My Little Cousin by Norma Kitson
'But you can pick what you want these days,' said Auntie Tookie.
'I
mean, you say: "I want a Jewish baby," they give you one.'
'Why should you want to?' shouted my sister rudely across the
room.
'Why on earth should that matter?'
'Ssh!' said both aunties together.
'I think that's a rotten thing to say,' said my sister. 'Poor
little babies. They're all the same, specially if they've got no
parents.'
'That's hardly the point, and mind your business!' said Auntie
Pearl tartly. Turning back to Auntie Tookie, she said:
'Poor Dolly's had a terrible shock. The whole family's had a
shock. And what do you think their three little children are going to
feel?
Nobody asked them. I blame Basil, you know. Men are so thoughtless these
days--specially husbands--although, of course, you could never say that
of my
Joe,' she added quickly.
After the bombshell of Uncle Basil's news, the family had left
Auntie Pearl's house. My sister and I were left behind, forgotten in the
turmoil, sitting behind the couch. My sister, aged ten, was doing a
jig-saw
puzzle and I, half her age, was sitting on my legs, waiting for her.
My Uncle Basil was so rich that he became a Durban city
councillor.
He and Auntie Dolly had a big house on the Berea, with fish-tank walls
in
the rumpus room and a lot of dark, shiny, stinkwood furniture
downstairs,
though their upstairs bedroom was pale and fluffy and had a
bathroom-en-suite with a bidet which my nurse said was a footbath.
Uncle Basil had built the El-Dallas Ranch near St Lucia on the
North Coast of Natal--for weekends--and my uncles used to go down there
to
shoot the crocodiles. The floors of the ranch were made from rounds of
Canadian Redwood--just when the news came out that those trees were
going
extinct. The door handles and escutcheons came from Paris--white china,
with little flowers. So the important people in Durban put Uncle Basil
on a
committee which meant he had to leave home a lot and go overseas.
He'd just returned from one of his trips, and that morning the
phone at our home hadn't stopped ringing. Mom shut her bedroom door to
be
private, but we knew there was a big family drama on the go because we
could hear her scream: 'Oy vay!,'' and 'No, really!' and 'I don't
believe
it! I just don't believe it!'
So when she told us all the family were to gather at Uncle Joe's
house because Uncle Basil had important news, and 'no children allowed',
my
sister started begging to go.
'I said NO!' said Mom. But we went anyway. My sister just took
my
hand, and Shadrack, the driver, put on his black peaked cap and opened
the
front door of the Wolsley for us and we squeezed in. When Mom came out
to
the car, she just said: 'Oh, you children!' and Shadrack swept open the
back door for her. He made a noise with the gear and off we went to the
big
house in Ridge Road, a few blocks away.
The Second World War was on and Uncle Basil had been in a plane,
flying to his important meetings in Europe, and next to him sat a man
with
a briefcase. He looked important, so my Uncle Basil invited him to have
a
drink:
'Fancy a Scotch? We're going to be up here for a couple of
hours,
so d'you like to join me?'
That's how my Uncle Basil discovered the man was only a Greek.
In
South Africa, Greeks own all the corner shops, the cafes and newsagents:
that's why they're called 'Greek shops'.
When my Uncle Basil told us the story, he paused at the bit when
he
found out the man was a Greek: 'He was Greek,' he said, 'but he was
quite
different. Overseas is different, you know. This man wore a very good
suit
and his English wasn't so bad. He couldn't pronounce his aitches
properly--none of them can. But you could see he was educated.'
'Oh, Basil!' said my Mom--who was the oldest in the family.
'Imagine entering into conversation with a stranger! You always were too
much of a schmoozer! How many times have I told you all, nothing good
ever
comes of it.'
Uncle Joe interrupted: 'Rose dear, not now, please!'
My mother ignored him. 'Well, its true! Didn't I tell you,
Sellie,
last time we were at Payne Brothers and that dreadful woman in the lift
started going on about the weather, and you said...'
Uncle Joe waved his hand down at my mother and said very
sternly:
'Rose dear! Keep quiet, d'you hear me? At once! Immediately!'
Auntie Sellie blew her nose because my mother was always picking
on
her. My mother got quite huffy:
'Nothing good ever comes of it, I tell you. And anyway, it's in
very bad taste,' she said, always getting in the last word.
'Well,' said Uncle Basil, 'I only asked where he was going. You
could see he was a businessman--huge briefcase. He looked at me with
those
big, wet brown eyes that Greeks have and said he was flying from one
capital to the next and not getting very far.
"What line of business are you in?" I asked him.
"Babies." he said.
"Babies?!"
'He told me there were all these Jewish babies in
Greece--orphans--and his job was to try and get them homes. But there
were
so many of them! Did I know anyone in South Africa who might want one? I
didn't say anything to that. I didn't think much of his
business--Babies!
'Our drinks came, and he drank his in one shot. We sat for a
while
and I opened my _Readers Digest_, but you know foreigners! Once you
speak to
them, they think they've got a licence. Rose is quite right, I suppose.
'He left me to read for a few minutes and just as I got to a
fascinating bit about some rare trees in Australia that I thought might
make a good floor for Reuben's place, he told me about this special baby
they had. Of course it had a totally unpronounceable name, as you'd
expect.
It was a lovely, blond, chubby baby. All the newspapers and magazines in
Europe were interested in the future of this particular baby, and the
person who adopted her would get a lot of publicity.'
Suddenly my Auntie Dolly screamed: 'Oh, Basil, you didn't! You
didn't say we'd take the blond baby girl, did you?'
'Not at first,' said Uncle Basil.
There was a dreadful fuss after that. Auntie Pearl got all red
in
the face and started shouting over the hubbub:
'This is a disgrace, a disgrace to the whole family. I can't
believe you would ever do such a thing, Basil! A total stranger--into
the
family!'
Uncle Joe sat back, pale, speechless, in what had been Grandpa's
studded leather chair. The men kept silent, except my Uncle Izzy, who
let
out a long whistle. Uncle Solly and Uncle Jerry looked at each other as
if
to say, 'Oh, hullabaloo again!' and Uncle Bunty cleared his throat and I
thought he was going to speak, but he didn't.
Auntie Fay, who was never very well, blew her nose and, from
behind
her hanky, said: 'Well, at least it's a girl. I mean it wouldn't inherit
or
anything. And it wouldn't have to have a bris--or a barmitzvah.'
Auntie Bea gave Fay a terrible look and went to the wall-bell
and
gave it two hard jabs:
'I'm going to order some tea, if you don't mind, Pearl. I think
this really is a dreadful business!'
My mother went popping mad and turned on Basil:
'Do you mean to say you've taken on a baby when your Peter is
still such a tot, and Dolly still has her hands full with your other
two?
Without telling us? Without even phoning? Well, I don't know what
Dolly's
got to say about it, but I'll tell you, poor darling Daddy would have
had
something to say. He'd have given you a damn good thrashing, Basil.'
Auntie Dolly sat back sobbing quietly while Auntie Betty and
Auntie
Tookie passed their white lace hankies to her and, finally a box of
tissues. Auntie Sellie took hold of Uncle Reuben's hand for comfort.
Everyone looked at Auntie Dolly. She looked at Uncle Basil. My sister
pinched my leg and I let out a yell. No one except Auntie Bea even
noticed.
She said: 'Will you children please go away!'
Uncle Basil dug into the breast pocket of his jacket and brought
out his wallet. He flipped it open and poised his thumb and forefinger
over
one of the folds before he whipped out a photograph which he held up:
'Just
look at this!'
Everyone left their seats to crowd round the picture. My sister
jumped up too and ran over but Auntie Bea gave her such a terrible look
that she ran back and sat next to me behind the couch: 'It's not fair,"
she
said. "I want to see it too.'
'Ah, shame!' the women said. 'Isn't it sweet!' 'Oh, how
gorgeous!'
and 'What a lovely little thing.'
Dolly took the picture in her hand and looked at it for a long
time, as if she was trying to focus. Everyone waited for her. 'When's it
coming?' she asked.
Everyone sat down and the picture passed from hand to hand.
Uncle
Basil cleared his throat and said: 'It's a cute little thing, don't you
think?'
Auntie Fay said: 'It's so tiny. How old is it? When was this
taken?
It must be only a few weeks old.'
'She must be about three months by now,' Uncle Basil said.
'When's it coming?' asked Auntie Dolly faintly.
'There were all the papers. I signed them before I left the man.
He
had the papers all ready. I signed them on the plane.'
'When, when's it arriving?' gasped Auntie Dolly.
Auntie Bea said sharply: 'Basil! Will you please tell us
immediately and at once when this baby is arriving from Greece?'
'About two weeks time,' said Basil. 'On the 27th of April.'
'What you going to call her?' asked Uncle Solly. 'Cheryl's quite
a
nice name.'
My mother said: 'Keep quiet, Solly. And don't be such a fool.'
After that, as I said, everyone went home except us and Auntie
Tookie. And then my sister and I walked home down Essenwood Road.
I told the servants in the kitchen. Gertrude, the old maid,
said:
'Tch, tch, Nkos' pezulu! [Lord above!] Poor little baby!' and threw her
apron over her head.
Maggie, Mom's maid, said: 'Haai! That's just typical, eh?
There's
millions of children in this country starving, or just dead from having
nothing and they have to go take a kid from overseas to feed--Hau!''
But Shadrack, the driver, laughed: 'These people! These Whites!
They don't even look after their own children. They just get us to go
and
do it all! So they can just add any old body to the family. What's the
difference!' And he gave a big bellow of a laugh and slapped the little
money pocket in the front of his trousers to see if he had any left.
Joseph, the cook, shook his head: 'It probably only drinks Greek
milk,' he said and scratched his scalp with a fishbone.
For the next two weeks there was tremendous excitement. Auntie
Dolly, with the help of her five sisters, decided to name the new baby
'Ruth', because she came from amid the alien corn. And it was decided,
after a lot of argument--because Auntie Bea wanted yellow--to do the
baby's
room in different shades of pink because it was a girl: the walls
mid-pink,
the cot quite dark pink, the linen very pale pink, the carpet a shade
lighter than the linen. There wasn't really time to make it anything,
but
Auntie Sellie managed to crochet a pink matinee jacket and all the
family
filled the pink chest of drawers with clothes. Uncle Jerry and Uncle
Solly
bought the baby a big pink teddy bear with glass eyes and when Mom took
me
to see the baby's room, it was standing there, nearly as big as the
chest
of drawers.
Everyone took gifts to the house. Even my Dad. He went out and
bought it a celluloid duck for its bath: 'Poor little thing,' he
muttered,
'What a family to come into, even if it is an orphan.'
My mother got very sharp with him when he said that: 'And what's
the matter with our family, may I ask?'
'Oh, this and that,' my Dad said. 'Nothing serious. Just a
joke.'
'Well,' said our Mom, 'if that's your idea of a joke, it's in
very
poor taste. And I wouldn't go on about the subject of families with that
lot you come from.'
'Good Capetonian stock,' my Dad said.
'There's nothing good about Cape Town,' said Mom. 'It's all
Coloureds and Malays so far as I can see--except Constantia.
Constantia's
all right. But then your family don't come from there, do they? I
wouldn't
go around boasting you're from Cape Town if I were you with your dark
colouring. Specially not when I'm so careful to tell everyone your
family's
from Spain.'
My father gave a sick laugh.
A few days before the baby was due to arrive, my mother invited
all
our cousins over to tell them, and then she didn't know what to say. She
went to fiddle with the purple velvet curtains while we sat at the oval
children's table, waiting, giggling and nudging each other. So Auntie
Bea,
who always knew what to say, said: 'Tch! Oh Rose! Really!' and came and
stood at the top of the table.
'Children!' she said, 'Anne and Peter and Gwen are going to have
a
little sister. And you're all going to have a new cousin. She won't be
like
us, but I'm sure we'll all love her anyway." And before we could say
anything, my Mom said: "Now run along all of you. If you see Gertrude or
one of the servants in the kitchen, ask them to give you some milk and
marie biscuits.'
There was a big fuss leading up to the 27th of April. My mother
kept
jumping up to telephone Auntie Dolly, to ask if she was all right--as if
she was sick: 'Are you sure, you're all right? Is everything ready? Can
I
help? I can always send Gertrude over to give you a hand. If there's
anything, let me know, won't you, darling?'
I forgot about the 27th of April and it must have come and gone.
I did
notice at some point that the panic had ceased, but that was always the
case with grown-ups. Some issue would blow up and my aunts would rush
around, my Mom stuck on the phone with her bedroom door closed. The men
would come home from work early and gather at one of our nine big
houses,
drinking Scotch, and everyone in the kitchen would be nodding and
clucking
and laughing with their hands over their mouths, so you knew it wasn't
something funny, and I'd be so frightened--sitting biting my fingers
with
worry. Then some days would pass and there'd be an inexplicable silence
about the thing that had caused all the bother, and no one would ever
mention it again.
Now the phonecalls stopped, and when my mother did telephone
from
her bedroom, she made our nurse take us out to play in the garden.
One Sunday at lunch, when Dad was carving the chicken, and
Lucas,
our waiter, was standing in his white uniform with red sash and white
gloves at his side, waiting for the pieces to be put on our plates, my
sister asked:
'Mom, when we going to see baby Ruth?'
'Oh, my God!' our mother said. 'The kids haven't heard.' Turning
to
my father, she whispered: 'The children still don't know. You tell them.
I'm not hungry. I'm going upstairs to have my rest now.'
'What happened, Dad? What happened?' asked my brother, bouncing
up
and down on his chair.
'It's called John,' said Dad. 'Your Uncle Basil made a right
mix-up--or someone did. It wasn't a girl, it was a boy. That put all
their
noses out of joint, I can tell you.'
'Well,' said my sister, 'when can we see baby John, then?'
'There's no baby John,' said Dad.
'They all trooped off to the airport--your whole family had to
be
in on the act--clucking and clacking over Dolly as if she was made of
glass, and there they waited. Cups of tea, brandy for the men. Coloured
nurse standing by with a warmed-up bottle. Blankets and shawls--in this
heat! I tell you, your Uncle Basil felt a right idiot causing all that
hysteria. And he never got a line of publicity for the adoption either.
He
sure caught the wrong end of that stick!
'Reminded me of your Uncle Bunty's great charitable act, when he
gave a Christmas party for the Coloured children down at the Child
Welfare--for the publicity. Invited all the press. A balloon and a lucky
packet each, jellies, little cakes, streamers: just right for a
newspaper
photo. Auntie Betty got up in one of those cocktail dresses, with bows
and
loops, posing with the scrubbed-up orphans for the picture. But the
reporters didn't come. Don't suppose they thought a children's party
such a
newsworthy item. They didn't print a line. And he said--your Uncle
Bunty:
"Bloody newspapers! That's the last bloody time I'll give them anything!
Illegitimate little brats, anyway".'
'Oh, Dad!' my sister said. 'Please tell us what happened about
Ruth, er, John.'
'Oh, a 12-year-old Greek boy called Theosophilus, or something,
walked off the plane in ill-fitting clothes. Couldn't speak a word of
English. Terrified, he was. Absolutely terrified. And big. Birth
certificate a complete fake, if you ask me. More like 16 or 18 years
old.
Jewish? No more Jewish than Shadrack the driver. Descended from the most
civilised people in the world: Plato, Aristotle, Socrates--but they
don't
know about all that--your family. Orphan! Not if you ask me. Man on the
plane was probably his father. Inherit the lot, you watch. Well, he's
first
in line now--their eldest son, isn't he?--tradition and all that. What
can
they do? Signed, sealed and delivered. Basil fell for it hook, line and
sinker. Everything quite nice and legal.'
Eventually we got to visit our Cousin John. He was going for
English lessons and elocution. He'd thrown darts at his pink walls and
he
knew a lot of maths. When he kissed me, his face felt all toasty and
rough--like Dad's when he came home from work. I couldn't find the
celluloid duck Dad bought him anywhere, or the teddy bear.
My Cousin John was a very nice, polite boy, with big, wet, brown
eyes. Even after all the lessons he never was able to pronounce his
aitches
properly and Auntie Pearl said he sounded like the man in the Greek shop
down the road. I don't know if he was circumcised, because I never saw
his
thing. He did have a bar mitzvah and I wore my new, blue taffeta dress,
but
by then Cousin John was taller than Uncle Basil.
And when, a few years later, Uncle Basil was killed flying his
plane into a mountain, Cousin John inherited a lot of factories and the
posh Berea house and the El-Dallas Ranch and we couldn't go there any
more
because they all got sold.
That was a long time ago now, and soon after Uncle Basil died,
my Cousin
John disappeared from our lives. But I remember some talk in Uncle Joe's
house one Friday night, of a Greek man with big, wet brown eyes, coming
to
visit our Cousin John. And Cousin John was so happy that he cried. The
man
came to fetch him because he'd discovered that his real family were
still
alive a
'I'd never adopt a child,' Auntie Pearl said. 'You wouldn't know
what you were getting, would you?'
Uncle Basil dug into the breast pocket of his jacket and
brought out his wallet. He flipped it open and poised his thumb and
forefinger over one of the folds before he whipped out a photograph
which he held up: 'Just look at this!'