working here, I can tell you that. Oh yes, creeps. Well, you know there are types, men I mean, who cruise looking for boys on the loose. It’s not just California, I’m sure you’ve got people like that back home. Well, if you’re hung up for bread, you can close your eyes I suppose. Hell, if you close your eyes, how can you tell whoever’s down there is a man or a woman?”
“I think we ought to go to our room now, Clete,” Margaret said.
“You don’t like what I told you?”
“It’s a pathetic story, Clete. I’m sorry you had to live such a life.”
The truth was she felt light-headed, relaxed, compared to the way she had felt at the beginning of the meal.
It hadn’t been Clete’s story.
Could it have been something in the food? She glanced over at Henry. His eyes looked the way he always looked after he’d had two or three drinks quickly at a boring cocktail party. But they’d had nothing to drink.
“I need to use the washroom,” she said to Clete.
“It’s over there,” Clete said. He didn’t like Margaret. She looked down on him, just the way Jews did. She had no right.
There were two women in the ladies’ room, a dark-haired pretty woman in her thirties, and a graying woman of Margaret’s age.
“I’m Dr. Brown,” she said to both of them. “We just arrived.”
The older woman walked right past Margaret and left the bathroom.
“She’s afraid,” the younger woman said.
“I hadn’t said anything.”
“Newcomers always try to ask questions.”
“Is there anything they put in the food?”
There was suddenly a splash of fear in the young woman’s eyes. She nodded her head quickly, as if not speaking words might keep her safe.
“It was in the fish mousse, wasn’t it?” Clete had taken one small bite. But he’d eaten hamburgers. “What is it?”
The young woman bit her lip and started for the door. Margaret put her hand on the woman’s arm. “What is it?”
“From the farm,” the woman said, a catch in her throat. “Please let me go.”
The young woman’s eyes, a beautiful dark brown, had deep circles under them.
“How long have you been here?”
She said, “More than four months. Please don’t ask me any more.”
“Four months! Was anyone with you?”
The young woman was silent.
Margaret took the young woman’s hands. “Please tell me.”
“My husband.”
“Yes.”
“And my child. A boy.”
It seemed to Margaret that the young woman was on the verge of tears.
“I haven’t seen children here,” Margaret said.
“They remove them to the nursery,” the young woman said.
“During the day?” Margaret asked.
The young woman looked frightened. “I must go.”
“When did you last see your child?”
“When we arrived. Four months ago.”
Margaret put her arms around the woman. “Oh my dear. I’m sorry.”
The door to the ladies’ room opened. An orange-and-blue-uniformed young woman came in. “Lesbian conduct is not permitted here,” she said.
Margaret dropped her arms from around the young woman and approached the staff member. “Where is this woman’s child?” asked Margaret.
The staff member glared at the young woman. “You’ve been talking. Out.”
The young woman seemed terribly frightened. She glanced at Margaret, then swiftly left.
“You, too,” the staff member said.
“Just hold your horses,” Margaret said and went into a booth. She could see the staff member’s feet just outside the booth, waiting. When Margaret was finished, she came out of the booth, washed, and left the room. The staff member was following her.
When Margaret resumed her place beside Henry, the staff member said to Clete, “You’d better keep an eye on her, Clete. She’s trouble.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Clete said to Margaret as the staff member left. Margaret looked around the dining room, trying to spot the dark-haired woman, whose name she did not know. There she was, eating at a small table all by herself. Where was her
“I think we ought to go to our room now, Clete,” Margaret said.
“You don’t like what I told you?”
“It’s a pathetic story, Clete. I’m sorry you had to live such a life.”
The truth was she felt light-headed, relaxed, compared to the way she had felt at the beginning of the meal.
It hadn’t been Clete’s story.
Could it have been something in the food? She glanced over at Henry. His eyes looked the way he always looked after he’d had two or three drinks quickly at a boring cocktail party. But they’d had nothing to drink.
“I need to use the washroom,” she said to Clete.
“It’s over there,” Clete said. He didn’t like Margaret. She looked down on him, just the way Jews did. She had no right.
There were two women in the ladies’ room, a dark-haired pretty woman in her thirties, and a graying woman of Margaret’s age.
“I’m Dr. Brown,” she said to both of them. “We just arrived.”
The older woman walked right past Margaret and left the bathroom.
“She’s afraid,” the younger woman said.
“I hadn’t said anything.”
“Newcomers always try to ask questions.”
“Is there anything they put in the food?”
There was suddenly a splash of fear in the young woman’s eyes. She nodded her head quickly, as if not speaking words might keep her safe.
“It was in the fish mousse, wasn’t it?” Clete had taken one small bite. But he’d eaten hamburgers. “What is it?”
The young woman bit her lip and started for the door. Margaret put her hand on the woman’s arm. “What is it?”
“From the farm,” the woman said, a catch in her throat. “Please let me go.”
The young woman’s eyes, a beautiful dark brown, had deep circles under them.
“How long have you been here?”
She said, “More than four months. Please don’t ask me any more.”
“Four months! Was anyone with you?”
The young woman was silent.
Margaret took the young woman’s hands. “Please tell me.”
“My husband.”
“Yes.”
“And my child. A boy.”
It seemed to Margaret that the young woman was on the verge of tears.
“I haven’t seen children here,” Margaret said.
“They remove them to the nursery,” the young woman said.
“During the day?” Margaret asked.
The young woman looked frightened. “I must go.”
“When did you last see your child?”
“When we arrived. Four months ago.”
Margaret put her arms around the woman. “Oh my dear. I’m sorry.”
The door to the ladies’ room opened. An orange-and-blue-uniformed young woman came in. “Lesbian conduct is not permitted here,” she said.
Margaret dropped her arms from around the young woman and approached the staff member. “Where is this woman’s child?” asked Margaret.
The staff member glared at the young woman. “You’ve been talking. Out.”
The young woman seemed terribly frightened. She glanced at Margaret, then swiftly left.
“You, too,” the staff member said.
“Just hold your horses,” Margaret said and went into a booth. She could see the staff member’s feet just outside the booth, waiting. When Margaret was finished, she came out of the booth, washed, and left the room. The staff member was following her.
When Margaret resumed her place beside Henry, the staff member said to Clete, “You’d better keep an eye on her, Clete. She’s trouble.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Clete said to Margaret as the staff member left. Margaret looked around the dining room, trying to spot the dark-haired woman, whose name she did not know. There she was, eating at a small table all by herself. Where was her
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