Too Many Men

by Lily Brett

  Ruth had been bothered by Martina’s attraction to her ex-husband’s sadness. It was a shame people couldn’t alter those aspects of themselves that were psychologically not in their own interests. Today so many alter-ations were possible. They could genetically alter food to eliminate any difficult qualities and add or enhance the better qualities. In America, they added genes, removed from fish, to strawberries. This produced strawberries that would endure cold. Ruth wondered if the fish-enhanced strawberries wilted in heat. Probably not, if they hadn’t removed the strawberries’

  heat-tolerance genes, she decided.

  If it was possible to meddle and alter human qualities and characteristics, Ruth thought that she herself would probably need a complete revamping. Why had she chosen the word “revamp,” she wondered. Why not “makeover” or “overhaul.” “Vamp” seemed an incongruous word in Lódz. Ruth tried to get the word “vamp” out of her head. Sometimes words and their alternatives lodged themselves in her brain and stayed there all day. The worst example of this had been the word “nymph,” which had lasted a week. The word “nymph” had appeared minutes after she had picked up a postcard from Garth that was in her letter box one day last year.

  Why “nymph”? No one, not even Garth, could possibly think of her as a nymph. She was much too big to be thought of as a nymph. Nymphs were

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  slim, svelte, and ethereal. Still, the word “nymph” had crept into Ruth’s head and occupied her for almost a week. As soon as the word had arrived, Ruth had had to produce other words that resembled nymph. She had thought of spirit, sprite, sylph, elfish. Elfish had reminded her of shellfish, and then sea nymph and ocean nymph and fresh-water nymph had followed. Soon Ruth was flooded with words. Seamaids and mermaids and other water spirits. The word spirits had allowed her to dip into the galaxy with the words shooting stars, guardian angels, and fairy godmothers before she had switched to a rural setting with mountain nymph, glen nymph, and tree nymph. She had been so relieved when the word “nymph”

  had left her.

  She certainly didn’t feel like a nymph now. Her stomach felt distended.

  This was something else that happened to her when she felt tense. She took two Mylanta tablets out of her bag. She was standing on Gabriela Naru-towicza Street outside an interesting, architect-designed building built as a business school by Jews, in 1907. The building was now occupied by the University of Lódz. A tall, gray building, around the corner from the former business school, was designed in the same style. Ruth thought that the only architects in business in Lódz before the war seemed to have been Jewish or been employed by Jews.

  At number 66 Rewolucji 1905 Street was the Przytulisko, the old orphanage for Jewish girls. This building was now owned by the University of Lódz. What would Lódz have done without their Jews? Who would have built all of these grand buildings and palaces? What would the city of Lódz have done if they hadn’t gotten rid of their Jews was a better question, she thought. Where would they have housed their institutes and museums?

  Ruth was now on Pomorska Street, where her mother had lived. She looked around at her mother’s old neighborhood. The building at number 18 used to be the Talmud Torah School. It was now occupied by the Chem-istry Institute of the University of Lódz.

  Her mother had probably walked past the Talmud Torah School every day. Where was her mother now? Ruth was walking in her mother’s footsteps in Lódz. But she couldn’t feel Rooshka. Rooshka was gone. Gone, like all the Jews of Lódz. What a community this must have been, Ruth thought.

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  Ruth had thought that she would be able to feel the ghosts of the workers and orphans and students. The ghosts of the poor Jews and the ghosts of the rich. But she couldn’t. She couldn’t feel anything. She thought she would go back to the hotel soon. She passed the apartment her mother had lived in. There was still no sign of life in the apartments.

  Ruth found the only remaining synagogue in Poland at the end of the second courtyard of number 28 Rewolucji 1905 Street. The synagogue was tiny. At first Ruth was startled by its almost pitiful modesty. Then she decided it wasn’t the synagogue that was pitiful, it was the fact that this synagogue was the only representative left of so many synagogues. Grand synagogues and plain synagogues. Modest and ornate synagogues. Synagogues in apartment buildings and synagogues in the center of town. They had all been destroyed except this synagogue. It was a sweet synagogue with its central arched doorway and arched upper windows. The synagogue was painted in a matte muted pink and flat yellow. It was very, very cute, Ruth decided. She was glad she had seen it.

  As hidden as this synagogue was, it had still attracted arsonists. She had read that someone had set fire to the synagogue in 1987, and the Ronald Lauder Foundation had helped to rebuild it.

  Ruth was pleased that the synagogue in Rewolucji 1905 Street had been rebuilt. It was a small piece of the warmth, the glow, the devotion that must have been here when there were still Jews in Lódz. Ruth regretted questioning the point of Ronald Lauder’s Foundation to revive Jewish life in Poland. This synagogue wouldn’t be here without the foundation. She contemplated ringing the Jewish Center and apologizing. She decided against it. They would think she was a lunatic. Ruth blew a kiss to her mother’s apartment when she passed it again.

  She walked back to the Grand Victoria. She felt depleted. She needed a cup of tea. At the hotel, she sat in the armchair that she felt most comfortable in. The armchair was the most isolated one in the lobby. Set well away from the bulk of the chairs and sofas. Ruth had asked for a whole lemon to be squeezed into her chamomile tea. She sipped the hot lemon-filled drink, and started to feel better. She disliked this lobby. But she disliked her room even more. She hated her room. It depressed her. Edek was joining her in a few minutes. She was glad of the time alone. The time to recover from all of that absence.

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  Ruth looked down. Someone had left a book at the foot of the chair. She picked up the book. The book was in English. It was a numerology book.

  How odd. How peculiar. Who could have left this book here? She looked around the lobby. It was quite empty. No one in the lobby was looking at her. This was not a message. She felt a bit creepy. There was something eerie about this. Could Martina have left it? Ruth flicked through the book.

  There was no note. She was being silly, she decided. There was no hidden meaning to this. There was no meaning at all. Someone had just left the book behind.

  Ruth looked at the chapter headed “Numerology and You.” Numbers in people’s lives were not arbitrary, the book explained, they were of great significance and very important for personal development. The most important number was the birth date number. Ruth added her birth date numbers up. They still came to eight. How could she have developed this far, over forty-two years, if she had only just learned her birth date number? Maybe her ignorance of her birth number explained some of her bewilderment.

  Ruth laughed to herself. If only it were that simple. She could have saved tens of thousands of dollars in analysts’ and therapists’ fees. There was a hierarchy in birth date numbers, she read. Master numbers had extra significance. Master numbers were eleven, twenty-two, and thirty-three.

  These numbers could not be reduced to a single digit because, the book said, the owners of master numbers had a special lesson to learn.

  Ruth was glad that she was not a master number. She had had enough lessons to learn. The next paragraph explained that the demands of the master number could be too difficult to live up to. In that case it was possible to reduce the burden by adding the digits of the master number together to form a single number. This bothered Ruth. If the number was not arbitrary, how could you arbitrarily change it? Why were the rules to all of these things so flexible, so slippery, so sloppy? She tapped her right foot ten times, in case that thought about numerology had offended any spi
rits or spooks or witches. Spirits or spooks or witches who believed in numerology, that was. That was a crazy thought, she decided. She stopped herself from tapping out another round of ten taps.

  Edek would be down any minute. Ruth had something she wanted to organize before he arrived. She walked to the front desk.

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  “I’d like an interpreter for an hour or two tomorrow morning,” Ruth said to the man at the front desk.

  “Of course, madam, I can organize this for you,” he said.

  “Thank you,” said Ruth. “Could I have the interpreter at eight o’clock?”

  “Eight o’clock is very early,” the man said. Ruth raised her eyebrows.

  “Do I have to pay extra for an early start?” she said.

  “I think so,” he said.

  “Okay,” she said.

  “In that case I will organize it for you,” the man at the front desk said.

  “What do you want the interpreter to do?”

  “I want him to negotiate the purchase of some items for me,” Ruth said.

  “Is it expensive items that you are buying?” he said. “We have experts on amber jewelry and silver work.”

  “No,” Ruth said. “I just want to buy some household items. Some pieces of china.”

  “You would like some amber too?” he asked.

  “No,” Ruth said. “If I get these pieces of china I’ll be very happy.”

  “This particular interpreter is very good,” the man said.

  “Great,” Ruth said. “Could you also book a car, one of the hotel taxis, to pick me and the guide up, take us to Kamedulska Street, wait for us, and bring us back to the hotel?”

  “Of course, of course,” the man said. “Your guide and your driver will be here at eight A.M. sharp.”

  “Do they know each other?” Ruth said.

  “Who?” the man said.

  “The guide and the driver,” she said.

  “No,” he said. “If you would prefer a guide and a driver who have worked together I can provide this.”

  “No,” she said. “It is not necessary.”

  Ruth was relieved. A fear of being alone with two Polish men had suddenly swept through her. Men who didn’t know each other were less likely to collude in extrapolating more money or any other deception.

  “The interpreter will have to charge you extra because of the early time,” the man said.

  “You mentioned that,” said Ruth. She and Edek seemed to be paying

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  extra for everything in Poland. She had changed some more money on her way back to the hotel this afternoon. Money changers were called Kantors, in Poland. Kantors had sprouted rapidly all over Poland since the demise of communism. It was unsettling seeing all the Kantor signs. For Jews, a cantor was a singer of liturgical solos. The person who sang during services at synagogues.

  Edek rushed up to Ruth just as she was about to sit down again.

  “I got Stefan,” he said. He looked joyful. “Stefan is very very happy to drive us to Kraków. I told you he would be very happy.”

  “That’s great,” said Ruth.

  “Ach, he is so happy,” Edek said.

  “I’m glad we’re spreading such happiness,” Ruth said.

  “He is very, very happy,” said Edek.

  Ruth was irritated. Stefan’s happiness was beginning to annoy her. She was aggravated by how happy Stefan was. She didn’t want him to be that happy.

  “I did speak to Stefan’s wife, too,” Edek said. “His wife is a very nice woman.”

  “Great,” said Ruth. Edek didn’t notice her agitation.

  “Stefan’s wife is very happy with the job, too,” Edek said. “She did say to me she was very happy that he does get such a big job.”

  Ruth was really irked. The thought of Stefan’s wife bursting with happiness was more than she could tolerate. She looked at her father. He was beaming. “She did say I spoke a perfect Polish,” Edek said.

  “Who?” said Ruth.

  “Stefan’s wife,” Edek said. “Who else are we talking about?”

  Anybody else, Ruth wished to herself. She was developing a hatred for Stefan’s wife. She tried to calm down. Maybe Stefan’s wife was a nice woman. Maybe Stefan and his wife had sensitive and intelligent children.

  Children who would grow up to be great humanitarians or Nobel Prize–winning poets. These thoughts didn’t help her. She still felt annoyed.

  “I’m glad Stefan’s wife complimented you on your Polish,” Ruth said to Edek.

  “She said I did speak just like a Polack,” Edek said. Edek looked at the tray that had held Ruth’s chamomile tea. “What is that?” he said, pointing to a piece of chocolate-coated orange peel.

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  “It’s exactly what it looks like,” Ruth said. “Chocolate. Chocolate-coated orange peel. It came with my tea.”

  “You do not want it?” Edek said.

  “No, I don’t want it,” she said.

  Edek leaned over and grabbed the piece of chocolate-coated orange peel. He popped it into his mouth quickly. As though the speed eliminated the action. As though he hadn’t really eaten it. He was always this swift with food. As though a slower pace would increase the contents or the calories or the greed involved. Was it greed or need? It was unfair of her to think of it as greed, she thought. Her father was entitled to all the chocolate he wanted. He needed chocolate. In the same way that she needed to run.

  Her father needed his chocolate. She shouldn’t needle him about this need.

  Needle him about his need, she repeated to herself, pleased with the pun.

  “It is a very good chocolate,” Edek said.

  “Good,” Ruth said. “Our guide will be here soon,” she added.

  “She did say she did think I was a Polack when she did speak to me,”

  Edek said.

  “Is this Stefan’s wife again?” Ruth said.

  “Of course,” Edek said. “She said I did speak just like a Polack.”

  “I’m not sure that doing anything just like a Polack is a good thing,”

  Ruth said.

  “Do not be stupid,” Edek said. He wiped some chocolate from the sides of his mouth with his fingers. Ruth was about to offer him a handkerchief, when he licked his fingers clean.

  “I did arrange a hotel for Stefan,” Edek said.

  “I hope it’s a cheap one,” Ruth said.

  “Of course,” said Edek. “You think I am crazy?” Ruth didn’t answer.

  “The doorman did help me,” Edek said. Ruth grimaced at the thought of the doorman.

  “At least he’s good for something,” Ruth said.

  “I do not know what is wrong with you,” Edek said.

  Ruth noticed a slightly built, sensitive-looking man hovering near the entrance to the lobby. “I think that might be our guide,” she said to Edek.

  She went up to the elderly man. “I’m Ruth Rothwax,” she said. He looked relieved. “I am Marek Kowalski,” he said. Ruth introduced Marek to Edek.

  They chatted. Ruth liked Marek straightaway. He had a face that looked

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  sad in repose and stayed that way when he was animated. He had large, watery blue eyes.

  “I am looking forward to seeing the cemetery,” Ruth said to Marek.

  “This cemetery is my love,” Marek said. Edek looked at Marek oddly. Ruth could see that Marek was already too much for Edek. She didn’t know why.

  Edek ran off to organize a taxi. Ruth looked at Marek. His clothes were frayed and worn. He was carrying a yellow shopping bag. Ruth asked him if he would like to leave the bag in the room. He smiled at her. No, he said, he took the bag everywhere. It was quite a large paper bag. Ruth hoped it didn’t contain all of Marek’s possessions. She hoped Marek wasn’t homeless. Edek had arranged the taxi. It was a Me
rcedes. A gray one this time.

  They got into the taxi. Ruth sat in the back with Marek. Edek sat in the front. Marek told the driver where to go.

  “This Mercedes is not so big what the other ones was,” Edek said to Ruth.

  “It’s smaller, is it?” she said.

  “You cannot see this?” Edek said.

  “Not really,” she said. Edek snorted.

  Edek started chatting with the driver. Ruth could hear them talking.

  They were talking about Kraków. She switched off. She needed a break from Edek and Polish taxi drivers. She looked out of the car window at the streets of Lódz. They really were bleak. Suddenly, Edek turned to face her.

  He had hoisted himself around in the seat, so abruptly, it had given Ruth a shock.

  “This gentleman,” Edek said, “says he has got for us a better hotel in Kraków than the one what we have booked.”

  “Which gentleman?” Ruth said.

  “The driver, here,” Edek said, annoyed.

  Ruth hadn’t intended to annoy Edek. She just hadn’t instantly associated the word “gentleman” with the man who was driving them. She hadn’t even looked at the driver. They were all blending into each other, all the Polish drivers of all the Mercedes. She noticed that this driver had greasy hair. So had most of the others.

  “We’re booked into a really nice hotel in Kraków,” Ruth said.

  “He says he has got a better one,” Edek said.

  “Why should we listen to him?” Ruth said. Edek ignored her.

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  “What is the name of the one what we are booked in?” he said.

  “The Hotel Mimoza,” Ruth said.

  “The Hotel Mimoza?” said Edek.

  “It’s very good. It’s one of the best hotels in Kraków,” Ruth said.

  Edek spoke to the driver briefly. He turned back to Ruth. “He says that this Hotel Mimoza is not in such a good position,” Edek said.