An Unorthodox Match

by Naomi Ragen

  The girl continued to stare. If anything, her hostility went up a notch.

  Next to her, Leah thought, Gittel Ruchel was a bubbly Chabad outreacher.

  “I don’t know you,” the girl finally said. “I can’t let in a stranger to take care of my brother and sister.”

  Leah shifted nervously from foot to foot, unsure what to do next. “But you know Rebbitzen Basha, right?”

  The girl nodded reluctantly.

  “So why don’t you call and ask her? Or call your grandmother? I’ll wait outside.”

  The girl nodded, only too happy to shut the door in her face. Leah sat down on the steps, all her good feelings suddenly draining away. She felt chilled. Love your neighbor as yourself, even if he treats you like dirt when you are trying to do him a favor. Then the door suddenly cracked open. Leah hurriedly rose, looking inside. While the scowl had disappeared, the girl’s expression could hardly be mistaken for anything remotely welcoming. Seeing the door open just wide enough for a human being to pass through, Leah quickly squeaked inside the motherless home.

  “The baby likes to have his chocolate milk warmed up. He can drink it from a cup, but if he doesn’t know you, he’ll want a bottle,” Shaindele instructed her, ushering her into the kitchen. “Chasya is playing with her dolls now, but she is throwing up. She sometimes doesn’t make it to the bathroom, so here is a pail. Bring it to her quickly if she says her stomach hurts. And here is her medicine. She needs a spoonful every two hours.”

  Leah looked over the determined young girl giving orders like somebody’s disgruntled mother-in-law. She looks barely twelve, Leah thought. But if she was wearing the school uniform of Bais Yaakov High School, she must have been at least fourteen, fifteen, maybe older. She was pretty, plump, and pink-cheeked. If she’d only smile, she’d be adorable, Leah thought, exhaling, pushing herself to look beyond the abrasive posturing to the heart of a kid who had recently lost her mother and whose life was obviously in turmoil trying to take up the slack. “Thank you for the information.”

  The girl could barely stand to look at her. “I don’t like to leave them with strangers,” she repeated, her chin trembling.

  Oh, my goodness, she’s about to cry! Leah thought, her heart melting. She reached out gently, touching the girl’s shoulder. Shaindele flinched as if she’d been smacked. Quickly, Leah’s snatched back her hand as if from a glowing coal.

  “I’ll show you where the diapers are, and the snacks for Chasya.”

  Leah followed her silently down the hallway. Suddenly, a little girl appeared.

  “Go lie down!” Shaindele ordered her.

  The child looked up with dull indifference, her pale little face illuminated by two bright, feverish spots. Then she suddenly screamed, “Oy, my stomach hurts!” Shaindele ran to fetch the pail from the bedroom, but it was too late.

  “Now look what you’ve done!” Shaindele screamed, shoving the child hard toward the bedroom. “Didn’t I tell you to stay in bed! Now I’m going to smell like vomit, and I’ll be late for school! Why can’t you ever listen!”

  The child stumbled forward, then turned around, looking over her shoulder at her sister, her little eyes aflame with hatred. “Go away! You’re a rosha. I don’t like you. Meshuganah!” she screamed before bursting into tears.

  Leah listened in astonishment. It was more like an exchange between kindergartners than a child-minder and her charge. She saw Shaindele throw her a quick, embarrassed glance before picking up Chasya and carrying her into the bathroom. Concerned, Leah followed.

  It was not lost on her that Shaindele deliberately left the bathroom door open, cooing to the child with unconvincing sweetness as she washed her face. Chasya, unimpressed, continued to sob.

  “The lady is going to play dolls with you and do puzzles. You’ll have fun!” Shaindele told her theatrically as if practicing for an audition. At this, Chasya pushed her body away from her sister’s embrace with both her little hands, craning to look at Leah.

  Leah nodded, smiling. “Would you like to come and play with me, Chasya?”

  The child looked down, wary.

  “We’ll be all right,” Leah assured Shaindele. “I’ll manage. You’d better go, or you’ll be late for school,” she said, trying to demonstrate a competence she didn’t feel while expressing a loving-kindness she sincerely did.

  “I don’t know. I’m the only one she trusts,” Shaindele informed her, only to have Chasya wriggle out of her arms and run away. The older girl’s face reddened. “She’s overtired. I’ll lay her down for a nap.” Her face clenched in grim determination as she searched for the child, whom she found hiding behind the couch. Pulling the child’s flailing little body roughly into her arms, she held her fast. “You,” she ordered, pointing at Leah, “wait here.”

  Leah didn’t argue, listening to the two sisters as they fought, surprised at the venom of the exchange, which left the little one wailing. A door slammed shut, and then it was suddenly quiet. As instructed, she waited. Wandering around the living room, a tableful of photographs caught her eye. There were sepia portraits of family gatherings in which children of all ages crowded around bearded men in large black hats seated next to women in elaborate hair coverings, everyone’s faces serious, even somber, as if they could foresee the tragic future of the European towns and villages their families had lived in for centuries. Then there were the recent photos: school portraits of maturing young yeshiva boys; a slightly younger Shaindele, her expression gentle and sweet, in a frilly blue blouse with blue bows in her long brown hair; a wide-eyed, smiling Chasya; and finally a gorgeous, blue-eyed baby.

  But the photo that made her eyes linger was a formal wedding portrait. She picked it up, studying the faces. The bride seemed only a little older than Shaindele, with the same pretty, plump face and large, brown eyes. The dead mother, she realized, chilled. She was so young, her soft, fragile lips curled in a hesitant, almost confused smile, her tiny body swathed in a voluminous white dress that made her seem like a child playing dress-up.

  In contrast, the groom’s smile was an unselfconscious beam of pure delight. He was tall, youthful, and extremely handsome, with shoulders so broad they seemed to stretch the fabric of his dark suit. His forehead was wide, glistening with youth, hope, and intelligence, and his large, blue eyes gentle. He had a fine, straight nose but one that gave character to a person’s face, the kind she imagined would wrinkle in amusement or snort in contempt. His lips were well formed over strong, straight, white teeth. His hair and short beard were a dark blond, calling to mind the sun-lightened hair of backpackers she’d come across on nature treks, those tall, tan men with their long, supple limbs. He seemed lighter, sunnier, less somber than the other men she’d come across in Boro Park, men who always seemed a bit bowed as if they were carrying the weight of the world on their shoulders. She couldn’t take her eyes off him. Only when she heard approaching footsteps did she hurriedly replace the photo, embarrassed.

  “She won’t nap. She’s playing now. Try not to upset her,” Shaindele instructed, striding into the living room. “I’ll get home as soon as I can.”

  “What about the baby? Does he also need medicine? And what do I feed him when he gets up?”

  “Mordechai Shalom has taken all his medicine. If he gets up, you’ll probably frighten him, so don’t get too close. You can make him a bottle of warm chocolate milk and hand it to him while he’s in his crib.”

  “No problem,” Leah said as pleasantly as she could. Frighten him! The little witch!

  Shaindele put on her coat and went to the door, turning to look at Leah doubtfully. “If you can’t manage, knock on Mrs. Kornbluth’s door one flight up. She’ll help. The children know her.” Without another word or any pleasantries of farewell—not to mention a “how nice of you to help us out”—the girl opened the door and left.

  “Have a great day!” Leah called out after her as she went to lock and double bolt the door. “Try not to enter any personality contests!” she whisper
ed to herself, exhaling, relieved to finally be alone. She wandered through the quiet rooms. There was a picture of a bearded rebbe, and one of the Western Wall, both garish and poorly executed in ugly shades of brown. But then there were other framed pictures: flowers, the sea, laughing children at the beach. She walked up to them to take a closer look. Why, they were jigsaw puzzles that had been laminated, she realized. How strange. But original, too, and sweet.

  It was a nice-sized apartment, but the furniture was worn, the carpets frayed from too many vigorous vacuum cleaner sessions. A damp, wretched odor of unwashed clothes in overflowing hampers seeped out from the bathroom. Everywhere, clothing littered the floors, competing with the toys. In the kitchen, unwashed dishes were piled high in two separate sinks, and used pots cluttered the counters.

  She peeked in on the children. Chasya was playing quietly with her dolls, and the baby was still asleep. She closed their doors gently, tiptoeing away. If they were happy, she was happy.

  She picked up the scattered clothes, adding them to the hampers, then separated the laundry into darks and lights, putting in a load. She estimated there were at least four more to go. Finding an apron, she pulled it over her head, then washed all the dishes and pots. Only when she was done did she realize there were two dishwashers, obviously one for meat and one for milk dishes. She opened them, but they too were filled with unwashed dishes. She put in little packets of soap she found underneath the sink, putting up both loads to wash. Above the noise of the machines, she suddenly heard a baby call out.

  He was standing up in his crib, his wheat-colored hair in spikes, the bangs drifting into his large, blue eyes. His cheeks were red and flushed, but he had a big grin on his face, which immediately turned to a frown when she walked in.

  “Hey, little one!” she said softly, not moving too close. She had experience with little kids from being a counselor and then an au pair. They hated anything sudden, especially aggressive affection from strangers. At a safe distance, she covered her eyes with her hands. “Peekaboo!” she said.

  The baby looked at her, startled, trembling, but the frown was gone, replaced by curiosity. Then he saw her hands go down and her warm, wide smile. It was such a relief that he giggled, the way people laugh after the plunge of a roller coaster when they are safely still and at the bottom. Encouraged, she tried it again. This time he laughed outright, the infectious, miraculous, joyous laugh of a baby having fun.

  She put out her arms for him, and he reached out toward her. Only then did she approach him, lifting him gently into her arms. His silky hair tickled her chin, and his warm, soft body seemed to melt into her chest. This is why women have breasts, she thought, glad she had a soft place for a little person to land. He clung to her, and she clung back with a longing that surprised her.

  “Mordechai Shalom,” she murmured into his little head. “Such a big name for such a little person. Well, we’ll have to find something a little more appropriate to call you, won’t we? Let’s see.” She gently twirled around the room with him, and he laughed. “It’s those cheeks you’ve got! World-class cheeks,” she told him. “Like pieces of sweet, pink marshmallows. Let’s call you Cheeky, shall we? No one has to know, just the two of us, okay?” She looked into his face, smiling, and he smiled back.

  “I don’t want to offend you, sir, since you seem such a nice fellow. In fact, you are lovely. But the truth is, you smell. Terrible! Why don’t we fix that?” She laid him down on top of a changing table, softly tickling his stomach and tenderly kissing his belly button. He rocked with laughter. “Cheeky, Cheeky, Cheeky,” she whispered, laughing, pulling off his diaper. It was disgusting. She did the best she could to fold it so it wouldn’t soil anything else, then wiped the child clean with baby wipes. But it was no use. He needed a bath.

  Taking off his wet undershirt, she carried him naked into the bathroom, hoping he wouldn’t pee all over her on the way. “You wouldn’t do that to me, Cheeky, would you? No. Such a sweet little fellow like you?” she crooned, laughing. Filling the tub and testing the water temperature, she gently lowered him down. He was immediately ecstatic, splashing around and giggling, completely cooperative.

  Gently and in great happiness, she soaped his round, soft, beautiful behind, his plump, kicking legs, and firm little back, until his pale skin glistened with fragrant bubbles. When it was time to rinse him off and take him out, she looked around for a towel. The only one she saw was hanging limply from a hook on the bathroom door. Like everything else in the house, it didn’t look very clean. She couldn’t very well leave him alone in the bathtub to look for a better one. For a moment, she considered carrying him dripping wet through the house, but she abandoned the idea. It would leave her own clothes soaking wet and muddy the already dirty floors. Besides, given the state of the house, there probably wasn’t a clean towel to be had. Unhappily, she reached for the one on the door, then pulled out the bath plug. From experience, babies were much more likely to agree to come out once all the water was gone. Indeed, he didn’t resist when she lifted him out, wrapping him snugly but uneasily in the towel, hoping no one in the family had a skin disease.

  The entire time, he was sweet, smiley, and adorable. He’s used to strangers taking care of him, she thought sadly, wondering how many he had seen come and go since his mother died. She felt her throat ache at the thought. Poor baby! Poor, poor baby.

  She kissed his sweet-smelling, newly shampooed hair, rubbing her cheek against his. His face was radiant, pink and warm and delicious. Such a miracle, a baby, she thought. A creation more beautiful and wondrous than the greatest mountain range or the most sublime sunset, not to mention all the works of man, which paled in comparison. I love the God who created this baby, she thought. Love and worship Him. Unexpected tears suddenly flooded her eyes.

  Almost reluctantly, she loosened her grip, laying him down in his crib and going off in search of some clean clothes. After a lengthy and unsuccessful rummage through closets and dresser drawers, all she managed to come up with were a mismatched pajama top and bottom, both a little too small. They’d have to do. She shrugged.

  “I apologize, my friend,” she told him as she dressed him. “You certainly deserve better. But not to worry, we are washing you some clothes, Cheeky, and we’ll have you dressed up like a regular Boro Park gentleman in a jiffy! Even Shaindele might look at you and lose her grumpy frown! But in the meantime, why don’t we get you something to drink?”

  She carried him into the kitchen. If he had a stomach virus, chocolate milk was about the last thing he needed, she thought, remembering her own stomachache days. “Why don’t we get you some sweet chamomile tea? And maybe some dried crackers with jam?” She strapped him into his high chair carefully, then gave him a wooden spoon. Happily, he banged it against the plastic tray like a pro.

  From the corner of her eye, she saw Chasya appear.

  The child was a fierce and miserable little thing, unhappiness pouring through her eyes like dark light. It was not a normal child’s misery that comes as swiftly as a summer shower and disappears with a shining forgetfulness in a burst of sunshine, Leah thought. It was ingrained like an adult’s and had been there for some time, etching the sad little corners of eyes that looked out with suspicion and yet an odd hopefulness. That was the child in her, that hope, despite disappointment, Leah thought. She could see it, darting out of the dark eyes like a little kitten who crawls beneath a sofa and carefully surveys the dangers before emerging. If only I could coax it out, she thought.

  “Chasya, sweetie. Come here. I’ll bet you’re also hungry. But first, let’s get you your medicine.” The child drew closer. To Leah’s surprise, she opened her mouth eagerly. Apparently, she liked the taste of it! Leah spooned the dosage into her mouth.

  “More,” she begged.

  “Oh, I don’t think so. But what about something else?” She opened the fridge, examining what was on offer. Huge, anonymous plastic containers took up most of the shelf space. She felt like an archaeologist. U
ntil she figured out what was in them and what was still edible, it was going to take a while. She searched the freezer. With relief, she spied a package of mango ice pops. She hesitated, then decided they couldn’t be worse than the chocolate milk their sister had been feeding them.

  “What about one of these?” she offered Chasya, waving the orange-colored treat in front of her.

  “That’s for oneg Shabbos,” the child said, shaking her head as she rejected the offer with surprising self-discipline. Leah was flabbergasted.

  “That’s okay, honey. These are special circumstances. I’m sure your tateh wouldn’t mind. Besides, we can always buy more.” She held it out to her.

  Chasya hesitated, then took it soberly, like a shopper making an exchange, wanting to ensure they weren’t being cheated.

  Leah watched as she carefully rolled back the wrapper, then took long, slow licks, obviously in heaven.

  “We should give you a nickname, too. Let’s see, your brother is Cheeky…”

  Chasya giggled.

  “Thank you. I agree. Great choice. I’m a genius. And you can be—”

  “Ice cream!” the child proclaimed.

  “Okay, not bad. But what about Icy?”

  “Icy,” the child repeated, laughing.

  “Icy, why don’t you come and set a while, as my neighbor in San Jose used to say.” She smiled at the child, patting the chair next to her. Shyly, Chasya smiled back, approaching gingerly and then slowly pulling herself up into the chair with her one free hand.

  “Of course, now that I’ve given you ices, I’ll have to give one to your brother. And if I give one to him, then why should I be Cinderella? I might as well have one, too.”

  She sat there in the unfamiliar, crowded kitchen, listening to the noise of two dishwashers and the sloshing, whirring sounds of an overworked washing machine. The children chattered contentedly, their sweet little voices rising and falling as they slurped their ices. For no reason at all, she felt her heart suddenly fill with unreasonable hope. How strange, she marveled, licking her ice pop, feeling more alive than she had in years, perhaps ever.