They would ask if he had
stopped at the bakery on his
way home. How his kinder
had loved sweets, especially
chocolate. So on Shabbat, he
had always stopped at old
man Perwin's on Twelfth
Street. It wasn't such a hard
thing to do. Only two more
blocks to walk from the bus
stop. And half the time Per-
win had given free of charge
the little seven-layer cakes for
the boys. Shimson had never
forgotten. Not even once.
His Gittel had been dif-
ferent in those days before the
boys had gotten so big and
had gone off to school. When
the rest of the family was rea-
dying for sleep, she would still
be busy with her knitting.
And she smiled sometimes
then. How many times had he
found her late at night sleep-
ing on the sofa with the lights
on and the knitting resting on
her lap? The sweater was for
his birthday, his last birthday
before his wife Rachel had
died. Gittel never had yelled
at him before Rachel had
died. No. She didn't yell so
much at all in those days.
He turned back to her. She
was still waiting for him.
"Gittel, is time? I want to go
now."
"No, Pa, you're not going.
How many times do I have to
tell you? It's always the same
thing with you. Where do you
think you're going anyway?
We won't throw you out! It's
just like you to carry on. You
want to kill me with your
questions?"
"Nu. So what is to do?" he
said to himself.
"Pa, come in before it gets
too cold," Gittel said as she
turned toward the house. She
stopped, hesitated and then
added, "Come in and eat now,
Pa. It's better if you've finish-
ed your dinner before Al gets
home!'
Shimson looked up and
watched her until she stepped
into the back door of the
house.
house where it was warm and
safe. Besides, he wanted to
tell her not to be afraid of the
voices. He had made the boys
go away.
He looked for his daughter
in the house. Shimson walked
first into her bedroom. She
wasn't there. He knocked on
the door of the bathroom;
when he heard no answer, he
pushed it open and looked
quickly around.
"Tochter you there?" Still
no answer.
When he finally found her
in the kitchen, Shimson
shuffled quickly back to his
bedroom. In the dark, his stiff
fingers rubbed across the sur-
face of a dulled mahogany
dresser until they struck
against a six-inch, square
wind-up clock. Without look-
ing up, he turned from the
dresser; taking small, scrap-
ing steps, he made his way
back to the kitchen.
"Is the right time, Gittel?"
"Yes, Pa?'
"I mean, is mine clock like
your clock?"
"Yes. Yes. It's the right time,
already!"
What time is it, tochter?"
"Pa, what's the matter with
you? See for yourself. My God,
Pa! You don't have to keep
asking. It's 5:30!"
"5:30, eh, Gittel?" There
was plenty of time.
"Pa, put your clock away.
Come and eat."
"Is it time?" Shimson asked
again. "Pretty soon."
"Now, Pa, before Al gets
home!"
* * *
Shimson watched as Gittel
placed the steaming chicken
soup and a plate of carrots
and broccoli in front of him.
His Rachel had taught Gittel
not to cook too much the
vegetables, but to steam them
soft and sweet. Every day Git-
tel prepared two different
meals: one for Shimson, and
a different one for her and Al.
Now too much trouble for her,
Shimson thought. Was better
eyes with the palms of her
hands. The family was
warmed by her presence. So
long as Rachel was alive, the
Shabbat was honored, even in
Al's house. The boys would
return home early enough to
shower and change from their
street clothes. They would
come scrubbed and shining in
a white dress shirt and
pressed black pants to the
table. And they had kisses for
the Grandma, and for the
Zayde also. After the dinner,
I made the blessing for the
family, and then Al would
make the blessing for the
boys, my kinder. "May you be
like Joseph, Ephriam and
Manasseh." Then Rachel
would look on me, and say to
the family, "shah." And when
it was just so, I'd bless mine
Gittel: "May God bless you as
He blessed Sarah, Rachel and
Leah!'
* * *
Shimson returned outside
to make sure the boys with
their shouting and trouble
stayed away. The boys from
mine village did not have
time to make from nothing
trouble. Especially for the old
ones. The old ones were
honored for their years, and
for their learning. It was a gift
to spend time and to study at
the table with the elders on
Shabbat. You had to be
chosen.
Hunched over, Shimson
began swaying, first to the
front and then to the back,
but he did not move from his
spot watching the back gate.
His mumbling became sing
song and his words changed
to a soft hum. He closed his
eyes and tried to imagine the
colors of the backyard. He
told himself green like thick
grass, yellow like the wild
buttercup flowers, black like
the fertile earth. Though he
said the words over and over
again like a magic enchant-
ment, he could not make the
pictures appear.
White, white morning snow
strained to run faster and
faster.
Shimson clapped his hands
together in time to the music
spinning in his mind. "Pro-
schay te nivaya derevnya, Pro-
schay te tsigganskaya lyubov."
He half sang and half
whispered.
The words floated along the
river, and the orange streaked
sky made the river's rolling
waves a reflection of liquid
fire that sprang at Shimson's
eyes.
"Louder, let the music play
louder," Shimson shouted over
the joyous voices. "Come,
Rachel. Greet our guests."
"You must honor God with
prayer and study," Reb Avrom
began. "That has been the
way of our people, the way of
your father of blessed memory.
"And you must honor my
daughter with kindness and
good works. Shimson, with
God's help you can achieve
much. But always remember
our God, the God of Abraham,
Isaac and Jacob must be your
God and the God of your
children."
Shimson bent down to his
father-in-law, glanced quickly
at Rachel and kissed him on
the cheek. "You worry too
much, Reb Avrom. So you talk
too much. I shall always
honor you and your daughter.
Now please God, Reb Avrom,
bless my Rachel and me."
Shimson watched Rachel.
She was at one time part of the
festivities and removed from
them. He saw Rachel look
toward her mother, father and
brothers, but she did not walk
over to them.
"Pa — come inside. It's get-
ting cold and dark. Pa!" Git-
tel called. "Old man," she
muttered. The thought
"selfish, old thing" jumped at
her, but she pushed it away. It
hadn't always been like this.
Once upon a time Pa had
brought me in from the cold.
Held my hand. We went
places together. Now he can't
take care of himself. And he
Love is stronger than death.
"I see you," a soft, high-
pitched voice taunted.
"I see you," joined another
voice.
"Where? Gittel, did you
yell? Gittel?" Shimson called
out.
Two boys about 11 years old
ran from behind his backyard
gate as Shimson pushed
himself up from his chair.
"I see you . . . see you," they
called, scampering away.
"What? Say again," Shim-
son said. "I don't understand
the words."
His heart beat wildly, and
even though it was chilly,
Shimson was sweating. He
needed to return to Gittel's
with the boys home. There
was plenty of talk with those
boys. The kinder knew from
baseball and from school. And
from girls, even. Same like
mine village back home. Mine
friends also made up moun-
tains to climb and gave fangs
to sparrows. Same thing.
"Is Friday today, tochter,"
Shimson said quietly. "Al
should make from the
prayers!'
Shimson knew the Shabbat
prayers by heart. He didn't
need Al to read them. Shim-
son thought of his Rachel
standing before the Shabbat
candles, the orange flame
flickering as she covered her
was all Shimson could see,
clean and shimmering like a
diamond in sunlight. The
snapping sound it made as his
legs crushed it to the frozen
soil scratched at his ears. The
air tasted of ice water, like a
drink from a spring river. As
he strode in bouncing steps,
snow became trapped in the
inside of his black, fur-lined
galoshes and gnawed at his
ankles. He broke from a half
jog into a full sprint. Shimson
kicked but with his legs as he
ran, forcing his knees high in-
to the air and then placing his
heels firmly against the
ground. He half sang and half
laughed out loud as he
won't let me care for him. He
fights me. In his way, he
fights me.
"Pa — it's getting too cold
tout here for me. Don't make
me go looking for you. You'll
catch pneumonia, Pa."
My beloved is mine, Shim-
son whispered in Rachel's ear
"Pa! Come in here now!"
"Rachel, why do you tremble
at the noises of the night?"
"Where are you old man? I
can't stay out here anymore.
Come on, Pa. Where are you?
Are you all right?"
"Ssh. Ssh, my Rachel, my
love. I am here."
"Shimson, I love you. I love
you forever." ❑
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