Chapter 24
letter from clara

August 28 – Dear Blessed Mother, It’s hard to get any sleep around here; everyone is a priest in a pulpit. Martin Luther King gave a speech at a march on Washington, D.C., his deep voice going up and down in a barrel, like he was telling a scary story at Halloween. Daddy says he’s rabble rousing the Negroes. He turned off the television, saying “Propaganda.” Crowds as far as the eye could see, wall-to-wall Negroes and a few Whites holding placards with writing on them. The sun was bleach-hot; legs and feet marched by the camera and people sang, “We Shall Overcome.” If you had to go to the toilet, you’d be in trouble. I wasn’t sure what the Negroes wanted, since the Civil War supposedly freed them from slavery. Daddy said that they spend all their money on shiny cars like Cadillacs, Lincolns, and Chryslers. His experience selling cars at Shea Motors makes him an expert. But he says their houses are small and they live on a street where the windows are broken and the front yards are full of garbage. “Buy a cheap car, save your money for the house.” Although he wouldn’t mind taking their money if they wanted to buy a car from him. He has a gray Rambler. Plus we have a Volkswagen bus for transporting the hordes. Our house is big, but it isn’t exactly sitting in the middle of a fine-trimmed lawn. I think Daddy is against the Negroes because he’s afraid of them because of where he was raised. We have two Negro girls in our class, Martha and Martha (we call them “the two Marthas”) and Tall Martha is the funniest person I have ever known. I wonder what she thinks about all the people marching.

Also, Nikita Khrushchev gave another speech about burying us with a shovel again. We should stop calling them Commies and talking about bombing them, because, as Daddy says, “Mother monkeys love their baby monkeys.” If you imagine mother Russians loving their baby Russians, they seem just like us and the monkeys.

I got a letter from Clara. It had one of those new zip codes on the front.

August 4th, Monday after your visit

Dear Annie,

Thank you so much for riding in the back of the truck so that I could sit in the cab. Please tell Madcap and Aaron Solomon THANK YOU for those few hours of sun, sand, and freedom. Before Daddy and Mother lowered the boom. I hate them; I’m sure you heard all about it. Daddy for being so inflexible and Mother for not standing up to him—although I could see she was torn. It’s no wonder they never fight—Mother always gives in.

I can’t believe this is happening to me. It was so fast and seemed like hardly anything, in a way. I really liked Christopher, and then we were alone. But I’m keeping myself busy; after the chores I do my schoolwork so I can take the SAT test and get into a good university. The nuns let me out of the Mission to go to the library and I look forward to it—every afternoon.

Is it still a secret that I am having a baby? Because here’s another: I’m going to keep it. I haven’t told anyone yet, except for Bee Bee. She’s excited, even though she’s no help whatsoever. She writes me letters from Orange County, and she’s very depressed about losing her baby. But she makes me strong because I don’t want to have the heavy sorrow of it in my life. I don’t know how I’m going to do it alone, but I am going to try. Just let them try to take my baby from me.

The baby is due on December 4th. Now that I’m closer to delivering, I’ve been researching labor and the actual birth. I wish Mother would tell me what to expect. Bee Bee was no help; they just gave her drugs to knock her out. Glad I had the chance to see Bitty give birth to all those kittens and just get up and walk away after having a bit of a nap.

In a way it’s very exciting. I’ve had a lot of experience taking care of the little ones, so I won’t be at a complete loss when the baby I’m holding is my own. I’m trying to find out by sleuth if there are other girls who want to keep their babies; I think the YWCA will take me in. I do need a bit of money, though. I’ve got to go. Write me with the news about everybody.

– Clara

P.S. I wish you could come up and be with me.