NORA EISENl3ERG
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amazing show our parents put on. And what an attentive and loyal au–
dience Nick and I were, fixed on their every word, watching carefully
for proof of breathing and signs of breakage, still believing - though he
never actually bit - that, without our intervention, our tearful calls from
our seats for crucial intermissions, our mother's neck and life blood were
in mortal danger.
Had we not been there to watch, or at least listen, would the show
have gone on for as long and with as much intensity? Certainly towards
the end of its run, when we'd reached our teens, it often seemed put on
for our benefit. And as our resentment grew, more and more we ig–
nored their shouts to us, letting them go on longer, entering the room
later, sleeping through some putative "close calls." But in those middle
years of our childhood, we were like a chorus at the side of the stage,
crying for peace. And then once peace came, we laughed. For though it
played to a small house, this was full theater, with timing and pacing,
highs and lows, tears and laughter.
After a big fight, if he hadn't left, they'd make up, before us again,
making a joke of it, mimicking each other's earlier performances, or
moving on to something else they now treated as equally amusing - a
neighbor's angry shouts to quiet down, the neighbor's stupid voice, or
walk, or mother-in-law, even us, our terror. Once, after weeks of binges
and battles, he carted her off to the emergency room of a nearby hospi–
tal with a renowned psychiatric service to "dry her out and fix her up."
Nick and
I
sat alone at the kitchen table, relieved and scared, loving our
mother, yet having come to fear her as much as we'd feared him.
Fearing
Jor
her too, alone among strangers, wanting to die. Her most
recent refrain.
We heard him at the door. Then we saw him enter the hallway,
then the kitchen.
We stood to greet him, our lone guardian. We raised our arms to
cry on him. And then
she
walked in.
"Surprise," they both screamed, laughing wildly, like quiz show win–
ners.
I still remember that moment - catching my tears, releasing my
laughter.
"They didn't want me," my mother said, wiping away tears, which
always accompanied her heartiest hysteria, blowing her nose with joy,
distracted from her sorrow by the car ride and drama.
"Serious stuff over there," my father said. "Serious illness."
And then they competed for our attention, describing and imitating
the doctors and patients, people talking to themselves, singing to coffee
cups, pointing to loved ones who hung in the air.
