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told your mother later—you must have, or he did—but they still kept her on.”
    â€œFrieda was a gem, they thought. She ran the house. Kept the kids disciplined, quiet when necessary and out of the way. Three boys too, so no easy task. She gave them the time to do what they liked. Work, play, go off for a week or weekend whenever they wanted. Cruises, and once all summer in Europe. And she wasn’t well paid either. None of the nannies then were.”
    â€œBut she did lots of cruel things like that feces scene. She beat you, hit your face. Smacked your hands with a spatula that you said stung for hours later.”
    â€œThat was Jadwiga, the Polish woman who replaced Frieda when Frieda married.”
    â€œSent you to bed without your dinner several times.”
    â€œBoth of them.”
    â€œTwisted your wrists till they burned. Right? Frieda?” He nods. “Face it, she was a sadist, but your parents permitted it.”
    â€œLook, you have to understand where she came from and the period. As for my parents, who knows if they didn’t think that discipline—her kind—and it probably wasn’t an uncommon notion then—attitude, belief, whatever—was what we needed. The kids. And OK, since they didn’t want to discipline us like that themselves—didn’t have the heart to, or the discipline for it or the time—she got anointed. Appointed . That wasn’t intentional. I’m not that smart. Or just was tacitly allowed to. Anyway, Frieda came from Hanover. 1930 or so. A little hamlet outside. My father hired her right off the boat. Literally, almost. She was here for two or three days when he got her from an employment agency. And that had to be the way she was brought up herself. Germany, relatively poor and little educated, and very rigid, tough, hard, disciplined years.”
    â€œWhat did your father do after he stopped laughing? Did he clean your face?”
    â€œI don’t remember, but I’m sure he didn’t. He would never touch it. The shit? That was Frieda’s job. On her day off, my mother’s.”
    â€œCan you remember though?”
    â€œLet me see.” Closes his eyes. “She put me down. I’d asked her to. Your know all that. I ran into the kitchen. I see him coming, and then he’s there. He’s got on a business suit, white shirt and a tie. His office was in front of the building, you know.”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œSo it could have been around lunchtime. He came back to the apartment for lunch every workday. Did it through a door connecting the office and apartment.”
    â€œThe door’s not there now, is it?”
    â€œOn my mother’s side it is—in the foyer—but she had that huge breakfront put up in front of it. On the other side it was sealed up when he gave up the office. I don’t know why they didn’t have the door sealed up on their side. Would have been safer from break-ins and more aesthetic. Maybe he thought he’d start up his practice again when he got well enough to. But after he gave up the office it was rented by another dentist. A woman. He sold her most of his equipment. And he wouldn’t have been in a business suit then. White shirt and tie, yes. He wore them under his dental smock on even the hottest days. So now it makes me wonder. It was definitely a business suit I saw. A dark one. He must have come into the apartment through the front door, not the office door. It was probably a Sunday. Frieda got her day off during the week and a half day off on Sunday right after lunch. So I don’t know. Maybe it was one of the Jewish holidays. He could have just come back from shul . But where were my brothers? They could have gone with him and were now playing outside. And my mother? She would have been in the kitchen cooking if it was a Jewish holiday. That was the time—the only time, just about, except for Thanksgiving and I don’t