And I honestly didn’t know. Mama hadn’t been to Boca in a couple years since her condo-friend died. She didn’t let me think about it very long.
“It’s supposed to be a Chanukah gift, but we’re going on a two week cruise all over the Caribbean. David told me last night so I can start to get a new wardrobe. Just the two of us. Sally and Mitzie are coming to New York for two weeks and can have the apartment to themselves, I told them, if they don’t bring any dogs with them. I don’t want dog hair all over my parlor.”
“That could all change, Mama, you know. There might be four of us.”
“Four?” Mama exclaimed. “Now you tell me there may be four? You’re not bringing a floozy along with us, are you? Oooops, I’m sorry, Becky, such words should come out of my mouth in this holy place.” Mama kind of bowed her head like she was afraid the ceiling was going to fall in on us.
David put his head back and laughed, a little louder than most people laugh in the parlor…in this holy place! “No floozy, Mama, unless I’m lucky…”
“Such words, David!” Mama was being herself again, not realizing she had said it first!
“No, Mama. I’m sorry, Becky, but I’m sure you’ve heard worse.” I just nodded in the affirmative, trying to recall if I ever heard that in this parlor. “I’m trying to talk Sharbel’s mother into letting him come with us; it’ll be his seventeenth birthday, and I think he should get to spend some time with his other grandmother.”
“Before she kicks the bucket.” Mama added, but quite pleased with the news. “Oy, that would be such a blessing. They play shuffleboard on these boats, don’t they?” Mama was already planning her on-deck activities with her grandson.
“But you said ‘four’, you aren’t going to ask his mother are you?”
“No, of course not, Mama.” And he turned his gaze towards the nun in the cage. “I don’t suppose you’d be allowed to be released for two weeks?”
Now it was my turn to put my head back in a grand guffaw; I laughed louder than I ever remember laughing in this parlor, and that’s with years of Gwendolyn and Ruthie’s visits.
“I am very moved by your offer,” getting control of myself. “But I don’t think even Vatican II would include that in the renewal of the contemplative monasteries." I laughed again. “Not that I wouldn’t love it. Can you imagine us, Mama, sailing around …the islands.” I wanted to name one of the big cities down there, but I didn’t know any off the top of my head. Even after twenty years as head librarian, our “collection” didn’t cover Caribbean ports of call. I knew many of them had saints’ names; that was kind of neat.
“Not Sally and the dog-catcher?” Mama anxiously asked. “I could use a drink of water. Becky, can you ring for that lovely little nun who brings us things?”
“Sister Paula, Mama. She’s our extern sister, and I can ask her to bring some water, or cider, or would you like coffee? I can’t ‘ring her.’ She’s not a servant, although she does have a servant heart. But she’s not a servant, you know what I mean.”
“Such a world you live in? Aren’t you parched?” Mama has spoken.
“I’ll be right back.” Sister Paula of the Servant Heart was not available; I think she was driving back to the dentist to pick up Sr. Thomas Mary of the Root Canal. So I fixed a pitcher of ice water and returned to the parlor and put it on the turn.”
“It’s called a turn,” Mama was explaining to David. It twirls arounds so you can put things on it from the other side, like cookies and Danishes.” Seeing the pitcher of water. “And glasses.”
“There are glasses in the cabinet in the corner.” And so Mama fetched them and poured us all a glass of cold water, which did really hit the spot.
“Well, I must say, I am surprised at how peaceful and happy you look.” Dr. Feinstein was passing his prognosis of me through the grille. “I can see that this life has suited you well, remarkably well.”
“Is this the David who blasted me for becoming a Catholic, let alone a nun?” I said without any sarcasm, I hope. I didn’t want to spoil the mood.
“I know, I know. I never could get it through my thick skull what you were doing. And it took a long time. I’ve had a lot of Catholic patients in my practice, and oddly, it was their faith that was their best medicine…once they got over their guilt. But you know, I think it was Mama more than anything that changed my mind. I could see how much she had come to accept you; even Sally whom I never expected to speak positively of you, couldn’t stop raving about you. I guess I had to see for myself.” David was being honest and maybe even a little humble, or free from guilt, although he probably wouldn’t say that.
“And then there’s been Sharbel. I know you know all about him. Mama couldn’t hold it in any longer.” Mama just smiled and sipped her water. “He and his mother are Catholics, and oddly enough, they seem very happy.”
“Well, I’ve been very happy all these years too, and can’t even begin to explain why. Well, I could, but I’m not sure you’d understand.” And I smiled my best sisterly smile.
“I’d like to try, if you’re willing. Sally lives in Chicago, and you’re my only sibling close by; we should be friends.”
“Baruch Atah Adonai elohenu” (Blessed be the Lord Our God) sang out Mama. And from her oversized handbag, she pulled out a bottle of Mogen David Elderberry wine. “I think this calls for a little toast.”
I laughed with delight. “I’ll have to get permission, but I think Mother is going to come in pretty soon.”
“Well, David and I don’t need permission. We’ll anticipate her arrival. (To David) You open the bottle, I’ll get the glasses.” We didn’t have wine glasses in the cabinet, but some rather nice juice glasses with grapes on them. “These ‘cheese-glasses’ will do nicely.”
David and Mama each had their “cheese-glass” filled with elderberry wine, and raised them to me alone behind the grille. “L’Chaim.”
And as if it was on cue, there was a slight knock on the door, which opened, and Mother Agnes Mary came in backwards pulling Sr. Gertrude in her wheelchair.
“Ah, Mother Agnes, thank you for coming in—and our dear Sr. Gertrude.” Mama was on her feet. David sat just a little stupefied by it all. He quickly put down his glass and stood too, the perfect gentleman.
“I’m Mother Agnes Mary and this is Sr. Gertrude,” Mother said directly to David. “And you must be Dr. David Feinstein. We welcome you to our home.”
“Thank you, Ma’am, I…we are so happy to be here. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen my sister. We were just toasting our reunion and hoped you’d come in. Will you join us?”
“Oh, I see it’s Mogen David, is it? Well, I’m told Mogen David is good for the soul” said Mother Agnes Mary, very coyly. It was Mother at her best.
“And just what the doctor ordered,” added Sr. Gertrude who was putting her fingers through the bottom squares of the grille. “May we, Mother?” Sr. Gertrude was being very observant.
“Of course we may. It’s not every day we celebrate a reunion like this.” And with that Mama had our three glasses on the turn, and David and her glass refilled. It was Sr. Gertrude who raised her glass, and softly shouted: “Mazeltov!”
We all shouted back and drank our wine. David was quite taken aback by it all. I was afraid he would start crying again, which would have been all right, given the company he was in.
David lifted his glass to Mother and Sr. Gertrude: “L’Chaim.”
And Sister Gertrude, caught up in the drama of it all, raised her glass again and began to sing: “To life, to life, L’Chaim; L’Chaim, L’Chaim to life.” And we all joined in, except for Mother who didn’t know the words, but was delighted to listen to our rendition.
“I think we need a little something to nosh.” I said after the song ended.
“Such a daughter I should have; she’s a true Feinstein, Mother.” Mama then pulled out of her bag a roll of Jacob’s Water Crackers and a container of chicken livers. “I only live three blocks from Zabar�
��s; best chicken liver in New York.”
So we had our little treat. We told Mother the story of taking Mama and Papa to Broadway to see Fiddler on the Roof for their twenty-fifth anniversary; and that L’Chaim was a song from it. And Sr. Gertrude became instant friends with David by talking about Ruthie and what a splendid actress and comedian she was. David was overjoyed by it all, and at a subsequent visit, told me he couldn’t believe how real we were, how down to earth and genuinely joyful we all seemed. (I was thinking, it’s better than any seminar in all of Europe!)
Mother and Sr. Gertrude excused themselves for None, the third of our “Little Hours” at three o’clock and Mother told me to stay here with my family. “Epikeia* and L’Chaim go together.”[]
I could tell that Mama was pleased with everything. Her children were all talking to each other again. David was very good to her, for which I was most grateful and told him so in later visits. He made it possible for Mama to stay in our apartment where we both grew up. He took care of her medical insurance and even vacationed with her.
As they were getting ready to leave, Mama still hadn’t forgotten to ask: “so who is this number four on our Caribbean cruise? I shouldn’t know the mystery person?”
“Well, since Becky, Sr. Baruch, can’t go, I thought you could ask one of your lady friends who would enjoy the trip and be a good companion for you. Sharbel and I will share a cabin, and you can have whomever you’d like.”
Mama was very happy with that arrangement. “I know just who I’ll ask. Millie Hutner from next door; she’ll love it. We’ll have a blast.”
David promised he would come back and visit soon, and he told me that he would be more than happy to introduce me to his son whom, he said, was dying to meet me. I hadn’t thought about that. I was an Aunt. And I had David back in my life, and he was more accepting of everything than I ever expected. I must visit the cemetery after Vespers and thank everybody, I mean, everyone.
I sank into my stall that afternoon a half hour before Vespers. I looked at the Lord in His weekday monstrance. “I love You, Lord. Thank you for getting me to this nunnery. I thought I would go to my spot in our cemetery without ever seeing David again, and now he wants to be friends, and come visit me. Sometimes, Lord, Your ways just overwhelm me. Maybe You’ll use me, Lord, to soften David’s heart even more, and maybe he’ll come to know You. Maybe someday You’ll be Number Four on Mama and David’s vacation trips. You know, Lord, You’ve always been my Number One. L’Chaim!”
Chapter Six
CharosetA sweet, dark-colored paste made of fruits and nuts eaten at the Passover Seder. Its color and texture are meant to recall mortar (or mud used to make adobe bricks) which the Israelites used when they were enslaved in Ancient Egypt. Clay.
The Jewish Passover was still six months away, but because of our grand reunion, Mama brought us a couple quart containers of charoset. It brought back a flood of memories in my meditation time after Vespers. Mama would be in full swing preparing for the Seder meal, but put me in charge of the charoset. She called it the sweetness of the Seder. It was a mixture of chopped apples, dates, and walnuts, and we’d add blanched slivered almonds…and sweet wine! Mama’s secret ingredient was honey and some fresh ground cinnamon, just a pinch or two, or three. One year she added raisins, but not in this batch. I knew it was supposed to represent the mortar which the Hebrew slaves were forced to use to make bricks.
It’s not really mentioned at the first Seder, nor is there a blessing for it in the Haggadah, the “prayer book” of the Seder. Really good charoset was sticky and sweet. It held life together…the bitter and the sweet; the really sad times and the times of rejoicing. Tragedy and comedy.
“Becky, don’t eat the charoset yet.”
“Yes, Mama.” I almost caught myself saying out loud in my choir stall.
Funny how our short little day-dreams can be so real and so reminiscent of my childhood. I did make the charoset a couple times. Josh always wanted to do it, but Mama wouldn’t let him in the kitchen. Charoset…the mortar holding us together, was woman’s work.
Oddly enough, I thought again of Eli. He was kind of like charoset. Being the doorman, he was there whenever we moved from the outside to the inside. Summer and winter. He was like the building’s charoset, holding us together in this brick building on West 79th Street. And what is the charoset of this stone building in Brooklyn Heights? I think “the faith” is the charoset of our life. It has certainly been the one thing, both bitter and sweet, that holds us together. It is the only thing that makes sense in the impossible world in which we build our bricks…our lives.
That evening after Vespers, I grabbed a jacket by the side door and made my way out to the cemetery. I thought about Our Lady making her charoset for Passover and delighting in Jesus’s delighting in it. Maybe Mary herself is our charoset, after all we do call her “our life, our sweetness, and our hope.” It was in her immaculate womb that heaven and earth were joined together in the Incarnation of the Word. I found my way to the bench where I sat this morning. It was truly dusk; the long shadows of the afternoon faded into that in between light before nightfall. Despite the slight drone of traffic wafting over our enclosure wall, it is very silent and peaceful here.
My meditation, however, got interrupted by thinking about my next parlor with Gwendolyn. She was coming to see me tomorrow! Of all people on the outside, she would be the one that I’d want to share everything about my reunion with David. She kept in telephone touch with Mama, but not as regularly as a couple years ago. It’s fitting that she’s a part of this all.
Thinking about Gwendolyn stirred up a new worry for her. She was in her mid-seventies now and still working. She went from running her British tea shop, Tea on Thames, to Penguin Pub and the new millennium; I didn’t know how she did it. But this was her “charoset”, the sweetness and joy in her life. Gwendolyn was a widow at age thirty-two. She and her young son came to America and lived in a small walk-up apartment on West 75th Street. Her son, Christopher, was killed riding his bike when they were vacationing at Seaside Heights on the Jersey shore. I said a prayer for both of them before going in. I was looking forward to supper and then to going to the infirmary to thank everyone there for their prayers. It had been quite a day.
* * *
Gwendolyn arrived on time. She always travelled by cab now. She settled into the wooden chair with arm rests, close to the grille, as always. She waved to me as I came through the doorway on my side of the parlor.
“Your fairy-godmother is here bearing gifts.” Already on the turn was a large bakery style box filled with something from the Penguin Pub Ovens. “I’ve created new autumn biscuits called ‘Falling Leaves’—you’ll love them; they have three different flavors in one biscuit.” By “biscuit” Gwendolyn meant “cookie.”
“Do you get all three flavors if you stick the whole biscuit in your mouth at once?” She thought I was being facetious, but I was actually quite sincere.
“You won’t do that with these, M.B., they’re too big.” Gwendolyn always called me by my initials. I think it was a British thing, like the “biscuits.”
“And what are the three flavors, pray tell?”
“There are two varieties, in flavor and color. Mint chocolate with mandarin orange and lemon twist. Or Cocoa cream, pumpkin spice, and yellow corn.”
“They sound disgusting. I can’t wait to try them!”
We laughed. It was good to see her and hear her laugh – her costume jewelry collection clinking and tinkling as she brushed back her hair with her hand. Three of her five fingers had rings on them, and her dangling penguin earrings swung back and forth.
“So tell me, how did it go? Did David rant and rave and call you names?” Gwendolyn knew what I had gone through with David and my family.
“It was very emotional, as you can imagine. But old age has certainly mellowed his anti-Catholic fire. We didn’t talk about religion at all. He and Mama are going on a cruise, and he’s taking his son,
Sharbel, and a friend of Mama’s, Mrs. Hutner, her neighbor. She didn’t live in our building when I was growing up, but I met her when I went home for Ruthie; you met her too; she was the nice lady who kept the coffee up to date and sorted out the food as it came in. Millie Hutner, which I think is short for Mildred. She’s also a widow and around Mama’s age, so they will have a lovely time aboard the cruise ship. David didn’t go into any song and dance about Sharbel; he knew that I knew. Mama had filled him in on a lot of stuff, I think. But he wants Sharbel to meet me. Mother Agnes Mary and Sr. Gertrude came in too, and David was the perfect gentleman. They even had a glass of Mogen David with us.”
“David brought Mogen David with him?”
“Mama.”
“Of course she would! Such a blessing, my son Doctor David, and Mogen David.”
“David said he will come and visit me, if that’s okay…that we’ve got a lot of catching up to do. He looks quite distinguished, I think.”
“I could look quite distinguished if I lived on 65th and Third Avenue.” We laughed. “Well, I’ve got some news for you, M.B., and need your prayers.”
“Uh oh. Don’t tell me you’re getting married or something.” That set all the jewelry and penguins in full swing again.
“Not me, dahling, that’s not a cocktail I plan on drinking! No, I’m getting out of the business. We had a big slump, you know, after Ruthie died, and it took a while to get back on our feet, but old Ruben the Penguin was back in business. Jimmy Oliver took over as MC and was a big hit; and we had some big names beginning to ‘appear nightly’ at Penguin Pub. I’ve made a bundle of money, and now it’s time to retire. My sister, Jacqueline wants to retire too, and wants me to move back to England and get a Bungalow together, or something. She’s my only relative left, you know…maybe like you and David, we’ve got a lot of catching up to do. I’m leaving after the new year.”
There was a dead silence. I couldn’t say anything; I couldn’t speak. It all came back to me in a silent flash. I didn’t have the opportunity, or good fortune, or luxury, whatever, of having lots of friends. When we walk through the enclosure door, we leave family and friends on the other side. We may become acquainted with some very nice people over the years, but we lose most of our friends. Some maybe, we get Christmas cards from, and once in a while a parlor visit. But I really had only two dear friends: Greta and Gwendolyn.
The Middle Ages of Sister Mary Baruch (Sister Mary Baruch, O.P. Book 2) Page 7
