CHANGE OF LIFE - Chapter 9

    Saturday morning I arose early. Everyone else was sleeping in my dormitory. I took my clean dress into the rest room along with my pocketbook and the needles and thread. I put most of my money in the two pockets and then sewed them shut with large stitches. It didn’t take long and now I felt more at ease. I went out to breakfast and then went in search of a newspaper. I took it to my bed and put it under her pillow. This evening I would scan the classified section for rooms for rent and also for jobs.

The walking tour was at 11:00 AM and I was signed up for it. First I was going to go to the Library. I wanted to use a computer to get directions off the Chicago Transit Authority website for St. Stanislaus Church – I wanted to go there tomorrow – and then directions to some of the other streets with Polish bakeries that might be Polish neighborhoods – Addison, Courtland, Belmont, and Halstead. Finally, I wanted to look on Craig’s List to see if there were any Rooms For Rent listed on it.

I was at the Library when it opened at 9:00 AM. I was able to print out the maps and directions I wanted, and I found a couple of promising ads on Craig’s List. I left the Library at 10:40, raced to the Hostel, put the printed sheets under my pillow with the newspaper, and joined the group in the Lobby at exactly 11:00 AM. The leader was just beginning to speak.

We went to Millenium Park, Buckingham Fountain, and the Art Institute. We ate lunch in the lunch room there. From there we went to the Field Museum, and then to the Shedd Aquarium. We didn’t go into the Museum or Aquarium but just walked by them so we would know they were there and could visit them at leisure on our own. When we returned to the Hostel, I was exhausted.

I went out to the store to buy a head scarf. I remembered from my youth that when I went to Catholic church with my girl friends, we had to cover our heads inside the church. Some of my girl friends would put a fancy handkerchief on top of their head and fasten it in place with bobby pins.

After eating a hard roll with deviled ham for supper, I took out the TracFone™  I bought. I had to use the payphone in the lobby to call TracFone™  to activate the phone and to add the extra minutes I bought. After I hung up, I called the payphone from my TracFone™  to complete the activation process.

I decided to call Willard. This would be his second night off. I called our number and the phone rang and rang but there was no answer. About five minutes later I called again. Still no answer. I didn’t know what to think. Was something wrong at their house, something wrong with Willard?  Every policeman’s wife has a never-ending fear that their husband will be injured or killed on the job. Maybe my TracFone™ ™ wasn’t working yet. It had called the payphone number all right. Maybe it took longer before it could make interstate calls. I will try tomorrow.

For now I had the newspaper classified ads, the Rooms To Rent list off Craig’s List, and the maps I had printed to go through. I had enough paper to make a nest.

The next morning at breakfast I sat across from a Japanese girl. Natsuki introduced herself and said,

“Are you a tourist from Europe?”

“No, do I seem European?

“In some ways, I guess. Forgive me. I should not be so bold.”

“I am originally from Baltimore, Maryland. For twenty-five years I lived in a town in southern Arkansas. Now I have come to Chicago to start a new life. Are you a tourist?  Your English is very good.”

“Thank you. My father is an executive with Nissan Motors. We have lived in America for three years now. I went to an American high school for two years and I have just finished my first year at Case Western University. It is possible that my father will be transferred back to Corporate Headquarters in Nishi-ku, Yokohama.  I want to travel around America this summer and take a lot of pictures to remember it.”

“I am going to services at St. Stanislaus Church this morning. I remember while I was living in Arkansas that a powerful Senator named Rostenkowski made them change plans for the route of the Kennedy Expressway, because it would have meant tearing down St. Stanislaus Church. So I want to go there, attend services there. I haven’t been to church in over twenty-five years.”

“I know this is bold, but can I come with you?  What time are you leaving?”

“I’d be glad to have your company. We can leave whenever we are ready. Catholic Churches usually have one service after another on Sunday morning. You will have to cover your head inside the church. I bought a scarf last night to wear.”

“I have a pretty scarf I can take. I’ll meet you in the lobby in fifteen minutes.”

We walked down to Jackson and got on the Blue Line going toward O’Hare. When we were almost to Division, where we got off, the el crossed over the Kennedy Expressway.

St. Stanislaus Church was filled with people. Natsuki and I looked for a place to sit. I almost fell over a lady because I forgot that Catholics kneel and cross themselves before moving into their pew. I saw that the only women with scarves or hats were very old ladies.

To say that the Church was ornate hardly describes it. There were statues, wood carvings, paintings, gold, jewels, marble.

The priest was wearing a microphone. Even so I could not understand anything he was saying during the ritual. I could hear his sermon clearly. The ushers came through taking the offering. When the priest began the Mass I again could not understand what he was saying. Soon the ushers were taking groups forward to receive communion. I got up and motioned for Natsuki to follow me. Some people seemed annoyed, but I know the word Mass came from the word “Dismiss” meaning nonbelievers should leave.

Outside I explained, “Only people who have been baptized and confirmed in the Catholic Church can take communion.”

“I understand. Let me take some pictures of the Church. You stand by the signboard and I’ll have your picture and the name of the Church”

While Natsuki was taking pictures, I noticed the pigeons. I had been so busy going here and there that I really hadn’t noticed them before. They were everywhere.

As we walked to the el, Natsuki  said, “You said that you wanted to start a new life. What did you mean?”

I briefly explained what had brought me to this junction in life.

“I think that I understand. Japanese men expect women to be their slaves. They can also be very mean to their wives. The younger generation of Japanese women are not satisfied with that. They want more of a role that, if not equal, is at least respectable, honorable.

“Did you know that some early Christian believers in Japan were crucified?  It is true. I think that there were twenty-six in all. It was in 1597 in Nagasaki. The rulers were trying to wipe out Christianity in Japan. They succeeded pretty much. Christianity never did grow in Japan like it has in other Asian countries like China, the Philippines, and Korea.”

“No, I don’t know as much about Christianity as a lot of Americans do.”

We walked to the Blue Line and got on. At Jackson we got off and began to look for a nice place to eat. By chance we came upon a Japanese restaurant.

“Let’s go in here Natsuki. You can introduce me to your culture.”

Natsuki ordered in Japanese so I didn’t know what to expect.     

 Our meal came on a quadrangular tray with a number of various sized sections. The largest section contained rice. On the tray was a package of chopsticks.

“I’m sorry, Natsuki. I’ve never eaten with chopsticks. Would you ask the waitress to bring me a fork?”

“Yes, of course.”

I could not recognize any of the foods. There were spoonfuls of several condiments in the very center of the tray. One was yellow and looked like mustard. When I started to dip a piece of meat into it, Natsuki giggled. “Be very careful. That is wasabi. It will feel like a fiery coal in your mouth.”

The tea was fragrant but very mild in taste. We both drank many cups of tea as we talked. I told her a little bit about life in southern Arkansas, and that I never was able to make friends the twenty-five years that I lived there.

“I can’t imagine that you didn’t have friends. It seems like you and I have become friends already. You are like my mother to me.”

“How does your mother like America.”

“Unfortunately, my mother died when I was a young girl. My father has raised me as a single parent. That is very unusual in Japan. Of course, he could always hire nannies and housekeepers. Some of them were very cruel to me but I never told him.”

“My mother raised me as a single parent. My father left her before I was born. She worked hard to raise me. I don’t know how she did it. By the time that I was a teenager she was bitter. My maiden name is Polish. My father must have been Polish, although my mother wasn’t. A lot of my girl friends were Polish. When I went to church I would go with them. I never joined and my mother never went to church.”

“I know that you are looking for a place to live so you don’t have an address. I’ll give you my address. When you have an address, will you send it to me?  I’d like to write to you and I’d like for you to write to me. I can tell you things like I would tell my mother if she were alive.”

Tears welled up in my eyes. “Of course I will, Natsuki.”

We walked on back to the Hostel together. I said,

“I am going to indulge in an American tradition, a Sunday afternoon nap.”  

Natsuki giggled and they hugged “good-bye.”

When I awoke from my nap, I went to the kitchen and made a supper of my remaining hard roll, tuna fish, two fruit cups, and a cup of coffee. Then I went back to my bed in the dormitory and gathered up the newspaper, the maps, the printouts and took them to the lobby.

When I looked at the clock in the lobby, I realized that Willard might be home by now. I called our number. Willard answered.

“Willard, this is Dolores.”

“Dolores, where are you?  Are you all right?”

“I am all right, Willard. I am in a motel in Chicago. I left by myself. I didn’t leave you for another man. I just have to be on my own and prove to myself that I can make it on my own. You called me a fat sow who laid around watching television all day. The first part of that was becoming true. I was getting fat. I had started exercising and walking and I’m not as fat as I was at the beginning of the year. I didn’t lay around all day. I did a lot of work for you, as I suspect you are discovering.”

“Yes, I am learning every day what all you did for me. I have been an ungrateful jerk.”

“That is all past. I don’t hold any grudge against you. But Willard, my mother used to say negative things; for at least the last fifteen years you have been saying negative things about me.  My image of myself is pretty low. I need time to convince myself of my own self-worth. I can’t love you until I love myself. Do you understand?”

“I don’t know if I understand. I know that I am more sorry than you can believe for all the mean things I said to you. Today I had to go out on a domestic disturbance call. The man had beat up his wife pretty bad. While I was arresting him and his wife was half conscious on the floor, he was saying some of the same things I used to say to you. It really got to me. After I put him in the back seat of the patrol car, I threw up and then I went over to the steps of his house, sat down, and cried my eyes out. Ginger reported me for it.”

“I’m sorry, Willard. That wasn’t right what Ginger did.”

“Will you come back, Dolores?”

“I can’t. Not now. Maybe sometime in the future. I’ll call you in about a month. I should have an address by then. Good-bye, Willard.”

“Good-bye, Dolores. I love you.”

I was shaken up by several things. I couldn’t image Willard being so emotionally upset that he vomited and sat down to bawl his eyes out. I was upset that he said, “I love you.”  He hadn’t said that in years. It made my decision harder.