A Remarkable Kindness

by Diana Bletter

  “Why, they’re oranges,” Esther said in a surprised voice, as if the answer were obvious.

  “I’ve never seen oranges on trees before—and ones that are so green!”

  “Oh, they’ll be orange by December.” Esther opened the door of a small cottage.

  The room looked very bright and clean, and there were a dozen crates along the walls. When Rachel walked in, she smelled the tangy scents of cat fur and disinfectant. The sunflower-yellow walls were covered with needlepoints and watercolor paintings, and a ceiling fan turned lazily overhead.

  “The cats walk around freely in the animal shelter near my house.” Rachel hoped she didn’t sound disappointed.

  “They’d fight if I kept them all together,” Esther apologized. “And I work alone.”

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

  “But I take them out a few times every day and give them special attention. Baba here is my current favorite.”

  Esther moved to a crate where a long-haired white Persian cat arched its back, peering curiously at her with yellow eyes.

  “When Baba first arrived, he didn’t want to eat, so I started to cook him fish every day.” Esther unlatched the crate and tucked Baba under her arm, nestling her face in the cat’s white fur. “You probably think that’s strange. But when I was in the ghetto in Budapest during World War Two, I was always hungry. I felt bad for the cat.” Esther shifted Baba around, staring into his eyes, and then turned back to Rachel. “I should talk to you about happy things.”

  “No, I want to hear your stories,” Rachel said. “I’ve read a lot about World War Two, but I’ve never had the chance to talk to anyone who was actually in it.” She glanced at Esther, who was still holding the cat, a tight look in her eyes as she gazed out the window.

  “Do you want to hold Baba?”

  “Of course.” Rachel reached for the cat and sat with him on a rocking chair in the middle of a braided rug.

  “Nothing like sitting with a cat, is there?” Esther cleaned out his crate, rolling up some soiled newspapers and tossing them in the garbage can. “When my two daughters were little they were always bringing home stray cats. But they both live in Tel Aviv now and I don’t get to see them much.”

  “You must miss them.” Rachel stroked the tender bundle in her lap. She thought of Bates, her cat at home; her parents; and her younger brother, Jordan. Then the front door swung open and a man, bony and razor-sharp, poked his head through the doorway and spoke crossly. Esther plucked Baba from Rachel’s arms, placed him back in his crate, and hurried from the room.

  Rachel followed her outside. The man stood fixed on the path like a tree. A slight breeze blew back the tufts of white hair from his weathered forehead.

  “Jacob—” Esther began, and then Jacob said something Rachel couldn’t make out. They argued for a while until he turned to Rachel and told her in English, “The dogs wouldn’t stop barking, so I knew someone was here. I don’t like having people in the kennels.”

  “I know you don’t,” Esther told him. “But Rachel is a volunteer here. Rachel, this is my husband, Jacob.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Rachel said. “I’ve wanted to stop by to see your kennels since I came here a while ago.”

  Jacob glared at Rachel.

  “Aviva said you have the nicest avocado groves in the village,” Rachel continued, “and that you used to raise chickens. There’s a really great book by an American woman who used to be a chicken farmer. I don’t know if it’s translated into Hebrew.”

  “I read in English.” Jacob still sounded impatient.

  “Good, that makes it easy. I can ask my Mom to send a copy. It’s called The Egg and I.”

  “You read that book?” Jacob’s glare died down. “I have that book. Esther, why don’t you invite Rachel inside? You must be thirsty. It’s hot. Come along.” He turned suddenly, his sinewy arms bent like rudders, and marched away from the cottage. He held the front door open for Rachel, and she sat down on a lone armchair with scratchy brown fabric in the living room, aware of how small and bare the house was. There was a faded oil painting on the wall, a wooden coffee table, and a ceramic vase holding sprigs of dry straw flowers. Esther went into the kitchen and Jacob walked directly to the bookshelf against the back wall, returning with The Egg and I.

  He perched on the arm of the couch across from Rachel. “I only read about the Shoah, but I read this book because we used to have chicken coops. I don’t know if my wife told you.”

  “Told her what?” Esther called.

  “About me.” Jacob turned as Esther came in with a tray of lemonade and pretzels.

  “I didn’t tell her anything.” Esther handed Rachel a glass. “But Rachel said she wanted to hear our stories.”

  “Our stories,” Jacob repeated to Rachel.

  “I didn’t mean—”

  “Please, Rachel, have some lemonade.” Esther sat down in a straight-backed wooden chair.

  “I really don’t want to bother you.”

  “It’s no bother,” Esther said. “I like when people stop by.”

  “I don’t,” Jacob countered. “I don’t have time for schmaltz. I’m only making an exception because Rachel read that book.”

  “Do you think I can go with you to see the dogs?” Rachel asked after taking a sip of lemonade.

  “No.”

  Rachel was so taken aback by Jacob’s reply that she sprang up. “I should go—”

  “Don’t go yet,” Esther said. “Sit for another minute or two.”

  Rachel sat back down uneasily, glancing at Jacob, who looked at her, his flinty brown eyes unmoving.

  “The dog kennel is busy now because of summer vacation.” Esther was trying to keep the conversation going. “Once school starts again, we slow down. We’ll get a lot of animals during Sukkot vacation, then Chanukah, and then when the U.N. people go home for Christmas.”

  “It must be funny seeing the oranges on the trees in December.” Rachel munched on a pretzel. “I can’t imagine that. Where I grew up it’s always so cold and windy on Christmas—”

  “I’ll tell you a story about Christmas,” Jacob interrupted.

  “Jacob, no—” Esther’s eyes were miserable.

  “Esther, you told me she wanted to hear our stories.”

  “Jacob, why don’t you drink your lemonade?”

  “How about Christmas in Birkenau?” Jacob looked at Rachel with blistering intensity. “Do you want to hear how they made us stand naked in the snow for hours in front of their Christmas tree?” He locked his eyes with Rachel, who held his stare without blinking.

  The dogs barked in the kennel. Jacob tilted his head, listening to their yelps. He got off the arm of the couch and stepped outside. “Welcome to Israel,” he said, closing the door behind him. Rachel couldn’t tell whether his tone was ironic.

  Esther sighed. Rachel turned to the window. Jacob’s figure, knotted and gnarled, lurched across the other side of the glass.

  A WEEK LATER, Rachel stood in the doorway in a sleeveless denim work shirt and shorts. “Esther, I’m serious about helping you in the cat kennel.”

  “I can see that you are, but I can’t—”

  “I don’t want to get paid. I just love animals.”

  “Fine. I’ll tell Jacob that I couldn’t say no to a little company.”

  They walked across the lawn again. The afternoon was hot and muggy. At least the cat cottage was cool, Rachel thought as she and Esther let out two tan Javanese cats named Stella and Bella. The cats roamed around the room, playing with toys and climbing up a three-tier climbing tree, as Rachel and Esther cleaned out their cages.

  “When did you open the kennels?” Rachel asked.

  “Let’s see,” Esther said from the next cage. “I guess it started after Jacob went off to fight in one of the wars. I was home by myself, taking care of our three kids and the cows and chickens. It was a lot of work for me. When the war ended and Jacob came home, I convinced him to sell the cows. We
got good money for them, but we had an empty cow shed. What can you do with it?”

  “Good question.”

  “We left it empty for a while and bought a mule,” Esther went on. “We planted radishes and other vegetables that grew fast so at least we’d have something to eat. Then we got orange and avocado trees. The work got easier but people used to sneak in and steal our produce, so Jacob bought a gun and taught me how to shoot.”

  “You?” Rachel looked at Esther’s frame, as delicate as an orchid stern.

  “I have a pistol license. I’ve never had to use it, thank God, but I felt safer knowing I had it when Jacob was away.”

  Rachel held her breath, pushing her head deep into the cage to clean in the corners, and then came up for air. “So what happened?”

  “Jacob’s cousin, Leon, moved to England after World War Two,” Esther remembered. “He came to visit us and left his dog in a kennel back there. That’s how Jacob got the idea. At the time, there was only one dog kennel in Israel. Jacob turned the cow shed into a dog kennel, and then people started asking if they could bring their cats, so that’s how I got started.”

  “It’s great to do something you love.”

  “Jacob’s in love with those dogs. He spoils them even when they scratch and bite him. He says they’re like his girlfriends.”

  One of the cats rubbed against Rachel’s leg and she put down her cleaning spray and sponge and picked it up, holding it close.

  “He says that he doesn’t want the dogs barking through the night,” Esther said. “Sometimes they’re homesick and they make a lot of noise. He worries they’ll bother the neighbors, so he puts on bug spray and sleeps on a cot in the shed.”

  Rachel didn’t reply. She closed the door of the cat crate with finality, just to do something.

  LATER THAT EVENING, Rachel was sitting in Aviva’s cozy living room when her cell phone rang. As soon as Rachel saw the number, she accepted the call and said, “Hey, you,” having practiced the words often enough in her head.

  “We haven’t been allowed to use our phones until now.” Yoni spoke in a rush, as though he was running out of time. “We’re out in the shetach.”

  “In the where?”

  “Out in the field, training,” he explained. “Look, I have to take over guarding in a few minutes. Where are you?”

  “Funnily enough, I’m having a cup of delicious mint tea with your mom.” Rachel smiled up at Aviva.

  “As long as all is okay, tell him I’ll talk to him another time,” Aviva interjected, standing up and adding over her shoulder, “I’ll give you two some privacy.”

  “Your mom is taking good care of me.” Rachel was sitting cross-legged on a winged armchair.

  “She told me you’re also great company. Anyway, I’m getting out on Friday. Can I see you when I come home?”

  “Definitely.” Rachel smiled.

  “Good. That’s all I wanted to hear. Yallah, I gotta go.”

  “That’s it?” Rachel managed to say, but he had already hung up. She sat for a moment, relishing the phone conversation—however brief—and then wandered into the kitchen, where Aviva was sitting at the table, reading a book of poetry.

  “He’s okay,” Rachel told her.

  Aviva nodded, not looking up.

  “I like poetry, too,” Rachel said awkwardly to Aviva’s bowed head.

  Aviva sighed, then read out loud, “‘In the darkness with a great bundle of grief / the people march.’ That’s Carl Sandburg.”

  “It must be hard for you.” Rachel slid into the chair across from her.

  “I try not to think about the dangers.” Aviva closed the book. “The army does its best to make sure the boys are safe. But let’s make a pact not to worry about him, okay? You can’t pre-worry—it won’t help. I just keep hoping that lightning doesn’t strike the same place twice.”

  “You’ve very brave, Aviva. My mom would really like you. I told her all about you. And when I think of what you’ve—”

  “Look at you,” Aviva cut in with a wave of her hand. “It isn’t easy being a soldier’s girlfriend.”

  Rachel blushed. “I never pictured myself as the kind of girlfriend who wants to bake cookies for my boyfriend, but here I am.”

  “Well, come back on Friday afternoon and we can bake his favorite chocolate chip cookies together.”

  14

  July 29, 2005

  Emily

  Emily!” Yoram Kluger called out in an excited voice when he spotted her wheeling Shoval and Tal in their double stroller past the hotel one steamy morning. “You, the boys, you! You look, well—”

  “Well, what?” Emily snapped, stopping in front of him, squinting at his shock of white hair.

  “It’s nine o’clock.” He smiled the way he often smiled at disgruntled guests. “Weren’t the boys supposed to be in gan an hour ago?”

  “They’re not in gan.” Emily pulled up the hood of the stroller to glance at her sons. Tal was bawling, his face red, tears running down his cheeks, while Shoval gripped a stuffed dinosaur to his chest, shaking his finger and shouting, “Zeh sheli!” Emily thought what he really wanted to say was, “This is mine and there’s no freaking way I am going to give you back this dinosaur!”

  Emily glared at Yoram. She was in no mood to be social. She’d been up since five, wearing a ratty pair of denim shorts with ragged fringes and a vintage UMass T-shirt with matching spit-up stains on both shoulders; she’d only stepped out of the house because she couldn’t take them squabbling in the living room another second. “They’ve been fighting since they woke up,” Emily said. “And before that, they had fevers and were crying half the night. I don’t know where they find the energy. No, I take that back. They drain it all from me.”

  “You need a break,” Yoram boomed. “Come back to work at the hotel.”

  “I was really hoping to find a job where I could paint.” But as Emily spoke, she knew it was useless. There were no art jobs around. Maybe she could find the very rare job in an art gallery in Haifa, but that would mean a two-hour roundtrip commute, and then she’d never get to see the boys. She felt stuck.

  “Once the boys are older, you’ll take up where Picasso left off!” Yoram moved sideways to block the sun from her face. “Meanwhile, work for me.”

  Emily shot him a tired smile. The air, hot and fierce, buzzed. She stared at the hotel entrance, where the pink flowers on the oleander bushes looked ready to poison someone.

  “Try the hotel for a few weeks,” Yoram insisted. “I have a couple of shifts. And why don’t you put your kids in gan already? Or are you too much of a Jewish mother to let them out of your sight?”

  “I just thought it would be good for them to be with me,” Emily sputtered as Tal grabbed the dinosaur away from Shoval and both opened their mouths in unison. Emily silently counted down, Three . . . two . . . one, because she knew (sure enough and iffen the creek don’t rise, as her mother liked to say) that they’d start crying. And sure enough, the boys were wailing and Yoram couldn’t get in another word.

  Emily had put off placing the boys in the gan even though the other toddlers in Peleg went there every day because, she guessed, she wanted to avoid the inevitable question of what to do next in her life. And maybe because her mother had worked long hours at Shreibman’s Fine Clothing in Charleston the whole time Emily and her brother were growing up. Or was it because Boaz was out of the house so much and she was too lonesome to let the boys go?

  “It doesn’t look like it’s good for any of you,” Yoram said loudly over the boys’ cries.

  Emily gave an exhausted nod and thought, I get it, I get it.

  “You can start on Thursday afternoon, evening shift,” Yoram announced, as if it were a fait accompli. “See you!”

  “See you,” Emily muttered, giving in, and instead of turning left, she continued straight down the road, wheeling Shoval and Tal past the village office and along the sandy path to the toddlers’ gan. It was a modest one-story building pa
inted lime green, nestled in the shade of a wisteria bush that clamored up a trellis on the side of the building. When Emily stopped at the gate, the boys were already squirming to get out of their stroller. She unhooked their belts, lifted them out, and they toddled up the path toward the gan door.

  Inside, sunlight splashed everywhere, falling on the cheerful room decorated with children’s drawings and filled with toys, crayons, paints, puzzles, books, and games. Emily found Sara Fishman, the gan teacher, an exuberant woman in her sixties with spiky gray hair and Mickey Mouse earrings, sitting on a children’s chair in the middle of a semicircle, reading a picture book to six toddlers perched on plastic potties, their shorts pushed down around their ankles.

  “Sara, I’m here with my boys.” Emily thought that if she had a white flag, she’d be waving it in surrender.

  “It’s about time.” Sara grinned. “I was wondering when you’d come around to it. In a few months, your boys will be old enough to sit on the potty.”

  “Group toilet training! I love it!”

  “Shoval and Tal will learn in no time.” Sara winked. “After all, I was the one who trained Boaz.”

  “Great,” Emily replied, but she couldn’t imagine Boaz sitting on a potty. She couldn’t imagine him being young or silly or happy.

  “SHALOM AND WILLKOMMEN,” Emily told a group of German tourists as they poured into the hotel lobby the next month. “Welcome to the Garden of Eden Ho—”

  “I need a room immediately,” barked a moody-looking older man in a shiny button-down shirt, thrusting his credit card over the reception desk.

  “I’ll do my best to—”

  “Where’s a restroom?” interrupted a woman with bluish-white hair.

  “And I’d like a room with a view of the sea,” said a hoarse-voiced, tall man pushing toward the desk.

  “One minute and I can—”

  “Please show us where the bar is,” said a man whose nose was veiny and red.

  “Right this way,” announced Ali Haddad, who suddenly, magically appeared in the lobby.