Vic says, “I wonder why they didn’t.”
Henry replies, “Because it is Jewish science.”
The others look at him, but Henry does not continue.
“What’s that?” asks Jack.
“Atomic science.”
Hal asks, “What do you mean, ‘Jewish’?”
“Einstein is a Jew,” says Henry.
Jack flinches at the word — it sounds abrupt, rude: Jew. It sounds … anti-Semitic. Jack knows that isn’t fair — just because Froelich is German doesn’t make him an anti-Semite.
“Hitler rejects Jewish science”—Henry sounds more Teutonic than ever to Jack, clipped tones, confident to the point of arrogance—“also Hitler does not have the imagination to marry the rocket with the atomic warhead.”
“Boy,” says Steve. “So in a strange way … Hitler’s anti-Semitism may have saved us from the big one.”
Jack gives a low whistle. Henry says nothing.
Elaine calls, “What are you boys talking about?”
Jack smiles over at her. “Aw, fun ’n’ games, Elaine, fun ’n’ games.”
“They’re talking politics,” says Mimi, carrying a TV table over with four plates of pineapple upside-down cake, “solving the world’s problems.” She sets the table down and winks at her husband.
Vic protests, “That’s the third dessert tonight!”
“I don’t know where you found the time, Mimi,” calls Betty.
Jack notices Karen sitting a little apart, both babies asleep in her lap. Yet she doesn’t look maternal so much as … what? He tries to put his finger on it. She looks as though she’s on safari … like that woman who rescues animals … monkeys … lion cubs? What’s the name of that book?
“Well stop being so boring,” Elaine calls to the men from her chaise, “and come talk to us.”
“Let them get it out of their system, love,” says Betty, pouring tea, although Elaine is still working on a cocktail.
Froelich takes a bite of cake. “Thank you Mrs. McCarthy—entschuldigen Sie mich, bitte—Mimi. Delicious cake.” He inclines his head in a formal old-world bow, and resumes energetically: “My point being, why go to the moon when we can so very well annihilate ourselves from here?”
The other men look at him. “I’m talking about avoiding annihilation,” says Jack.
“Then why don’t we get rid of the weapons?”
“Are you a ban-the-bomb type, Henry?”
“Sure, why not?”
“So am I,” says Vic. “I’d like the Soviets to ban it first, though.”
“The military are the biggest peaceniks of all,” says Jack. “Unlike a lot of politicians, military types know what war is like.”
Henry Froelich says, “And some civilians too. They know.”
Hal looks Henry in the eye. “That’s for sure, Henry. Lest we forget, eh?” He raises his glass.
“To friendship,” Jack says.
“To friendship,” the others join in.
Over by the barbecue, the kids are roasting marshmallows. Mike has made a torch of his, claiming to prefer it well done, à point. Madeleine approaches Elizabeth. “Would you like a roasted marshmallow?”
Elizabeth nods and sighs. Madeleine blows on the marshmallow, then holds the skewer out to her. Lisa and Auriel join her and watch as Elizabeth slowly savours the toasty white, her eyes half closed, a creamy moustache forming on her lip.
“Is it good?” Auriel asks.
“Yahhh.” Elizabeth’s head rests almost on one shoulder, then moves slowly in a half-circle and tilts back. Madeleine follows with the marshmallow. Elizabeth makes it look delicious.
Lisa says, “Know what, Elizabeth? If you take a marshmallow and squish it, it shrinks and you get ghost gum. Want to try it?”
“Yahhh.”
Betty Boucher settles into a lawn chair and cuddles one of the Froelich babies. “With luck we’ll get a family moving into that little green bungalow down the street, with a daughter over twelve.”
“Wouldn’t that be grand,” says Elaine Ridelle. Most children in the PMQs are no older than Mike, hence babysitters are at a premium. Vimy’s daughter Marsha is not able to babysit for the Bouchers Saturday night; the Woodleys are going away for the weekend.
Karen Froelich says, “Ricky can babysit.” Perhaps she misinterprets the awkward silence that follows her offer as confusion because she adds, “My son.”
Vimy turns to Mimi. “Ricky is a good friend of my daughter’s, he’s a lovely boy.”
“He’s a doll,” adds Elaine.
Karen nods vaguely. The other women smile and change the subject.
Mimi has not yet met Ricky Froelich. She has no way of knowing what Betty and Elaine will tell her later: that Ricky is a good-looking youngster of fifteen, so responsible and well adjusted that many women in the PMQs wonder how he could possibly be a product of the Froelich household — not that the Froelichs aren’t good people, they are just … far from average. But the fact that Ricky is a fine boy is not the point. The point is, boys do not babysit. What kind of mother would volunteer her son for a girl’s job?
Vic crosses the lawn, heading for the street, and says over his shoulder to the women, “I’m not sure but I think he’s just got the two dependents.”
Betty asks, “Who?”
Vic stops and turns. “The American moving into the bungalow. They’ve just got the one child.”
“Vic, you never tell me anything!”
“You never ask!”
“He’s the new exchange officer,” says Hal, joining the women. “A flying instructor.”
“We’ll have to have them over, Jack,” says Mimi. “They’ll be a long way from home.”
“Aren’t we all,” adds Betty Boucher.
Vic was on his way home to fetch his accordion, but Mimi stops him: “Stay right where you are!” She turns to her daughter and orders, “Madeleine, va chercher ton accordéon.” Her daughter groans but Mimi overrides her. “C’est pour monsieur Boucher, va vite, va vite.”
Madeleine returns with her big red, white and black beast. Vic seats himself in a lawn chair, settles it onto his broad lap, undoes the snaps to let it inhale, then proceeds to bounce and hug the music out of it, elbows working the bellows, stocky fingers flying up and down the keys. Before long he has the children singing with him, then the women join in and so does Steve Ridelle. The young couple next door come out and join the crowd with their infant.
Madeleine sings “Alouette” with the others, and wonders where Colleen Froelich is. Did she do something bad and have to stay home? Is she spying on us right now?
Vic strikes up a jig, and Mimi sings, “‘Swing la bottine dans l’fond d’la bôite à bois.’” Mike dashes behind the house and returns with the baseball bat. He holds it end to end and jumps over it back and forth in double time to the music, like a wild boy, throwing it up, catching it, step-dancing. Mimi whoops, everyone claps time. Madeleine is painfully proud. She watched her boy cousins and one of her big huge uncles do the same dance this summer while Tante Yvonne played accordion — except in Acadie they used an axe handle, not a bat.
Across the lawn, Jack and Henry join in the applause. Then Henry fills his pipe, tamps it down, tops it up, tamps it down. Jack takes out a pack of White Owl cigars and lights up. “You know, Henry, there is nothing I’d like better than to get rid of these things altogether. All the nukes. Hell of a thing to leave our kids. But we can’t stick our heads in the sand. What about the missile gap?”
“If you believe in this gap.” Froelich finally strikes a match, stroking the open bowl of his pipe with the flame, puffing it to life.