by Sigal Samuel
“I am standing in front of an officer. His mouth is moving but I can’t hear what he is saying. He frowns and rolls my sleeve up for me. The needle presses down on my arm. I don’t scream, I don’t say anything, I can’t make a noise. I see the first number it makes: 8. Then the next number: 1. Then 0. I cannot believe it. Then 1. A miracle. Then 0. This way, she will always recognize me. Then 4. He is about to write the last number—I almost have a heart attack—I can see he is about to make it a 1. Suddenly all the noise in the world rushes out of me, I plead with him like an idiot, like a schmendrick, like a schlemiel, ‘Please, please, a zero, I need a zero, surely it won’t make any difference, such a small difference between one and zero, what can it hurt’—I start to babble, I cry, I spit, and do you know what? This officer gives me a strange look. The needle presses down—and I see—zero! I am so happy, the officer sends me to have my head shaved, a little laughter bubbles up, the hair is falling all around my ankles and I am laughing and laughing like a meshuggeneh, I can’t help it.
“My Chayaleh, she is deported just a few days later. When her arm is under the needle—it was a miracle performed by the Kadosh Baruch Hu—she sees the same thing start to happen, only it is her name that starts to appear: 8, then 1, then 0, then 5, then 3, then 0—and before the needle presses down one last time, she pleads with the officer to make it a 5. He gives her a strange look. A very strange look. He makes it a 5.
“After the camp is liberated, I end up in New York City. For months I live like a ghost. My mind is a slate that’s been wiped clean, empty of memories. Then one day I remember Chayaleh. The next day I remember about the numbers. The day after that I call the telephone company and have them give me a new number. I print business cards with just that number on it, seven digits, no name, no nothing, just the number. Scatter them about the city like pigeons.
“My Chayaleh, she has the idea very early on. She is living with her cousin just a few miles away, and she doesn’t see my cards, yet she thinks to call a number. But she calls the number that is on my arm. She calls my name, not her own. Doesn’t she realize that her name is sweeter in my mouth than my own, that I remembered her existence before I remembered my own? She doesn’t realize.
“Years pass.
“One day a seed of faith sprouts in my mind. I don’t know who planted it. The faith to believe that maybe—who knows?—maybe the idea that occurred to me occurred to her also.
“I call my name. She picks up. I say nothing. She hangs up.
“I call my name. She picks up. I say nothing. She hangs up.
“I call a third time. She picks up. I open my mouth, I try to make a noise, but nothing comes out. She doesn’t hang up.
“She recognizes me by my silence.”
Mr. Glassman grew quiet. A few seconds passed. Then, without opening her eyes, Mrs. Glassman raised one of her hands. It rose slowly, slowly, slowly, until it reached the side of Mr. Glassman’s face. She ran her fingers along his cheek, just once, gently, and then her hand sank back down onto the bedspread.
Over dinner the next day, I was listing off all of Lesley’s great qualities, which would have been a lot easier if Alex had been there to help, but Dad just kept on yawning.
I took a deep breath, trying to think up more qualities Dad might like, but then I caught a whiff of perfume in the air. He must have been missing Mom even more than I’d thought if he was spritzing himself with her old perfume every day now! The secret theory that this put into my head was that maybe he would never love another woman because he was still too in love with Mom. I tried to figure out if I should be happy or sad about that but it was hard.
Suddenly Dad said, “I almost forgot. Ira stopped me in the hall to remind me that Jenny’s bat mitzvah is in two days. I wish we didn’t have to go, but he and Judy were so good to you after . . . Well, I guess we’ll just have to. You must be excited to see your friend perform?”
Sammy blushed and shot me a warning glance. “Yeah, I guess.”
Dad obviously hadn’t noticed anything weird because he just started asking her how King Lear was treating her, and would she like to continue going over the text later on, since they’d finished the part about Lear’s regret for banishing his daughter and they were ready to move on to the second act. But what she said next was that her class had finished King Lear weeks ago and besides she had lost her copy of the play. Dad looked at her like she was crazy and said, “But you never lose anything,” and she said, “I know,” and he said, “And yet,” and she said, “And yet,” and then we ate watermelon and nobody said anything. So that I wouldn’t crack and spill the beans about Sammy’s bat mitzvah, I repeated the word watermelon in my head, I was ready to watermelon watermelon watermelon all night if I had to, but everyone ate extremely fast and then Sammy cleared the plates.
Dad was just leaving the kitchen when the phone rang. Me and Sammy already had our hands wet with soap and water, so we didn’t pick up. The answering machine kicked in and a very loud, happy voice filled the kitchen.
“David, hi, it’s Ira! I was so excited about Jenny earlier that I forgot to say good luck to you all. I’m sure you’re just as excited as we are! So, we’ll see you at the synagogue, and Sammy, if you’re listening, good luck with your—”
Dad was walking back toward the kitchen. On the counter near the sink was the glass bowl that had held the watermelon a few minutes ago. It still had some sticky seeds in it. I hit it with my elbow and watched it fly in slow motion through the air, down, down, down, and—
Crash!
“—soon! Bye for now.”
The machine beeped. Sammy was frozen. I tried to figure out from Dad’s face if he had heard the message or not but it was hard.
Then he asked, “Who was that, Ira?”
Sammy breathed a sigh of relief. He hadn’t heard. I nodded.
“What did he want?”
“Just to remind us about Jenny’s bat mitzvah coming up, that’s all,” I said.
“Again? He already did that in person.” Dad frowned, looking puzzled. “Do you two need help cleaning up this glass?”
“No, it’s okay, we can do it.”
He nodded and walked back in the direction of his study.
I started picking the sticky seeds off the floor. Sammy got a broom out of the pantry, swept up the pieces of glass, and dropped them into the trash.
We stood together at the sink. She rinsed dishes and I loaded them into the dishwasher. She was very quiet, so to distract her, I told her I’d asked Mr. Glassman what fruit was on the original Tree of Knowledge so I could help Mr. Katz with his, but nobody knew. She still didn’t say anything, so I said, “What fruit do you think it was?” She turned off the tap and stared straight ahead with a funny expression on her mouth, like a smile, only sad. Her lips opened and then closed. They reminded me of a bird that opens its wings to fly but then decides not to.
The next day was the science fair. At 3:15, all the kids from all the grades started pouring into the gym to see the projects. Each group had its own table. Me and Alex stood in front of ours, which held his radio equipment and my poster board, until he told me to hold down the fort because he was going to scope out the competition. He walked up and down the rows and the more he saw, the more he smiled. He gave me the rundown, counting off projects on his fingers.
“There’s four model solar systems, which, please, are we in kindergarten? Two paper plate speakers. One X-ray demonstration. Three baking soda volcanoes—truly pathetic. Two potato clocks—been making those since I was five. Oh, and Gabe and Dean—plus six other teams—made tin can telephones!”
“Tin can telephones? Those are cool! Me and Sammy made one once.”
“When?”
“A few years ago.”
“Exactly. That’s kids’ stuff. I’m telling you, we’ve got this thing in the bag.” Alex checked his watch. “It’s almost showtime. The space station is going to pass overheard in 3.5 minutes. We’ve got to start gathering everyone aroun
d!”
I saw Sammy walk in alone just in time to hear Ms. Davidson clap her hands and announce that me and Alex were going to be calling astronauts on board the International Space Station. Right away all the younger kids started swarming toward us. Gabe and Dean pushed them aside and came up close to our table. Even the teachers seemed interested, or maybe they were just nervous about all the commotion, because they pressed in too until the whole crowd was standing around us in a big circle, looking from Alex to his radio. The room got quiet.
Alex raised three fingers, then two, then one. Then he started speaking.
“This is VA2KFO, this is VA2KFO.”
A moment passed.
“This is VA2KFO, this is VA2KFO, come back?”
Just static.
“This is VA2KFO, this is VA2KFO, calling N1ISS, do you read me, come back?”
Still nothing.
Alex turned his back to the crowd to fiddle with one of the dials. I prayed as hard as I could, my stomach tight. The little kids in the audience were getting antsy. A couple of them wandered away toward a potato clock. Dean let out a loud, mean laugh. Alex turned back toward the crowd, ready to try again, but just then his eyes landed on Sammy, who looked worried. His face went bright pink. The next time he spoke, his voice sounded thin and high.
“This is VA2KFO, this is VA2KFO.”
Thin and high and desperate.
“N1ISS, do you read me, come back?”
Thin and high and desperate and lonely.
“This is VA2KFO, calling N1ISS, is anybody out there? Hello?”
The static crackled, and then a friendly male voice filled the room. “Hello, VA2KFO, this is N1ISS, we’re reading you loud and clear up here on the International Space Station, over!”
The audience gasped. A couple of teachers clapped their hands to their mouths. Even Alex looked shocked. The voice boomed out from the radio again.
“Where are you calling from, VA2KFO?”
“Mile End, Montreal, Canada!” Alex spluttered. “We’re at school, um, at a science fair!”
“Science fair, huh? Well then, hello to everyone listening, and welcome aboard! Do any of you students have a question you’d like to ask about space exploration?”
A flood of kids pushed forward. Alex let one little girl talk into the radio.
“Hi, I’m Carly. My question is, how do you take a bath in space?”
“Excellent question! Luckily it’s not too dirty up here, but sometimes we do get sweaty because we run or bicycle or lift weights. To take a bath, you just put warm soapy water on a washcloth, rub it around your body, and rinse it off.”
A boy spoke up next. “What do you miss most about Earth?”
“I really miss my dog, actually. A small Jack Russell terrier. Today’s his birthday, and he’s turning eleven years old.”
A few kids laughed. Then another boy came up to ask a question, but Gabe shoved him aside. “This is so fake!” he shouted. “You idiots think you’re really talking to space? You’re asking stupid, obvious questions and they’re playing you stupid, prerecorded answers! Give me the radio, I’ll prove it!” He snatched the radio from Alex and said, “Hey astronaut, my name is Gabe Kramer and if you’re talking to us for real then tell us something only you could know!”
There was a pause, heavy with static. Then the voice said, “Well, Gabe Kramer, it sure is nice to meet you. For one thing, I know that you are a true skeptic, which is a very good quality in a scientist. Crucial to scientific inquiry, in fact! Just make sure you don’t become so skeptical that you refuse to believe the truth even when it’s right there in front of you!”
The audience roared. Alex grinned and snatched the radio back. “Thank you so much for your time, N1ISS! But monitoring your trajectory here, I can see that we’re about to lose your signal, over.”
“You’re absolutely right, VA2KFO, we’re heading out of range now, so I’ll say good-bye. Thanks for taking an interest in the International Space Station, you all have a great day, over!”
The room buzzed with static, then the sound of everyone talking at once.
Ms. Davidson said, “Well, everyone, now that we’ve had a chance to see all the projects, it’s time to start voting! So, if you think Alex and Lev deserve to win first prize, raise your hand!”
Sammy’s eyes were shining. She raised her hand high above her head. As if she’d pulled them all up with her, a bunch of other hands shot into the air.
A few minutes later, school was over and Alex was calling his mom and she was picking us up and driving us to Baskin-Robbins, since the secret prize for winning the science fair was two free ice cream cones plus sprinkles plus any toppings we wanted in the whole entire store.
We placed our orders and sat down at a tiny round table to eat. While I attacked my one scoop of cookies and cream and one scoop of mint chocolate chip with marshmallows and Reese’s Pieces and rainbow sprinkles and maraschino cherries, Alex did an impression of Gabe’s face when he realized that his tin can telephone had lost, and me and Lesley laughed. But Alex got so excited that he accidentally smeared hot fudge all over his face, which made me and Lesley laugh even harder, until finally he went to the bathroom to wash up.
“I’m so glad you and Alex are friends,” Lesley told me, smiling. “He talks about you all the time, you know. Says you’re the best friend he’s ever had.”
I didn’t want to say the wrong thing, so I didn’t say anything.
“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but he doesn’t make friends very easily. Big reader, that one. Are you a big reader, too?”
“Sort of. Not like Alex, though.”
She laughed. “No, nobody reads quite like Alex, do they? He’s the brains of the family, I’ve always told him that. The budding scientist.”
“He must get that from your dad, right? Liking science and astronomy and all that?”
She laughed again. “What in the world gave you that idea?”
“Well, he was a scientist, wasn’t he?”
“My father? He was a plumber.”
“A plumber?”
“Yep. Fixed toilets for a living.”
“You mean he wasn’t the one who came up with the whole idea for SETI?”
“SETI? What’s that?”
“Um. The Search for Extraterrestrial Intelligence?”
“Sorry.” She smiled. “You’ll have to talk to Alex about that kind of thing. He’s the astronomer. I buy him books on the subject when I can, but I really don’t know much about it.”
I opened my mouth to say something, but just then Alex came back from the bathroom. His face was clean and a little pink from where he’d rubbed it too hard with paper towels. I finished my ice cream and Alex finished his and a few minutes later Lesley drove me home.
That night I went to bed early but I couldn’t sleep. I went to my bookshelf and picked up the book that Alex had given me weeks ago and that so far I hadn’t opened even once. It was Important Names in Astronomy Today. I took it under the covers with me and turned on my flashlight. I flipped to the back of the book and brought my finger down the list of names in the index, and there, hiding near the very end, I found it.
Zaitsev, Aleksandr Leonidovich. 1945–.
A dash and a dot. Like a coded message. I was only eleven and a half, but it didn’t take a genius. What the symbols meant was one, Zaitsev was still alive, and two, he was only in his fifties, which meant that three, he was not Lesley’s father, which meant that four, Alex had been lying to me when he said that he was named after somebody famous.
I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to think of why Alex would lie to me but I couldn’t. Then I thought of how, for months and months, I’d seen him walking around at recess with his eyes glued to the pages of a book. All that time, I’d thought he did it because he was really into whatever he was reading. But now I thought, what if he did it because he liked the way it made the world go blurry at the edges of his vision? I knew it was possible, if you got the angle j
ust right, to peek out of the corners of your eyes in a way that made everything around you go bright. You squinted. You had patience. You tilted your head to the left and waited.
I put the book on my desk, but I didn’t turn off the flashlight. Instead I pointed it at my door so that Sammy could see the light from her room and come say, using her grown-up voice, “Lights out!” or “It’s past your bedtime!” But even though I counted off two hundred seconds inside my head, she didn’t come. I was about to give up when all of a sudden I had an idea.
I took my journal out from under my pillow and flipped back until I came to “Things That Make My Sister Sad.” Under number nine, which was Jenny (?), I added a tenth reason for my sister’s sadness. It was the kind of thing that, once you saw it, seemed so obvious you couldn’t believe you hadn’t seen it before. She doesn’t have a bedtime, I wrote. Then I fell asleep.
The night of the bat mitzvah was hot and humid. When we got to the synagogue, one hundred guests were squishing their one hundred bums into the one hundred seats of the congregation. The bat mitzvah girls were already sitting up onstage, in red velvet chairs arranged in a half-moon shape. Only the chair at the left end of the red half-moon was empty.
The synagogue was so packed that Dad started to worry out loud that maybe it would be hard to find three seats together, but then he saw a bunch of empty spots in the second row, right behind Mr. Glassman. While we walked toward them, I looked at Sammy and saw that her face was white. Dad squeezed into the row and sat down, so I squeezed in after him and sat down, too. Then Dad told Sammy to sit, but she just stood there, looking down at her fancy blue dress.
Mr. Glassman turned around in his seat and beamed at her. Dad frowned and told her again to sit down, but she didn’t move. He stared at her. She stared at Mr. Glassman. Then, very suddenly, she turned around and climbed onto the stage and walked to the chair at the left end of the half-moon and sat and stared at her knees.