Ordinary Life by Elizabeth Berg

Author:Elizabeth Berg
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
ISBN: 9780679437468
Publisher: Random House
Published: 2002-01-01T05:00:00+00:00

Things changed drastically after my mother went into the hospital. My father immediately hired a stout blond German woman named Anna to help out around the house. She was a spinster who sat on her porch and frowned at all of us children when our ball landed in her yard. She lived with her brother and his wife, two doors down from us. She had always smiled and waved at my father, secretly straightened the back of her dress when she stood talking to him. She didn’t do well at holding jobs, as her brother seemed to enjoy pointing out. “Anna speaks her mind come hell or high water,” he said. “She doesn’t win many popularity contests.” But she liked my father, and she was happy to take a job with us. “You girls behave for her,” he told us. “I’m not paying her much of anything. We’re lucky to have her.”

Anna believed strongly in order and discipline. We ate regular meals at regular times. I remembered often the last meal my mother had made. It was hot outside, and she’d made fruit salad. When my father came home and saw what was on the dinner table, he’d said, “Fruit salad?” Mary, the youngest of us at five, said excitedly, “With whipped cream, Daddy!” He’d opened the refrigerator, scowling, and then left the house, slamming the door. My mother shrugged. “He’s gone out for a steak,” she said. “He’ll just get hotter, I’ll bet you.” She pulled her blouse away from her chest. “It must be ninety-nine degrees. When it’s like this, it is such a pleasure to eat something so cool. Don’t you think?” “It’s pretty, too,” I’d said, and my mother had smiled at me. Later that night, I heard the screen door slam. Then I heard my mother’s apologetic murmurs, and the short, angry sentences my father said back to her. He’s still mad, I’d thought. Even after he’s had his steak, he’s still mad.

Now we had meat, potatoes, and a vegetable every night. We were to eat everything on our plates, clean them well enough to flip them over, and then efficiently have dessert on the other side. We no longer picked out our own clothes to wear—Anna chose an outfit for us each night before she went home. Although my teacher commented positively on my improved appearance, I didn’t like having my clothes picked out. Nor did I like the influx of strangers into our house—friends of Helen’s began coming over, and giggling with her behind closed doors.

When it was bath time, Anna made me stop whatever I was doing immediately. “Come now,” she would say. “You wash like I told you—start with your hair, and work all the way to your toes. Don’t forget anything in the middle. And hurry—there are others waiting.” I used to stare into her ruddy, stiff face as she ordered me about, looking for a way to see into her. But there was no access for me. Her braids were wound so tightly around her head.

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