The Orange Tree

by Martin Ganzglass

  Chapter Fifteen

  Mitch leaned back in the folding chair, his arm around Ell, and surveyed the friends, neighbors, and the few relatives seated in groups of ten at the round tables filling Memorial Hall. Amy, greatly relieved that it was over, was with a group of girls, beseeching the DJ, to play a song that the girls just had to hear. The DJ, who was also the MC, seemed unperturbed, having confronted this pandemonium almost every Saturday for the last several months.

  “They’re more dangerous when they hunt in packs,” he whispered in Ell’s ear, nodding toward the girls around the microphone.

  “Let the DJ handle it. Amy got through the service and we can all relax now.”

  Mitch agreed. It had been a rough past two weeks. Amy’s debut as the Youth Board Member had been a disaster. She had moved to amend the By-laws to require that the Youth Representative be elected instead of appointed. She had argued that the President of the Board should not have such power. It was undemocratic and subject to abuse. Her motion had failed for lack of a second. Amy had come home in tears, feeling humiliated and betrayed. At least Rabbi Silver should have seconded the motion, she had wailed, sitting on the sofa with her parents. Eleanor brusquely pointed out that the Rabbi was only an advisor to the Board and not even a voting member. She had sternly berated Amy for not properly preparing for the meeting and discussing her ideas first with them and the Rabbi. It wasn’t enough, his wife had said, to believe your proposal is morally correct or has merit. You have to work at persuading others and lining up the votes in advance. Ell had encouraged their daughter to try again, later in the year, to keep at it and to learn how to swim before diving into the pool. And, very cleverly, Mitch thought, Ell had given Amy a reasonable excuse for her poor performance. To help restore her self confidence. It was too much to expect, Ell had told Amy, to begin as a new Board Member, the first Youth Representative ever, and to prepare for her Bat Mitzvah. She would do better at the next month’s Board meeting.

  However, despite her intensive practicing and rehearsing in front of the family, Amy had been so nervous Friday night she had thrown up her dinner. Saturday morning she refused to eat breakfast. She drank a little hot tea, which she normally despised and took only under duress. Ell had gone up to Amy’s room, combed her brown hair and twisted it into a long French braid. In the process, she had calmed their daughter down to the point where she appeared poised on the bima, although Mitch knew, from the way she stared over the Congregation avoiding eye contact, especially with her friends, she was trembling inside. Her Torah reading had gone well. She had stumbled at one point but Rabbi Silver had helped her along. Amy’s chanting had been melodic. But, despite Mitch’s extensive coaching, she had rushed through her discussion portion barely stopping at the end of sentences. Too bad, he thought, because it was well reasoned and she did have something to say. Rabbi Silver, in his remarks to the Congregation announced that Amy’s mitzvah was to serve as the Youth Representative on the Board for one year. This was truly meritorious service he said, because it was work on behalf of the entire Congregation and deserved special mention.

  Mrs. Fessler had given Amy the Star of David on a gold chain in an elegant black velvet necklace case at the end of the service. Mitch thought his daughter would not be appropriately appreciative because Amy was euphoric that her ordeal was over, giddy with excitement and busy talking to her girlfriends. But she had thrown her arms around her grandmother, thanked her profusely, insisted that she wanted to wear it now and turned around so that her grandmother could lock the necklace clasp.

  When he had hired the DJ, Mitch had made it clear his job was to entertain the children and not to harass the adults to dance or otherwise make fools of themselves. The DJ had gotten the message. He played to the young adult audience, alternating the songs they screamed for with group dances and games.

  When the buffet lunch was served, Mitch jumped the line and filled a plate with pasta, salad and a piece of roast chicken and brought it back for Aunt Helen. He struggled with the fork and knife to cut up the white meat into small pieces. He smiled to himself, remembering the advice of the owner of a steak house where he had worked during college. ‘Either a sharp knife or tender meat – never neither.’

  “What do you want to drink, Aunt Helen?”

  “Coffee. When you get a chance Mitchell.” She beckoned him to come closer.

  “Don’t you think it’s dangerous to have so many Jews in one place? They could catch us all together.”

  He almost laughed out loud, thinking how to answer, ‘Yup, Aunt Helen. That’s what happens in synagogues. All the Jews are together.” But he saw she the genuine look of concern on her face.

  “It’s ok Aunt Helen. We’re in the United States. We’re allowed to be Jews. No one’s going to attack us.”

  “I saw a police car outside.”

  Mitch nodded. They usually were there to direct traffic when there were major events at the Church or Temple.

  “They are the ones who take you away. The police. You know that Mitchell?”

  Mitch wished that Judy were here. She would handle it better than he could. He was exasperated. He didn’t want to deal with Aunt Helen’s paranoia and craziness.

  All he wanted to do was enjoy Amy’s Bat Mitzvah, eat lunch, laugh with the guests and go home to peace and quiet.

  Amy rescued him by walking up to the table.

  “Hi. Aunt Helen. Are you having a good time?”

  “Yes, darling. Everything is delicious. You look very pretty today.”

  “You say that every day.”

  “Well, you look pretty every day,” Aunt Helen replied with impeccable logic. “Just like your mother, when she cooked for your father. She had her long hair like you, done up in a bun.” She speared a penne with her fork and put it in her mouth.

  Instead of fighting his aunt’s confused state of mind, Mitch went along with it, guided by Judy’s voice in his mind’s ear telling him to let Aunt Helen talk about what she wanted to. “What was your mother’s best dish?” he asked.

  “Oh,” she said, “they were all so good, you couldn’t choose one. There was her chicken soup and then brisket with potatoes and little onions.”

  “Bye, Dad.” Amy said, as Aunt Helen launched into a description of her mother shopping for the best ingredients. Ell came back to the table, with two plates, the one she placed in front of him was heavy on the salad and chicken and light on the pasta. He raised an eyebrow questioning his portion. “Is this a subtle comment on my weight? The pasta looks good.”

  “It’s more of a pre-emptive strike,” she said smiling down at him. “Here, let me take over with Aunt Helen so you can eat your meager portion.”

  Aunt Helen continued talking to Mitch as if no one else was around. The DJ resumed playing music loud enough that Mitch couldn’t hear what his Aunt was saying. What is it about elderly people, he thought. They go on oblivious to the world around them. Can’t she herself hear that the music is drowning out her own voice?

  Amy came running back. “Mom. Dad. Where’s my necklace case. I need to take it off. I don’t want to lose it. We’re going to play this limbo thing with chairs and then they take the chairs away and we don’t fall,” she said flushed and breathless, hopping impatiently from foot to foot.

  “Turn around and stand still for a moment. I’ll put it in my purse until grandma comes back.” Amy eagerly dashed back to the circle of her friends. “Well that was thoughtful of our daughter,” she said to Mitch. “Worried about losing something she just got. Imagine how considerate and helpful around the house she might be by the end of next week.”

  “I can’t wait,” Mitch replied quickly finishing his lunch. “Can you stay with Aunt Helen. I want to circulate a bit. Maybe one of my friends will give me some scraps from his plate.” He ducked as she threw her balled up paper napkin at him.

  “Eleanor. That is no way for a mature person to act.” Mrs. Fessler reprimanded her daughter. “And in front of all these people.”r />
  “Yeah, Ell, especially when our own daughter is so mature,” Mitch said, retreating quickly before his wife’s withering glare. The rest of the afternoon’s festivities went well. Tomorrow, Sunday was not too hectic, Mitch thought, as he watched Amy so poised and gracious, her eyes still shining with excitement, thanking a few of her friends’ parents for coming. It had been an exhilarating day for the entire family.

  Aunt Helen lay in her room, drifting off to sleep, trying to remember something. It was important. She had been to this wonderful party, earlier in the week. Or was it last week? She wanted to tell Mama and Lillian about it. All those Jews together having fun but she couldn’t remember the details. Except that it wasn’t Jewish music at the party. There was something about a table full of gifts but she couldn’t remember what it was about the table she wanted to tell them. The food had been good. Not as tasty as her mother’s, she had told them that. That’s what she wanted to tell Mama. How she had praised her cooking to everyone.

  She looked down the hall. She recognized some of the nurses and their assistants, in their white uniforms, walking briskly from room to room. They had dogs on long leashes. Not the friendly, groomed ones she said hello to on Pet Visiting Day. These were long legged, with matted hair and piercing yellow eyes,, like wolves. Drool dripped from their fangs and lathered the mangy black fur at their throats. The white uniforms unleashed the dogs who dashed into different rooms. She heard snarling, followed by screaming and the white uniforms would run into a room and come out with someone in a chair or on a stretcher. Sometimes they came out laughing without anyone, followed by the dogs, greedily licking bits of flesh and fabric from their snouts with their bloody tongues. They were still far away, chanting as they came closer to her room.

  Mama and Lillian were next door. She could see them through the adjoining door. Mama was cooking chicken soup in her big copper pot, the one with the dent near the steel handle and the blackened streak on the bottom, which never came off no matter how hard one scrubbed. Lillian was sitting in a high chair at the table eating a piece of carrot. Now, the white uniforms were closer to their room. They had caught a man in a wheelchair and tied him down by large leather straps. They raced down the corridor, as he struggled vainly against the restraints and screamed for help. One of the white uniforms pulled an elegantly folded cravat from his suit jacket and stuffed it in his mouth. Helen stared in horror as Senator Ribicoff’s eyes pleaded with her to save him. Mama, she screamed. Run. Run. Now they were outside her mother’s kitchen. Marching as they chanted- Jew, Jew, Jew, Jew, in time to the beat of drum, strapped in front of the nurse’s assistant Helen had accused of sleeping with the RN. Slut, Helen yelled over the din. Couldn’t Mama hear them? Why wasn’t Mama hiding Lilly? Two white uniforms tore Mama away from her stove and threw her to a policeman on horseback, a huge bearded man wearing a red tunic with gold buttons and sunglasses. She couldn’t see his eyes. He swung a whip with one hand and, with the other, held Mama across his saddle. She yelled and reached down for Lilly. Lilly ran between the horses’s hooves, chased by several large dogs, while the riders flailed around with whips trying to lash her. The chanting and drum beat was deafening- Jew. Jew. Jew. Jew. Helen ran out into the corridor after Lilly, who saw her and reached out, her little, pink fingers only inches away. A thick hairy arm scooped up her little sister, the horse reared, Helen was blinded by the light, then there were flames and smoke everywhere. Mama’s kitchen was on fire, the whole hall was on fire. Helen ran outside. The white uniforms and horsemen had formed a circle, around the Jews, running and riding around in a frenzy, chanting Jew. Jew. Jew. Jew. The louder they shouted, the tighter the circle became. Mama was at the top of a pyramid of terrified people, holding Lilly up to the night sky, beseeching the heavens to save her daughter. Helen tried to breach the circle. A horseman grabbed her by her hair, swung her around his head and tossed her to another rider. She became a flying human ball, batted and thrown from one to another, never touching the ground and never getting closer to the circle. As she sailed through the air she saw Mama and Lilly sinking lower and lower as others clawed their way to the top to beg God in His Heaven to save them. One of the horsemen dropped her and she rolled, like the ball she had become, into the bushes where she lay very quietly. She heard the breathing of the wolf dogs before she saw them. They had surrounded the bush, a ring of yellow, savage eyes glinting with hunger and blood lust. Behind them, she saw pairs of white uniformed legs and shoes, like bars of a cage encircling her, moving toward her in measured steps. She shut her eyes tightly, knowing for certain she was the last Jew alive.

  Mitch sat in his office at BLS. It was the Thursday morning before Memorial Day weekend. Today would be exceptionally busy. Many of his staff were taking Friday off to make it a four day holiday. There were two major draft reports, the CPI and the Producer Price Index, to be reviewed and discussed today before they could be finalized by the end of the month. He was looking forward to the official three days off. The weather forecast that morning on NPR had called for clear skies with mild spring temperatures for the entire holiday. Maybe they’d all go down to Skyline Drive on Sunday for a hike, run Oliver and have lunch outside somewhere in Front Royal, at one of the old inns. He found the files he needed for the 10 am meeting and had begun to review them when his cell phone rang. He thought it might be Ell. She usually called about this time in the morning, just to chat.

  “Mitch, sorry to bother you but we have a problem with your aunt.” He heard from Molly’s tone she thought it was serious. “The CNA found her this morning, curled up on the floor next to her bed. She screams when anyone comes near her. She won’t talk to anyone. Not even Amina. She won’t get up off the floor and we can’t leave her there much longer.”

  “Oh boy,” was all Mitch could say.

  “Normally, the RN would sedate her and we’d examine her and see if we can figure out what’s wrong. My hunch is it’s mental not physical. So I don’t want to do anything until you try and talk to her. Can you get out here right away?”

  Mitch told his secretary he had a family medical emergency. He asked her to reschedule the meetings for tomorrow and find out how many staff could make the meeting, hating himself for probably ruining a few planned getaways. He hailed a cab on Constitution Avenue, called Ell on the way up and filled her in on the little he knew, promising to call again from the Nursing Home.

  When he arrived, Amina was standing at the entrance to his aunt’s room. Molly was in the chair near the window, bending over, talking softly to Aunt Helen, who was lying on the floor with her back toward Molly. Mitch tiptoed into the room, nodded at Molly and squatted down in front of his aunt so she could see him. She was curled up, her hands clasped behind her neck, her chin on her chest, her knees pulled in tight and her eyes closed. He could see from the protruding tendons in her thin hands, how hard she was holding on.

  “Aunt Helen,” he called quietly. “It’s me, Mitch.” She didn’t move but he thought he saw her eyelids flutter. “It’s all right, Aunt Helen. I’m here.” He reached out and put his hand on her shoulder. He felt her relax, just a little. She turned her head slightly and then unclasped her hands, but instantly grabbed him by his jacket.

  “Mitchell. You have to get me out of here. There was a terrible pogrom. They’ve killed everyone. Mama and Lilly.” She started sobbing. He wrapped his arms around her and let her cry.

  “It’s okay. I’m ok, Eleanor and the children are safe. We’re all safe.” He was kneeling now, feeling the stiffness and pain in his right knee and wishing he could straighten his leg. “Come on Aunt Helen. Lie down on the bed and we’ll talk. I’ll stay here with you.” He stood up and guided her toward the bed. Helen looked blankly at Molly and Amina. He helped her lie down, unfolded the blanket and covered her and pulled the chair Molly had been sitting in over to the bedside.

  “I’ll come back in a little while,” Molly whispered. Amina went to get Helen’s breakfast tray. Mitch was holding his aunt’s hand when A
mina returned. He felt her stiffen and shrink away.

  “Aunt Helen. It’s Amina. See. Amina, your friend.”

  “Why is she wearing white, like the others.” Mitch didn’t know what to answer.

  “I am not all in white,” Amina said. “Just my white pants.” Helen shrunk away from her.

  “See my green shawl,” Amina said reassuringly. “It covers my head and the shoulders of my blue blouse.” She came closer to the bed, swung the table arm out and put the tray down. Aunt Helen moved warily closer to the center. “It was the people in white who took the Jews away. I saw them do it.” She described the attendants coming down the hall, chanting Jew, Jew, Jew, and pulling them from their rooms, the horsemen and the wolf dogs, clutching the fabric of Mitch’s jacket sleeves in both her hands.

  Amina reached out slowly and touched his aunt’s arm. “Helen. We are sisters. Remember. Sisters because we can never go home again. You told me that.”

  Helen looked up at Amina’s calm face. “I did, didn’t I. And I told Lilly about you.” Suddenly, she looked terrified again. “But Lilly is dead. They killed her. I saw them do it. My poor baby sister, screaming and running under the horses.”

  Amina continued rubbing Helen’s arm with one hand while she took the metal lid off the plate of scrambled eggs, hash browns and broiled tomato. The aroma attracted his aunt’s attention. She let Amina feed her a forkful of egg and potato and then another. She let go of Mitch’s jacket and reached for the roll, dipped it in the styrofoam coffee cup and ate it quickly, coffee dripping down her chin. Amina wiped her face with a napkin.