oe,1174,.,
Another time I meet her in the hallway,
I'm going and she's coming, and I see she
has a bruise on her cheek. Before I can ask
her what's wrong, she's up the stairs and
into her apartment.
I'm convinced there is something seri-
ously wrong when I meet her face to face
one day and she has a black eye. It's the
morning after a really horrible, noisy night.
She tries not to look at me, but I can see it.
"Your eye, Mrs. Tam?" I ask her.
"Please, Mrs. Silverstein, no trouble," she
says and hurries by me.
"He hits her," I say to Stanley when he
comes home.
"Who?"
"Mr. Tam. He hits his wife. I saw her
with a black eye today."
"That's terrible. No wonder there's so
much noise up there."
"She should report him to the police."
"It's none of our business," he says. "I
just want the noise to stop. That's our
business. But then he'll probably raise the
rent if we complain."
"Stanley, we have to do something. We
can't stand by and let him beat her."
"Every time strangers mix in with a
couple, to help one of them, they both gang
up on you. It happens every time," he says.
"When did you ever mix in that you
know so much about it?"
He waves his hand at me to be quiet. At
least he has the courtesy to not read the
paper at the table like he used to do when
the kids were at home. He did that to shut
out the noise, and when the kids grew up
and left for college he still did it. He was
shutting me out and I told him about it.
After that he rubbed his fingers and his
thumb together while he ate as though he
was still holding a newspaper.
No matter what Stanley does I can't sit
by and let a woman be beaten. I wait until
Mr. Tam is away from the house, then I go
upstairs. I hope I can get them to do some-
thing. I knock on their door and after a
while it opens a little and Sue peers out at
me. She's a small woman, what you would
call petite.
"Mrs. Silverstein," she says. Her big dark
eyes make her look like a surprised child.
"May I come in, please, and speak with
you and your sister-in-law?"
"Mr. Tam no like visitors. He say not let
anyone in," she says.
"In America everybody visits," I say,
leaning against the door. I can feel it move.
She is only half my size. Finally she relents
and I'm in her living room.
There is a different smell here than in my
home, and the rooms are almost empty.
Along one wall there is a shrine, ornate
with small candles in glasses and a smiling
Buddha with golden rays coming out of his
head. It looks very Catholic. Now that I'm
here I feel embarrassed that I pushed my
way in. Sue stands with the palms of her
hands pressed together and her head to
one side, looking at the rug.
I can hear Stanley saying we don't have
anything in common with these people, we
should leave them alone to solve their own
problems. Only he doesn't even solve our
problems. He leaves that to me.
I can't help myself. I feel something for
this woman. I take her hands in mine and
I say to her, "I'm worried about you.
Nobody should be hitting you."
Mars come to her eyes and she starts to
shake as she cries harder.
I put my arm around her and we stand
like that. I don't see a chair or a couch to
sit on. I'm surprised to see the sister-in- •
law sitting quietly in the other room on a
straight-back chair. When she notices that
I see her she nods and smiles. Her hands
are busy crocheting.
Sue Tam wipes her eyes with her apron
and says, "I better. Make you tea. Come
to kitchen. OK?" She says something, I
guess in Burmese, to the other woman and
In Rangoon, Mr. Tam's sister
was a chemist, a very good job
for a woman. But she doesn't
speak English so she can't
find work here.
she joins us in the kitchen. A kettle is put
on and we sit. Sue introduces us, but we
can't converse. The sister-in-law nods and
smiles at me again.
"She very educated woman," Sue Tam
says. "Chemist in Rangoon. Very good job
for woman. But no speak English, so no
work here. Besides, Mr. Tam no want wom-
an to work. Say stay at home and take care
here."
After that we take turns visiting. They
come downstairs and I make tea and serve
them some of my strudel. That's a big hit
with them.
"It's quieter," Stanley says one night, "a
blessing. Maybe they got tired of throwing
each other around."
"They don't throw each other around. He
throws his wife around."
"He doesn't look that big."
"I've been talking with them," I say, ex-
pecting an argument.
"Can I have some more coffee?" he says.
"Only less cream this time."
"They're bright, intelligent women. I'm
even teaching the sister some English."
Stanley doesn't answer, but he's really
not as grouchy as he seems. He can be ex-
tremely kind-hearted. Last fall he gave me
an extra fifty dollars to buy something for
the High Holidays. And he bought me a
new mixer when the old one burned out.
After he had his heart attack five years ago
is when I noticed the big change. "I'm
damaged goods," he said. "I could croak
any minute."
Thinking of the High Holidays it occurs
to me that I would like to give him some-
thing nice as a present. I know he likes to
look good when he goes to the synagogue,
and I'm wondering if a new kipah wouldn't
be just what he would like. It also occurs
to me that a crocheted one would be per-
fect and that Mr. Tam's sister, the chemist,
crochets beautifully.
Sue has to translate as she usually does.
It's more difficult this time, because
neither one of them understands what a sy-
nagogue is, or a kipah, but I show them
Stanley's old black one and they get the
idea of the shape. Mr. Tam's sister agrees
and I ask her how much she wants, but she
refuses to take money from me.
"She no take money from friend," Sue
says. "She make gift. She happy you like
her work." So I accept.
•
It's the afternoon of the eve of Rosh
Hashanah, the season for rain and wind.
Mr. Tam's sister has crocheted a beautiful
white kipah with a deep blue border and
a light blue Star of David in the center. I
have a box for it lined with tissue paper.
I hold it, admiring it before I pack it.
Sometimes I wish women could wear kipot,
put on phylacteries and prayer shawls. At
least we sit together now When I was a girl
men and women had to sit separately in
the synagogue.
I put the kipah in the box with a special
card. Supper, roast lamb with garlic and
potatoes, is already in the oven and the
smell fills the house. When we finish eating
we'll go to the synagogue for the New Year
service.
When I first hear the scream I think it's
the brakes of a car squealing or a kid next
door yelling. But it keeps up and I run to
the window. I see Mr. Tam in the street
with Sue and his sister. Sue is sitting in the
middle of the street screaming. while Mr.
Tam is pulling her arm trying to get her
up. His sister is trying to push him away.
No matter how hard he tries Mr. Tam can't
get his wife out of the street.
I go to the front door and yell, "Is some-
thing wrong? Can I help?"
Mr. Tam yells back at me, "No, nothing
wrong, Mrs. Silverstein. Everything OK.
You go in now." He looks embarrassed and
lets go of his wife's arm. He gets into his
car and drives away.
I run to the women. Sue is weeping and
rubbing the shoulder where he pulled on
her. I take them into my apartment and
put on the kettle for tea. I check the lamb
in the oven. Whenever I do a roast I always
cook more than we can eat. Stanley takes
sandwiches from it for several days until
he gets tired of it. So I invite them to have
Rosh Hashanah dinner with us. I make it
understood that Stanley and I have to go
to services afterwards and they agree to
stay.
THE DETROIT JEWISH NEWS
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