S
t
sat Grandpa's Cane
A Symbo Of Strength And Respect
By Ruth Zimmerman
His grandpa was a very old
man. Maybe 80 or 90 or 100, David
wasn't sure. But his back was as
bent as the handle of a teacup, and
his eyes were soft and watery and
pink. His hair, where it stragged out
from beneath his hat, was yellowish
and dry.
David's grandfather seemed
always to wear a hat — at home, on
the street, in restaurants or visiting
— a black furry felt, which hung low
over his forehead and ears. And he
always held a cane, whether he was
sitting in front of the house or
shuffling tiredly up Broadway for his
exercise. It was a handsome cane,
ebony, with ivory set into the crook
and a gleaming silver disk on the
shaft which read, "To Mayer, on his
50th birthday, from the many who
love him well.
David had never inquired too
deeply into the history of the cane.
It was just a part of Grandpa, like
his hat or his old black suit or his
voice, shaky but low and deep.
are Jewish thoughts. And this is his
see them. David giggled because
tongue."
he felt he had to, and as though the
David did not understand. He
old man were a stranger to him.
didn't like the idea of Grandpa's
One evening, about 5 o'clock,
black felt hat. He didn't like the idea David was coming home from the
of Grandpa's not speaking English.
park. As he reached the corner of
And he was ashamed of Grandpa in his street, his grandfather was just
front of his friends.
going up the little stoop of their
He didn't even want to bring his house, leaning heavily on his cane.
friends home with him from school.
Suddenly David saw him stumble.
He knew that Grandpa would be
For an instant he tottered, grasping
sitting in front of the door, leaning
vainly for support and then he fell
on his ebony cane, his pale eyes
heavily down the three steps to the
fastened on the pavement. Grandpa sidewalk. David ran.
would look up and smile and hold
out his hand.
Suddenly, David saw him
"Ah ha, yingele."
stumble. For an instant,
David would touch Grandpa's
hand with the tips of his fingers and he tottered, grasping
glance at his friends. Grandpa's
vainly for support and
Grandpa spoke hardly any English.
smile would fade. The light which
then he fell heavily down
A few words here and there, but not for a moment had brightened the
the three steps to the
so that David could talk with him.
misty eyes would die.
sidewalk.
Sometimes David could hear his
"Ah ha, yingele," he would say
mother and father speaking softly to in another tone of voice. Then, "Nu
each other and saying how strange
nu." He would shake his head
"Oi, oi," his Grandpa moaned,
it was that Grandpa had lived in
slowly and reach in his pocket for a
as he lay on the pavement, his coat
America for 50 years and couldn't
quarter or a 50-cent piece.
all hunched arotrind him, his hat
learn the langauge.- David would
"Nem, nem. Take, take." As
blown off, and his hair falling across
interrupt rudely and say, "Well, why though the money could pay David
his eyes.
can't he, that's what I'd like to
for his embarrassment.
David knelled beside his
know?"
grandfather. First he brushed back
It got so that David stopped
But David's mother would look
bringing his friends home altogether. the old man's hair. Then he picked
gently across the room at her old
up the hat and put it on his head,
Once when he was walking on
father-in-law and pat David's hand
as though afraid that someone
Broadway with the boys, they
and say, "It doesn't matter, David.
started to yell, "Old goat, old goat."
might see him not properly clothed.
Someday you will understand that it David glanced up and it was
Then he put his arm around him
doesn't matter. He has lived here for Grandpa shuffling ahead of them,
and tried to get him up. But his
50 years, but in his own world —
with his head bent low, and his
Grandpa was limp and too heavy for
with his own friends and his own
yellowish hair straggling across his
David to lift.
work and his own thoughts. They
collar. Grandpa didn't hear them or
"01, oi," Grandpa moaned.
L 6
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FRIDAY, OCTOBER 28, 1988
"Does it hurt, Grandpa? Did
you hurt yourself?"
But Grandpa only moaned and
said "oi."
David looked around wildly, not
knowing what to do. There was no
one on the street to help him, and
he was afraid to leave Grandpa
alone.
"Mama, mama," David
screamed again and again and
again. It seemed a very long time
before David's mother threw up the
window, looked out and came
hurrying down.
Between the two of them they
were able to hoist Grandpa up the
stoop and into the elevator. Upstairs,
they took off his coat and hat and
put him gently to bed.
"Mein schtecken," the old man
moaned. "Vie is mein schtecken?"
His cane! Where was his cane?
David rushed downstairs. The cane
lay on the street, broken nearly in
two.
When the doctor came, he said
that no bones had been broken, nor
had there been any physical injury
to Grandpa, aside from a bruise or
two. But the shock of a fall to such
a very old man might be serious.
Grandpa was to stay in bed until it
was sure that his old heart would
bear the strain.
For many days Grandpa lay in
bed, a small white bundle between
the white sheets. He was so weak
that he had to be fed, like a baby,
and his wrinkled hands trembled on
the coverlet. He kept the two pieces
of the cane on a chair by his
bedside, and every now and then
he reached out to stroke then.
And from everywhere in the
city, as though the word of his
illness had been carried by the
wind, came visitors — men and
women, all bent with age, misty-
eyed, and gray. They congregated
quietly around his bed and watched
lest his heart give in. There were
some who would not leave even
through the night, but sat nodding
in the darkness by the bed. They
brought him chicken soup and
home-made cakes and jams and
bottles of grape wine. They read the
Yiddish papers to him and washed
him and changed his sheets. As
leaves enfold a frail young flower, so
did the little gray people enfold their
old friend in tenderness.
David watched. And as he
watched, he wondered — wondered
how wonderful must be his Grandpa
to be so precious to his friends.