Call Me Ishtar
Page 24
Ishtar smiled and waited.
“On cold days you can see to the bottom. When there is ice you can skip stones across it. And there are milkweed pods filled with silk at every turn and wild Concord grapes.” He hid his happiness behind his fist again and waited.
Ishtar nodded slowly. “I like your canal.”
Then he turned, and scraped one foot behind him in the earth, tapped the air with his two little short taps, then tapped the air near her son, pointing at them both, unmistakably. He swung around before her, spreading both arms in the air. “Is anyone …?” He put his fist against his mouth again. His eyes were filled with laughter. Ishtar noticed his delicate ankles. “Is anyone,” he whispered, “waiting for you?” He hid his head against the elm tree and counted to one hundred.
“No,” Ishtar answered truthfully. “No one is waiting for me. My job is done. I have given away my very last secret.” She showed him her empty hands. “Fresh out.”
Then he faced her, thinking, she knew, of treasures in caves and secrets he had left behind the moon, his fist at his mouth, his eyes straining, squinting. She watched the fist move away and toward his lips. His head was bowed solemnly.
“Ah!” He threw both hands high in the air, like a wizard.
Ishtar jumped back. The boy hid behind her purple cloak.
“I have a new secret for you.” He held her elbow lightly. “I have a collection of perfect third year virgin molars. Wisdom teeth.”
She climbed, Ishtar, Queen of Heaven, she climbed into the rowboat pulling a milkweed pod apart and trailing the feathery silken seeds along the canal waters. Her son, just as he had learned at Woodcrafters’ Camp, pulled at the oars while his mother, the Queen of Heaven, the Mother Goddess, after all, gently removed the fist from her friend’s beautiful lips. They kissed for a long time.
And disappeared into the sunset.
And disappeared into the morning.
And disappeared into the night.
And didn’t disappear at all.
Check one.
BY THE SAME AUTHOR AVAILABLE FROM THE OVERLOOK PRESS
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GOD’S EAR
978-1-4683-1140-2 • $16.95 • paperback
“Lerman has a sharp, lyrical, and almost uncanny ear for the Jewish absurd.” —Susan Shapiro, Newsday
“Lerman effortlessly works an immense amount of Jewish learning and Hasidic lore into a novel that’s moving, wise, and very, very funny. Irresistible storytelling.” —Kirkus
“Like a Chagall painting translated to print… The very opposite of a minimalist, Lerman proves herself mistress not only of side-splitting one-liners but also of pregnant perception about faith and virtue.” —Publishers Weekly
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