Though it is just family, we eat in the formal dining room. The table is large, an antique ornate mahogany affair that spreads across the room. Father at one end, mother at the other. I am 10, my sister 12 on either side. No white tablecloth tonight, but candles as always and placemats for sure. The meal is simple, meat, potatoes and vegetables, overcooked, unappetizing, proceeded by cocktails, at least two, with probably the third accompanying them to the table. Martini’s with a twist of lemon. Skip the olive, and hold back on the vermouth. Mostly gin and ice.
With little discussion, the meal proceeds. Not much conversation, just much tension. My mother, clearly drunk, pushes her food around her plate, with a scrunched up paper napkin in her hand, leaning a bit on one elbow to support herself, her fork wavering as it tries to find her mouth. My father, mostly silent, mumbling “delicious Honey-Bee” as he usually does, his napkin tucked into his belt to keep it from falling to the floor.
My mother begins to sneeze. And sneeze. The wadded napkin is not adequate to contain what issues from her nostrils, or mouth, since she was eating when the sneezing began. I keep waiting for her to get up, to excuse herself so we don’t have to watch. But she doesn’t. She just keeps sneezing with a wave of the hand as though it will pass soon. All appetite is gone, yet we dare not ask to be excused.
There is some discussion, some outrage, and my father, usually silent, usually uncomplaining, raises his voice, stands up, pounds the table, tears the napkin from his lap, and leaves. No words stand out, no source of the anger or outrage other than the spectacle of my mother behaving in a way that her properness would never allow in anyone else.
It could have happened once, it could have happened many times. I have no way to judge or remember—except that the fear remained. Fear that he would hit her or us? Fear that he would leave not just the room, but the house, for good? That she would?
None of those happened. Just the terrible tension remained.
