Lucky Broken Girl

by Ruth Behar

  Baba makes Lipton tea for the two of us. She sits next to me with a tray of tea and a bowl of her sugar cookies. She calls the cookies kijeles in Yiddish. They are jawbreaker cookies because they are hard until you dip them in tea.

  We dip our cookies in the hot tea, and they soften and taste delicious. Then Baba takes a sugar cube and puts it in her mouth and sips her tea so it gets sweet that way. I can’t even bring the cup of tea to my mouth. I have to wait until it cools.

  While I’m waiting, I say, “Baba, how did you meet Zeide?”

  She takes another sip of tea through the sugar cube before she replies. “I never told you that story?”

  “No, Baba, I don’t think so. I bet it was love at first sight.”

  “Not exactly, shayna maideleh.”

  “Is it okay if I type your story? That way I can get better at typing.”

  “Be my guest,” Baba replies and I smile. That’s her favorite expression in English. Baba goes on, “So I landed in Havana and I found a bed in a rooming house for Jewish ladies. All I could afford were sandwiches made of bread and bananas. As soon as I heard they needed a saleslady at a fabric store in the old part of the city, I went running. It’s all cobblestones there, and I was sweating when I got to the store. The man who needed the saleslady was your grandfather, your zeide. He asked if I could measure fabric straight, and if I knew how to add and subtract. I told him yes and he hired me on the spot. I worked hard that first day and the next and the next, and he gave me a raise. Suddenly I had enough money to go eat lunch at the Moishe Pipik restaurant. I had gefilte fish and matzo ball soup and an apple strudel for dessert, all the foods I missed from home. After two weeks, I could buy myself a new dress. And I was still saving money to bring over the family from Poland.”

  “Okay, Baba, wait a minute, I’m trying to type everything you’re saying.”

  “Of course, shayna maideleh. I am in no rush. How can you type so fast?”

  “You see, Baba, I’m trying to learn to type a hundred words a minute.” And in a whisper I tell her, “I want to be an artist and a writer. But don’t tell Papi. He wants me to be a secretary when I grow up.”

  “Your secret is safe with me,” Baba says, dipping another cookie in the tea.

  “Gracias, Baba,” I say. “And then what happened?”

  “Well, I kept working for the man who would one day became your zeide. After several months, he said to me, ‘Will you marry me?’ Just like that. I said, ‘Do you love me?’ And he said, ‘Of course.’ So I said, ‘Yes.’ And he said, ‘I’m glad you said yes, because it’s going to cost me a lot less to have you as my wife than as my saleslady.’ It turned out he was paying me three times what a normal saleslady earned! He wanted to make sure I didn’t go anywhere else! How do you like that?”

  “It’s a great story, Baba.”

  “So now you know how I met and married your zeide. We’ve been together ever since, through all the hard times and all the good times too.” Baba sighs and asks, “Don’t tell me, did you manage to type all of that?”

  “I got every word, Baba.”

  “Then you will be a writer one day, shayna maideleh.”

  I am so happy I hug my Royal typewriter. And then I say, “Baba, you have to keep telling me stories, so I’ll have inspiring things to write about.”

  “Naturally, shayna maideleh. And perhaps one day you will tell my stories to people who never knew me. That way the stories won’t be forgotten.”

  “I will, Baba.”

  “I know you will, shayna maideleh. You listen well and that makes you a good keeper of stories. I am sure that all my memories are safe with you.”

  the snowman

  It’s New Year’s Eve and Mami is making a big flan with a dozen eggs for a midnight treat. I hear her in the kitchen, breaking the eggs into the bowl, and I realize now that I can sit up I could be helping her.

  “Mami, bring the bowl here! And the eggs! I can beat them for you.”

  “Mi niña, good idea. I can be making the sugar crust in the meantime.”

  There are still nine eggs to break into the bowl. I am careful to beat each one until it’s creamy yellow and then when I’ve finished beating all the eggs, I ask Mami to bring the milk and the vanilla so I can mix in those ingredients.

  “Here you go, Mami.”

  “Now I’ll pour it in the pan with the sugar crust and let that pan float in another pan filled with water and put it in the oven. We call that a baño María. So the flan won’t burn.”

  Just before the clock strikes midnight, Mami brings in a big bowl of grapes, and she and Papi and Izzie gather around my bed. As we count down to the new day, we follow the Cuban custom of gulping down thirteen grapes as quickly as we can. It’s supposed to bring good luck. And then we all say, “Happy New Year!”

  A few minutes later, Baba and Zeide come to say “Happy New Year,” and Uncle Bill and Aunt Sylvia and Dennis and Lily come to say “Happy New Year.”

  Dennis and Lily have party horns, and they blow them and make as much noise as they can. They jump up and down with Izzie and play tag, chasing each other around the room, until finally Uncle Bill says, “Quiet down, kids. I need to make a speech.” He clears his throat, waits for everyone to pay attention. “Happy New Year, my dear family. Let’s hope for only good things in this year that has just begun. Most of all, let’s hope Ruthie will get out of bed and walk again. I want to see her playing hopscotch like she used to!”

  He extends his hands and they all make a circle around my bed.

  There are tears in Mami’s eyes, Baba’s eyes, Sylvia’s eyes, Zeide’s eyes.

  Papi says, “Why is everyone crying? It’s New Year’s! Let’s be happy!”

  Then Izzie points out the window. “Look, it’s snowing!”

  The snow is coming down in fluffy flakes. We see it reflected in the glow of the streetlights. Snow. Snow. Snow. Slowly. Slowly. Slowly.

  Everyone stares out the window. Wow, how pretty. It’s the first snowfall of the season.

  Zeide smiles. “Reminds me of when I was growing up in Russia. I rode with Mother and Father and brothers and sisters in our horse-drawn cart. Every so often we’d get stuck in the snow. We’d stop to fix it and have a snowball fight, laughing and stuffing snow down each other’s shirts until we got sopping wet, and then we’d push the cart and get moving. What days those were.”

  Aunt Sylvia says, “Being born in Cuba, we never saw snow. Then I married Bill and came to New York. It still seems magical to me, how that white blanket spreads over everything and the world becomes so calm.”

  Izzie turns away from the window and announces, “I want to make a snowman! Can we make a snowman tomorrow?”

  “Yeah, a snowman, a big snowman!” shout Dennis and Lily, the two of them jumping round and round in circles.

  Uncle Bill replies, “Maybe we’ll make a snowman. But you kids have to behave.”

  “We will! We will!” Dennis and Lily respond.

  Uncle Bill winks at Mami. “Aren’t we going to get anything to eat in this house?”

  Mami laughs. “I almost forgot,” she says.

  “Yeah, what about the flan, Mami?”

  “Ay, mi niña, let me run and get it.”

  Mami is wearing her gold lamé sandals for New Year’s and she goes rushing to the kitchen, returning with the flan, which has turned as bright and golden as her pretty sandals. Its dark sugar crust has cracked on top and the syrup pours down the sides and onto the platter. Mami cuts up the flan and everyone spreads out around my bed and eats happily.

  “Now this is what I call a superb flan!” Uncle Bill announces.

  Mami says proudly, “Ruti helped make it. She beat the eggs right here in her bed.”

  “Muy rico,” Aunt Sylvia says. “You’re a good helper, Ruti.”

  I get a normal slice of flan.
Finally! How delicious it is, this concoction of milk and eggs and burned sugar. It tastes like Cuba, like a dream you can almost remember.

  In the morning, we hear a knock at the door. It’s Chicho and Mark. “Happy New Year!” they say to Mami and Papi and Izzie. They come into my room and again they say, “Happy New Year!”

  They’re bundled up in coats, boots, gloves, and ski hats. Chicho looks at me with that twinkle in his eye. “Where’s your winter coat?”

  “But you know I still have to stay in my bed, Chicho. This isn’t a walking cast.”

  “I know all that, mi cielo. But Mark and I are taking you outside anyway.”

  “But how? I can’t leave my bed. The doctor said so.”

  Mark takes off his ski cap and slips it on my head. “Fits you well!”

  I pull off the cap and throw it back at Mark. “Stop! What’s going on? Are you two making fun of me?”

  “No, mi cielo, of course not,” Chicho says. “Please, Mark, you tell her.”

  Mark twirls the ski cap around in his hand for a moment, then throws it in the air and catches it.

  “Surprise! Ruthie, guess what? I have two very good friends who work at the same hospital where I work and they happen to think you’re a very brave young girl. We talked about it and they decided to pop in and give you a special New Year’s Day gift. They’re going to take you out to play in the snow.”

  The two friends enter. Wait? What? How is that possible? I think I must be dreaming. But there they are. It’s Bobbie and Clay!

  Clay says, “Hi, Ruthie! Ready to go outside?”

  And Bobbie says, “Got your coat? We’ve got the stretcher and we brought you a nice warm blanket too.”

  Mami slips my coat over my shoulders. “Have fun, mi niña!”

  Izzie throws on his coat. “I’m going to tell Dennis and Lily!” he says, charging down the stairs as we reach the elevator.

  The front steps of the building are slippery, and Bobbie and Clay carefully carry me down to the sidewalk where I used to play hopscotch in the old days. They open the back door of the ambulance and bring out the wheeled bed and slip me onto it and wrap the blanket around my legs.

  Then Izzie comes racing over with Dennis and Lily. Mark and Chicho follow behind, carrying two big shovels.

  “Should we get to work?” Chicho asks.

  Izzie, Dennis, and Lily cheer, “Yay! Yay!”

  Mark and Chicho pile up snow with their shovels, creating the torso. Izzie, Dennis, and Lily pat down the snow and shape the roundness of the face. In between, they throw snowballs at each other.

  Izzie brings me a snowball. “Here, Roofie, toss it!” I hold the snowball in my hand, fluffy and compact, the flakes catching the sunlight. Then I let it go. I throw it into the air and watch it fall and dissolve into sparkles.

  I am happy. So happy!

  Bobbie and Clay clap for me. “Nice throw!” Bobbie says. And Clay says, “Yeah!”

  They stay on either side of me, watching to be sure I don’t slip off the bed. When I’m with Bobbie and Clay, I feel nothing bad will ever happen to me again.

  “What do you think? That’s going to be one heck of a snowman,” Bobbie says.

  “Glad I’m gettin’ to see it,” Clay responds. “How do you like it, Ruthie?”

  “It’s beautiful,” I say.

  But their kindness is even more beautiful. Should I tell them that?

  “Bobbie . . . Clay . . . You guys . . . Listen . . . Thanks . . .”

  Being outside again, seeing the snow so white and soft, feeling the cool air on my cheeks, thinking about Bobbie and Clay coming on New Year’s Day just to carry me outdoors so I can enjoy the winter morning, I can’t help it, I want to cry.

  “Kid, listen, don’t get sentimental on us,” Bobbie says.

  And Clay adds, “Darlin’, now you listen here, we came today because we wanted to.”

  Chicho turns toward us, smiling from ear to ear. “What do you think, Ruti? Do you like our snowman? Want to give him a nose and dress him?”

  Reaching into the pocket of his coat, Chicho pulls out a carrot. “How’s this for the nose?” From his other pocket, he reaches for a ratty wool hat and scarf.

  Bobbie and Clay wheel me closer to the snowman, and I reach up and put the carrot in the middle of the snowman’s face and drop the hat on his head and wrap the scarf around his neck.

  I remember Zeide’s story about throwing snowballs at his brothers in Russia and I think, one day when I am old, I will remember this day and the love I felt, throwing snowballs at my brother and making a snowman while my right leg still slept in a cast.

  We are all admiring our snowman, but it’s starting to get cold; I’m shivering, and I know Bobbie and Clay can’t be around all day.

  A familiar voice calls to me. “Ruthie . . . Are you better now?”

  She wears a light blue coat and a black beret. So sophisticated.

  But I don’t want to talk to her. She is not my friend. I have been bedridden for eight months and she only came to visit me once and ran away as quickly as she could.

  “Hello, Ruthie . . . Don’t you remember me? It’s Danielle.”

  I don’t pay attention to her.

  “Bobbie, Clay, I think it’s time to go upstairs. I’m getting tired.”

  “Sure, kid,” Bobbie says.

  Bobbie and Clay slide me onto the stretcher and just as carefully bring me back up the steps to my building. Izzie, Dennis, and Lily follow along, drenched from playing in the snow and ready to warm up indoors.

  Danielle stays on the sidewalk, standing elegantly beside our snowman. As Bobbie and Clay edge me into the building, I turn back and catch her eye. She nods and smiles at me. But I don’t smile back.

  the shell is inside me now

  Joy brings me a new calendar for the new year: 1967. Before you know it, I’ve torn out the month of January, and then the month of February is so short it goes quickly. And now it’s Monday, March 13. Time to go to the hospital and take another X-ray.

  Dr. Friendlich lifts his bushy eyebrows and smiles for the first time ever.

  “Finally! You’ve healed. You won’t need another cast.”

  “Really? Are you sure?!”

  Dr. Friendlich laughs. “Of course I’m sure.”

  I glance down at my right leg, which is not going to need another cast. I haven’t seen it in ten months. It’s as hairy as my left leg.

  “The nurse is going to help you,” Dr. Friendlich says. “You’ll stand on your good leg. Let the other leg hang next to it. No weight on it. Want to give it a try?”

  “No!” I say.

  “Ruthie, you’re going to have to start getting over your fear,” the nurse says. She tugs at my left arm and hooks it around her right arm. “Now pull yourself to the edge of the bed and swing your left leg around.”

  I inch forward slowly. I’m a turtle without a visible shell. But the shell is inside me now and it’s grown hard and crusty.

  I can’t get up. I can’t. Can’t. Can’t.

  Dr. Friendlich sighs. “Well, Ruthie, you’ve made it this far. Now you’ll have to learn to walk all over again, like a baby.”

  “But I don’t remember how to walk!”

  “Ruthie, have faith. It will come back to you.” Dr. Friendlich pats me on the head as he used to do. He writes some words down on my chart. “We’ll give you crutches and send a nurse to your house who will teach you how to use them.”

  “What if I don’t want to get out of bed?”

  “You can be an invalid for the rest of your life. Is that what you want, child?” He looks at me intently, waiting for my answer. “Well?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “A little stage fright is normal. But after that, it’s up to you, child.”

  Dr. Friendlich turns and walks out,
the nurse following after him. Then Bobbie and Clay appear, taking big, happy strides, as if everything were suddenly perfect.

  Bobbie says, “You see, kid? It took a while, but you made it.”

  Clay says, “We knew you could do it, darlin’. You’re my hero!”

  I don’t know why Bobbie and Clay are congratulating me. I haven’t done anything. I’ve just been lying in bed waiting for my leg to heal and now I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to get out of bed.

  Even without the cast, Bobbie and Clay still have to carry me in the stretcher. Things don’t feel that different from before.

  Clay winks at me. “What do you say? We’ll turn the siren on at full blast.”

  “Might be the last time we can get away with it,” Bobbie adds, laughing.

  “Sure,” I reply.

  But I’m feeling sick to my stomach as we go rollercoastering back to Queens. This time I’m the one clenching Mami’s hand in the back of the ambulance.

  Aunt Sylvia is waiting at the curb. She asks Mami, “¡¿Ya?!”

  Mami replies cheerfully, “Ahora sí.”

  Finally yes.

  There is a look of relief on both their faces.

  Aunt Sylvia asks, “How long before she can walk again?”

  Mami says, “We don’t know. She’s got to learn again and she’s very afraid.”

  Aunt Sylvia nods. “And you’ll have to be patient again.”

  Mami sighs. “Ya lo sé, ya lo sé.”

  I know, I know.

  I listen to everything they say about me, but pretend not to hear.

  Then Bobbie and Clay bring me upstairs to my bed as always.

  “Good-bye, kid,” Bobbie says. “Get strong and don’t look back.”

  Clay says, “I tell you, one day you’ll forget you ever broke your leg.”

  “I hope so,” I tell them. “I’m really going to miss you!”

  “Better to miss us than to be needing us again!” Bobbie says, and Clay laughs.

  They gather up the empty stretcher, and a second later, they’re gone.