Last Night at the Blue Angel (7 page)

She took my hands and we did a little dance as she sang all the words. When the song got slow, we stopped dancing and Sister Idalia put her hand to her heart, singing along:
“If that old devil should grab your hand
,
here's one thing that he can't stand. Shout
,
sister
,
shout!”
Then the music picked up again and we danced and danced until we were breathless.
Isn't it fun?
she said.

Why are you being nice to me?
I asked, laughing.

Oh! This one!
She pulled out another album.

Where'd you get all these?

My brother
, she said.
You won't tell
,
will you? Father Eugene would have my hide
.

No
.

I want you to hear everything
.

Why?
I asked.

She looked at me like it was obvious.
Because I think you've got a great voice. A big voice. But you don't know where to put it yet
.

Where would I put it?

It's hard to explain. For starters
,
you need to get as much music in your head as you can
.

I just sat there and watched her talk to me. It all felt like an odd mistake. Nobody had ever really paid attention to me before. I'd gotten in plenty of trouble and heard a thousand orders, but this? I didn't know what to make of it. I felt it indirectly, like I was watching her be nice to someone else. To Laura, maybe. To someone good.

She put on another album. A woman with scared eyes on the sleeve named Dinah Washington. She was beautiful. Even her name made a little song. I said her name over and over in my mouth. Her voice was like cool water. Sister Idalia sang along.
“Love brings such misery and pain. I guess I'll never be the same.”
This song made her eyes well up. I decided I wanted to sing. Not just stupid Latin church stuff but this, the kind of songs that made women cry.

We played it over and over until I knew the words and we could all sing together—me, Sister Idalia, and Dinah Washington.

She had other records, too. Sister kept saying,
Just one more
.

Then she looked at her watch on the chain she had attached to her belt.
Oh, dear
,
we have to get you home
. She straightened her coif and waved at me to follow her out of the room. I ran behind her down toward the well, where a rusty green pickup truck was parked. We jumped in and bounced up to the main road.

I didn't know nuns had trucks
, I said.

My superior is a good egg
, she said.
She let me come here on the condition that I have means of transportation
,
or
,
as she put it to me
,
“some way to get the hell out if you have to.”

I told her which direction to go. I was thinking two things on that ride. One, I am going to be whipped when I get home and two, Sister Idalia is not going to think I'm so special once she sees where I come from.

Dad and the girls were already in the yard when we pulled up.

You better let me do the talking
, Sister Idalia said, setting the brake.

We walked up to my father, Sister with her back very straight, jaw stiff.

Mr. Hutnik
,
I presume?
she said.

Yes
,
Sister
, said my father.

I am Sister Idalia. The new teacher at Naomi's school
.

Father looked down at the ground and shook his head.
What's she done now?
he asked.

I thought, This is going to be the end of school for me.

She's not in any trouble
,
but we do have a serious matter
.

Father smoothed down his hair.

She's having some trouble with her multiplication tables
,
Mr. Hutnik. And this is affecting her grasp of mathematics as a whole
.

Father frowned. I stared. My mouth hanging open.

If Naomi is ever to take a respectable job at
,
say
,
the bank or the grocery
,
or if she is ever to run a proper household
,
she will need at least a reasonable grasp of numbers. Now
,
there isn't need for alarm. I believe she has the necessary potential
.

Father's brow was buckled and my sisters sneered at me.
What's to be done?
asked Father.

Sister Idalia sighed.
Well
,
I kept her late today but we are going to have to be vigilant. Do I have your permission to correct this
. . . she glanced down at me, searching for a word . . .
this troublesome issue?

Father winced at that word but nodded anyway.

Sister Idalia shook father's hand.
Then I promise to do my best by Naomi. God bless you
, she said, turning on her heels.

I ran up beside her and walked her to her truck, giggling.

Quit it
, she hissed.

You just told a huge lie to my father
, I said.

She shot a look at me and hoisted herself into the truck.
In service of a greater cause
, she said as she fetched up her habit and shoved it under her thigh.

What cause?
I asked.

The cause of you
,
Miss Hutnik
. Then she leaned down and whispered,
Music might be the only thing could save you
.

She slammed the door.

I walked back toward the house and Murielle sidled up to me.
You're going to end up with us
, she said.

I looked at her.

If you don't do better at school
, she said, smug.

Maybe so
, I said to her with a sad little look on my face. A little kick of the dirt.

S
he's pretty in a way
, Murielle said as we lay wide-awake that night. I looked at her face as she stared at the ceiling, absolutely certain I shouldn't open my mouth.
I wonder what her hair looks like
.

The moon had lit up the room with a strange, dark light.

Have you seen it?
she asked.

What?

Her hair?

No
, I said, turning away from her.

Seems like you know your tables. You been teaching them to us. Maybe you're teaching us wrong?
she said.
One of your tricks
.

I'm not teaching you anything wrong
, I said.
Go to sleep already
.

I lay there in the moonlight breathing deep until I was sure she was asleep. Then I just let my head run back to the music, to little phrases I'd committed to memory. I felt my throat move a little as I imagined singing. And I understood that this must be love, to visit a place in your mind where music is playing, to have such a place at all.

PART TWO

When I Fall in Love

Sophia

CHAPTER 9

CHICAGO, 1965

I
HAVE TO START
going to school early every single day, the Sisters say. Because I don't know my times tables yet. Jim says he's going to get me there on time, and if we get a move on, he'll let us stop for Danishes.

As we walk it's so windy that I hold Jim's arm and turn my face into his sleeve.

How come I have to?

Because every kid has to learn them
.
Your friends have to
.

I don't have friends
, I say, but I don't think he hears because of the wind and because he's working on his
math is important
speech.

I want you to do well in school
, Jim kind of shouts.
I want you to have options
.

I don't know what that means
.

A girl has to have options. You gotta trust me on this
.
I mean
,
what do you want to be when you grow up?

It depends
, I say.

On what?

On bomb or no bomb
.

He stops and looks down at me.
There's not going to be any bomb
.

You don't know
.

You still have to learn math
. Then he stops to pull his camera out from under his coat and photograph a door that is hanging by one hinge, its glass shattered into the shape of a star.

Can we stop at the bakery?
I ask.

We don't have time
.

You said!

He gets us Danishes but we have to eat them fast because the bakery is right by the school.

One of the nuns, Sister Marie, is sweeping the steps and the sidewalk when we walk up. She does this every morning, that or shoveling. As we get closer, she stops sweeping and smiles.

You could let the wind do that
,
Sister
, says Jim.

She laughs. I think she seems a lot happier out here, sweeping, with no children around.

I say good-bye to Jim and run up the stairs to Sister Eye's room. She's looking out the window with her hands on her hips. She smiles big whenever she sees me, showing the big gap between her two front teeth.

There's my girl
, she says, and hugs me hard. She smells like cigarettes and baby powder.
How are you today?

Fine
.

How's Mama?

Good. She told me to tell you to stop by after school and have coffee with her
.

I will, then
.

And Rita. Rita's coming
,
too
, I tell her.

Oh, good
.

Rita thinks I'm going to be pretty someday
.

Sister puts her hands on my cheeks and puts her face right in front of mine.
You are the most beautiful creature
, she says.
Right now. You are perfectly you
.

Just then Sister Marie pokes her head in the door.
Hold on a minute
,
will you? You might have one more joining you
.

Of course
, says Sister Eye.

I had thought it was just going to be us two and I don't want to share Sister with another kid.

Sister is wearing brown pants and a brown sweater today. She looks like a skinny bear.
Why don't you wear a habit like the other sisters?
I ask her.

Well
,
I'm not officially a sister any longer
, she says.
But I've kept my vows
.

What are vows?
I ask.

I think you already know this
.

I forgot
.

Promises to God
, she says.
About the sort of person I hope to be
.

Then Sister Marie comes into the classroom holding hands with a girl my age but she is Negro, taller, and prettier. Bennett, Mother's piano player, is Negro, too. All of his kids go to their own school on the South Side. There's never been a Negro child here.

I would like you both to meet Elizabeth. She has just transferred from her school in Bronzeville to our school. Have a look around
,
Elizabeth
, Sister Marie says. Elizabeth walks slowly over to the window and peers into the salamander cage.

Sister Marie tells Sister Eye,
Her father teaches at the school of sociology and is among the group fighting the board of education. He was instrumental in all of the school boycotts. But Elizabeth's school remains overburdened. She has attended only half days all year and her mother is at her wit's end
.

The girl and I look at each other. Her hair is gathered into two little poufs on the top of her head and tied with red ribbons. She is wearing red socks. They are cute but they are out of uniform.
You can sit here
, I tell her.
This desk is empty
.

She sits.

How come you're not at your own school?
I ask.

She considers my face.
My mama thinks it's not good enough
.

Oh. This school's pretty good. I've been here since first
. I lean in so I can whisper to her.
We have drills
.
For if a bomb gets dropped on us
.

Civil defense drills
, says Elizabeth.
Every school does those
.

She doesn't seem to care about this.

Sister Marie is still talking to Sister Eye.
She might have some catching up to do
.

Elizabeth looks around the room, studies all the stuff on the walls.

Her mother assures me she's been supplementing at home but I thought it best she come early. To start to adjust
, says Sister Marie.

It's going to be fine
, says Sister Eye.

Elizabeth sits very straight.

Sister Eye hands us both a multiplication quiz. A row of numbers in no particular order runs down the left-hand side of the page and another row of numbers runs across the top. We are to fill in the grid that takes up the rest of the sheet.

I have filled in four squares and am counting on my fingers when Elizabeth puts down her pencil. She looks at me and at my page. When I look back at her she quickly turns her head.

After a few minutes, Sister approaches our desks.
How are we doing?
She turns Elizabeth's page so it's facing her and runs her finger over the grid.

Well
,
you've got your numbers down
,
don't you, dear?
she says to Elizabeth.

Ma'am?
says Elizabeth.

Yes
,
dear
.

How come you let Negro children come here?

Sister takes a deep breath.
Well
,
Elizabeth
,
we haven't always
.

When did it change?

Sister looks at Elizabeth very seriously.
Today
.

S
ister bends over me and my paper.
Take your time
.

I start putting numbers in the squares because I don't know the answers, and don't care what they are. Elizabeth turns in her seat to face me.
Hey
,
don't do that
.
It won't help. You just don't know them yet
.