Broadway Baby Read Online Free PDF Page A

street.
    Sylvie had red hair, a dimpled chin, and cheeks that jiggled madly when she talked. She had what Bubbie called a “foul mouth.” She was mean to everyone, as if she wanted everyone to hate her. But Miriam would get through to her. Miriam would change her for the better. Playing with Sylvie would show the golem how good Miriam could be, how far she had come since her days as an adulteress.
    She knocked on Sylvie’s door one Saturday. “What do you want?” Sylvie’s mother asked.
    When Miriam said, “I was wondering if Sylvie could come to my house this afternoon to play,” Sylvie’s mother said, “You mean it? Seriously?”
    Her mother pushed Sylvie out the door. “You girls have fun,” she said. “Sylvie, play as long as you like.”
    Th ey went to Miriam’s house and played dolls in her room. Miriam wanted to play family—mother feeding child, mother cuddling child, mother pushing child on swing. Sylvie just watched scowling. Th en Miriam suggested they play Dancing Lady, the new musical picture show that had just come to Boston, the new poster for which had just been slapped up on the billboard over Fleischman’s Bakery, and she danced her husband and wife dolls around and around.
    Th en Sylvie said, “Hey, I have an idea. Let’s play divorce,” and grabbing the dolls from Miriam, she banged the husband’s and wife’s heads together, and then picked up the baby, and cried, “Wah wah wah.” Th en she picked up the husband again, saying, “Shut up, you little runt, you, or I’ll tear your whiney little head off.”
    “Why do you want to do that?” Miriam asked.
    “Nobody’s ever played with you like that, I bet. And where’s your dopey father anyway? Probably screwin’ some dirty tramp.”
    As if it belonged to someone else, Miriam’s fist flew at Sylvie, hitting her square in the jaw. Sylvie fell back and scrambled to her feet. “You’re just like everybody else,” she screamed, and Miriam felt the floor shake as Sylvie, crying, lumbered down the stairs and out the door.
    Later that night, Sylvie’s mother called, asking to speak with Miriam. Fearing the worst, Miriam picked up the phone. Sylvie’s mother wanted to know if Sylvie could come play with her again tomorrow afternoon. Miriam broke another commandment, one she hoped the golem didn’t care so much about: “Sorry,” she said. “I’m busy tomorrow. Maybe next week.”

Scene IV
    As the next few years went by, the world became larger and smaller at the same time. Th e kitchen radio was always on in the evenings, even during dinner. Th ey listened amazed and angry to Father Coughlin and his anti-Semitic ravings, or to the news in Europe, which was worsening by the day. All through the broadcasts, Zaydie would mutter, “Bastards, no-good goy bastards.” But Miriam couldn’t bear to think about Hitler or inflation or the fall of Europe or what now was being blamed on the Jews. Every day more and more strangers from the old country were arriving in the neighborhood. Th ere were stories of persecutions reminiscent of the Middle Ages, of biblical times. Th e world seemed fearfully unsettled. She was seventeen years old, a senior at the Girls’ Latin School in Dorchester. She had ambitions, dreams. Like her friends, she wanted to marry and raise wonderful children, but she also fantasized about the theater, of a life of teaching and acting, singing and dancing. And yet who knew, what with war coming (everybody said it was), what sacrifices would be demanded of her, what obstacles she’d have to overcome. And as if all that weren’t bad enough, there was her speech-interpretation teacher to deal with—Gertrude Pinkerton, the faculty adviser to the drama club to which no girl could be admitted without her say-so.
    Mrs. Pinkerton was a widow, and even though her husband, Curtis, had passed away ten years ago, she still dressed only in black to commemorate what she called their “matrimonial alliance.” He had been, she