April Fool's Day

by Bryce Courtenay

  Benita’s friends loved Damon and the house was always full of fancy food, confectionery and cake and all manner of delicacies, which Damon rarely touched. Rose Abrams, a dear family friend, brought chicken soup. She would arrive with a large pot covered with a gingham dishcloth. “I’ve brought your Jewish penicillin, Damon!” she’d announce in a booming voice from the kitchen door. Rose’s chicken soup was a concoction designed to look sickness straight in the eye and challenge it to mortal combat. It contained all sorts of magical properties, the greatest of them being Rose herself.

  Once, I’d entered the kitchen to find her hovering over the stove with Damon seated at the kitchen table talking to her. “What a divine smell!” I said, sniffing at the air. Rose turned to face me, a large wooden spoon in her hand. “Funny you should say that, I mean about my soup being divine. Did you know that chicken soup is actually the official beverage of God? A present from Mrs Moses to the Almighty.”

  She said it deadpan and Damon and I laughed. Rose was a great storyteller. So Damon, who knew how to get her going, said, “The Mrs Moses of the Red-Sea-and-Wilderness Moses?”

  “The same,” Rose said casually, sipping daintily at the edge of the wooden spoon.

  “Chicken soup isn’t only Jewish, Rose,” I added.

  Rose turned to face us, her expression one of exaggerated shock. “What do you mean chicken soup isn’t only Jewish? That stuff in a can, you call that chicken soup? That is stuff you wouldn’t dignify by flushing down the toilet! A certain Mr Campbell, an American, who by the way is definitely not a Jew, puts that poultry slop in a tin! It’s such awful crap that it’s practically anti-semitic!”

  She pointed to the pot on the stove, “Tell me, since when did you see anybody but a Jewish mother make chicken soup like that?” She leaned over the pot and lifted the lid again; steam rose up in a cloud and you almost expected a snatch of the Hallelujah chorus to accompany it, like opening the lid of an old-fashioned music box. Except, of course, it couldn’t have been the Hallelujah chorus, because that wouldn’t have been kosher. The soup smelled so good you could have inhaled the nourishment in it through your nostrils. “Divine is right!” Rose continued. “Chicken soup is definitely the official drink of God and is why Jews stay faithful to their wives and don’t fool around with other women who are not nuptially theirs.” She looked at us defiantly, prepared, it seemed, to be challenged, though I wasn’t sure whether in defence of the lower rate of promiscuity among Jewish husbands or of God’s choice of preferred drink. “You mean to tell me you don’t really know the story of Moses and his wife’s chicken soup?” she asked finally.

  Damon glanced sideways at me; Rose’s stories had a tendency to go on a bit and I could see he was wondering whether he had the stamina to cope and, just in case, he wanted me to hang around and share the load with him.

  “I didn’t read anywhere in the Bible where Moses had a wife.” I grinned, nudging her on.

  Rose sniffed and looked scornful as she pulled out a chair. “In your Bible maybe it doesn’t mention this important fact. Do you think we’re meshuggeneh? So crazy that we’d let a bachelor lead the children of Israel through the wilderness? Of course he had a wife! It stands to reason, doesn’t it?” She pointed the wooden spoon at the pot of steaming soup. “When Moses climbed to the summit of Mount Sinai to talk to God he took along a large pot of his wife’s chicken soup. The Lord tasted it and then polished off the lot and demanded to know the recipe.”

  Damon gave me a look which plainly said, “Oh God, she’s away! No turning back now.”

  “Now Moses was in a bit of a dilemma,” Rose continued. “He was a great leader, perhaps the greatest, but, believe me, he was no cook. He didn’t know how to make chicken soup from prune juice and even if he was forced to shlep all the way back down the mountain to get the recipe from his wife, he wasn’t at all sure she’d give it to him. She was descended directly from Abraham and so was her secret chicken soup recipe.

  “’Lord, you’re welcome to my humble table to drink chicken soup any time,’ Moses said, preparing the Almighty for the bad news, ‘but you must understand, a great chicken soup recipe is not something to be given away like a handful of salted pretzels.’

  “God stroked His beard for a minute or two. ‘Hmmm…’ He said and the heavens rumbled. Then He smiled.” Rose paused and looked at us, “When God smiles in a certain way, believe me it’s time to say your prayers twice over!

  “’Well then never mind. Have you brought your hammer and chisel?’ Moses nodded, pleased that the Lord wasn’t going to make a scene. God brought His hands on to His lap and looked towards the sky as though He were about to think up a commandment to dictate. ‘Let’s go to work then, we have three hundred and one commandments to write down before sunset.’

  “Moses gasped, three hundred and one commandments! He knew better than to argue with God but he also knew trouble was not a big enough word for what he was suddenly in. A few commandments here or there the Children of Israel would accept, but three hundred and one? It was like asking them to accept the plague of locusts all over again, even worse, maybe to return to Egypt. With the heavy heart of a beaten man he picked up his hammer and chisel. ‘Ready when you are, Lord,’ he sighed.”

  Rose’s voice took on a stentorian tone and she tucked her double chin into her ample breasts every time she gave God His lines. “’Okay, now this one is important, make sure you get it down right,’ God paused, thinking about the exact words, then, in a voice of thunder, He began to dictate: ‘Thou, nor thy wife, nor thy sons nor thy daughters nor thy manservants nor thy maidservants nor any person who shall dwell in thine house shall consume chicken soup.’ God paused. ‘Get that down, that’s the first commandment.’

  “Moses chiselled furiously, but his heart wasn’t any longer in what he was doing, he thought seriously about handing in his resignation on the spot. He became dizzy with anxiety as he imagined a world where the Jews were unable to serve chicken soup at the family table. Imagine Friday night without chicken soup? If the idea wasn’t so preposterous it would be funny! If it hadn’t come from God Himself it would be declared an official sin against the Jewish people!

  “’Only three hundred more to go, my son,’ God purred, with only the slightest touch of irony in His voice.

  “Moses bowed low so that his forehead rested on the ground at God’s feet, ‘Lord, can there be no compromise?’

  “’A little negotiation perhaps? Why not? I am not an unreasonable God,’ God said.

  “’I could talk to my wife, I mean…about the recipe?’

  “’I like it!’ God said, brightening up, but as suddenly He frowned and the heavens filled with distant thunder. ‘But a recipe for chicken soup? It’s not such a big deal?’ He scratched at the corner of His mouth and a couple of hundred rocks dislodged and rolled down the mountain. ‘Hmm, I could cut maybe forty, fifty commandments, what do you say, Mo?’

  “Moses had to think fast, ‘Lord, this is not just chicken soup! For chicken soup, maybe forty, fifty commandments; but this soup, holy macaroni! This is a secret recipe! In my wife’s family since before the time of Abraham’s near sacrifice of Isaac. Such a prize should be worth a very large reduction in commandments; a very, very big reduction, if I may be so bold, Lord.’

  “’So, how many commandments, total, did you have in mind?’

  “Moses gulped, ‘Nine would be nice, Lord,’ he said, half swallowing the number so that if God felt insulted, he could retrieve it to sound like ninety.”

  Rose’s voice became very deep. “God thought for a moment and a black cloud came from nowhere and covered the sun. ‘Okay, I’m a fair man, or God; get Me the recipe for your wife’s chicken soup and I’ll make it only nine commandments and a few assorted rules for keeping kosher.’ The cloud melted as quickly as it had appeared and the sun shone as fiercely as ever.

  “Moses couldn’t believe his good fortune and he picked up the tablet which contained the commandment regarding the b
anning of chicken soup and dashed it to the ground, where it broke into more than a thousand pieces. Then he took up his hammer and stone chisel and quickly fashioned a new tablet of stone, marking it with the number One. ‘Ready when you are, Lord.’

  “’Not so fast, young man! First you go get the recipe. I can promise you, no recipe and you’ll be chipping stone until your arms are so worn down your fingers will be attached to your armpits!"’

  Damon looked at me and laughed, Rose was a real case.

  Rose continued, “So Moses set off back down the mountain. He was pretty pleased with himself, I can tell you! True, his wife had her difficult moments, but at heart she was soft as a matzo ball. Except for once when she’d caught him in bed with a temple girl, she’d never raised her voice to him. Getting the recipe wouldn’t be a piece of cheesecake but, when he told her God demanded it, he felt sure she’d agree. Especially when he informed her of the part she’d inadvertently played in the reduction of three hundred onerous commandments down to a mere nine.

  “The next morning as the sun rose gloriously over the desert, Moses was standing on the summit of Mount Sinai. Far below him he could see the Israelite tents, tiny white dots on the desert floor arranged in neat rows; from each rose a wisp of smoke into the sharp, clean air as ten thousand families prepared breakfast. They appeared to be a great disciplined army, a people of one accord, one determination, one destiny!

  “’Fat hope!’ he said to himself. ‘Ten thousand tents, ten thousand different opinions, ten thousand leaders.’ Sometimes being the so-called great Jewish leader didn’t seem much fun at all and he often quite resented being the chosen person among the chosen people.

  “In a sudden blinding flash accompanied by a crackle of electric blue and the sharp smell of gunpowder and chipped granite, God appeared.

  “’Well?’

  “Moses pressed his forehead against the earth, he trembled as he spoke, ‘Lord, there has been a complication, a bit of a hitch…’ He tried to push his forehead even further into the hard ground to emphasise his respect and deep regret.

  “’No complications! No hitches!’ God slammed His mighty fist against the top of the mountain causing the height of Mount Sinai to be lowered by several feet. ‘Do you have the recipe, or what?’ He demanded to know.

  “’Well, yes, but…’ Moses realised he’d be lucky to escape alive.

  “’No buts. Hand it over, I may have all eternity, but I haven’t got all day!’

  “Moses raised his head slightly. He had to play his cards exactly right. God was a pretty impatient sort and didn’t like to be thwarted. Moses knew he’d get only one crack at getting it right and even the wrong inflection on a single word of the proposition he was about to put to His Extreme Crankiness and it would be all over. He’d be consigned to Jewish history as Mo the schmuck, the one who got lost up the mountain and left his people wandering aimlessly in the desert!

  “He wore an appropriately injured expression as he spoke, ‘Well, yes, that’s all very well for You, Lord. You haven’t got a wife. I begged her, I threatened to beat her. Finally I did beat her!’

  “’Well, good for you, Mo, now we have a wife-beater!’

  “’Well, more a clip behind the ear, not a proper beating you understand, a light clip just so she knew who’s the boss,’ Moses quickly corrected.

  “’Hand the recipe over then, we haven’t got forever. Even chipping nine commandments will take all morning.’

  “’Well, you see, Lord, it’s…well, there’s a condition.’ Moses gulped, ‘I cannot tell a lie, the recipe is missing a critical ingredient.’

  “’Missing! Ingredient? What do you mean a missing ingredient?’ God looked really mad and a whole heap of dark clouds appeared above His head and the top of Mount Sinai disappeared from view.

  “’Well, Lord, you see, my wife wants a clause put in the contract. Well, not a clause really, more like an extra commandment.’

  “’Clause? Contract? Commandment? Who said contract? WHO MAKES THE COMMANDMENTS AROUND HERE ANYWAY?’

  “’That’s what I told her,’ Moses said quickly. ‘But she wouldn’t listen! She’s got no respect. You know what she said?’ The leader of the Israelites paused momentarily, ‘She said, “No extra commandment, no secret ingredient!"’ Moses spread his hands wide, ‘What can you do? A woman is a woman, God created them. Who knows how a woman’s mind works?’

  “’You’re right, not even Me. So? What is this secret ingredient?’

  “Moses was practically whimpering as he spoke,

  ‘Lord, You got to promise first? You’ve got to okay an extra commandment. Until You do this my lips are sealed. You’ve tasted my wife’s chicken soup, which is absolutely heavenly, absolutely guaranteed perfect every time! Now it’s for You to say, Lord.’

  “Moses knew he was skating on thin ice, it was a cheeky approach, he hoped to hell he was playing his cards right; after all, this was the God of Wrath, the original tough guy, this was not some cheap trader to be haggled with over a worthless trinket in the bazaar. To his relief God seemed quite calm. The birds continued to sing in the nearby salt scrub and a chicken hawk gliding high above his head didn’t tumble from the sky. Finally God said, ‘Okay, I hear you, what’s the extra commandment she wants?’

  “Moses looked a bit abashed as he spoke, ‘Understand, Lord, personally I recommend against it. As a matter of fact this commandment is going to hurt me more than it will hurt You.’

  “’Well, that’s a good, positive sign,’ God said cheerfully.

  “Moses coughed into his fist before he spoke. ‘The tenth commandment my wife wants, Lord is…Thou shalt not commit adultery!’

  “God smiled to himself, a surprisingly benign smile and instantly the sky became a brighter, nicer shade of blue. ‘Hmm, a bit impractical, but not a bad concept – one man one wife – no hanky panky. Not bad, not bad at all!’

  “’If You say so, Lord,’ Moses replied in a dejected voice; he was trying to decide which he enjoyed more, chicken soup or adultery. It was a hard decision for a man with an Egyptian upbringing.

  “’Okay, tell her we got a deal! But We can’t make no adultery Number Ten, it’s rather too lightweight for a tenth and final commandment, a bit impractical too. Let Me see, yes, We’ll make it Number Seven; buried towards the end like that it shouldn’t prove too troublesome.’ Pleased with Himself, the Almighty rubbed His hands at the thought of the chicken soup recipe He now owned and, at once, giant boulders commenced to crash and tumble down the slopes of Mount Sinai and roll several miles into the desert to create the Golan Heights.

  “’Now, tell Me at once,’ God demanded, ‘What’s the missing secret ingredient essential to your wife’s chicken soup? Keep it simple, I’m no great cook!’

  “Moses knew a momentous moment when he saw one and he modulated his voice to suit the powerful sentiment of his words.

  ‘A JEWISH MOTHER’S LOVE.’”

  Rose let the words hang there on their own for a moment, then she added, “That’s what goes into real chicken soup, that’s what makes the difference, that’s what makes it positively divine. Believe me, that crap Mr Campbell makes is from the devil’s own kitchen!” She looked up at Damon who was trying hard not to laugh.

  “Rose, that’s a terrible story!” Damon said at last.

  Rose ignored us and her voice continued serious, “So now you know where the power comes from in my chicken soup, hey? You must have some every day, darling. You’ll see, it will soon make you strong again.”

  Though the properties of Rose’s chicken soup were undoubtedly divine and the love she brought to bear in its preparation was unquestionably efficacious, Damon’s real penicillin was Celeste. At his insistence I’d gone through the boxes piled up in my cardboard kingdom until, some hours later, I found the one with the Italian art and another with travel books Benita had collected over the years.

  At night Celeste would make him a couple of famous FES sandwiches (Fried Egg Sandwich) a
nd they’d pore over the Italian books as she reconstructed every detail of her trip for him.

  She’d tell him about Florence and its marvellous light and undoubtedly the best ice cream in the history of the whole world! Pistachio, Peach, Apricot, Wild Berry and the most scrumptious chocolate ice cream in the entire universe and a shop that sold chocolate in every colour imaginable, green and blue and pink, every colour more delicious than the last!

  They’d look for “fingers of God” paintings and she’d repeat the story of the wonderment of light after the afternoon storm. She spoke of Venice and it came alive as she talked and he saw its shimmering waterways and the way the ancient buildings seemed to float in light and dance in the hazy air. Every meal she’d taken was talked about precisely and Benita, who is no cook but knows all about Italian food from the eating end, would join them to talk about a particular dish, where it came from and what sort of wine Celeste would have been served to drink with it if she’d been able to afford wine.

  In this way each day of Celeste’s journey was recreated. Damon wanted to experience everything in his head, to be mentally holding Celeste’s hand as she journeyed across Italy. It was marvellous penicillin. Celeste has the eye of an artist and besides, is very articulate, and so she would bring her trip alive for Damon who, in turn, had a wonderful memory and a head for facts. He made Celeste give him exact locations, the heights of the buildings, even the precise dimensions of the Gates of Paradise in the Duomo in Florence.

  Celeste would come hurrying home from university each evening almost breathless with anticipation. She loved Damon so much, she wanted him to be his old self again and so, in her mind, she made him so. And in the process she convinced all of us that he was, that the old Damon had returned.

  Until the Salmonella, the night sweats had been the only indication that Damon’s HIV virus had progressed further. But the sweats had eventually passed and now the effects of the Salmonella seemed also to be fading. As the days went on Damon put on a little weight and we conned ourselves that he was soon looking more like his old self again.