“Why you evil, evil-”
The door opened and in strode my dearly beloved and, hard on his heels, the breathtakingly beautiful Faya Rashid. The latter is a doctor, and a friend of mine. Originally from Lebanon-as in the Middle East, not Pennsylvania-Faya has been busy turning herself into a proper American. Although she will always have an accent, and her grammar is not quite perfect, she knows more about American history and government than any six high school students combined. In fact, in less than a month, she planned to take the citizenship test.
“Babe!” Gabe ran over to the bed and practically threw himself on top of me.
Dr. Rashid peered around my husband’s thick mop of still-black hair and smiled. “You are awake now, Miss Yoder. Congratulations.”
“Congratulate me on being alive; this woman tried to kill me.”
Nurse Dudley somehow assumed the innocent pose of an elementary school girl. “The patient is exhibiting signs of extreme agitation. Would you like me to prepare a sedative?”
“She would not,” the Babester said.
My tormentor’s innocent façade began to crack. “Are you a doctor?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact, I am.”
Dr. Rashid’s last hurdle in her quest to become an American is to master the tricky art of assertiveness-especially when dealing with men. Alas, I am not the one to teach her this skill, seeing as how I am a mite overqualified.
Instead of shooing my sweet baboo from my bed, she laid a cool hand gently on my arm, and looked at me when she spoke. “Dr. Rosen is a world-famous heart surgeon, but I am afraid he is not Miss Yoder’s attending physician.”
“I get the hint,” Gabe said, and retreated to the foot of my bed.
Dr. Rashid’s dark eyes shone with relief. “Miss Yoder, is this the first time you are fainting like this?”
“To my knowledge, yes. Although I suppose it is possible I’ve fainted before, and then regained consciousness immediately and not realized that it happened. I mean, theoretically, just about anything is possible-well, pigs will never be able to fly, of course, unless some wicked scientist manages to splice pig genes into a bird egg and comes up with something like a peagle, which would be a sin, and maybe something Congress-”
“Hon, would you please just answer her questions? And for the record, we use pig valves in human heart patients all the time. I’d hardly call that wicked.”
“Ha!” Nurse Dudley was obviously quite pleased with my reprimand.
“Nurse!” Dr. Rashid spoke with shocking, but delightful sharpness. “Please do leave the room.”
“But I was-”
“Please, no buts. Yes?” She waited while my erstwhile nemesis stomped from the room like a spoiled child. “Miss Yoder,” she continued, as if nothing untoward had happened, “we checked your most vital signs, and I drew some blood while you were passed out. There is much backup in the laboratory, but your most vital signs, they are very good. You have a strong heart, Miss Yoder.”
“Good things come in small packages.”
A look of confusion flickered across her face. “Nevertheless, we are keeping you here for twenty-four hours for to observe.”
“But you can’t! I have a competition to preside over.”
“This competition must wait.”
“It can’t wait. Everyone already is here with their cows. Folks have come from as far away as Timbuktu.”
“From Africa? As far as that?”
“Oh, is that where Timbuktu is? Never mind, that’s just an expression. My point is that this date is chiseled in stone, and so is my being there.”
Poor Dr. Rashid turned to Gabe. That a Lebanese immigrant has to ask a Jewish man from New York to translate for a regular American like yours truly-well, as my mother-in-law would say, that’s a shande.
“What she means,” Gabe said without any prodding, “is that a lot of people are counting on this cow competition. But don’t worry, Dr. Rashid, I’ll see that she stays right here.”
“In a flying pig’s eye,” I sputtered.
The love of my life planted a kiss on me of such high quality that it bought him some explaining time. “Don’t worry, hon, I have this covered; I’ll take over all your duties.”
“But what do you know about cows?”
“You’ll teach me. I’m not leaving your bedside until I know exactly what to do.”
“Well, the first thing is to find a judge to replace Reverend Richard Nixon.”
“Why? What happened? Is he unwell?”
“Uh-no.”
“You ticked him off, didn’t you?”
“Remember that I’m in a hospital bed. You can’t be mad at a dying woman.”
“No!” Dr. Rashid gripped my shoulder. “You are not dying, Miss Yoder.”
“That was for dramatic effect, dear. Gabriel, darling, if you can find a suitable replacement for the reverend, and pull off the job of emcee-well, I’ll be eternally grateful. I might even do this.” I pulled him close and whispered in his ear.
“No way, babe, only my ma does that.”
“Cut his meat,” I said to Dr. Rashid, to stop her from looking so horrified. Sadly, it was the truth.
Dr. Rashid pretended it made sense. “So, we are all squares then, yes?”
“Squares, indeed,” I said in much too loud a voice. “But please, dear, do me a favor. Tell the dietician that chocolate pudding is necessary for my health, and please tell someone-anyone other than Nurse Dudley-that I have yet to have lunch.”
Gabe squeezed my hand. “Mags, hon, it’s three in the afternoon. No hospital serves lunch this late.”
“Then tell the concerned party that I’ll have two suppers- one now, and the other at the appointed time. If they object, Bedford Memorial Hospital can kiss their Magdalena Yoder wing good-bye.”
His and her gasps sounded almost like my old furnace starting up. “Darling, are you serious? Are you donating a new wing to the hospital?”
“Absolutely not, dear. At least I have no plans to at the moment. But should I not get my lunch, I will definitely not be funding a new wing.”
Gabe smiled wanly at my gorgeous physician. “Gotta love my Magdalena, right?”
If I was supposed to be getting any rest the remainder of the afternoon, it was definitely a lost cause. Everyone and their uncle either called or dropped by. One of the uncles, I think, called several times. As a result, my lunch-which arrived in twenty minutes- was cold before I could finish it. In the meantime I tried to school Gabe in the fine art of holding a Holstein competition. Honestly, how is one to hold court, lecture a city-slicker husband on animal husbandry, and eat chocolate pudding at the same time?
Shortly after five, Gabe said good-bye. For the next hour or so, I read a health magazine, and bravely resisted the temptation to turn on the TV. (I haven’t watched that spewer of evil since Green Acres went off the air.) Just as I was about to raise a fuss concerning the whereabouts of my supper-I’d heard the meal cart out in the hallway an hour earlier, but no one came to my room-the door was flung open, and the room filled with the wonderful aroma of real food.
I saw the cart first. Then, just barely sticking above the covered dishes, the hoary head of my mother-in-law came into view. Lacking someone else to pinch, I pinched myself to see if I was dreaming. Apparently, I wasn’t.
“Magdalena, must you alvays scream?”
“Ida, what are you doing here?”
“I came to feed you. Vhat else?”
“Where did you get that cart?”
“Vhy the twenty questions?”
“Because you don’t like me, that’s why. Who put you up to this? Who brought you here? My dear, sweet baboo?”
She shook her head as she rolled her eyes. “Baboon? Oy, dis voman is even more meshugah den I tink before.”
“Okay, so I’m nuts! Now tell me how you got here.”
24
“I drive myself,” my mother-in-law said, as if it were an everyday occurrence.
&nbs
p; “But you’re not supposed to drive anymore; you lost your license. The judge said you are a menace to yourself and to everyone around you. If they catch you driving again, they could throw you in jail.”
“Do they have TV in this jail? I must watch my Yeopardy.”
“Your what?”
“De game show. Mit Alex Trebek, yah?”
I’d actually heard a lot of good things about this show. Some-day-if I ever jump off the fence-I might give this program a try. But what Ida was able to watch in the hoosegow wasn’t the point I was trying to make.
“You could hurt someone, Ida. Even kill someone. And even if you got lucky for the rest of your life, what kind of example would that be setting for Alison?”
“Vill you vake me vhen dis lecture is over?”
“Sorry, dear. I know you meant well. So, what did you bring?”
Ida’s eyes lit up like a jar full of fireflies, and she actually smiled. “All your favorite tings, yah?”
Still beaming, she uncovered a platter of brisket, a boiled chicken, a small tureen of chicken soup mit matzo balls, a serving bowl of roast potatoes, a pan of noodle kugel, candied carrots, a mixed green salad, and, for dessert, a jelly roll. Oh, and a loaf of her homemade braided egg bread. Challah nagila I think it’s called.
“Ida, this is fabulous. Thank you.”
In the blink of an eye, she somehow hopped up on the bed and settled in next to me. Perhaps she had springs in her shoes. However she got there, I was actually stunned speechless for a minute.
“You vant dat I should cut your meat?” she asked. “Uh-uh-”
“Is not a difficult question, Magdalena.”
“Okay, I’m game. Saw away.” No doubt I would embarrass myself if I admitted that Ida not only cut the brisket for me, she literally fed me as well. When I was full to bursting, she took the cloth napkin from my lap, spit on a corner, then dabbed at my face.
“Yuck! What are you doing?”
“You have shmutz on your chin. You vant it should stay dirty?”
“No. I want to know why you are being so nice to me.”
“Because you are family, dat’s vhy.”
“That’s huafa mischt. I’m not stupid, dear; I only look that way.”
“Yah. So I tell you, den: I vant to move back to New York.” My healthy heart skipped with joy. “I think that’s a great idea!”
“Vill you help me convince my Gabeleh dat you tink so?”
“Absolutely.” She reached up and kissed my cheek. Then she grabbed my head, turned it, and kissed the other cheek. “You’re a mensch, Magdalena. I don’t care vhat da others tink.” Jesus instructed us to turn the other cheek should someone slap us. He said nothing, however, concerning what to do about random acts of osculation.
“Vhat-I mean, what-do they think?”
“Dis one is so arrogant, dat one says. Tinks she is the center of the voild, another says. Oy, such chutzpah we’ve never seen. Of course I shtick up for you.”
“Who are these people? Names. I want names.”
“Too many for to name, yah? But, like I said, I tell them where they should get off at.”
“Hopefully the first station.”
“Vhat?”
“Never mind. All’s well that ends well.” Despite the reminder that I had my share of detractors, my heart was filled with latent joy. Who could have guessed that my biggest (although certainly not in size) critic would someday be a staunch supporter? Throw in the news that Ida Rosen was headed back to Brooklyn, and I was positively giddy.
“And now vee plan, yah?”
“Plan away!”
“I vas tinking dat foist vee should move back to da city, before selling da farm. You vouldn’t mind selling it for us, if vee give you commission, yah?”
Mine was the gasp heard ’round the world. “Hold your horses! What is this ‘we’ you keep mentioning? Does that include my husband, or is it the royal ‘we’? No scatological reference intended.”
“Vhat? So now you speak da Amish.”
“Just tell me,” I said through gritted teeth, “are you planning to take Gabe with you?”
“Of course. I tell you dis, and you say fine.”
“I meant that it is fine for you to go back, but not for my husband.”
“He is my son!” Who knew such a thunderous sound could come from one so tiny. “He is the fruit of my looms.”
“Yet far too big to be a jockey.”
“Do you mock?”
“Quite often-or so I’m told. Although I’m trying to be better, I really am. Now, you listen to me, Ida Rosen. My husband isn’t going anywhere with you. Not to stay. And if you don’t get your fanny off my bed right now, and make yourself as scarce as a shadow on a rainy day, I’m calling security. Comprende?”
“Oy, the Amish again.” But she did remove her buttocks as directed, and I saw no more of her that evening.
Only the dead can sleep in a hospital, and I’ve no doubt that even some of them can’t get a full night’s rest. Nurses are forever coming in and shining lights in your face, taking your temperature, and writing full-length novels on your chart. When they tire of that, they take delight in coughing into the loudspeaker system, or dropping barbells in the hallway.
Yet somehow, I managed to sleep through breakfast, and thus, as one can well imagine, was not in the cheeriest of moods when my bedside phone rang. As usual, I prayed for a patient tongue, and, as usual, that prayer went unanswered. The phone, however, was answered.
“Just for that, you’re not getting the million bucks I promised you!”
“Who is this?”
“You tell me, you’re the one who called.”
“Hon, it’s me, Gabe. You don’t sound so good.”
“Your mother paid me a visit last night.”
“Uh-oh. What happened?”
“She brought me supper. Then, like Judas, she kissed me on the cheek, before telling me she plans to take you back to New York with her. Permanently.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Do I ever kid about your mother?”
“Huafa mischt,” my husband said, although in English. “I can’t believe she’d do that-actually, I can believe it, and it really ticks me off. I can’t tell you how sorry I am.” He paused wisely for several seconds. “What did you say to her in response?”
“I threatened to call security. Darling, tell me honestly, you didn’t know about this in advance, did you?”
“You better be kidding now, because if not, I’m going to be angry.”
“Shall I tell the truth and face the consequences?”
I could hear him counting softly to ten before speaking into the receiver. “Hon, it hurts me that you’d think, even for a second, that I would put Ma before you.”
“I’m sorry you’re hurting.” I glanced at the bedside clock. “Say, aren’t you supposed to be presiding right now? It’s almost time to tally the results of round one.”
He sighed. “Look, I don’t want to fight. And yeah, that’s why I’m calling. I did call first thing this morning, by the way, and you didn’t answer. Anyway, there’s something fishy going on.”
“Fishy? Like what?”
“Holy guacamole! Hon, look-I’ll have to call you back.”
“Oh, no you don’t! Don’t leave me hanging like this.”
There followed a lot of static, and only a smattering of words. The only two words that were said without a break were “lateral incision.” Shortly after he said those, the line went dead.
Gabe had been calling on his cell phone, which explained everything. Because Hernia is situated between two mountain ridges, aerial reception of any kind is, at best, intermittent. Sacrilegious wags have been known to say that on Judgment Day, only half of Hernia’s dead will rise, the other half having not gotten the signal.
Late morning, as my stomach was beginning to rumble like an active volcano, Nurse Ratched stopped by. She looked like a small child who’d just been told that Santa Claus
was a myth, one perpetuated by secular parents who believe the true Christmas story sounds just too fantastical to pass on to their children.
“Dr. Rashid says you can go. Apparently everything checks out okay-you’re still alive, gosh darn it. I’m to process you. But don’t think you’ve truly escaped my clutches, Miss Yoder. Someday, when you least expect, you’ll pay for what you did yesterday.”
Tamar Myers Page 14