Mamma

The crosstown car came to a stop at the east end of Forty-second Street. One passenger stayed on, a woman of about thirty who had been riding, the conductor thought, from as far west as Broadway.

“We go back now, lady,” he said.

She smiled at him, but made no reply.

“This is the end of the line,” he said.

“Yes, I think so.”

“Well, you must get off.”

She smiled again, but was silent. The conductor went to the motorman.

“Should I put her off?”

“What is she, pickled?”

“I didn’t smell no liquor.”

“She must be crazy or a hophead. Or maybe she just enjoys the ride. You might ask her where she wants to go.”

The conductor returned to the woman.

“Where do you want to go, lady?”

“Home,” said the woman. “I must get home and bake a cake.”

“Where is your home?” asked the conductor.

The woman just smiled vaguely.

“Do you live in New York?”

“I think so.”

“Whereabouts in New York?”

She shook her head.

“In the city or in one of the suburbs?”

“I think so.”

“Do you live over in Jersey?”

No answer.

“Out on Long Island?”

No answer.

“Up in Westchester somewheres?”

“Yes, I think so.”

“Do you want to get off at Grand Central Station?” asked the conductor.

“Oh, yes!” She said it almost eagerly.

“Where is your purse?” asked the conductor.

“The woman took it, the woman that was standing next to me.”

“Whereabouts?”

“In the store. She stood next to me in the store and took my purse.”

“Haven’t you any money or any ticket?”

“My husband will take care of me.”

When the car, now well filled, stopped in front of the Grand Central Station, the conductor came to the woman and touched her on the arm.

“Here’s where you get off,” he said.

He escorted her to the platform and watched her alight and enter the station. He thought perhaps he ought to have put her in the care of a policeman. Still, if she did not “come out of it,” someone in the station would notice her and take her in charge. There was no danger of her being robbed if she had nothing.

The woman, who would have been rather pretty if she had had more color and had not looked so tired, wandered uncertainly along the lane into the upper-level concourse. She acted like a sightseer, walking around the several times and stopping every little while to regard attentively some prosaic object such as a ticket window, a closed gate, the information booth. At length she went up the slope that led to the waiting room. She sat on a bench, sometimes observing the people near her, sometimes dozing, sometimes smiling to herself as if her thoughts were pleasant.

Late at night, when the waiting room was nearly empty, a policeman found her asleep and awakened her.

“It’s time to go home,” he said.

“I’m waiting for my husband,” said the woman.

“Where is he?”

“At the office. He’s going to stop for me and take me home.”

“Where do you live?”

“My husband knows.”

“Don’t you know, yourself?”

“He’ll take care of me.”

“Do you live in the city?”

“I think so.”

“What’s your name?”

“My name? My name’s Mamma.”

“What’s your last name?” asked the policeman.

“That’s all⁠—just Mamma.”

“What’s your husband’s name?”

“Dad. He’s at the office, but he’ll stop for me; pretty soon, I hope. I must get home and bake a cake.”

“I think you’d better come with me,” said the policeman. “We’ll try and find your husband.”

The woman got up willingly enough, and the policeman took her outside and turned her over to a colleague.

“Steve, here’s a lady named Mamma, and she’s waiting for her husband, a fella named Dad. He was supposed to come for her when he got out of the office, but I figure he’s been detained. You take her over to the Guest House, and if he comes here, I’ll tell him where she is.”

In the Travelers’ Aid Guest House, the woman was given a bath, a nightgown, and a bed. But these comforts and a good breakfast failed to refresh her memory. At eleven o’clock next day she was still Mamma, waiting for Dad and eager to get home and bake a cake. And they took her to the city hospital’s psychopathic ward.

“You must know where you live,” said Miss Fraser.

“Yes,” replied the woman.

“Well, tell me. We can’t send you home till we know where it is.”

“My husband knows where it is.”

“Yes, but he isn’t here.”

“He’ll be here this afternoon. He’s coming for me, and he’s coming early because it’s my birthday. They’re going to give me a surprise.”

“Who are?”

“My husband and Brother and Betty.”

“Who are Brother and Betty?”

“Why do you ask so many questions?”

“I’m interested in you,” said Miss Fraser.

“Well, Brother is my little boy, and Betty is my little girl. They both had the flu. And Dad had it. And Doctor was frightened. He thought they were all going to die. But we fooled him. They all got well.”

“What’s the doctor’s name?”

“My husband knows his name. My husband remembers everything.”

“But we can’t learn anything from him if you don’t tell us where he lives.”

“He lives at home, with me and Brother and Betty⁠—at night, that is. In the daytime he’s at his office.”

“Where is his office?”

“He’ll tell you that when he comes.”

“But you see,” explained Miss Fraser, “he isn’t very likely to come because he doesn’t know you’re here. If you’ll just tell me his name and how to reach him⁠—”

“His name is Dad, and he’s in his office because this is daytime.”

“What does he do?”

“He’ll tell you that, too. He remembers everything.”

Miss Fraser gave way to Miss Parnell.

“I understand this is your birthday.”

“Yes, and Brother said that he and Betty and Dad would surprise me with something if I would bake them a cake. I told them the surprise mustn’t be very expensive, because we must save up to pay Doctor. Doctor will have a big bill, because he was there three and four times a day for nearly two weeks. But as long as everybody got well, what do we care how big his bill is? Are you a nurse?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Well, I’m not a nurse. I mean I’m not a trained nurse, but Doctor said I should have been a trained nurse. He said I seemed to do the right thing by instinct. He said if it hadn’t been for me, all three of them would have died⁠—Brother and Dad and Betty. I didn’t go to bed for a whole week. Sometimes I went to sleep standing up. Did you ever do that? It’s a funny experience. But when it’s all over, you don’t mind what you went through, as long as everybody got well.”

“Have you got any money? I mean, has your husband got any?”

“He makes a good salary, but we haven’t saved. We have too much fun, I guess. The amount we spend for food, it’s a disgrace for a family the size of ours. And Dad always wants me to look nice.”

“Well, you need some new clothes and some new shoes and stockings.”

“I guess you’re right, but it’s a queer thing, because I just bought what I’m wearing.”

“How long ago?”

“Day before yesterday. And yesterday I was looking for some things for Betty when my purse was stolen.”

“What store were you in?”

“I can’t remember the name of the store⁠—it’s the same place I usually go. If I had my purse, I could tell you. But never mind; my husband will know. He keeps track.”

The woman took a nap, and after it Miss Fraser renewed the siege.

“Can’t you tell me now what your name is?”

“It’s funny; everybody asks me that.”

“But you don’t tell anybody.”

“Yes, I do. My name is Mamma. I told your sister.”

“I have no sister,” said Miss Fraser.

“She looked enough like you to be your sister, and she kept nagging the same as you do.”

“Honestly I’m not nagging, but I do want to know your name and address so I can send you home. Brother and Betty are probably wondering what has become of you.”

“No, they’re not. They’re at school.”

“What school?”

“It’s two blocks from where we live.”

“What’s the name of it?”

“Do you want to send your children there?”

“I have no children.”

“Then why do you want to know the name of a school? You ask too many questions. When my husband comes, you can ask him anything you want to, but I’m tired of being nagged.”

Dr. Phillips took a turn at “nagging.” “Aren’t you anxious to get home?”

“Yes, I am. I’ve got to bake a cake.”

“Then why don’t you try to remember your name and where you live?”

“Who are you?”

“I’m Dr. Phillips.”

“Well, thank goodness we don’t need a doctor. We did need one, but they all got well⁠—Betty and Brother and Dad.”

“Will you try to describe the house where you live?”

“House! We’re not rich! We live in an apartment.”

“Where is it?”

“That’s all right. My husband will take me there. He’s coming for me this afternoon.”

“He can’t very well do that, because it’s evening now, and besides he doesn’t know where you are.”

“You’re too fresh! We have our own doctor, and we’re satisfied with him. If we want to make a change, my husband will send you word.”

“Is your husband in business for himself, or does he work for somebody?”

“He’s in an office. He has an office all to himself, and you can’t get in to see him till the boy tells him who you are and what you want. And then he’s liable to say he’s out, if you’re somebody he doesn’t want to see. I don’t imagine he’d want to see you; you ask too many questions. And those girls ask too many questions. It’s people like you that make him so late. He has to stay at the office and answer questions, and it makes him late. He’d have been here long ago, if it wasn’t for you. And I’ve got to get home and bake a cake.”

That night Mamma boasted a little about her children and didn’t seem to care whether anyone was listening.

“Betty is smarter and gets along faster in school. She can skim through a lesson once and almost know it by heart. She finishes her homework in fifteen or twenty minutes and then helps Brother do his. Brother has brains enough, but he dreams a lot. He doesn’t concentrate like Betty. He is more on the lines of a genius of some kind. Everybody says he’ll be an artist or a poet or maybe a great actor. I don’t believe he’d ever pass in school if the teachers weren’t so crazy about him. That and the way Betty helps him with his homework. My husband says Betty will make a better businessman than Brother. I hope neither one of them will have to work as hard as my husband does. I suppose they will, though, if we don’t turn over a new leaf and economize. We’ll have to for a while, to pay what we owe Doctor. I don’t imagine he’ll charge us as much as he would if he wasn’t so fond of the children. Betty’s his favorite, and I think my husband likes Brother best. I don’t know which I like best. They’re both lovely!”

During her second day at the hospital Mamma answered (if you could call it answering) most of the questions put to her, occasionally losing her temper and scolding her questioners for their inquisitiveness. For two weeks thereafter she would not open her mouth in the presence of a doctor, a nurse, or a volunteer social worker. She cried a little, smiled a great deal, and several times daily told other patients that her husband was coming for her “this afternoon.”

In vain her picture was published in all the papers, along with the scant details of the case⁠—the date she had been found, her approximate age, a description of her clothing. There were no inquiries for her at the police stations, the other hospitals, or the morgue, and policemen assigned to the task of discovering her alleged family reported failure. The psychopathic ward was beginning to regard her as part of its permanent equipment. And then⁠—suddenly she recalled her other name.

“Carns,” she said, and said it again, “Carns.”

She said it loudly, and Miss Fraser heard.

“What is that you’re saying? Is it your name?”

“Yes. That’s it⁠—Carns.”

“What’s the rest of it?”

“I don’t know, but my husband will remember. He’ll tell you when he comes for me this afternoon.”

To Miss Fraser “Carns” sounded unreal, but in the telephone book she found five “Carnses.” Four of them reported that all members of their families were present or accounted for. The telephone of the fifth was no longer in service.

Miss Fraser got off the West Side subway on upper Broadway and walked downhill to Riverside Drive. She stopped at an address listed in the telephone book the address of the Carnses whose telephone had been disconnected.

It was an old apartment building, but the doorman was new.

“No, I never heard of nobody by that name,” he said. “But you might maybe find out from the janitor. He’s been here all his life.”

The janitor was away⁠—had gone up to the hardware store. Miss Fraser talked to his wife, who first wanted it understood that her husband was not a janitor but a superintendent.

“The man at the door told me you had been here a long time,” said Miss Fraser. “Did you know a family in the building named Carns?”

“Yes, and mighty fine people. A young man and his wife and two kiddies, a boy and a girl. The little girl was as smart as a whip, and the boy was so handsome that everybody turned around in the street to look at him. I never felt sorrier for nobody than poor Mrs. Carns. She was going to send me a postcard to tell me how she got along, but I guess it slipped her mind.”

“Why were you sorry for her?”

“For losing her husband and two kids.”

“Losing them?”

“They all three died of the flu two months ago.”

Miss Fraser swallowed before she spoke again. “Where did Mrs. Carns say she was going?”

“No place specially. She was going to look for work, though I can’t think of nothing she’d be fitted for. She couldn’t be very choosey anyway, because I doubt if she had ten dollars when she left here, and she had to support herself besides satisfying all her creditors.”

“Did she owe much?”

“She owed at least a month’s rent, and she owed the doctor and the nurse.”

“Oh, did she have a nurse?”

“The doctor told her she had to get one. She herself was the most useless, helpless woman you ever seen in a sick room.”

Miss Fraser related her findings at the hospital.

“Well,” said Dr. Phillips, “it’s just a question of time till everything comes back to her. If she recalls her name, it won’t be long till she remembers the whole business. And then she’s liable to have something a lot worse than what she’s got.”

Mamma spotted Miss Fraser as she came into the ward, and called to her.

“Did you telephone my husband?”

“How could I?” said Miss Fraser. “I don’t know his name.”

“I told you his name. It’s Carns.”

“There’s no such name,” said Miss Fraser. “I looked in the book and couldn’t find it.”

“Maybe I’ve got it wrong,” said Mamma. “Anyway he’s coming for me this afternoon.