to scrimp for bus fare. The new captain’s first order was to rescind her pay increase. She’s had to cut Sailor Boy’s tuna ration and limit use of a base car to official chores.

Dr Stein delivers a lively lecture about employers forcing workers to sign a statement that they will not join a union. “It was a reporter in the United Mine Workers Journal who first called them ‘yellow-dog contracts.’ Why do you think he gave them that name?”

Three hands go up. One boy guesses it’s for the colour of the rag paper they’re printed on, another jokes that the agreements are as lame as stray mongrels. Dr Stein calls on Gemma. “They reduce employees to the level of dogs that the bosses can kick around. Workers sign away their constitutional right to organize.”

The professor beams. “Excellent analysis, as usual, Miss Gatti.” He surveys the visiting parents and points a chalk-covered finger at a father. “Did you ever sign that type of contract?” The man squirms and admits he’s one of the “bosses” who make employees sign them. Dr Stein singles out another father, who says, “I’m not fond of unions, or FDR, but if it’s a constitutional right ...” He looks to his son for support. The boy blushes and stares at his desk.

A beefy man’s hand goes up. “I signed one, so I could feed my family. But me and my buddies are organizing.” He looks around. “I hope there ain’t no spies here to report me.”

Amid nervous laughter, Dr Stein turns to Tazia, the only woman there without a husband. She wonders what Gemma said to him about her. “Please tell us what your experience has been.” His voice is respectful, not as challenging as when he addressed the men.

“Mostly I’ve worked for individuals, not companies, so it hasn’t come up.” Tazia hopes that’s the end of the questioning.

“Where?” the professor demands, his voice more aggressive.

“Different places.” Tazia glances sideways at Gemma, whose pen is poised over her paper.

“And now?” Dr Stein persists.

“I work for the government.”

Dr Stein’s face lights up. “Do you think public employees deserve the right to unionize?”

Tazia takes a deep breath. As long as the question is impersonal, she might as well speak her mind. “If conditions are unfair, they should be allowed to organize.” She points a finger back at the professor. “But even if men are allowed to form a union, they wouldn’t let women join.”

To her surprise, Dr Stein roars with laughter. “No doubt you’re right. It’s obvious where your daughter gets her fire from.”

Later, over dinner in the dorm cafeteria, Gemma’s spaghetti sits neglected while she raves about Professor Stein. “Isn’t he cool? I knew you’d like him. He liked you.”

“I can see you’re learning a lot in his class.” Tazia doesn’t eat either.

“I’ve decided to major in journalism. Dr Stein thinks I’d be a great investigative reporter. I want to focus on labour issues.”

“Your letter said that was his specialty.” Tazia sees the worship in Gemma’s eyes. It seems her daughter is bound to seek out fathers. This one is Jewish to boot, with an unnerving tendency to probe into others’ lives, albeit to teach his students a moral lesson.

“I’m doing it for you, Mama. You got kicked around your whole life. It’s time workers were treated like people, not dogs.” She lifts her water glass. “To stoking the fire of indignation.”

Tazia clinks her glass against Gemma’s. “To the workers of the world, especially the women.” She hopes Gemma’s career choice is indeed inspired by her, not by Dr Stein.

Dear Mama:

I’m coming home next week to march with you at the Lemon Grove Grammar School rally. It’s outrageous that the San Diego School Board approved building a separate facility for Mexican children. Most of them were born in this country. And for them to claim the new school would be more sanitary, and “Americanize” the children (what does that mean?), plus provide “backward and deficient students” with more appropriate instruction, is downright offensive.

Anticipating a bite of your biscotti is making me salivate. Bake a double batch because I’ll be bringing a friend with me. No need to meet us at the bus stop. We’re driving down.

Amore e baci,

Gemma

Tazia rereads the last paragraph. On previous visits, Gemma’s asked to bring home a girlfriend. No longer threatened by these relationships, Tazia admires how easily her daughter gets to know people. It’s a useful skill for a journalist. However, this is the first time Gemma has announced, not asked permission to invite, a guest. One who owns a car. And is missing the word “girl” before “friend.” Anxious as this makes her, Tazia looks forward to the visit. She’s lonely. Sailor Boy died last week and was buried at sea. Tazia sewed him into a canvas bag with a chunk of concrete and the base chaplain said a nondenominational prayer. Captain Nimitz hasn’t issued an order to replace the cat, despite the mounting mouse population.

Monday morning, Gemma and Todd Kane, a pre-law student, pull up in his car. He is tall, red-haired, lightly freckled. Nice looking. Tazia judges his car is neither old nor new, and gently battered, typical for an undergraduate. Over coffee and cookies, they chat about school, today’s demonstration, and Todd also being an only child. Not typical for an Irish Catholic family.

Todd drives them to the rally, where they gather under a sign reading Ningún estudiante en La Caballeriza. “No students at The Stable,” he translates. It’s the parents’ nickname for the Mexican-only school. During the fiery speeches, Todd again interprets key phrases for Tazia and Gemma. Nuestros hijos son ciudadanos estadounidenses—“Our children are U.S. citizens.”

“How do you know Spanish?” Tazia studies Todd again. It’s unlikely he has anything other than Irish blood in his veins.

“Classes. I want to be a public defender and many of my clients won’t speak English.” He smiles. “I’m learning Italian too, so I can communicate with Gemma.”

Tazia laughs. “But my daughter barely speaks Italian.”

“That’s not true, Mama,” Gemma protests. “Parlo molto bene italiano.”

“Espresso, biscotti, ravioli,” Tazia snorts. “That’s not Italian.”

“Posso avere più soldi?” Gemma tries.

“No, you may not ask your mother for money.” Todd tweaks Gemma’s nose. She blushes and looks at Tazia, who laughs. Better her daughter look at him with adoration than at Dr Stein.

Committee members circulate among the crowd, collecting money. Tazia empties all her coins in the donation box. Todd stuffs it with bills. She waits for a sign that he’s showing off, but he immediately begins reading a pamphlet. Tazia decides he’s genuine and accepts his offer to buy lunch. The sandwich shop isn’t fancy, yet she feels guilty at her pleasure in being served.

For the rest of the visit, Gemma’s eyes flit between her mother and her boyfriend. “We’re staying in L.A. the first half of spring break,” she says, giving Tazia a hug before getting into the car, “but we’ll come down here the second half.” There is no mistaking the double use of “we.” Todd says he enjoyed meeting Tazia and thanks her for the cookies she gives them for the road.

Watching them drive off, Tazia feels torn. Pulling her one way is the realization that Todd is a fine young man. He’s Catholic, cares for Gemma, and supports the right causes. If Gemma hadn’t gone away to college, she might have ended up marrying a sailor with the unsavoury habits Tazia has come to know too well. Todd also has money, not too much and not on display, and his eyes are green, like Gemma’s, so they will give her green-eyed grandchildren. Other than his not being Italian, he’s ideal. Then what is this doubt tugging Tazia the opposite way? Todd is exactly what she wants for Gemma, someone who can give her daughter a better life. Perhaps therein lies her dissatisfaction. Todd is from another world, one that Gemma is increasingly comfortable in, but one that Tazia is afraid she herself will always feel excluded from.