Princess of Passyunk

by Bohnhoff, Maya Kaathryn

  “It’s hard for her,” Ganady said. “With the rest of us not being Jewish, I mean.”

  His father shook his head and chuckled, then pushed open the front door. “A romantic—that’s what he is—a romantic.”

  “Come in the house, Ganady,” said his mother. “Have some milk and cookies.”

  Ganady snapped his clarinet case shut and scrambled up the stairs. “Oh, um...I’m really tired, Mama. I think I’ll just go on up to bed.”

  As he passed her in the entryway, she reached out a hand to brush the thick curls back from his forehead. “Are you feverish? What boy turns down milk and cookies?”

  He kissed her on the cheek. “Goodnight, Mama,” he said and took the stairs two at a time.

  He went directly to his dresser. Just to see, he told himself. Just to put to rest the absurd idea that his Lana had anything to do with The Cockroach. But as he stood before the dresser, staring at the empty statue of the Virgin, he thought of the odd thing Svetlana had said about The Baseball—that it had brought them together. What could she possibly have meant by that, unless...?

  He hoped he would dream of her tonight. It would be the first thing he would ask her.

  oOo

  He didn’t dream of Svetlana—at least not at first. He dreamed of all the other girls who, in recent memory, had baked for him, or invited him over for dinner, or helped him with his homework, or offered to mend his shirts, or asked him to play clarinet at their brother’s bar mitzvah or Confirmation.

  In his dream, they stood about him and argued as to which one of them he would marry, while his mother and grandmother and their earnest lady friends stood just outside the circle of girls and urged him on, saying, “Ganady, please! Choose! Choose!”

  But he had chosen, he realized. He had chosen Svetlana. Two years before, he had chosen—the first night she had appeared in his dreams and spoken to him.

  “That’s very sweet.”

  He was suddenly alone with her, standing on a sun-bathed home plate in Connie Mack Stadium. Clouds scudded overhead and the wind came briskly up from the river and he could smell popcorn in the air.

  “It was love at first sight for me, too,” she told him.

  And which sight was that? he wanted to ask, but did not. Instead, he toed the bag and said, “My brother and my best friend are getting married at Christmas. Yevgeny—he’s my best friend—”

  “I know who Yevgeny is,” she said, dimpling.

  “Yevgeny was joking about having a triple wedding.”

  “Why joking? Don’t they believe you have a girl?”

  “Well...I’m not sure. Do I...have a girl?”

  She gave him a most severe look then, making him wonder what her mother—the much-praised Stella/Rodenka Gusalev—looked like. “Ganady Puzdrovsky, am I to now find that you are one of those fickle boys who strings along a whole gaggle of girls?”

  “Honestly, Lana, I didn’t mean to string anyone along. But they will bake me cookies, and come to my house and stare at me, and follow me with their eyes in the halls at school.”

  But she was laughing at him, her sea-green eyes alight. “What are you trying to ask me, Ganady? Are you trying to ask me something?”

  In that moment, Ganady felt as if he had changed in some indefinable way. He did not consider the circumstances under which he stood at home plate with Svetlana Gusalev, but only that he did stand there, if only in a dream. He took her by the hand and stepped off home plate toward the pitcher’s mound.

  “I’ve asked you a question at every base,” he said. “Now I will ask you a question from the heart of the diamond.”

  He stepped up onto the mound, drawing her after him, and it seemed that as he did, he took a final step from childhood into manhood. He felt different. He wondered if he looked different.

  He gazed down at her, his hands on her slender shoulders, and said, “Svetlana Gusalev, will you marry me?” And what he meant, of course, was: Can you marry me?

  She smiled at him in the sunlight, making it dance in her eyes and shimmer through her hair. She didn’t say “Yes.” She said “Play ball!” and laughed, and kissed him on the lips—long and thoroughly.

  He kissed her in return, and decided that from this time forth, the words “play ball” would never mean quite the same thing as they had before.

  When he woke with sunlight streaming through his window, it seemed to him that the glow of it suffused him inside and out. He rolled over and turned to the window and saw The Cockroach, sitting upon the sill, gleaming like a black-cherry jewel.

  He sat up. It couldn’t be. Cockroaches simply didn’t live that long...did they?

  “You were talking in your sleep again, Ganny-boy,” his brother informed him from the neighboring bed. “You were talking to that Lana again. I think you may have proposed to her.”

  Ganady laughed. “Of course I’ve proposed to her. Why shouldn’t I? You proposed to your princess; Yevgeny—oh, excuse me—Eugene proposed to his. Don’t I get to marry a princess, too?”

  Nick threw his little brother a look. “You’re in an odd mood. What happened to my so-solemn little brother, eh?”

  “Why do I have to be solemn? Can’t a guy be goofy sometimes?”

  “Goofy, huh?” Nick shook his head. “You’ve been holding out on us, eh? About this girl, I mean. You didn’t tell me it was this serious.”

  Ganny shrugged and threw off his covers. “I didn’t tell anyone it was this serious.” Not even myself.

  Now Nikolai sat up too. “You really asked her to marry you? When?”

  “Oh...last night. You were all at church. When I got back from Mr. O’s she was waiting for me on the stoop and I just...popped the question.”

  “Yeah? How does she feel about being married to a musician?”

  “She likes it just fine, and why not?”

  “Yeah? And how does her family feel about it?”

  Ganady thought about Mr. Joe and Boris the Bagel Prince, and the bottom dropped out of his waking dream. He managed to stammer, “Well, her Da likes me,” and deflected any further questions. But he knew without doubt that he would have to answer many more like that one if Nikolai announced his engagement to the rest of the family.

  “Hey, Nikolai—Nick, listen. We...Lana and I...we’ve actually got a few little problems to work out with her family and all. So I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t say anything about this to anybody, okay? Let me tell.”

  Nick’s dark brows rose. “Sure, kid. But you’d better do it soon or I’ll spill the beans for you. You got that?”

  “Yeah. Sure. Got it,” Ganady said. He glanced back to the window where Princess Cockroach sat sunbathing and wracked his brains for some sort of story to tell about Svetlana’s family.

  At this point, it occurred to him that explaining his beloved’s family was quite possibly the least of his worries. How, after all, was he to explain her?

  Sixteen: Three Brides

  Nikolai Puzdrovsky kept ears and eyes peeled, but his little brother had told no one anything about the mysterious Svetlana. Nick waited a week, figuring that perhaps Ganady meant to divulge his secret at Sabbath dinner where the entire family would be present. But Sabbath dinner came and went and Ganady said nothing.

  That night, as he bade his father goodnight, Nick paused just inside the parlor door. He opened his mouth. He closed it. He shifted from foot to foot. He leaned toward the doorway. He leaned back.

  Vitaly Puzdrovsky looked up from the Sunday paper. “What is it, Nikolai?”

  “Oh...uh...well,” said Nikolai, “I...I just wondered if maybe Ganny had said anything to you about—um—about his girl?”

  “His girl?” repeated Vitaly incredulously. “He has a girl?”

  “Well, yeah. Svetlana. I’m surprised he hasn’t mentioned her.”

  “Your mother has mentioned a Svetlana. To tell you the truth, I thought she might have made her up. But you say, Ganny has talked about her, too?”

  “Oh, sure.”
/>
  “Then why haven’t we met her, this Svetlana?”

  Nick shrugged. “I don’t know. Ganny said something about her having some family troubles.”

  “I see. And why are you speaking to me now of Ganady’s girl?”

  Nick hesitated again, shifting from foot to foot. Then he wandered farther into the room, glancing quickly over his shoulder toward the staircase. “He asked me not to say anything, but, gosh, I figured he would have told you something about her by now.”

  “Gosh?” echoed his Da. “What is ‘gosh’?”

  “It just means I’m kind of surprised he didn’t say anything.”

  “About?”

  “He told me he asked her to marry him.”

  Vitaly Puzdrovsky’s eyebrows nearly met over the bridge of his nose. “Marry him? A girl we haven’t even met?”

  “I think Baba Irina might have met her.”

  “Is she Catholic?”

  “Well...I think so. I think he met her in church. Anyway, when he tells us, you’ll act surprised, right? I don’t want him to think...you know.”

  Vitaly turned back to his newspaper. “I shall be as silent as a nun.”

  oOo

  “Ravke, has our youngest son spoken to you of marriage?”

  “Spoken to me of what marriage—his brother’s?”

  Vitaly hid a smile as he watched his wife’s reflection in the mirror of her dresser. “I should say of his own. To a girl named Svetlana.”

  Rebecca turned in her chair, her hairbrush poised for its forty-ninth stroke. “His own? He’s spoken of this to you? Of—of marrying?”

  Vitaly said nothing.

  Rebecca set down her brush and put her hands to her cheeks. “He and Svetlana? Has he asked her?”

  “It would seem so. I am not to have told you this, Ravke. Ganady’s girl is having some family problems, and I think perhaps they must be solved before the marriage can be announced. Still, we should meet this girl, don’t you think? We should invite her to dinner.”

  oOo

  Rebecca herself issued the invitation at breakfast the following morning.

  “So, when shall we meet Svetlana?” she asked brightly while serving the oatmeal.

  “Svetlana?” Ganady barely managed to keep his spoon from tumbling from his nerveless fingers into his oatmeal.

  His mother dimpled prettily, her dark eyes sparkling. “We have let you have your secrets, Ganady Puzdrovsky, but now I think it is time we met this girl of yours. You will invite her for Sabbath dinner this week.”

  Ganny coughed. “I don’t know, Mama...”

  “Well, I do,” said Vitaly. “Your Mama is right—it’s time we met this girl. Certainly we must meet her before you marry.”

  There was a sudden cessation of movement in the Puzdrovsky kitchen. Mama stood by her husband’s chair, while he sat, expectant, a spoonful of oatmeal drooping toward his bowl. Ganady and Nikolai stared in unison at their father, while Marija watched the tableau, wide-eyed. Baba Irina laid her napkin across her lap, picked up her spoon and smiled.

  After a moment of stunned silence, Ganady moved his eyes to his brother’s beet red face.

  “I’m sorry, Ganny,” mumbled Nikolai. “I thought Da must know, and I said something and...and then he really did know.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” said Mama. “If you have asked this girl to marry you, then we must meet her, don’t you think?”

  “Yes, Mama.”

  “And have you asked her to marry you?”

  “Yes, Mama.”

  “Well, then...”

  “I’m just not sure she can come. Things with her family are...kind of hard.”

  “How, hard?” asked Da.

  Ganny stuck his spoon into his oatmeal and sat back in his chair, debating silently what he should say. “Her Da wants she should inherit his business. But that’s not what she wants.”

  “What sort of business?” Da asked.

  “Butcher shops. Her family has two butcher shops and her Da is opening another one and he wants her to follow him into the business. He wants to build a sort of Sausage Empire. I think he wants to turn them into delis, too. He said something about sandwiches.” Ganny shrugged.

  “And what sort of man wants his daughter to follow him in such a business?”

  “A man without sons?” guessed Baba Irina, serenely eating her oatmeal.

  Ganny nodded. “She has a cousin Mikhail who works in their shop over on Passyunk Square, but I guess her Da doesn’t want him to take over the shops.”

  “Passyunk Square? I know this shop. Gusalev and Sons.” Da laid none-too-subtle stress on the last word.

  “The window said ‘ Gusthof and Sons,’ when Mr. Joe bought the shop. He said it would have cost too much to change it all, so he just had the broken pane replaced.”

  “The broken pane?”

  Ganny colored. “The pane with the name on it got broken. Mr. Joe said it was a sign from God he should have the name changed.”

  “This is where you’ve been washing windows on Saturdays, yes?” Baba asked.

  Ganny nodded.

  “So you met Svetlana at her father’s shop?” Da asked.

  “Yes, I...I mean, no...I...” Ganady stopped. “Sort of. I met her there, but I didn’t talk to her until later. I never see her at the shop anymore. I think she stays away because of the trouble with her father.”

  Mama tsked and shook her head. “Such a disobedient girl...”

  “Ravke Kutshinska, I do not think you are one to speak ill of the disobedient,” said Baba Irina tartly.

  Rebecca ignored her. “Well, perhaps if she marries, this trouble will be solved, yes? Then her Da might let the shops go to both of you and you could run them.”

  “Mama, I don’t know anything about running butcher shops.”

  “You could learn,” said Da sternly.

  “So, tell us about your Svetlana Gusalev,” said Baba Irina, dabbing her napkin to her lips. “I hear she likes baseball.”

  “Yeah. And she likes klezmer.” A smile tugged at the corner of Ganady’s mouth. “And Mama’s pierniki.”

  “Then I shall bake some for Sabbath dinner. You will invite her, yes?”

  “I’ll...I’ll try.”

  Da broke the soft spell in which they’d sat by snapping open his napkin and spreading it in his lap. “Eat your breakfast, Ganady. You will go with me to work this morning. I want you to see what business it is your father does. Perhaps you will inherit sausage shops, perhaps not. But it will not hurt for you to learn a business.”

  “But, Nikolai is learning your business.”

  “Why can’t both my sons do as much?”

  There was no answer to that, so Ganady acquiesced.

  Before he left for the machine shop with his father and brother, he slipped upstairs and went to his dresser as a supplicant to a shrine. She was there, The Cockroach, this time at the feet of the Virgin.

  He studied the insect for a moment, then said, “My mother would like to know if you can come to dinner Sunday.”

  The Cockroach waved her antennae at him and then climbed the icon to roost upon her shoulder, facing Ganady. He stood there a moment, holding his breath, half expecting the creature to speak. Then the absurdity of the situation overcame him and he began to laugh.

  He was still laughing when he met his father and brother in the front hall.

  oOo

  Ganady received no answer to his question that night, nor the next, nor the next. On Wednesday evening, he went to The Samovaram to play for a bat mitzvah in the banquet room. The celebration was quite grand to Ganady’s eyes and he was impressed with the generosity of the guests, who tipped him as though he were not receiving a fine payment from the hosting family.

  He sat at a table in the empty and darkened main dining room after, counting his tips, wondering if perhaps he couldn’t make a living playing music after all. Restaurant staff came and went through the access hall that led from the banquet room to the kitc
hen, paying Ganady no heed.

  “You played beautifully tonight. But then you always play beautifully.”

  Ganady glanced up and across the table. Svetlana sat in the chair opposite, her long hair draped like a silken shawl upon her shoulders. It shone softly in the subdued light from the banquet room.

  He was struck mute, or perhaps simply lacked the will to do more than gaze at her.

  She smiled. “I thought about dinner Sunday night. And I would really love to come, but I...I just can’t. Not yet. It’s not the right time.”

  “Will there ever be a right time?”

  She looked at him for a long moment while behind her the kitchen door opened and closed and the clatter and tinkle of dishes waxed and waned. She said, “That depends on you.”

  “Me? Why me?”

  She shook her head. “I can’t say. Please apologize to your family for me. Tell them...tell them I have to take care of some family things.”

  “All right. But they think we’re getting married. What do I tell them about that?”

  Her eyes locked on his. “You did ask me, didn’t you? You meant it, didn’t you?”

  “Of course I meant it. Lana, I love you. I want to be married to you. Can we really marry?”

  “Why shouldn’t we marry?”

  “Well...your Da...” And the fact that I’m not sure you’re real.

  “My Da won’t be any trouble. He’s already done what he’s done. You’re the one who has to decide now, Ganny.”

  “But I don’t understand. Where would we be married? In a synagogue or a church or...just in my dreams?”

  She laughed. “Silly. If we got married just in your dreams, we wouldn’t really be married, would we?”

  “Well, where then?”

  “Where are Yevgeny and Nick getting married?”

  “At Saint Stan’s. But you can’t get married there, can you? You’re not Catholic.”

  “I’m not anything right now,” she said solemnly. “My Da isn’t observant, you know. He only closes the shop on the Jewish Sabbath because Mama insists. He doesn’t even go to shul anymore. And you know what I think? I don’t think God is Jewish. Or Catholic. I think He’s just...God.”