The Undertaker’s Spouse | The Saturday Night Submit

On a heat Holy Thursday, Sister Agatha defied April’s cruelty and launched the kids of St. Ephraim’s early, into the sunshine, the place they scattered like stars, undetected of their brightness. Some charged over to Smith’s drugstore to research thriller sweet luggage, some skipped to McKinley Park to make picket swings scrape the sky, and a few lined as much as resume their battles of Kick the Can and Double Dutch bounce. The older ones stood round preening and pretending to not discover each other. Josephine Pagano alone stated goodbye to her buddies and ran straight down Fort Hamilton Parkway, to a stately brick home that was shaded by a pear tree, subsequent to Borga’s funeral parlor, the place the undertaker’s spouse waited for her.

On the high of the steps, Josephine caught her breath and made herself as presentable as circumstances would permit. She tucked in her starched shirt and unwound the cotton stockings that twisted themselves like serpents round her ankles, earlier than urgent a small white button till the buzzer sounded, unlocking the door. As soon as inside, she eliminated her sneakers and ran via the darkish hallway, coming undone once more, till she reached Mrs. Borga’s bed room. Mrs. Borga was sitting at her vainness gazing into the moon mirror that hung above it, watching Josephine enter. She was in all probability the identical age as Josephine’s mom, although much less spherical and extra organized, from the small waves of her auburn hair to her feathered silver slippers. Her eyebrows had been formed into clean brown arches, and comfortable grey traces had been drawn throughout her eyelids, intensifying the lapis blue of her eyes. Her mouth was a scarlet hunter’s bow, painted to match her lengthy, oval nails. Even her eyelashes had make-up on them: raven black ink that made them lengthy and spiked. Josephine had by no means seen her in an apron and couldn’t think about her carrying one any greater than she may have pictured the Mona Lisa draped beneath a sheet. Standing there, within the room with somebody who appeared so good, Josephine felt proud that she had been chosen to go to and but unworthy. The only bobby pin that dangled from a free strand of her hair like a child monkey didn’t assist any. She pushed it behind her ear.

Mrs. Borga turned and held out her arms. “I’m so glad to see you! I used to be fearful you may not be capable of make it this near Easter. How was college?”

Josephine hugged her and stated, “Martin Grande referred to as me 4 Eyes once more. I wished to smash him with my lunchbox.”

“Did you?”

“No.”

“Did you inform Sister Agatha?”

“No, however this time I made positive he atoned for his sins. I waited till quiet prayer, and at any time when Sister wasn’t wanting, I kicked his chair. He couldn’t make a peep as a result of Sister would have finished him in.” Josephine may nonetheless really feel the pleasure of watching Martin’s neck redden with every bump towards his seat.

“Nicely,” Mrs. Borga stated. “Revenge is a dish greatest served chilly.”

“I didn’t flip the opposite cheek,” Josephine confessed.

“Martin Grande won’t make enjoyable of you once more.” She slid fragrance bottles throughout the vainness high like chess items.

“I ponder if it counts as a sin.”

“That’s between you and God. Bear in mind: Bullies don’t perceive diplomacy. They require their very own language, and also you spoke it. Maintain out your wrist. I’m going to anoint you to your braveness within the face of foolish boys, who will, in time, develop into foolish males. Or, as some would say, affected person wolves. The earlier you begin managing them, the higher.” She chosen a bottle and eliminated the crystal stopper. The gold ballerinas hanging from her bracelet kicked towards the glass, ringing like little bells. Josephine pushed her sleeves as much as the elbow and stood along with her greatest posture, arms prolonged, as Mrs. Borga dabbed a drop on her wrists after which one behind every ear.

Josephine introduced her wrist to her nostril and inhaled.

“It’s referred to as Adieu Sagesse.”

“Lily of the Valley, blended with one thing else,” Josephine stated.

“Musk,” Mrs. Borga stated, dabbing some on her personal neck. “A touch of musk.”

Josephine took within the room, as she had a dozen instances earlier than, marveling on the diaphanous curtains and operating her hand flippantly throughout the again of the velvet chaise longue. There was a tall darkish dresser, with curved claw toes and a lamp that had a fringed white shade. “At any time when I’m right here, I really feel like I’m in Egypt. Or, perhaps, Oz.”

“Poor Dorothy,” Mrs. Borga stated. “She would have been higher off with a superb peep toe.” She laughed. “Sufficient of that. I’ve one thing particular for as we speak. You’re 13 now, aren’t you?”

“Sure,” Josephine stated with satisfaction, after which, earlier than she may cease herself, blurted, “I should be residence by 4:30 to assist with the Easter pies.” Her mom was within the kitchen already, boiling grain and stirring ricotta filling within the huge black pot. Josephine would work the dough and reduce scalloped strips for the tops, whereas her blind grandmother crimped the sides. Although the roles had modified through the years, they’d labored this fashion since Josephine was tall sufficient to succeed in the chopping board.

“After all!” Mrs. Borga stated. “Your mom is blessed to have you ever.”

Josephine smiled.

“13 is an excellent age. On the cusp of a lot. Truly,” she stated, touching her neck for a second, “all ages is fantastic. Don’t let anybody let you know in another way.” She shook her head.

“Mrs. Borga,” Josephine started. A query had been nagging at her since her grandfather died. Every time she tried to ask, she had panicked and requested one thing else as an alternative.

“It’s okay, Josephine.”

“Do you assist Mr. Borga with the make-up?”

“Do you imply do I assist to organize the deceased?”

Josephine nodded.

“Sure,” Mrs. Borga stated. “I’m expert within the artwork of cosmetics.”

Josephine remembered how her mom had urged to kiss her grandfather goodbye as he lay in his coffin and she or he had refused. “What’s it like?”

“To the touch the useless?”

Josephine nodded.

“Like working with stone. They aren’t there. The make-up is for the residing; it helps them to take pleasure in one final fantasy, normally involving their sleeping family members.”

“Does it make you concentrate on demise on a regular basis?”

Mrs. Borga shook her head. “Simply the alternative. It makes me take my very own coronary heart in my palms day-after-day and ask, ‘How do I do know I’m alive?’” She cupped her hand beneath her breast and pressed. “After which I’ve to pay attention for the reply!”

“Like this?” Josephine pressed and felt a fast thrumming towards her ribs that reminded her of their parakeet, who usually slipped his cage and hid till Josephine retrieved him from the umbrella stand.

“Sure, precisely. Now, ask how you recognize you’re alive. Whilst you try this, I’m going to test on Mrs. Sturbinski within the kitchen and get us some treats. Assist your self to the jewellery field. Pick lovely issues that make you dream.” She walked out, her naked toes encased in backless silver heeled slippers adorned with tufts of pink feathers. The feathers puffed a bit of as she moved, which made them look as in the event that they had been birds about to take flight. She referred to as them mules, which at all times made Josephine consider her mom and aunt, loaded with groceries as they returned from the market.

When the Borgas opened their funeral parlor in Bay Ridge, everybody supplied a idea about Mrs. Borga, whose tantalizing accent couldn’t be positioned: Italian princess, German heiress, Polish nun escaped from the convent. The lads speculated concerning the convertible Cadillac she sailed round Fort Hamilton Parkway; the ladies gossiped that she had her hair finished in New York Metropolis. She wore a black mantilla and seamed stockings to church and held on to her husband’s arm as they walked up the aisle. The Borgas didn’t obtain communion, which didn’t hassle Mrs. Pagano, who by no means went to confession and so didn’t obtain both. “I inform my sins to God,” she stated.

When Josephine accomplished her first Holy Communion, Mrs. Pagano launched her from going to confession, too. “Don’t worry. God is aware of what you do,” she stated. Kneeling within the pew along with her mom whereas the others went as much as obtain the Eucharist, Josephine considered what she would have confessed. There was a lot. Preventing along with her cousins. Impatience along with her grandmother. Wanting the older boys to kiss her. Josephine appeared over on the Borgas, who additionally knelt by themselves, eyes closed. She tried to think about what Mrs. Borga was pondering.

One Sunday, following a sermon about lust, Josephine and her mom stood exterior of church speaking in Italian. Josephine requested when she can be sufficiently old so far. “Women who begin too early develop into the speak of the neighborhood,” Mrs. Pagano stated. Josephine was about to repeat her query when Mrs. Borga walked as much as them and marveled at Josephine’s pronunciation. “Senora,” she requested Mrs. Pagano, “would it not be all proper in case your daughter visited me after college every so often? I’d so take pleasure in talking Italian along with her.” Flattered that they’d been singled out, Mrs. Pagano appeared round to see if the others had been watching after which rapidly replied, “Certo.” That evening, as Josephine ready for mattress, her mom defined: “When a lady is barren, she suffers. She is aware of she has no life on earth after demise. God gave me you and your cousins, too. It might be egocentric of me to not share.” Josephine danced a bit of, whilst her mom added, “You’ll inform me about every part that you simply and Mrs. Borga talk about.”

Within the Borga bed room, a love scene repeated throughout the bed room’s wallpaper: a smiling man pushing a laughing lady on a swing, her bosom squeezed to the highest of a pink costume that was puffed with petticoats. The one traces of Heaven within the room had been embroidered blue angels enjoying lutes and dancing throughout a gold brocade bedspread. There was not a single statue of the Virgin Mom or portray of Jesus and even rosary beads draped on a nook of the headboard. There was no candle burning to honor somebody who had died, no pictures of the useless or small steel pot of incense. There have been chairs wrapped in velvet and a really huge closet and a gleaming white cellphone that Josephine had seen solely in films. When she was within the room, she had no need to look out the window. She wished to soak up each inch of her environment till they grew to become a part of her.

Whereas Mrs. Borga was within the kitchen, Josephine didn’t ask herself how she knew she was alive. She didn’t need to be impolite to Mrs. Borga and inform her that generally she felt too alive, too uncovered to each wisp of existence, so uncooked and tender that air itself may transfer her to tears or laughter. She didn’t want to listen to her coronary heart via her fingers as a result of more often than not it yelled via its cage, faucet dancing and waltzing and galloping, calling out from between her ribs to be launched. She was alive all proper.

Opening the most important of the pink leather-based containers, she eliminated a bracelet fabricated from two gold snakes with emeralds for eyes and slipped all of it the way in which up till it cuffed her arm. She took off her glasses and picked up the receiver of the gleaming white phone, squinting as she admired herself within the mirror and questioning what her mom would say if she noticed her. Her household didn’t personal a phone; as soon as, when Josephine’s uncle was taken to the hospital, his spouse referred to as Smith’s drugstore down the block, and Mr. Smith got here and introduced Mrs. Pagano to the cellphone.

“Oh, hiya, Phillip,” Josephine stated, flashing a coy smile. “No, I can’t come to lunch with you as we speak. I–”

Mrs. Borga returned with a tall steel espresso pot and a glass plate of madeleines. “Sorry to interrupt,” she whispered, as she positioned the tray on the desk. “Afternoon coca.”

Josephine changed the cellphone and turned scarlet. She wished that she may have poured scalding cocoa throughout herself or jumped via a window. On the very least, she wished Mrs. Borga to scold her in order that she may really feel the acquainted cloak of disgrace.

“Don’t fear, expensive,” Mrs. Borga stated. “I take pleasure in that cellphone, too. Each phrase spoken into it seems like Shakespeare. There isn’t a such factor as idle dialog. Right here, I need to present you one thing.” She went to the closet and pulled out an extended brown fur coat and held it up, pointing to the lapels. “Tuxedo entrance,” she defined, “and huge sleeves so you’ll be able to slip it over something, even a go well with jacket.” She started stroking the fur. “It’s mink, not dyed lamb.”

“Did Mr. Borga give this to you?” Josephine requested.

“No,” Mrs. Borga stated. “However that’s a narrative for an additional day. Hop up on the mattress.”

Josephine obeyed, and Mrs. Borga fanned the heavy coat throughout her, radiating heat all the way in which to her waist.

Mrs. Borga appeared happy by Josephine’s response. “I’ve one thing else for you. Ladies must find out about greater than making bracciole.”

Josephine wiggled beneath the heavy coat, which was starting to really feel sizzling. She lifted it to let some air in and quietly moved one among her legs out from the coat. “Sure,” she agreed. “However not what we study in class.”

“You’re a sensible younger lady,” Mrs. Borga stated. She went to the highest drawer of the excessive dresser and pulled out a gossamer ivory robe. Holding it by the shoulders as if she had been about to bounce with it, she shook it and crammed the room with lavender. “That is from France. Pure silk.” Mrs. Borga caressed her cheek with it.

“It’s lovely!” Josephine exclaimed, reaching out to the touch the graceful material. “Is it a nightgown?” The coat had grown heavier throughout her physique.

“It’s a negligee.” Mrs. Borga leaned towards Josephine and whispered, “It has a secret.” She introduced the robe near her chest in order that the plunging V-neck fell throughout her bosom revealing lace insets throughout the breasts.

Josephine felt as if she had walked in on Mrs. Borga within the bathtub. She couldn’t cease eager about the images her cousins saved in a espresso can buried within the yard. A number of the girls in them appeared startled and ashamed, others beckoned and pursed their lips. They wore garters and brassieres or robes of lace with nothing beneath. One among them sat on a horse, and one other stood in entrance of a mirror, her leg raised up on a stool. Each week the boys snuck out to the can, as if possessed by the pictures within the filth. Couldn’t they keep in mind what they’d seen? Did they assume that one thing within the footage had modified? Did the ladies within the footage have any thought how a lot energy they’d over these giddy, nervous boys? Mrs. Borga should know all about such issues, and Josephine wanted to say one thing that might exhibit she was worldly sufficient to be taken into her confidence. “It have to be costly.”

“It’s,” Mrs. Borga stated, pulling the negligee shut her waist. “But it surely’s very helpful, and it’s a wonderful reminder of one thing that ladies ought to at all times keep in mind. Bear in mind: By no means let anybody see you utterly bare.”

Josephine stroked the mink on her lap as she took on this final bit of recommendation. “Not even your husband?”

“Particularly your husband,” Mrs. Borga stated.

Josephine had by no means heard an grownup speak that manner about marriage. When she received her first interval, her mom defined the basic workings of the honeymoon evening as she was chopping up a hen for the oven, and there was no extra speak after that. “Will I’ve to put on one thing like that after I get married?”

Mrs. Borga laughed. “No, Josephine. However some day, you may take pleasure in every part that comes with having a robe like this. Or not. It’s good to know, at the very least, that such issues exist and that the lads in your life ought to by no means really feel that they’ve loved a whole meal.”

The mink coat had develop into unbearably sizzling. Josephine slid herself out from it, however, ever conscious of Mrs. Borga’s emotions, saved one hand on the lapel, whereas she lifted a diamond pendant from the field with the opposite.

Mrs. Borga appeared happy. “You’ve chosen probably the most precious piece of the lot. It’s not price probably the most, however it’s the most treasured.” She mounted it round Josephine’s neck. “My mother and father smuggled diamonds out of Russia by stitching them into the liner of my mom’s coat. It was all they needed to give to us for a brand new begin. If they’d been caught, they’d have paid with their lives. Mr. Borga had this one made right into a necklace for me.”

The diamond felt cool towards Josephine’s pores and skin. She touched it flippantly. “How did you and Mr. Borga meet?”

“I used to be starring in The Good Fairy. He bribed an usher to take him to my dressing room. After that, he got here to my performances with long-stem roses, each evening.”

Josephine struggled to think about Mr. Borga the undertaker as a lovestruck fan. She had seen him after mass winding the stem of his pocket watch with lengthy, tapered white fingers whereas his spouse chatted with the opposite girls. When he had had sufficient, he touched her on the elbow they usually left. “What was it like?”

Mrs. Borga picked up a photograph of herself carrying a sublime hat and an extended, beaded robe. “Magnificent. I carried out all throughout Europe: France, Spain, Germany, giving folks what they wished to really feel. They gave me the love you may give solely to strangers, once you don’t need them to be something greater than what you think about. They cheered, they referred to as my identify and applauded as if their hearts would burst. Males waited exterior the theater, even within the pouring rain, begging for a glove or a handkerchief —”

Josephine whispered, “A relic.”

“— I felt as highly effective as a goddess.”

“Why don’t you act right here?”

“Sono sposata.” Mrs. Borga pursed her lips, on the verge of claiming one thing extra.

“So?”

“Mr. Borga’s household didn’t approve his marrying an actress. They felt I had seen an excessive amount of of the world.”

“However he married you anyway?”

“Sure. And I gave up my vocation.”

“How may you?”

“Marriage is a sequence of trades. To get one thing you have to give one thing.”

Mrs. Borga appeared within the mirror, first at Josephine’s reflection after which her personal. “I received the higher finish of the discount. Mr. Borga is an effective man. Significantly better than most. And if I’m sincere, I need to let you know that the facility I relinquished didn’t quantity to very a lot.”

Josephine shook her head. “How will you say that? You had every part!”

“I believed so too, on the time. However whereas I used to be bowing and taking in applause, Mussolini and his thugs marched on Rome. My being a goddess did nothing to vary that.” She laughed and turned the picture face down. “Such a naïve creature. Maybe if I had been extra Diana and fewer Venus …” She poured extra coca, holding again the lid of the tall steel pot.

“Why did you allow Europe?”

“Mussolini’s poison was already killing Italy. They’d come for us subsequent.”

“Why?”

“We had been Jews.”

“Jews? However you go to church.”

Mrs. Borga checked out Josephine, her face a mix of sympathy and curiosity. “The Sinti say that they’re stars scattered within the sight of God. That’s what I’m. A star scattered within the sight of God.”

For the second time that day, Josephine felt she had encounter Mrs. Borga within the bathtub. She had by no means met a Jewish individual, realizing them solely via the catechism classes that confused one perception above all others: “Sister Agatha says that Jews can’t get into Heaven. She advised us that they may by no means be saved.”

Mrs. Borga bit her lip for a second after which exhaled very slowly. “Do you imagine her?”

“I don’t know.”

“I believe your Sister is right: whether or not or not I’m a Jew, I cannot get into her Heaven.”

“Don’t you need to get into Heaven?” Josephine fearful she may cry. All of her ideas fell from her directly. “There was a ship of Jewish folks that wasn’t allowed to come back to America. I learn it within the newspaper. The president stated that we didn’t have sufficient room. He stated that extra Jews would come in the event that they had been let in, and that they may be spies. He despatched them away.”

“Heaven. Ports. They’re the identical,” Mrs. Borga stated slowly. “As soon as folks assume they’re via, they rework into adept sentinels. Or they sew their eyes shut higher than any undertaker ever may, in order that they’ll sleep at evening.” Mrs. Borga thought for a minute. “I didn’t count on us to go down this highway.”

Josephine felt one thing inside her begin to tear. She put her glasses again on and eliminated the pendant, returning it to its satin mattress.

Mrs. Borga gathered cups onto the tray, her eyes moist. She glanced on the clock; it was properly after 4. “I believe we’ve had sufficient theology for someday,” she stated, her voice trembling on the sting of anger. She stepped again, the sunshine from the window coming throughout her face, becoming a member of her to the tableau on the wallpaper. The lady on the swing and the person at her aspect performed on. Josephine hugged Mrs. Borga goodbye.

As she walked residence, Josephine deliberate what she would say to her mom and grandmother. She would inform them once more concerning the elegant white phone. She would describe its gleaming end, the way in which it sparkled like a jewel that introduced the world to the Borgas’ mattress. She would discover the proper phrases to heat their bellies with candy cocoa and fill their mouths with delicate vanilla sponge. Like a talented baker, she would trim out all of the elements concerning the negligee and Mrs. Borga’s previous and Mrs. Borga’s beliefs, in order that ache dropped away from the proper symmetry of the pies, scraps of soppy dough falling from her floured palms. That evening, beneath the gauzy tent of wakefulness and sleep, Josephine pressed her fingers towards her ribcage. She dreamt that she noticed Mrs. Borga, bare.