Life in a Box

by Einat Lifshitz Shem-Tov

  After we finished, we joined the men, who were already sitting in the living room. Rivka sat down next to me on the sofa and said, “Michael tells me that you have a question regarding a specific card.”

  Her question brought me back to reality, to the reason I was in their home.

  “Yes,” I answered. “Do you remember anything about it?”

  “Perhaps,” was her evasive answer. “Tell me the whole story.”

  I told her about the letter, about the check that arrived and about the name on it. I told her that it must have been a previous tenant living in our house and that I had run into her name on several occasions. I also told her about my friends’ and my decision to find her.

  “I see,” said Rivka.

  I waited for her to continue, but she just said, “We’ll talk about it tomorrow.”

  I wanted to tell her that I was leaving tomorrow, but decided to keep quiet.

  The evening passed pleasantly. It was the beginning of September. The days were fairly warm, but the nights were already cool. A slight breeze was blowing that swayed the leaves and branches. The atmosphere in the room was relaxed and the conversation among the men focused on the Olympics. Rivka and Naomi talked about personal things and I let myself sink into the comfortable sofa, listening to the voices around me and absorbing the serenity and the security that each one of them felt in his home surrounded by his family.

  Naomi’s voice said, “OK, we’re going to bed. Tomorrow we’re getting up early. We made plans with friends to go on a short trip.”

  Jerry got up from his seat, and Mickey followed suit. The men shook hands and the women gave hugs and received hugs, including me in the exchange.

  “I really am happy to have met you,” Naomi said to me, and I believed her.

  “She’ll be back,” Rivka said suddenly. I looked at her and felt flustered.

  “Great,” said Naomi.

  After they went upstairs, the sounds of the house had quieted. Rivka and Shlomo went up to their room a few minutes later, and Mickey and I remained alone. Mickey sat down next to me on the sofa with a smile on his face.

  “Why are you smiling?” I asked.

  “Just because,” he answered.

  “No, really, why?” I insisted.

  “Because I’m just happy that you’re here,” he answered. I felt myself blushing. “How did you enjoy the evening?” he asked.

  “It was fine.” Mickey wasn’t satisfied with the answer. He kept his eyes on my face, waiting. “Actually, I felt very comfortable. You have a wonderful family.”

  “And…”

  “And it’s strange, because I’ve never been a guest at a home where I don’t know the people. I thought it would be uncomfortable, but your family—especially your mother—made me feel as if I belong here, even though she only met me today.”

  “What do you mean, you’ve never been a guest?”

  I thought for a minute before answering. I don’t know how to present my family to him. Lately, a lot of questions about them have come up. The only life I knew is suddenly being shown in a different light.

  “It’s hard for me to answer that question. It isn’t that simple.”

  Mickey waited for me to continue.

  “Life at my house was totally different than the life you know. Up until recently, I thought my life was normal, but since my parents died, I’ve begun to understand that it wasn’t.”

  “In what way?”

  “I didn’t have the kind of relationship with my parents that you have with yours. I had a very flimsy connection to my mother. But I had an especially strong relationship with my father. I idolized him. He was everything to me. Everything he did was right and just in my eyes. And my mother, my mother didn’t even count.”

  Mickey moved closer to me, took my hand in his, and rested our joined hands on his thigh.

  “Go on,” he said.

  “My father’s life was very organized. Every day he would get up for work, come home in the afternoon, sit down at the table, and wait for mother to serve him his food. I don’t remember him ever showing any affection for her. Once a week he would meet with friends. He never missed these meetings. He would come back from them full of energy. Every time he came home, he had something bad to say about my mother. Sometimes he would send me to my room, and then I would hear his severe voice coming from there. Many times I heard him complain about something related to her: the food, how she looked, that she embarrassed him. Not once did she ever react, except for one time when he threatened to take me and leave the house. Then she yelled ‘Never!’ We were both surprised by her reaction. That time, he stayed quiet. He sat down in his chair and pretended to read.

  “You know, lately I’ve been remembering all kinds of things that went on in my house—incidents I thought I had forgotten. They are coming up and making me angry at myself.”

  “Angry at yourself? Why?”

  “Because I acted exactly like my father and rejected her. I didn’t allow her to be a mother. Today I regret it. I needed her—I needed a mother.”

  “So why didn’t you say anything when you were older?”

  “I don’t know. I think my father wouldn’t have liked it.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I think I knew deep inside that this was the way he wanted things to be. If I had tried to get closer to her, I’m sure he would have prevented it somehow.”

  “Why wouldn’t he want you to be close?”

  “I don’t know, but that’s how I felt, and it was important for me to please him.”

  “You think that if you had acted differently, he would’ve been angry with you?”

  “Maybe,” I said, thinking to myself. Then the words shot out of my mouth like a geyser. I said with confidence, “I would have lost him, and he never would have said a word to me. I know that from his point of view, it was her or him. There wasn’t room for a relationship with both of them.”

  “That’s too bad,” I heard him say.

  I realized I was crying only when Mickey wiped away the tears streaming down my face.

  “Lately I’ve been wasting a lot of tears.” I said with an apologetic smile.

  “Come here.” Mickey brought me closer to him, leaned my head on his shoulder, and stroked my hair. We sat for many long minutes quietly. I didn’t feel embarrassed or that I needed to run away. I felt that, at that moment, I was in the best possible place for me.

  Then I asked, “And you?”

  “I what?” he asked and moved away from me a bit.

  “How come you still live here, with your parents?”

  He moved further away from me and said, “It’s complicated. I can’t leave them alone.”

  “Because of him—to protect him?”

  “Every so often I decide I’m going to leave, but then something happens and I stay. And now enough with the questions, let’s go to sleep.”

  A little while after, we went upstairs, each to our own rooms. I remembered how he smiled when he invited me to sleep in the room for nice gentiles who aren’t potential brides.

  I woke up late the next day, shocked to see that it was after ten o’clock. I quickly packed up what little stuff I had, straightened the bed linens, and went downstairs to see the family that was already sitting around the dining table.

  “Come, join us,” Rivka said. She got up from her chair and went into the kitchen. After a minute, she came back and served me a cup of hot chocolate.

  Shlomo was engrossed in the newspaper, lifted his head to me, wished me a good morning and dropped his eyes back down. Mickey looked at me with big eyes and gave me a warm smile. “Did you sleep well?” he asked.

  “Very well,” I answered.

  “Would you like to go for a walk later?”

  “I think I’ll go home.”

  “Absolutely not!” said Rivka emphatically. “You’re staying for lunch.”

  I didn’t know what to say. I noticed that food was the main theme in the live
s of this family.

  Less than an hour later we were outside. I looked at Mickey’s profile while he drove. He had the nose of a Greek god—long and straight. His wavy hair came over his ears a bit and covered the back of his neck. One hand held the steering wheel while the other rested on the open window. Every once in a while, we spoke, but most of the time we were quiet, enjoying the closeness that had developed between us.

  It was the weekend. Traffic was light, and the car glided down the road like a boat on still waters. Soft music filled the interior of the car.

  “Let’s stop here,” he said suddenly.

  I lifted my head and saw that we had parked across from a lake with smooth waters and banks lush with low-growing vegetation. I got out of the car and took a deep breath of the crisp fresh air. The sun was reflected in the lake’s surface, and its rays shimmered like an endless dance. Mickey took my hand and said, “Let’s go for a walk.”

  We walked for several minutes in silence and then he said, “I’m really glad you stayed.”

  “Me too.”

  “Why don’t you stay tomorrow too?”

  “No,” I answered, too quickly.

  Mickey wanted to ask something but didn’t.

  “I need to get back,” I explained.

  “I understand.”

  I didn’t have anything special to do at home, but I felt that it wasn’t appropriate to spend another night with them. Even though their hospitality was warm, they were still strangers to me. The only thing that connected us was the yellow card, about which I hadn’t yet discovered a thing.

  I said, “Mickey, I want to talk to your mother about the card.”

  “Of course,” he answered. “Show it to her when we get home and see if she remembers anything about it.”

  “Thanks.”

  “But until then, let’s enjoy this beautiful Saturday.”

  We walked alongside the lake and then turned slightly inland. We walked along a path that led into the woods. The sagging tips of the tree branches provided shade and the sun flickered among them. The air was cooler and less humid. There were fragments of boulders scattered on the forest floor, and we were forced to skip around them every now and then. Once, I tripped on a stone and almost fell. Mickey caught me at the last minute and prevented me from falling.

  I asked him how his parents took the closing of the company.

  “The truth is, my father lost the motivation to hang on to the company,” he answered. “It was like the motor that was driving him at work became worn down. He would barely show up at the store during the last few years; he preferred to stay home.”

  “So why don’t you keep the business going? Why close it down?”

  His expression became serious. He answered, “Because this was an opportunity for me to leave something I didn’t really want to do.”

  “I don’t understand,” I said, looking at him.

  Mickey let out a sigh. I could see that he was debating whether to say something. In the end, he just said, “He wanted me in the business with him, and I couldn’t refuse him. The truth is, I admire him.” He looked ahead at the forest. “To survive the hell he went through as a young man and then raise a family and establish a company—well, he needed a lot of courage to do all that.”

  “So, what will you do now?” I continued to show interest.

  “I’m still dealing with the company’s paperwork and final accounts, so I don’t really have time to look for something else.”

  “I understand that your sisters didn’t want to take part in the company,” I said.

  “No, they preferred to go in other directions.”

  “And how did your parents take that?”

  “It’s complicated,” he said vaguely.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.” I pulled back.

  “It’s OK,” he reassured me.

  When we got back to the house, the table was already set. Mickey’s father washed his hands and sat in his place at the head of the table. Rivka darted between the kitchen and the dining room. The meal passed by pleasantly. Toward the end, Mickey turned to his mother and told her that I wanted to talk to her about the card we found at the office.

  “Let’s clear the table. Then we’ll talk about it.”

  We finished eating and Mickey got up and went into the kitchen. Rivka and I brought him the dishes and he put them into the dishwasher. Rivka cleaned the table with a cloth and once it was sparkling she covered it with a crimson-colored tablecloth. On one side of the table she placed a large bowl of fruit and on the other, a pair of silver candlesticks stood guard. Shlomo claimed to be tired and went upstairs to his room. We went into the living room and sat down. Mickey made space for me beside his mother and suggested I show her the card. I took the card out of my purse and presented it to her. I pointed out the place where the original name had been erased and the new name written over it. Rivka took the card, looked at it for a long time, and said, “I remember the woman.”

  My heart began to pound. Heat spread throughout my body, and I could feel my hands shaking. I put them on my knees, hoping that Mickey and Rivka didn’t notice my nervousness. Rivka turned the card over again and said again, “Yes, I definitely remember her.”

  I held my breath and waited for her to continue.

  “She bought a bed, like it says here. It was very important to her that the bed be pretty and suitable for a girl—that’s what she said to me. She asked for the most beautiful bed we had. She was an attractive woman. Very thin, I remember, and impressive. I asked for identification in order to fill out the order form. I copied the name as it was written on her ID and filled out the rest of the necessary details. When I gave her the card to sign, she read what I had written and she used a pen to scratch out the name written on her ID and replaced it with the name written here, Sonia Schwartz.”

  Rivka was quiet for a moment and continued to look at the card.

  “But didn’t you ask her why she changed the name?” I asked.

  “Actually, yes, I did ask her,” answered Rivka, still thoughtful.

  “And?”

  “She said that this was her name.”

  “I don’t understand,” I said.

  “She said that she had two names, but her real name was this one. And then she pointed to the name I told you, Sonia—Sonia Schwartz.”

  “But what kind of name is that?” I asked.

  “It’s a Jewish name!” they both answered.

  I could feel the blood surging through my veins. It felt like it was about to flow right out of my body. The dizziness I had felt before, by the table, came back. Images and parts of images were swirling around me. I put my hands down at my side and used them like crutches. I had to ask one final question, but my throat was hoarse and not a word came out of my mouth. I cleared my throat and let my body sink into the sofa, and I was finally able to ask my last question.

  “What was the name she erased?”

  “Maria Brown,” said Rivka. “Yes, I definitely remember the name. Maria Brown.”

  My body felt crushed by the knowledge and couldn’t hold me up any longer. I fell and Rivka caught me in her arms. I don’t remember anything else. When I woke up, I found myself lying on the sofa. My head rested in Mickey’s lap and Rivka held a wet cloth to my forehead.

  “Poor thing,” I heard Rivka mutter.

  “You knew,” I whispered. She nodded.

  “The food?” I asked.

  She answered, “Yes, typical Jewish food.”

  “The candlesticks—lighting the candles,” I said to myself. Now I understood. I once saw her lighting the candles and praying. My father wasn’t home that evening. I came out of my room for a minute and saw her with a handkerchief on her head and her palms covering her eyes. She didn’t see me. I looked at her with wonder, as if she was a figure in a theatrical play. Her prayer was long. She seemed to be crying—there were faint sounds coming from her covered mouth. When her hands dropped from her face, I slipped back in
to my room without her noticing. When my father came home, the candles were already out and the candlesticks were completely devoid of any remaining wax.

  Suddenly the partial images became a whole picture. The ends of the rope were joined together and became one.

  16

  It felt like time wasn’t passing whatsoever during the drive home. It was a miracle that nothing happened to me. Disjointed thoughts were rattling around in my head. When Roy told me that my mother was Sonia Schwartz, I hadn’t believed him at all—he had to be wrong. But Rivka’s words didn’t leave room for doubt. My actions became automatic and it was as if the car drove itself. Arriving home late in the evening, I didn’t notice the flashing light on the answering machine. I just wanted to get into bed and disappear. I threw my clothes every which way and got into bed, completely exhausted. I fell asleep before my head hit the pillow and slept until Sunday afternoon, when I got up to put some food in my mouth and went right back to sleep.

  They say that morning brings with it new hope. I landed back in reality on Monday morning. As soon as went into the office, I ran into Donna. She took my arm and led me into her office.

  “Are you out of your mind?” she yelled as she closed the door to her office. “I’ve been calling you for two days at all hours and you didn’t answer. I went to your house. It was dark, locked up tight, with no sign of you. Where were you? Why didn’t you call?”

  “Stop it, Donna. I have a headache. Don’t yell,” I pleaded.

  “You have a headache? My whole body hurts from worry. Did you know that I almost called the police to break down the door? Did you know that if Roy hadn’t said to wait until the beginning of the week, I would have reported you missing? Do you have any idea how worried Roy and I were?”

  “I’m sorry,” I apologized.

  “You’re sorry—that’s it?” Donna turned around to face her desk. It looked like her shoulders were shaking. Maybe she was crying.

  “I’m really sorry. I didn’t think you would worry so much.”

  “You didn’t think we would worry so much.” She repeated my words with her back still to me. “Get out of my office. Go to work.”