Aunty Dumpling was ready and waiting on the steps of Stepney Town Hall for a good twenty minutes before the appointed time. She was honoured to be invited to the ceremony and had no intention of missing a second of it. Her bubeleh was getting married so she was going to be there to support him. Naturally. She was wearing her best straw hat for the occasion, and her tightest corsets, and her plump arms were full of equally plump gifts, a bolster dangling before her skirt like a fat sausage, the folded bulk of a patchwork quilt, homemade and stuffed to capacity, one of Mr Monickendam’s rich cakes for the groom and an armful of red roses for the bride. What with the tight corsets, the bulky parcels and the heat of the day, she was finding it difficult to breath and was quite pink in the face in consequence. But what of that? It was her Davey’s wedding day.
Ten minutes later Mr Morrison arrived from work and came quietly up the steps to join her, bearing an unobtrusive cardboard box, and smiling shyly. The two of them stood together in the sunshine and told one another what a fine day it was, because there were so many other things that couldn’t be said. Neither of them knew that Emmanuel was standing on the other side of the road. Not that Dumpling would have changed her behaviour in any way if she had.
He had taken great care to keep well out of sight in the shelter of the pawnbroker’s side entrance, for it wouldn’t have done to let David see him. There’d be trouble enough when Rachel was told, ai-yi, without that. But he couldn’t stay away, not even to please his wife. He wanted to see his son’s wedding, to feel he was offering support even if nobody could see it You need support when you marry, he remembered. So young you are, so little you know. And he grieved again to think that David was marrying alone, except for Raizel, and in secret, when he ought to have been escorted by all the men in his family. Ai yi!
While he was sighing, David arrived, jumping down from a tram, striding across the road, leaping the steps two at a time, young and eager and obviously happy. And there was the bride tripping towards him through the crowds, trim in a new white blouse, her face shining under the brim of an enormous Floradora hat. Such a pretty pair, he sighed, as they caught hands and smiled their love at each other. Then there was a bustle on the steps as Mrs Levy’s son arrived and he and David cuffed one another in greeting and they all disappeared into the building.
It was too late for argument. The modern world was rushing them all onwards, regardless of their feelings. Now he could only stand on the edge of the affair and pluck his beard and grieve. He shifted his feet miserably and sighed and prepared himself for a long wait.
But they were very quick. It hardly seemed any time at all before the party emerged into the sunlight again, all talking at once and laughing and making such a noise he could hear them above the traffic. There seemed to be more of them now but as they were all on the move, hugging and darting and dancing about, it was difficult to tell. It wasn’t until a photographer arrived and stood them in line enough to get a picture that he saw they’d been joined by a plump girl in a pink blouse and a woman who looked like her mother, and was certainly mothering the bride. Relations maybe? Nu, he grunted with approval, just as well, for she was young too and needed support every bit as much as David. Although at the moment, he had to admit, they looked as though they had been blessed. She was clinging to David’s arm and smiling with such obvious happiness, it brought a lump to his throat to see it, and David’s face was glowing in the sunshine, his dark hair springing above his forehead as thick as a mane. Their guests were throwing confetti into the air above their heads, and soon his white shirt and her white blouse were dotted with bright colour so that they seemed to be shimmering.
‘Happy the bride the sun shines on,’ the motherly lady called.
And then it was over, and they were all going their separate ways, back to work and the ordinary world. Even the bride and groom were parting, and that gave him a pang of the sharpest regret, for it seemed unnatural and cruel. But it was all too late, the steps were empty and the street was full of strangers. Sighing, he trailed back to his work and the dread of the evening when Rachel would finally have to be told.
It rather surprised him when David came back from work that evening as though nothing had happened. But surprise rapidly changed to pity, for David and his mother, when he saw how clumsily the boy was handling this moment.
‘You vill eat now, nu?’ Rachel asked timidly. ‘Kugel ve got.’
‘No, Mama,’ he said and his voice was brusque. ‘I ain’t stoppin’. You might as well know. I only come home ter pack, then I’m off.’
‘Off?’ she said, hurt and bewildered. ‘Vhat you mean off?’
‘I got married terday,’ he told her, his voice cold and his expression withdrawn as though she were an enemy. ‘I’ve come home to get me things, then I’m off.’
‘Gottenyu!’ Rachel whispered. Dear God! And she sat down weakly on the edge of his truckle bed as though she’d lost the use of her legs. ‘Emmanuel?’
‘It is true, bubeleh,’ he had to confess. ‘Nebbish.’
David had left a cardboard box out on the balcony. Now he retrieved it and began to fill it with his possessions, his paper and brushes, his paintbox, his folders, his two spare shirts, keeping his eyes firmly focused on his own hands and working with dreadful speed. She watched him silently, too stunned and miserable to speak, her face pale and drawn, and it seemed to Emmanuel that even her eyes were shrinking.
It was over so quickly. The box was packed and tied together with string. The cover on the truckle bed was straightened. One dry brief kiss was dropped on his mother’s bowed head. ‘I will visit you,’ he said, and he was gone. It was as quick and cruel and unnatural as the wedding.
Then the storm broke, and she began to wail, a wordless keening, on and on and on. ‘Ai-yi-yi-yi-yi!’
‘Don’t cry, dolly,’ he begged, smoothing her hair. ‘Don’t cry, my chicken. Sooner or later ve had to let him go. You know that, nu?’ But she didn’t hear him.
It wasn’t long before Rivke arrived. ‘I seen your Davey …’ she began, but then she saw Rachel’s stricken face. ‘Rachel bubeleh, vhat’s the matter, dolly?’
Emmanuel explained as well as he could, but the fury gathering on his sister’s face chilled the words on his tongue.
‘Married?’ she shouted. ‘Vhat you mean married? He’s eighteen yet. He ain’t old enough. Permission he’d need. You ain’t give permission, Manny. You ain’t never give permission. Don’t tell me that.’
‘If I could tell you different, I’d tell you different,’ Emmanuel sighed. ‘He’d a’ married her anyvay, I tell you.’
Rivke’s right eye seemed in imminent danger of sliding off her cheek, her distress was so acute. ‘A fine chawchem ve got here, Rachel,’ she cried. ‘He give permission! Oy oy oy! Ve vas vearin’ him down. Vearin’ him down, good. Another two, three veeks vould a’ seen all the difference. For vhy you vant to do this fool thing?’
‘All my childer I lose,’ Rachel wailed. ‘All! All! Only Davey … For vhy he do this, Rivke?’
‘To let him marry vid a shiksa!’ Rivke said. ‘Begin vid strange vomen, end vid strange gods, I tell you. Oy oy!’
‘I never see him again, I tell you,’ Rachel wept. ‘Never ever again.’
Then the rest of the family came trooping into the flat, agog for news, Ben and Becky, Jo and his wife, Josh and Maggie and their children, and the noise of astonishment, disbelief and commiseration was so loud it was impossible to hear what anybody was saying, which Emmanuel thought wryly was just as well. When Dumpling came in through the open door ten minutes later they were all shouting at once and Rachel and Rivke were crying with abandon. She made quite a good job of pretending surprise, but there wasn’t any possibility of speech among all that clashing sound. She pushed her way through the howling bodies until she reached her crumpled brother, sitting in the eye of the storm, with his head bent, enduring.
‘So I tell you,’ she said, stooping so that her mouth was just above his ear, ‘you are the best brother in the whole vide vorld.’ And she cuddled his beleaguered head against her bosom, and dropped tears of pity on his poor thin hair. ‘Every day I say thanks to the good Lord for such a brother.’
By the time the shop was shut that evening, Mrs Ellen Cheifitz was feeling very tired. She seemed to have been on her feet all day, running from one moment to the next, and now her back ached and her feet were sore, and to make matters worse she was hungry too, having missed her midday meal. She gathered her belongings together and packed them neatly in Mrs Miller’s carpet bag, and told Maudie not to cry, and at nine o’clock finally let herself out of the staff entrance into the gaslit street, where to her great relief David was waiting for her.
He took the carpet bag without a word and tucking her hand into the crook of his arm, led her away to the steak house in Norton Folgate.
‘It’s all very well this gettin’ married lark,’ he said, ‘but it don’t ’alf make you hungry.’ It was necessary to put a pleasant experience between himself and his cruelty to his mother. ‘I’m starvin’.’
‘So’m I.’
They had a sixpenny steak and fried onions, a great treat, and then much refreshed and with their energies restored, set off arm in arm to take possession of their kingdom.
It was very quiet in Quaker Street, for most of the inhabitants were home from work and settled, glad to be at ease behind their own closed doors and open windows. The hall was empty, there was no sign of their landlady, and no sound from the rooms below theirs. At the top of the stairs, where their front door blocked off the rest of the house, he put down the carpet bag and took out his key.
‘Groom carries bride over threshold,’ he said, picking her up in his arms as though she were a baby.
‘Daft ha’p’orth,’ she laughed at him, holding him tightly round the neck. ‘You’ll drop me.’
But he didn’t. He carried her easily and tenderly, kicking the carpet bag before them, then waiting for her to pull the door shut behind them. And then they were on their own at last in the darkness of their narrow landing with the door to their bedroom invitingly open.
‘Welcome home!’ he said.
They slept late next morning and didn’t get up till nearly eight o’clock, long after the factory sirens had woken them.
‘Luxury, nu?’ he said, opening the curtains. ‘What’s for breakfast?’
‘After all you ate last night!’ she mocked, laughing up at him from the pillows. ‘You got hollow legs?’
‘Good healthy appetite,’ he said, and then the sight of her gazing up at him so lovingly aroused another appetite and he went back to the bed to kiss her hopefully.
‘Did we really oughter be goin’ on like this?’ she asked when they finally settled down to their bread and jam breakfast. There was no anxiety in the question, only gratified pleasure and a passing curiosity.
But he took it quite seriously. ‘Oh yes,’ he said. ‘It says so in the Shulchan Aruch. “A healthy man should perform his duties nightly.”’
‘What’s the Shulchan Aruch when it’s at home?’
‘It’s a book with all the laws in. All the Jewish laws.’
‘D’you mean ter say you got laws about … that?’ It was an amazing idea. The only thing she could ever remember the priests saying about it was that it was sinful and you shouldn’t.
‘We got laws about everything,’ he said laughing.
‘An’ the law says every night?’ It was making her shiver to think of it.
‘If that’s what the wife wants. It’s up to her.’
That was another extraordinary idea. She bit her bread and jam and thought about it.
‘Tell you another thing,’ he went on, ‘after the first time, we’re supposed to say a prayer.’
‘Never!’
‘Don’t laugh. It’s a good prayer. You’d like it.’
‘Go on then. Tell us.’
He licked his fingers clean of jam and took both her hands in his, very gently. ‘Blessed art thou, oh Lord our God,’ he quoted, ‘King of the universe, who has planted a nut tree in Eden.’
‘A nut tree in Eden,’ she said, charmed by the image. ‘Yes, you’re right. It is a good prayer. I like it. A nut tree in Eden.’
He kissed her fingers. ‘It will grow to the most beautiful tree anyone’s ever seen,’ he said. ‘I promise.’
And so the weeks passed and the tree grew and they were happy in their private Eden and almost forgot about their parents, although David went to the synagogue with his father every Friday. Before they knew it, it was September and the coalmen were hawking their wares in the streets of Shoreditch and the Thames was grey with the chill of autumn.
It was quite cold in their two attic rooms, especially first thing in the morning, when the lino struck chill under bare feet warm from bed.
‘I shall make a rag rug,’ she decided.
‘I’ll design it.’
‘I’ll ask me sister fer rags. They’re bound to ’ave lots in that great house.’
‘I’ll ask Papa, shall I?’
She thought about it, puckering her forehead. “Would ’e mind?’
He was delighted, although he did no more than nod his head in agreement when David asked him. They had taken to walking along Fournier Street when they came out of the synagogue on a Friday evening. It gave them a chance to talk to one another and extended the time they could be together.
For David, going to synagogue was more often painful than rewarding. It was surprising how frequently the Rabbi spoke of the blessings of a good Jewish marriage, or read the story of Ruth and Naomi. ‘Thy God shall be my God.’ What a marvellous thing for a woman to promise. And to her mother-in-law too!
Oh, if only Ellen could cook like Aunty Dumpling, he would think. What a difference that would make! But she cooked such English things, cottage pie and chops, and he didn’t really enjoy them at all. And when he brought a Jewish dish home, she wrinkled her nose and ate it slowly as though she was forcing it down. It was all very difficult. Still, at least she was obviously trying to make a home for them, and that was commendable. Look how his father was commending it.
‘A sensible woman, nu?’ Emmanuel approved as they reached Christ Church and Itchy Park. ‘I see vhat I find.’
There was a brown paper parcel full of off-cuts left at the top of the stairs to greet them when they came home from work next day. The note pinned to the topmost piece read, ‘I can get more for you. You tell me the colour maybe. Papa.’
From that moment on, the rug became a labour of love for all three of them.
It was certainly very big, large enough to cover the entire space in front of their little fireplace, and when it was finished, they both declared it made the whole room warm and cosy, and Ellen wondered whether they ought to invite David’s parents for a meal to show them how fine it was.
‘Not just yet,’ he said. They had to choose exactly the right moment. His mother was still too angry to speak to him, as he knew because he asked his father about her, anxiously, every Friday. ‘Better we just wait a bit longer, bubeleh. We ain’t seen your Ma neither, don’t ferget.’
‘Time enough fer them later on,’ Ellen said, patting her work of art. ‘Feel how soft that bit a’ velvet is.’ She had no desire to see either of her parents, then or later.
But as it happened, she saw them both sooner than she intended.
It was Wednesday evening and outside their living room the sky was heavy with purple cloud and rain was rattling the windows. She was feeling specially pleased with herself that evening. She’d cooked fish for supper, inside their little gas oven what’s more, and to her surprise it had turned out quite tasty, although she wasn’t sure whether David had liked it or not. He never said anything about the food they ate, and she wished he would. Now they were sitting on either side of the fire, working on the next rug, he cutting cloth into strips, she hooking strips into sacking.
And suddenly, without any warning at all, she knew that her mother was in trouble. The knowledge drained all colour from her face. ‘Oh dear,’ she said. ‘Oh dear, oh dear!’
He recognized one of her ‘moments’ and put his scissors down at once. ‘What is it, bubeleh?’
‘It’s Ma,’ she said, and her eyes weren’t looking at him, but inwards to some vague unfocused centre. ‘She’s hurt. Not bad, I don’t think. I can hear ’er cryin’. It’ll be the ol’ man, I’ll bet any money. Poor Ma.’
‘Whatcher want ter do?’
She went on watching her inner world for several seconds, her face perplexed, and her hands fumbling the cloth, and when she finally lifted her head and looked at him he had to repeat his question, because it was plain she hadn’t heard him the first time.
‘I’ll ’ave ter go over,’ she said.
‘Now?’
‘If you don’t mind.’
‘I’ll come with you,’ he said at once. And when she looked worried, ‘I won’t come in. I’ll wait round the corner. Be there if you need me, nu?’
‘You’re a love,’ she said, already putting on her coat and hat. ‘It’s daft really, but I know she’s in trouble.’
‘You don’t have to explain,’ he said, putting on his own coat. ‘Come on.’
It was a cold journey to Russell Street and they were both shivering by the time they got off the tram at the London Hospital.
‘You wait in the porch out the wet,’ Ellen said, glancing at the hospital entrance. ‘I’ll be as quick as I can.’
‘You know where I am if you need me.’
The rain was running off the brim of her hat onto her shoulders. ‘Course,’ she said. ‘I can ’andle ’em, you know. I’ve ’ad years a’ practice.’
But he worried about her all the time she was gone, and she seemed to be gone a very long time.
When she came back she was scowling with anger. ‘’E’s give ’er a black eye,’ she said. ‘I dunno why she sticks it.’
‘Where is he now?’
‘Up the pub, spendin’ ’er wages. Come on quick, there’s our tram.’
As the tram rattled them back along the Whitechapel Road, past the sodden plane trees and the fine houses she’d admired so much when she first came there to find the flat, she told him the rest of the story. Her mother had refused to hand over her earnings, pleading that some of it, ‘on’y some, gel!’ should be set aside for food, and after a row he’d lost his temper and beaten her.
‘She ’ad a letter from her cousin too. She showed me. Ever such a nice letter. Said to come to Liverpool an’ take the kids an’ live there with ’er, an’ the silly fool writ back an’ said no. I ask yer! To ’ave a chance like that an’ turn it down. I’d a’ gone like a shot out’ve a gun.’ She looked so splendidly fierce, he wanted to kiss her.
‘She loves him maybe?’
‘She couldn’t. ’E’s a brute.’
They travelled on in silence for a little, while she scowled and he admired. ‘Anyway,’ she said. ‘I promised ter go an’ see ’er again next Wednesday. She’s on early shift. Shan’t need an escort. ’E’ll be at the brewery.’
‘Better news then maybe,’ he hoped.
It wasn’t just better. It was extraordinary.
When Ellen arrived late that afternoon the door to her mother’s room was wide open, and the floorboards were damp. Nell was on her knees scrubbing out the last corner. ‘Nearly done,’ she said. ‘Step over the wet, there’s a good gel.’ The two kids were sitting on the table surrounded by bundles.
‘Whatcher doin’, Ma?’ Surely she wasn’t leaving the flat. Not after all the good work she’d done to get it her in the first place.
‘Movin’ out,’ her mother said, and she sounded proud, which was most unlike her. ‘Should a’ done it years ago. Movin’ out.’
The pride started a new idea. ‘Leavin’ ’im d’yer mean?’
‘That’s right. We’re off ter Liverpool. I got the tickets. Jest a matter a’ finishin’ up ’ere, that’s all. I want ter leave it nice fer Mrs Nym. She’s been ever so good to us.’
‘Well, good fer you, Ma,’ Ellen said. ‘’Ere, give us that bucket. I’ll empty it for yer.’
‘Ta,’ her mother said, lifting herself from her knees, gradually and one foot at a time, as she always did when her back was aching. Poor Ma, Ellen thought, recognizing what the careful movement revealed, she’s ’ad a rotten life of it. She carried the heavy pail out onto the landing, wondering how her mother had found the energy to escape after all those awful years. ‘What’s brought this about, Ma?’ she called over her shoulder.
Her mother was hanging up the net curtains. They’d been washed too and as they were still wet, they took a bit of arranging. ‘Oh I dunno, gel,’ she said. ‘One thing an’ another. ’E said some beastly things ter Mrs Nym. No call fer it, there wasn’t. I’ve left ’er the curtains. Make amends, sort a’ thing.’
‘’E sicked up on them curtains,’ Maudie said. ‘Two nights runnin’.’
‘Well, they’re all washed lovely now,’ Nell said, giving them a last shake. ‘Whatcher think, Ellie?’
‘Best thing you’ve ever done,’ her daughter approved, hugging her. ‘Should a’ done it years ago.’ Even though she knew they were saying goodbye, and recognized, in a vague way, that they’d be very unlikely ever to see one another again, she was warm with pleasure at her mother’s decision.
‘You’ll be all right, wontcher, gel?’ her mother said: ‘You got a good job, aintcher? You can look after yerself?’
She needs reassuring, Ellen thought, looking at her mother’s anxious face, and her pleasure increased at the knowledge of how easily it could be done. ‘I’ll be fine,’ she said, superbly casual. ‘I got married last month.’
‘Oh Ellie!’ her mother said, turning away from the curtains to look at her wearily and with immense pity. ‘An’ you said you’d never. Who is it?’
‘David Cheifitz. An’ ’fore you start, you might as well know ’e’s a Jew.’
‘I never said nothink,’ Nell protested weakly. There’s no call ter go jumpin’ down me froat like that, gel. Is ’e good to yer?’
‘Yes, ’e is. Good as gold.’
‘Well, I s’pose that’s all right then. There, I’ve packed all I can. D’yer think young Maudie’ll be able ter carry all this lot.’
‘’Course,’ Maudie said. And she climbed down from the table and slung her bundle over her shoulder, trying not to buckle under the weight of it. ‘There’s yours, Johnnie.’
‘We’re off then,’ Nell said. ‘Look after yerself, duck.’
‘Send me a postcard.’
‘Um,’ her mother said vaguely. ‘You ’old yer brother’s ’and, Maudie, there’s a good gel.’
They bumped their bundles down Mrs Nym’s brown staircase, blinking in the darkness. It was an odd way to be saying goodbye, Ellen thought, and realized that she was growing sadder with every descending step.
‘Give you a bit of advice,’ Nell said abruptly to her eldest daughter as they stood on the doorstep together for the last time.
‘What?’ Ellen said, lifted by an equally sudden delight. Her mother loved her after all. Advice! Who’d a’ thought it?
‘If you ’ave curtains at yer windows, always see they ’ang straight. Nothink looks worse’n twisted curtains. You take my word fer it. Ah well, ta-ta, gel.’ And she was gone, drooping under the weight of her bundles with a burdened child on either side of her.
For a second, Ellen didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Then she saw the funny side and began to giggle. She was still laughing when she got back to Quaker Street, and by then her laughter was entire and infectious. David had just come home from work and she told him what had happened between gasps of mirth she couldn’t suppress. Soon he was laughing too, and she had tears streaming down her cheeks.
But secretly he knew he was glad that her awful mother and those dirty children had taken themselves out of her life. Now if only his mother would accept her …