WORK
BY SANDRA MERZ
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WHO'S AUNT RUBY?
I didn't want to be there. Not really. However, it was my mother's funeral tea so what was I to do?
It wasn't the funeral tea so much as the fact it was at my sister's house. No one really felt comfortable there, ever. If my mom had still been alive, she wouldn't want to be there either. Why, you ask? I'll tell you.
How comfortable would you be sitting on a white brocaded French Provincial chesterfield. Underneath it was a pale pink British India rug with hand-embroidered peacocks in each corner. The fringe at each end had been combed so each strand was perfectly straight. Surrounding the rug was the gleaming hardwood floors with nary a scratch. The occasional chairs were high, straight-backed with round seats covered in velvet. The dining room table was covered with so many coats of lacquer you could see your face in it. Bone china teapots and cups and saucers sat at each end of the table. Tiny coffee spoons were in the saucer of each. Dainty sandwiches made of tuna fish, devilled egg and salmon were crustless on china platters. Petit four cakes were served on round crystal dishes.
Only the family had been invited to the house after the graveside service. The family consisted of relatives I had never met who came up from Seattle. Mostly my dad's relatives. They were all old and like
most 16-year-olds I wasn't that interested in them. They were all strangers to me. Then I saw her. She seemed quite comfortable sitting in one of the high-back chairs. A plump lady in a blue-grey, short-sleeved dress. Her fleshy arms were exposed where the sleeves ended. That's when I noticed it. The tattoo. Now, you might say, "So, what?"
You must remember that this was 1958 and a tattoo on a lady was quite a shock. And on a member of my ultra-conservative family. Hmm. This bore investigating. I went over to her and introduced myself as the youngest of my mother's eleven children.
She gave me a big friendly smile and said, "Hi, I'm Aunt Ruby."
I couldn't think of anything else to say so I left her to balance a teacup in one hand and a fancy sandwich in the other.
Aunt Ruby. Strange. I'd never heard of her before. I had a vague idea of the names of all the distant aunts and uncles. I wondered where she came from.
The tea went well as these things do. It prolonged the reality that my mother was really gone from me and provided a bit of distraction. So, I suppose it served its purpose. Although, I know my mother would have said, "Let's get home and have a sandwich." In my mother's mind a sandwich was made from thick crusty bread, slathered with butter and thick slabs of cheese on top.
It was a solemn event. So contrary to my mother, who was very high spirited and was always one to put on a happy face and try to smile no matter what life dealt her. "Buck up kid," was her favourite
expression if I was ever down in the dumps.
My father and brothers and I went home. We walked into the house and it had never felt so cold and isolated. I realized for the first time that my mother had always been there when I walked up those steps and into the house. Now it was empty and it was as though I was seeing it for the first time. The well-worn brown chesterfield, which was the favourite bed for my father's SPCA finds, the linoleum that didn't quite reach to the end of the floor, the old wooden tables with the well-scrubbed oilcloth, with threads hanging down. Curtains on the window that didn't quite reach the bottom. Never again would I come home to my happy mother anxious to hear about my school day or my friends or boyfriend trouble.
Nothing. My Dad went and sat on the back porch and looked out in the backyard. He stayed for a long, long time. His shoulders seemed shrunken and his eyes reddened when he came back in. I had never seen him look so old.
After a while we talked about how nice the funeral was and the tea and how kind all the people were sending flowers and cards. Then I remembered. "Oh, by the way, Dad who was that woman with the tattoo on her arm. She told me she was 'Aunt Ruby.' Which side of the family is she from?"
Dad lowered his eyes, thought for a moment then looked at me and said, "She's not from the family. Years ago Ruby moved into the neighborhood. She was a prostitute and none of the neighbors would talk to her except your mother. Your older sisters were little and they used to call her 'Aunt Ruby.' Your mother was very kind to her. She saw the obituary and came to the funeral. I guess she ended up at the tea because she told your brother she was 'Aunt' Ruby and needed a ride. I guess when he heard her name he just assumed she was family."
I knew my mother would be smiling.
And, sorry, never did get close enough to see what the tattoo was.