Jews vs Zombies

by Rena Rossner

  The door to the roof groaned open, and he was off like a shot.

  THE FRIDAY PEOPLE

  SARAH LOTZ

  It was Jimmy Lowenstein who first started calling our motley group of middle-aged men and women the ‘Friday People’. We’d gotten to know each other over the years, nodding in recognition as we met in the lobby or the lifts, trading ‘what can you do?’ eye-rolls and small talk. We weren’t close friends or anything like that. Like soldiers thrust together on the front lines, it was a camaraderie born out of shared misery: the fact that our respective relatives had guilt-tripped us into spending every Shabbat at the Benchley Heights apartment block. It became tradition to meet beforehand and huddle outside the building’s lobby, trading quips with the homeless who lived on the beach, bouncing cigarettes like teenagers and popping breath mints.

  Like its residents – most of whom had lived in the building for decades – Benchley Heights resisted change. A curiously unappealing art deco building overlooking the Sea Point promenade in Cape Town, it lurked between a row of brand new chrome condominium developments like a fusty octogenarian surrounded by flashy teenagers. Most of the Friday People’s relatives – my mother, Jimmy’s uncle, Rachel White’s aunt, Tony Apteker’s parents and so on – lived on the top three floors, where the corridors always reeked of soup, slow-roasted chicken and stale cigarette smoke.

  My mother had spent the last two decades obsessing about the minutiae of my personal life and phoning me several times a day: ‘I had to phone, Nathan, because I was hungry. How could I eat? You might call and then I would have food in my mouth.’ She’d worked tirelessly to hone herself into a stereotype in every way except the pleasant ones. She wouldn’t spend days preparing some lavish Shabbat feast – she’d throw a cabbage in a pot on Friday morning like she was living in the ghetto she never knew. No, Friday nights were reserved for bringing me up to speed in excruciating detail on the comings and goings of her neighbours. I knew more about Sarah White’s bursitis and Zachary Lowenstein’s insomnia than was probably healthy.

  One Friday night, I’d barely walked through the door when she grabbed my sleeve and pulled me into the lounge. ‘Nathan, now sit, because you won’t want to hear this news while standing. You know Estelle Apteker in number seventeen? Well, she was feeling sick last week and her daughter-in-law took her to the GP. Indigestion, she thought. But you’ll never guess what – it’s cancer of the liver. They think it might have spread. It won’t be long.’ She loved the drama of it. They all did. It had been years since there had been a death in the building.

  Jimmy clapped me on the back and greeted me cheerfully when we met in the lift after I’d escaped my mother’s clutches that evening. He was a phlegmatic man whose large, drooping face had the look of a melting candle. I’d rarely seen Jimmy smile, and there was something disturbing about seeing him brimming with so much bonhomie. ‘Hey, Nate,’ he said. ‘Did you hear about Tony Apteker’s mother?’ I told him I had. ‘It’ll be like dominoes, you watch. I know how these things go. One will go, and the rest will follow.’ He paused. ‘Hey. Do you know how much the apartments in the block next door are going for?’

  I did. ‘Three million plus.’

  ‘The penthouse went for six. And listen, I heard through the grapevine that Melvin & Sons are looking to expand. Might be interested in developing Benchley Heights. We could all be sitting on a goldmine.’

  I gave him a non-committal nod. We both knew that it would be a cold day in hell before my mother and his uncle considered leaving the building.

  Like Jimmy and most of the Friday People, I saw myself as a piece of life’s flotsam, bobbing along with the tide like the rest of the rubbish. Middle-aged, slightly overweight, an ex-wife who’d scalped me out of my share of our Tamboerskloof duplex. Single, and no hope of being otherwise. Childless, which was naturally an endless source of worry for my mother: ‘Nathan, it is never too late for you men, look at that Charlie Chaplin. Find a nice girl who wants babies already.’ I’d been working for the same firm as a recruitment agent since my twenties, watching younger, brighter people scurry past me up the ladder. It wasn’t that I wished my mother dead so that I could live large on the proceeds of the sale of her flat. I’m not a monster.

  I don’t think any of the Friday People were actively wishing for their relatives to die. Well, with the possible exception of Rachel White, who bought her emphysemic aunt Sarah a fresh carton of Rothmans every week. The truth was that the building wasn’t suitable for them. Most were in their eighties, and if the lifts were out of order, they’d never manage the stairs. Sure, okay, it was true that the block was becoming ‘highly desirable’ and almost daily ‘We Have a Buyer!’ fliers were pushed under my mother’s door. (Which of course necessitated a phone call: ‘Another one! Why would I leave my home?’)

  A couple of days later, I was in the midst of the day from hell – one of my temps had been caught dipping into the petty cash and I hadn’t bothered to do a thorough background check on her – when the phone rang. ‘Mom. This isn’t a good time.’

  ‘Nathan. You won’t believe what has happened.’ For once, she sounded genuinely distressed; this wasn’t one of her usual daytime calls to discuss my nutrition or gripe about what was happening in Downton Abbey. ‘It’s Zackary. Zachary Lowenstein. You know, from number twenty-two.’

  Jimmy’s uncle. ‘What about him?’

  ‘I’m trying to tell you. You can’t listen to your mother? So he was on his way to the Checkers store, catching the bus, like he does every day …’

  ‘And what? He was robbed? Mugged?’

  ‘Don’t hurry me! Why do you have to use that hard tone of voice? He was hit by one of those tourist buses. You know the ones. The ones that creep along, blocking the traffic.’

  ‘Is he okay?’

  ‘Okay? What a thing to say! Did I raise an idiot? You think you would be okay if you were hit by a great big bus? Lily from number fifteen was on her way back from the chiropractor – you know the trouble she has with her back, bad posture, I’ve told her a thousand times, but what can you do when people won’t listen? – well she saw him being put into the ambulance, and his pelvis, it’s not even the right way on his body.’

  ‘That’s awful.’

  ‘And that’s not all…’

  Naveed, my prepubescent supervisor, was making ‘hurry the fuck up’ gestures at me. ‘Mom, I got to go. Important work stuff.’

  ‘What could be more important than life and death?’

  ‘I know, I know. Can I call you back? There are people listening in.’

  ‘What do I care about people listening in? You must come and take me to the Groote Schuur. I must see that Zackary is being looked after. That hospital… I’ve heard stories about it. You go in fine and you come out in a body bag, or worse.’

  ‘Ma – I can’t. I have a meeting –’

  ‘You want me to take the bus? You want me to get run over like poor old Zachary Lowenstein?’

  Somehow – don’t ask me how – I managed to convince Naveed that I had a genuine family emergency and an hour later I pulled up outside Benchley Heights. Mom wasn’t alone. She was flanked by Sarah White and Estelle, both of whom were busily confounding medical science by not dying.

  ‘What took you so long? What, did you come here via Johannesburg?’ my mother greeted me, ushering her neighbours into my car.

  ‘He was usually so careful,’ my mother began, the second I streamed into the traffic.

  ‘You think he did it on purpose?’ Estelle chimed in on cue.

  ‘He always said he was tired.’

  ‘But tiredness, that’s a reason to die? He would never do such a thing.’

  On and on it went.

  ‘Nate!’ Jimmy hurried up to me when we bustled into the accident and emergency waiting room. ‘Thank you for coming.’

  ‘How is he?’

  ‘Hanging in there.’ He sighed exaggeratedly, but his eyes were gleaming. ‘We all have to be prepared thou
gh. Consensus is that he won’t last the night.’

  While my mother and her coterie moved to the coffee shop to harass the waiting staff, I followed Jimmy to Intensive Care. Zackary did not look like a man destined to live much longer – his skeletal frame seemed twisted, wrong somehow, as if Death had already started dismantling him without waiting His turn.

  But he made it through the night. And through the following week. For the next month, until he was discharged, my evenings were a misery of taxiing my mother and various Benchley Heights residents to visit him. As his uncle continued to cling to life, Jimmy seemed to age. He put on weight, his skin took on a yellowish tinge. He looked like a man who thought he’d won the lottery, only to discover that he’d lost the ticket.

  Jimmy called me up a few weeks after Zackary was discharged. ‘He’s not dying.’

  ‘Oh. That’s great news. Isn’t it?’ What else was there to say?

  ‘You don’t understand. He’s not getting better, but nor is he getting worse. Man, it’s a fuck-up. I’ve had to hire a nurse to come in and look after him – it’s draining my savings.’

  ‘Can’t you put him in a home?’

  ‘You know how much those places cost?’ For my sins, I did. I’d done my research. ‘And he’s still refusing to sell up.’ A bitter laugh. ‘There’s nothing wrong with his mind.’

  ‘He’s speaking?’

  ‘Oh, ja,’ Jimmy said. ‘He’s speaking all right.’

  ‘Is he in pain?’

  ‘No. The doctors are baffled. And get this… he no longer even goes to the lavatory. He eats, but where does the food go? All day he sits, watching the television. God help me, but I keep hoping that he’ll just wake up one morning, stone cold dead.’ He caught himself. ‘It would be a merciful release.’

  Ja, I thought. But for who? I mumbled something about it being ‘just a matter of time’.

  ‘But how much more time?’ Jimmy’s voice dropped to a whisper. ‘He’s eighty-fucking-seven. Nate, this property boom, it’s not going to last much longer. You know how these things go. It’ll just take another recession, Obama coming out as gay or something, and property prices will crash. Knock-on effect. You know.’

  Summer slid into winter. I missed out on another promotion. The Friday People still congregated outside the building every week, but the mood was more subdued than it used to be; Jimmy became a silent, lurking presence. Still Zackary clung to life, my mother generously sending me almost hourly updates on his condition. ‘He ate almost a whole bowl of my soup, and a slice of bread. It’s a miracle!’

  It’s been five years since Zackary Lowenstein’s miraculous recovery. He’s still going strong, as are Estelle and the rest of the old people. Jimmy’s not doing so well. He turned to the bottle, his wife left him, and he was retrenched from his job. He’s been forced to move into Benchley Heights, and some days you can see him, a stooped greyish figure, wheeling his uncle along the beachfront.

  More than once, Jimmy has cornered me in the lobby. ‘Figured it out, Nate,’ he slurs, his breath laced with Bells, forgetting that he’s said it all before. ‘Rachel’s aunt’s emphysema should have killed her years ago. Then there’s Uncle Zack and Estelle with her liver cancer. Not to mention the others… They’re all so fucking old, Nate. I’m beginning to think… Nate, they’re not going to die. They’re never going to die. It’s a punishment. A punishment from God. We’re being punished, Nate. You, me, all of us.’

  ‘That’s ridiculous.’

  ‘Is it?’ His bloodshot eyes filled with tears, and I had to look away. ‘Is it, Nate?’

  The building itself remains much as it ever was. We Friday People still slog our way through the rush-hour traffic to Sea Point every week, although we rarely meet for a sneaky cigarette these days. We’re all older, greyer, more worn down. I’m still clinging to my job by my fingernails, and my mother still calls, daily. ‘Ninety-one, my boy, but I feel like I could go on forever.’

  TACTRATE METIM 28A

  BENJAMIN ROSENBAUM

  MISHNAH

  CONCERNING THAT WHICH ARISES FROM THE GROUND OUT OF ITS PROPER TIME, IF IT FACES TO THE EAST, IT IS SAID OF IT, ‘THEIR LEAVES NEVER WITHER’1, BUT IF IT FACES TO THE WEST, IT IS SAID OF IT, ‘THEY BEAR THEIR FRUIT IN SEASON’2.

  GEMARA

  TO THE EAST. Raba asked, why is the east preferred? Because it exemplifies gratitude, for they3 greet the sun. R. Abye objected, but is not he who accompanies a guest when he departs greater than he who greets him on his arrival? For on arrival, one may be seeking something.4

  THEY BEAR THEIR FRUIT IN SEASON. Raba said, it is a rebuke, because they have arisen out of season: therefore ‘you shall not eat any abominable thing’5. R. Abye objected and said, if it is unwholesome, you shall say ‘it faces to the west‘, but if it is a gift from heaven in time of need, then you shall say, ‘it faces to the east’.

  It has been taught: after R. Shimon bar Yochai had left his confinement6, he disputed with R. Shimon ben Gamliel concerning cucumbers7. He [bar Yochai] said: if they are caused to appear [by magic], they will face to the east. But the other [ben Gamliel] said: to the west; but, [he said,] the law [of causing cucumbers to appear] is no longer known, because R. Meir did not get it [from his master, R. Akiba].

  Then R. Shimon bar Yochai said, let us ask R. Eliezar ben Hyrcanus. He [ben Gamliel] asked, how can this be? [For R. Eliezar was deceased]. R. Shimon bar Yochai said: come and see. They went to the grave of R. Eliezar, and R. Shimon bar Yochai said, ‘Arise, my darling, my beautiful one’8. Then R. Eliezar arose from the grave, although his condition was poor. R. Shimon [ben Gamliel] was afraid, because of the condition and because of his father9, but R. Shimon [bar Yochai] consoled him, saying ‘be of good courage’10.

  They sought to learn from R. Eliezar the laws of cucumbers, but R. Eliezar was compromised in his faculties11 and pursued them to do them harm.

  They sought the counsel of R. Meir, but he was not at home. They did not reveal their errand to Bruria. She served them food, and when they had eaten, she rebuked them, saying: did you not decree that no ruling shall be recorded in the name of my husband?12 How can it be that you come to us? It is written, ‘They close up their callous hearts, and their mouths speak with arrogance.13 ‘Then they confessed [the reason for their visit].

  When R. Meir arrived, Bruria went to meet him before the house, and asked him: did not our teacher Moses rise up to meet [his enemies] Dathan and Abiram?14 Then R. Meir knew who was in the house. He said, but did our teacher [Moses] greet [their leader] Korah? Bruria replied, are you Moses, that you speak of Korah? It is written, ‘Every wise woman builds her house, but the foolish plucks it down with her hands’15 And if ‘her house’, how much more so the house of Israel?16 Then R. Meir entered the house.

  He greeted R. Shimon bar Yochai heartily, but he stood four cubits from R. Shimon ben Gamliel.17 R. Shimon bar Yochai said: regarding the disposition of cucumbers, we sought the opinion of R. Eliezar ben Hyrcanus, but his faculties are compromised.18

  R. Meir rebuked them, saying, it is forbidden [to resurrect the dead by means of necromancy]! But R. Shimon ben Gamliel said, I did it in order to teach. In this he cited the opinion of our sages, that ‘IF HE ACTUALLY PERFORMS MAGIC, HE IS LIABLE’19 refers to [the practice of magic for] its effects, not [to the practice of magic in order] to understand.20

  R. Meir said, if [you had done so] in order to teach, [he would have arisen with] his good inclination and his evil inclination, but [as you did it] for honour21, [he has arisen with] the evil inclination only.

  R. Meir went to discover what had arisen in relation to R. Eliezar, and he met Acher22 on the way. Acher came with great haste and R. Meir asked him, are you well? Acher said, ‘When the wicked, even mine enemies and my foes, came upon me to eat up my flesh, they stumbled and fell.’23 Then R. Meir knew that R. Eliezer was pursuing the living, as he had been deprived of his good inclination.

  Raba said in the name of R. Huna, in the name of Rav, in the n
ame of Rabbi24, regarding this tradition, that, when the Holy One revives the dead through justice and mercy at His will, they are to be regarded as alive, as it is written, ‘THEIR LEAVES NEVER WITHER’, but if they arise through other means, they are not to be regarded as alive, as it is written, ‘THEY BEAR THEIR FRUIT IN SEASON’. R. Abye objected and said, what then is the law concerning them? If a priest or Nazirite comes into contact with them, shall he be regarded as unclean and obliged to bring a guilt-offering? Yes. But R. Abye further objected, we have received in the name of Eleazar Ben Arach25, if one revives the dead to teach, he arises with both the good inclination and the evil inclination.26 If he [the person arisen from the dead] is a priest, will he make himself unclean? And if so, what will a guilt-offering avail him?27 The question stands.

  Rava then asked Raba: how is it with R. Zeira? Must your house guest observe a period of mourning for himself? Raba had once invited R. Zeira to a Purim feast, and, becoming drunk, had risen up and slaughtered him. The next morning, he prayed for mercy and R. Zeira was restored to life.28 Raba said: in the case of R. Zeira, [he has arisen with only] the good inclination! R. Abye however said: was it not [through] the Divine will [that R. Zeira returned to life]? Raba said: I have taught my nephew [R. Abye] to eat bread, but he will not eat cake.29

  A heretic came to R. Meir and said: a plague has come upon the Romans in Caesarea. One bites the other to feast on his flesh, and each one who is devoured and dies, then rises up again and pursues the next, as a wild animal. Meir said: has something then changed?30 Upon returning home however, he said to Bruria, this is related to the matter of R. Eliezar.

  R. Shimon ben Gamaliel called together the men of the Academy. R. Phineas said, ‘The kings of the earth set themselves against the LORD31’. R. Shimon ben Gamaliel however responded, ‘Let all who take refuge in you rejoice’32 – all who take refuge in you, not all who honour you. From this we learn that also the wicked must be protected in time of general calamity. Others say, not until they repent, as it is written, ‘for you are my refuge; into your hand I commit my spirit’33; that is, only when they are sufficiently contrite.