Amy got to the car first, reached in, patted Oliver and climbed in the back seat. She slid across to make room for Josh. Mitch looked at Eleanor and raised his eyebrows to signal she should recognize Amy had forgiven her brother. Otherwise, she would have slammed the door in his face and made him go around. Ell chose to ignore him and their daughter’s conduct.
“How was Hebrew school?” she asked.
“Boring,” Josh said, at the same time his sister said “We need to talk about my social service work for my Bat Mitzvah. Rabbi Silver gave us some ideas today, but I don’t like any of them. You know, like work in a soup kitchen, tutor some kids after school, stuff like that.”
“You mean retards?” Josh asked.
“Joshua,” Eleanor said sternly. “Don’t you ever use that word again. How can you even think like that? We don’t talk like that at home,” she scolded.
Mitch reached over and put his hand on Ell’s arm, to restrain her from reprimanding him further. “Amy, we’ll try and think of something you find meaningful which is acceptable to the Rabbi. First things first. Do you have your questions for Aunt Helen?”
“I wrote the questions down last night and I’ve got a notebook in my book bag.”
“Is she going to interview Aunt Helen first thing?” Josh asked.
“No,” Mitch said. “We’ll have lunch first, in the cafeteria and Amy and Mom will sit with her while you and I run some errands.”
At the Home, to save time, Eleanor and Amy went inside to wheel Aunt Helen downstairs for lunch, while Mitch parked the car. He helped his son slip the leash on Oliver and Josh walked the dog around the snow covered bushes lining the parking lot. Oliver expressed a stubborn interest in one particular shrub, undecided about when and where to lift his leg, finally leaving a steaming yellow stain on a lower branch and the ground. With Oliver back in the car, and the two rear windows opened a little, Mitch signed them in.
“What’s your dog’s name?” Josh turned away from his father. The short old man, almost lost in the deep easy chair in the lobby beckoned him over. He wore a brown plaid Kongol hat, at least a size too big. It covered the top half of his ears. A dark blue wool scarf was wrapped around his neck and tucked into his gold and maroon Washington Redskins wind breaker. Tufts of grey hair grew out of both ears, matching the unruly upward arch of the end of his eyebrows. A metal cane with a stained, rubber hand grip, leaned up against the chair. He peered at Josh through thick coke bottle glasses.
“I’m the unofficial greeter for this place. So, what’s your dog’s name? I saw you walking him outside.”
“He’s Oliver.”
“What’s your name?”
“I’m Josh.”
“Ah, after our great warrior Joshua. Do you have a last name Joshua of Jericho?”
Josh smiled. “Farber. That’s my dad,” he said pointing to Mitch, standing at the sign in desk, talking to the receptionist.
“So I guessed. I’m Samuel Israel Lowenstein. My friends call me Izzy, but I don’t have many living friends left. And the dead ones don’t call me too much any more.” He waited for Josh to laugh. “So, is your dog named after Oliver Cromwell or Oliver North?”
Josh hesitated, confused. “I don’t know who they are. My mom says Oliver is named after a musical my folks liked, but I don’t know.”
“That’s too bad,” Izzy said, scratching hard at the back of his hand, as if trying to erase the large liver spot just behind his thumb. “If your dog was named after Oliver Cromwell, ‘the scourge of Ireland and Lord Protector of England’” he said melodramatically, “you could celebrate his birthday on April 25th. If he was named after Lt. Colonel Oliver North of the United States Marine Corps, of Iran Contra fame and shame, you would celebrate his birthday on October 7th.”
“All I know is what my mom told me,” Josh replied uncertain what to say about the two Olivers.
“I don’t do musicals,” Izzy replied. “I do cross word puzzles. I was working on one now.” He showed Josh the puzzle from The New York Times.
“You’re just starting?
“No, I just finished it.”
Josh looked at the blank squares of the puzzle. “But, you haven’t written anything down. It’s all empty.”
Izzy tapped a boney index finger to the part of his temple not hidden by his hat. “I do it all in my head. No need to write it down.”
“Wow,” Josh said. “You’re good.”
“Better than good, Joshua Farber. Better than good.”
“Josh, we’ve got to go,” Mitch called.
“See you around Josh.”
“See you, Mr. Lowenstein,” Josh said, waving goodbye and taking his father’s hand
Eleanor, Amy and Aunt Helen were seated at a round table in the cafeteria. Aunt Helen was the only one eating. Josh ran up to them. “Mom, I met this cool old guy who does crossword puzzles in his head. He’s in the lobby. You should talk to him.”
“Say hello to Aunt Helen first, Josh,” Eleanor said, reprimanding him. “If he’s still there you can introduce me when we leave.”
“Hello, darling,” Aunt Helen greeted Josh. “You look so much like your grandmother, my sister Lillian.” She gave him a long wet kiss on his cheek. Josh wiped her coffee off his face with his sleeve and sat down next to his mother.
“Don’t get too settled, Josh. You and I and Amy need to go get lunch. Do you want me to get you something,” she asked Mitch.
“Smoked turkey sandwich if they have it. Otherwise you know what I like. Anything else will do. And a cup of decaf. Thanks, hon.”
Eleanor hustled Amy and Josh toward the cafeteria line, leaving Mitch sitting with Aunt Helen.
“I didn’t want to ask when the children were here,” she said, leaning close to him conspiratorially. “How are things in your neighborhood? Is everything quiet?”
“Yes, Aunt Helen. Everything’s ok. We’re all fine. You can see that for yourself.”
“You never know when trouble will break out. Sometimes, it can be worse than in Poland.”
“What, Aunt Helen. What can be worse than Poland?” he said exasperated.
She looked at him, puzzled. “You don’t know. You haven’t lived there.” Mitch hoped she had exhausted this line of fantasy because she pressed her lips together and looked around the room.
“Now tell me about your family. How is everyone?”
“They’re fine,” Mitch said going along with her. “Eleanor and the children will be here soon. They’re getting lunch. We’re all going to have lunch together.”
“That’ll be nice. Where’s a supermarket? I need to buy some food for gifts. Something nice like dried apricots. There is one person here, Amina, who is special.”
“I met her with you, remember? I’ll take care of it Aunt Helen. The next time I’m in a store, I’ll get something for her.”
Aunt Helen looked puzzled. “You know Amina?” Mitch nodded and caught himself about to remind his aunt she had introduced them.
“You’re a good boy, Mitchell. Don’t say anything to the others. They’ll be jealous.” Mitch wasn’t sure who she was referring to. The other staff or to Eleanor, Amy and Josh who were coming back to the table.
“Here we are,” Eleanor said cheerfully, catching Mitch rolling his eyes.
“Oh goody, lunch for everyone. Just like a picnic,” Aunt Helen said, clapping her hands.
Josh wolfed down his grilled cheese sandwich and waited impatiently for his father to finish his coffee.
“Well, Aunt Helen,” Mitch said standing up, “Josh and I are off to run some errands. Amy and Ell will stay with you. We’ll be back in a little while.” He bent down and kissed her on the forehead.
“Don’t forget to buy you know what,” Aunt Helen reminded him. Eleanor looked at him quizzically and Mitch shook his head. “She’s pretty confused today,” he said whispering in her ear and kissing her on the cheek. “Good luck with Amy interviewing her. You might have to try again another time. We’ll be back wi
thin an hour. Where will you be?”
“I’m going to try and find a quiet place, where she won’t be distracted. Why don’t you call me on my cell when you’re in the parking lot?” Ell said.
“That’s a good idea. You’re so clever. Another reason to love you,” he said beaming mischeviously.
“Drive carefully,’ she murmured. “Have fun Josh.” Josh waved goodbye to his mother and ran down the hall to the lobby. “He’s not here,” he said when Mitch caught up with him. “Mr. Lowenstein’s gone.”
“Maybe he’ll be here when we come back.”
“Dad, you can’t believe this guy. He knows everything. Like Oliver Cromweld and Oliver North. He thought Ollie was named after them. Who were they dad? Do you know?”
“That’s testing what little I remember about British history,” he replied as they got in the car. “It’s Oliver Cromwell not Cromweld,” he said correcting his son. “He overthrew the monarchy, I forgot which king. When we get home we can Google him together and see what we find.” Mitch instantly regretted his suggestion. Ell would see this as another indication of his inability to lay down a punishment for Josh and to stick to it. He could almost hear her accusing him of backing down, arguing that this was not schoolwork and Josh was not allowed to use the computer. Maybe, technically she was right, he conceded, but it was educational. His mind picked up on the English theme. Well, in for a penny in for a pound, he thought. “We can look up Oliver North too while we’re at it, although that definitely is not ancient history. I can tell you what little I know about him and Mom can tell you who the Oliver is we named Ollie after.”
“Boy, if Mr. Lowenstein is right, he is like Mr. Google himself.” Josh said, personalizing an entire search engine.
Amina was performing her noontime prayers in the small room off the sanctuary, the same place where she had prayed for the first time at the Home on Friday. She had come to work this Saturday because the Home was still short staffed. Ms. Bernstein had called her Friday night, and asked her if she could. Amina had agreed. She felt obligated. She liked Ms. Bernstein and was willing to help, especially since Josephine was one of the CNAs taking off.
As always, she had worked on Friday, her day of rest, her Sabbath, but yesterday had been different. She had gotten up earlier than usual. At 5:30 am to pray with Jama and Medina before sunrise. She had done her ablutions before leaving for work. She had worn her wool scarf because it had been cold, but inside, she had covered her head all day with a light blue cotton scarf and worn a thin cotton sweater to conceal her arms. She had prayed during her afternoon break, carefully washing her hands and arms but symbolically sprinkling water on her socks, instead of washing her feet in the sink in the ladies room. Both times she had been alone in the little room next to the Chapel.
If she had to pray at the Home where she could be seen, then she would. But for now, she felt better with the privacy.
She called Josephine after her friend had not come in on Friday. She assumed that Jo’s husband had fallen on the ice. No, Josephine said, breaking down and crying. Thomas had become dizzy and stumbled at home. One moment he was strong and sturdy as a tree, she said. The next, he was lying on the floor staring wildly up at the ceiling. He had been complaining about headaches since Christmas. They had thought nothing of it. They were Jamaicans and the bitter cold weather always brought on sinus headaches. He was in the hospital undergoing a battery of tests. They were keeping him overnight. He was scheduled for an MRI on Saturday. She promised to call as soon as she learned anything. Amina said she would pray for Thomas.
Amina walked down the central aisle of the sanctuary and out into the hall to find Helen, waiting with a woman and a young girl outside the ladies room.
“Amina,” Helen called, smiling and waving her over. “Come meet my family. This is my nephew Mitchell’s wife and my great niece.” Eleanor and Amy introduced themselves. Amina wished she was wearing her new name tag. Hers still said Ms. A. Jackson. Ms. Bernstein said it would be ready at the end of the week.
“Amina is one of the good ones here,” Helen confided to Eleanor. “The only good one. The others. Aaah, they’re not worth talking,” she said, waving her hand in dismissal.
“Everyone here is trying to help you, Helen,” Amina said, bending down and taking Helen’s hands in hers. “This is the visitors’ bathroom,” Amina said to Eleanor. “There is a wheelchair accessible toilet on this floor. Let me show you where.” She released the brakes and Amy pushed her great aunt down the hall as Amina and Eleanor walked along side. “I am used to doing this,” Amina said when they got to the ladies room. She took Helen inside. When they came out, Eleanor asked her if there was a quiet place where they could sit with Helen. Amina walked with them to an alcove, on the second floor, at the back of the building overlooking the long, sloping lawn, now covered with snow. At Helen’s insistence, Amina transferred her from the wheelchair to a wing backed chair, and left the three of them, cozily grouped together in the warmth radiating from the baseboard heaters, gazing out at the grey sky.
Amy took out her notebook and unfolded her list of questions. “I’ve got this Hebrew school assignment on immigrants,” she explained. “We’re supposed to ask family members where they’re from, why they left, how they came to America, what they remember about their early life here. Stuff like that. Can you help me?” she said, running her words and the questions together.
Aunt Helen looked to Eleanor for help. “What does she want to talk about?”
“She wants to talk to you Aunt Helen, about your life as a little girl. Amy,” Eleanor said in a low voice. “You need to break things down more for her,” then turning back to Aunt Helen. “Do you remember being a little girl in Poland and the town you lived in?”
“Why does everyone want to talk about Poland?” Aunt Helen said with annoyance. “Mitchell asked me too. It was not a good place for Jews. The town I grew up in, such a little dirty place. Ciechanow. The Poles raised pigs. They were big, evil eyed looking animals and they smelled terribly. They walked through the mud as if they owned the streets.”
“Were the streets paved?” Amy asked.
“In Ciechanow? It was so poor, even the rags were handed down. It was always muddy, from rain or snow or from slop the Poles threw out their front doors. Why do you want to know about such things? There’s nothing good to say about it.”
“Aunt Helen, just tell me about what you remember,” Amy pleaded. “All the kids have to talk about some member of their family who came to this country. It’ll help me. Please,” Amy implored.
Aunt Helen looked at her, and then at Eleanor and shrugged as if to say this will be a waste of everyone’s time.
“All right darling. If you want to listen to this. In Ciechanow, we had to live in a ghetto. Our part of town was clean. Mama swept the yard every day and when I was old enough, I did too. Mama would send me for shopping, to the butcher for a chicken for the Sabbath meal, or to bring Papa lunch at the sawmill. I was always afraid to go to the mill. It was of course outside the ghetto. The Polish boys would sic their dogs on Jewish children. They were big like the wolves which lived in the forest outside of town. You could see in their eyes they wanted to tear your flesh off. Once I was surrounded by a group of peasant boys and they let their dog off the leash. I remember the leash was a long rope and the dog had yellow eyes. I screamed and Papa heard me and came running. He had a big knife and chased them away.” She stopped, trembled and looked at Eleanor and Amy. “Why am I talking about such things? Why do you want to hear them, darling?”
“Because, Aunt Helen, it’s part of our family’s history. How old were you when you came to America?” Amy asked.
“How old was I,” she repeated the question, closing her eyes. “Papa had left for America taking Ben, my older brother and leaving Mama, me and Lillian. How we survived that year, I don’t know. It was a very bad year. An uncle of mine gave me some work making woolen socks and mittens. I took in washing. With my husband gone, there
was charity from the synagogue, which I spent on milk and eggs for my two little girls. My precious darlings. Lilly was barely three and so thin, I was afraid I was going to lose her. It was a bitterly cold winter. The coldest in my memory. And my husband Reuben was gone. The charity we received was not enough for firewood.”
Amy wrinkled up her face and was about to say something. Eleanor put a finger to her lips, signaling she shouldn’t interrupt. “She thinks she’s her mother,” she whispered. “Your great grandmother. She’s remembering stories her mother told her.”
“We slept in one bed under a goose down quilt I had brought to our wedding bed as my dowry. That quilt was saved when the ghetto in Plonsk was burned after the Czar was assassinated and the troubles began. First, the local peasants, mobs of them, drunk as usual and worked up by the authorities, attacked the Jews. We had nothing to do with the Czar’s assassination. That didn’t matter. Then, it was quiet but the kind of calm we Jews knew meant that more terrible things were about to happen, as they had happened before. The Cossacks came at night, a Friday night, the Sabbath evening when we were all in Synagogue. I never saw such horror before or since. Some things are best left unsaid forever. In the morning, those of us who had survived, gathered our belongings and left. We were led by our Rabbi who decided, under these circumstances, it was permissible to travel on the Sabbath. Together with my parents, I walked for days until we got to Ciechanow. I don’t know what happened to my younger brother, who was fifteen at the time. Maybe he was killed. Maybe he was kidnapped into the Czar’s army. We never found out.
We settled in Ciechanow because there were some Jewish owned businesses there, and there was work to be had. My father got a job in the sawmill. Poor as we were, we were well educated and I was of marriageable age. Several months after we arrived, a marriage was arranged between me and the oldest son of the Jewish sawmill owner. If we had not been so poor, the marriage would have been beneath my family. I know that. When I first saw Reuben before the wedding, I was terrified. He was young and thin, but so tall, as tall as a Cossack, with a full red beard, as well. People made fun of us as a couple, because I was short, even for Jewish women in the town. We were both very awkward at first, but I told him from the outset, being poor did not mean I was not entitled to respect. He smiled, at what any other man would have deemed impudence, especially in the first week of marriage.
The Orange Tree Page 14