Gabriella Goliger - Girl Unwrapped

girl unwrapped

girl unwrapped

GABRIELLA GOLIGER

ARSENAL PULP PRESS
Vancouver

GIRL UNWRAPPED
Copyright 2010 by Gabriella Goliger

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any form by any meansgraphic, electronic, or mechanicalwithout the prior written permission of the publisher, except by a reviewer, who may use brief excerpts in a review, or in the case of photocopying in Canada, a licence from Access Copyright.

ARSENAL PULP PRESS
#101-211 East Georgia St.
Vancouver, BC
Canada V6A 1Z6
arsenalpulp.com

The publisher gratefully acknowledges the support of the Canada Council for the Arts and the British Columbia Arts Council for its publishing program, and the Government of Canada through the Book Publishing Industry Development Program and the Government of British Columbia through the Book Publishing Tax Credit Program for its publishing activities.

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to persons either living or deceased is purely coincidental.

Editing by Susan Safyan
Cover design by Mauve Pag

Printed and bound in Canada on 100% PCW recycled paper

Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication:

Goliger, Gabriella, 1949
Girl unwrapped [electronic resource] / Gabriella Goliger.

Type of computer file: Electronic document in PDF format.
Also available in print format.
ISBN 978-1-55152-391-0

I. Title.

PS8563.O82848G57 2010a C813.6 C2010-903225-X

For Barb, love of my life.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I am deeply grateful to all those who helped me through this journey. Thank you to the writers and friends who read the manuscript at various stages: Frances Itani, Debra Martens, Alison Gresik, Anne Whitehurst, Dawne Smith, Cheryl Jaffee, Gary Kellam, Deborah Gorham, and James Deahl. Thanks to Mary Borsky and Nancy Baele for the support and good talks; to the other members of the Ottawa Womens Writers Group for all their feedback; and to the wonderful members of my family who always asked hows the book coming in the most encouraging way. I received generous financial support from the City of Ottawa, the Ontario Arts Council, and the Canada Council for the Arts. Thanks also to the Banff Writing Studio, especially Stan Dragland and Edna Alford, and to Humber College. My editor, Susan Safyan, was a joy to work with, as was the entire team at Arsenal Pulp Press. My deepest debt is to my partner, Barbara Freeman, whose faith in me never wavered and who stood beside me through the ups, downs, sideways, and inside-outs of this crazy ride.

Contents

Choose life! Lisa says.

Her motto, her toast, her battle cry, as she raises the glass of wine, clutches the stem so tightly the glass trembles and red drops spill down the side. Nu? Chews life, she crows again in her German-accented English, giving Toni the look, fierce and filled with a terrible pride but also with sparks of accusation that make Toni squirm and kick her feet against the crossbar of the dining room table. The Sabbath candlesticks wobble and the flames twitch. Toni grabs her egg-cup-sized beaker to shrill in response, Choose life!

Ai! Julius protests, steadying the candles with one hand while his other flies to his temple. As if his daughters voice were an arrow penetrating the soft, vulnerable depths that lie beneath a thin layer of skull and bare skin. Calm down, both of you.

Friday night, the grand moment of the week has arrived, when the three of them sit down to the big table, set with the embroidered cloth and the gold-rimmed dishes, and they linger over the meal, enveloped in candle glow. On Friday nights especially, the invisible Others are present: the uncles who live across the ocean in Italy, Grandma Antonia and Grandpa Markus who were snatched away, Minka the cat, Juliuss childhood companion when he lived in Vienna long, long ago. They are here, along with a slew of lost relativesthe ones who couldnt escapebecause Lisa has a way with ghosts. She pulls them in through the cracks in the walls. She talks to them, calls them by name, or simply mentions our loved ones in a voice thick with sadness and an unsettling rage. Julius grunts and shifts, uncomfortable with such displays of emotion, but his discomfort makes Toni feel the Others all the more, as if their shadowy selves crowd him, and thats what makes him cringe. Her papa doesnt care for company much.

On Friday night, theres food enough for a tribe, more food than the three of them can possibly eat at one sitting. Noodle soup, a whole chicken roasted to golden-brown perfection, dumplings, red cabbage with caraway seeds, fruit compote and Bohemian Mehlspeise for dessert. There are blessings, whispered like magic spells, over candles, wine, and challah, while Julius taps an impatient forefinger against the table. All ceremony irritates him, but Lisa insists. There are the happy kinds of arguments between Tonis parents, their voices flying across the table like ping-pong balls. There are chances for Toni to boast about her tree-climbing prowess and to pretend she is drunk, falling under the table in a fit of giggles. Sometimes, after dinner, if her father can be persuaded, theres a paper hat made out of a napkin and, if her mother is in the mood, a fortune read from a deck of cards. The only thing that can spoil Friday night is when, as on this night, Lisa has come home with a cardboard box from the store where she worksShmelzers Ladies Fashionsand a gleam in her eye, as if shes already won the argument that will erupt after dinner. After dinner, youll face themusic. The box will be offered like a gift. The contents will be wrapped in rustling layers of tissue paper. Inside will be the Loathsome Thing. Toni shuts her mind against whats to come and concentrates instead on her thimbleful of sweet, fiery wine.

Mumbling a quick lchayim, Julius sips from his own glass, then quietly translates, as his mouth curls in a skeptical smirk and his eyebrow lifts. To life is the correct meaning of the Hebrew toast. You could also say Prost, which is Latin for pro sit, or Zum Wohl, or Cheers. Your mother has her fixed ideas, but well go along to keep thepeace, the raised eyebrow says.

Toni probes the burning liquid with the tip of her tongue and wonders. Shes already alive. What is there to choose? To be sharp. To be a Somebody. To be as lovely and darling as the Nutkevitch twins next door. To be the miracle child her mother insists God delivered at Tonis birth. The infant Toni inched into the world, blue in the face, the umbilical chord wrapped around her neck, a terrible silence locked inside her. But the doctor worked with clamps and suction pumps while Lisa struggled to call out through her swoon of fatigue. Finally, baby Toni filled her lungs and wailed. Then, though half dead with childbirth, Lisa had bellowed, Bring her, or Ill get up and fetch her myself. So they brought the red-faced bundle with the tiny trembling fists. On the spot, Lisa chose the name Antonia, after Grandma, who hovered above in the air, waiting anxiously for her namesake to arrive. Whenever Tonis mother tells the story, she gazes tenderly past her fidgety present-day child at a vision of the perfect little bunny that once was.

The chicken, gravy-soaked dumplings, and braised cabbage fill the room with savoury aromas. Eat, eat, eat. But eat with understanding. Lisa demonstrates with a skinned morsel of chicken breast, her lips pressed together, her eyes shut. The mind must be filled with beautiful thoughts while the mouth is filled with the mushed-up stuff. For years, your Mama and Papa went without, and now they slave to put this feast on the table. We have meat every day, we have to, otherwise we might as well be back in the internment camp, that long-ago time before you were born.