God's Ear

by Rhoda Lerman

  His father had trouble going down to the river. His doors couldn’t keep up with his feet. Two piles of sand, one for each door, grew higher every time he took a step. Yussel moved effortlessly. Now and then he’d stop, kick the piles of sand away from the doors to free his father.

  Halfway down, his father had to rest. He spread his robe. Yussel stood beside him out of arm’s reach. “I’ll try to protect you from yourself. I can’t make any promises. Also I’m sending four kibbutzniks so you don’t have to daven by Chaim.”

  “Listen, Totte, as long as I hold my head under water, you shouldn’t even give it a thought. I’ll be fine.”

  His father stood, walked sullenly behind Yussel. Yussel kept kicking sand away from his father’s doors until he reached the banks of the river. There his father took off his slippers, put them in his bathrobe pockets, gathered the hems of his robe, rolled up the cuffs of his sleeves, the bottoms of his pajamas. Yussel sloshed ahead into the river. His father wasn’t coming. Yussel turned back. His father was waiting on the sand. Robe, slippers, dangling sleeves, silk-lined cuffs were all too much for him. So Yussel picked him up in his arms. His father put his hat on Yussel’s head, curled up, tucked his head into Yussel’s shoulder, like a little kid. Tears welled up in Yussel’s eyes; his throat contracted he loved his father so much.

  18

  ON ROSH CHODESH, ON THE NEW MOON, THE FIRST OF TAMMUZ, when Joshua caused the moon and the sun to stand still until Israel was avenged, the month of calamities, Yussel called Shoshanna because he knew she’d be upset another month was beginning and still they weren’t together. A man wants his wife to be predictable so he feels safe and then he’s mad at her for being predictable. For being boring.

  Shoshanna finally answered. “What’s wrong?”

  “I wouldn’t tell you if something’s wrong?”

  “You’re eating?”

  “Of course I’m eating.”

  “You’re fasting?”

  “On fast days I fast,” he lied and didn’t lie.

  “You sound … your voice is thin, Yussel.”

  “I’m fine. Why are you crying?”

  “I’m not crying.”

  “Were you crying?”

  “Yussel, you’re making me crazy.”

  “I’m sorry. I won’t call you anymore.” He could see her little hand on her throat. What was he doing?

  “Are the kids okay?”

  “Yussel, you’re frightening me. Is something going to happen?”

  “That’s how the world works. Something’s always going to happen.”

  “To us?”

  “Of course not.”

  “I thought you’d say that.” There was a long pause. “I had a letter from Ruchel. She’s coming out soon. She hopes and prays every night that all of us will always be friends no matter what.”

  No matter what what? Chaim was up to something. “Is that why you’re crying? Over Chaim?”

  “No.” She didn’t elaborate. She didn’t have to. She wanted to come down.

  “If it makes you happy, you should know I go to Chaim to daven because I haven’t got a minyan here. I see him twice a day and all Shabbas.”

  “I heard. But still you don’t talk to him. I also heard Natalie ran away.”

  “I didn’t know that.”

  Shoshanna sighed. “You’re supposed to know. She needs guidance.”

  “Who told you?”

  “The same person who told me you do nothing but fast and take naps.”

  “It’s a trick I learned from my father,” Yussel lied. “The weirder you act, the more prestige you get.”

  “Yussel, when are you coming to get us? It isn’t right we should be apart so long.”

  “Maybe you should take the kids home to your mother until I’m ready for you.”

  There was another long pause. Yussel was familiar with those long pauses. Sometimes they were followed by days of exaggerated silent servitude, as if she were mimicking someone she really wasn’t. He didn’t like long pauses.

  “Don’t start trouble, Shoshanna. Don’t play smart with me.” He meant dumb. He didn’t know what he meant. When his mother challenged his father, that’s when their troubles began. He’d always had a sneaking suspicion that when women wanted to get along with their husbands, they played dumb.

  “I’m not playing smart, Yussel. I am smart. You don’t want to know I’m smart. You don’t want to know from my being smart. You think I’m only smart about coupons for diapers and instant coffee? You look at Babe, you say, sure, she’s smart, but she can’t make a man happy. You look at Natalie, you say she’s nuts. You always have an excuse not to look at us. We’re nuts, we’re bitter. We’re too fat, too little, too big, too weak, too strong. Any excuse not to look at us as humans, not to listen to us. You always have an excuse not to look at me, not to hear me. I’m little, I’m sweet, I’m innocent, I’m dumb. Hey, Yussel, dinner’s ready and I’m pregnant again. Then you look. Then you hear.”

  “God protect me from your mouth. I don’t want such trouble from my own wife.” He knew she was trembling all over like a butterfly flying against the wind.

  “I have the right to ask why your family is not yet with you. I have that right.”

  “Okay, soon.”

  “Yussel! It’s been since Shavuos. In seventeen days it’s the fast of Tammuz. I won’t be able to travel from then until after Tishabav. That’s almost the whole summer without you. What are you doing to me?” Shoshanna dropped her voice melodramatically and quoted, “‘Her enemies have her between the fences.’”

  “Don’t quote at me, Shoshanna. I’m not your enemy and it’s me who’s trapped. Not you. Look, this is my problem, Shoshanna. Leave me alone. Let me resolve it.”

  In the sand he’d built her too small and too zaftig. In the grocery store, he found out he’d made her legs too short. In the bank, he found out he’d made the breasts too big. In Woodpecker’s Hardware, he found out her waist was longer, narrower. In the Rexall he realized she was bigger, leaner, taller all over. When Adam fashioned Eve, who was his second wife, he fashioned her the way he wanted her to be and then, for the rest of time, yearned for something else. Yussel, in the sand, had made the same mistake as Adam: creating a woman he could handle, making her soft, round, small. The real Lillywhite was something else. He wondered for a moment how much he’d fashioned poor Shoshanna to suit himself or how much she’d fashioned herself to suit him. Maybe he was the monster. Maybe that was why he was yearning for Lillywhite, because he’d forced Shoshanna to remake herself to please him. Yussel dismissed the idea because it was too awful.

  Each time Lillywhite was placed in front of him, he didn’t look on her face. Even if his father of blessed memory, even if HaShem had put her in front of him, although the Angel of Destruction was more likely to have arranged such meetings, he didn’t look on her face. Also he didn’t breathe. He kept his eyes fixed on the floor, on the sidewalk, raced back to Bingo’s cab, roared off, forgot everything he’d come to town for, had to go back, would see her again. He had the feeling she was waiting for him, strutting around in crotch-tight pants and high-heeled boots. Once he saw her in the Rexall sitting in a booth with Indian Joe. That day, the sidewalks empty, her Porsche parked behind Bingo’s cab, Yussel picked up a garbage can filled with chicken wings, dumped it onto the front seat of the Porsche. A Publisher’s Clearinghouse Sweepstakes mailer stuck to the bottom of the can. You may have just won ten million dollars. Yussel replaced the garbage can precisely on the sidewalk.

  One morning his father was outside by the lake, feeding a half-dozen deer little square leaves from his pocket. The deer were crowding him. He waved them off, turned to Yussel, leaned on his lead door. The wooden door now had thick iron grates. “You ask me why grates? Things are getting worse. You aren’t paying attention. You must pay attention, Yussele.” Under the grates, he wore a white satin bathrobe with gold embroidery, as rich as the Torah covers, with Lions of Judah the size of housecats emb
roidered, thick and crusty, on the back, on each front panel. His father, this poor soul locked into Hell, trying to get into Heaven, as if he were walking down Oleg Cassini’s runway, put a hand on his hip, turned from the hip like a model, chin high, eyes half-closed, turned, swiveled his doors ever so slightly and approached Yussel. “How about these?”

  The pajamas were white damask with borders of small gold lions on the cuffs, the lapels, the collar, and the pocket fold. He loved his father. He really loved him, and when he was human, like now, showing off his pajamas, coy, vamping, a little embarrassed, wanting Yussel’s approval, Yussel adored him.

  “They’re you, Totte.”

  “I had a message you needed to ask me a question. I came right away.”

  “Totte, you talk to Him, to his angels, to someone. You’re standing in line. You said you stand in line, right?”

  “Well, not exactly. I stand in line but talking … don’t forget I’m not exactly up there with the rest of my Yeshiva class. The closest I can tell you, it’s like a big room full of spaghetti, or spiderwebs. Something living, maybe protein. You tell someone your problem or your complaint. They discuss back and forth, back and forth, and if they grant you the decree, they point out you should pull on one of the lines. Then the whole place starts to quiver because the line you touch is connected to every other line. Of course I’m talking in metaphor.”

  “I don’t want to know. I want you to ask a question for me.”

  “Sure.”

  “Find out what HaShem wants me to do. Why He keeps putting this redhead in front of me.”

  “Yussele, for shame. That’s looking at answers in the back of the book. That’s cheating. You have to do the problem by yourself. Otherwise, what’s the point? Vey iz mir. I can’t believe I was ever so dumb.” His father was out the door, stuck his head back in. “Am I to understand you are giving some consideration to the possibility that the redhead is intended?”

  “I’m examining possibilities.”

  “There is only one possibility: everything is intended.” Then went off singing his yom diddle yom diddle ai diddle dai dai.

  Yussel tried to keep busy, tried not to get involved with anyone. He found projects. He put in a toilet. He put in a sink. He dug holes where he didn’t need holes. He stretched Plexiglas across wooden frames and made storm windows. He tarred a path from the highway to the front door of the Arizona. Babe, all the time, would remind him. “Yussy, you didn’t call her yet? She could ruin us all, Yussy. She owns everything around here. You owe her an apology. Maybe if you said you were sorry, she’d turn off the music. It’s getting louder and louder, her music. Maybe she’s just waiting for you to call. It wouldn’t hurt to call, would it, Yussy? Listen, all you have to do is say hello. Watch my lips. Hel-lo. You say, I’m sorry. You invite her for Shabbas, tell her it would be interesting. Try to be nice, Yussy. It wouldn’t hurt to be nice, would it? How could it hurt, one phone call to a neighbor?” He didn’t bother telling her what one phone call to Chaim had precipitated.

  Another day his father sat alone in the kitchen, drinking a cup of coffee, sorting through a pile of requests to HaShem on little cards, from his grave. Some kvitls he put in his left pocket, some in his right. He wore a Milk of Magnesia bottle-blue dressing gown with Chinese gold medallions and a mandarin collar. The belt had long black silk fringes. His black felt slippers had a gold Chinese medallion on each toe. “A little over a month, you’re still here, and you’ve accomplished all this. This is terrific.” He gave Yussel a long hot look. “And maybe that’s why HaShem sent the redhead to you … to make certain you stayed. Intended. Intended. Intended.” He offered Yussel a square leaf from the pocket of his robe. “On Shabbas they let us pick fruit. But this …”—his father reached deep into his robe and withdrew a large and perfect pineapple with bright green leaves—“this we grow locally. We have a guy who hates to grow pineapples.” Yussel tasted a square leaf. Juice sprung from it—it was like chewing Chiclets. He spit it out.

  His father took the remainder of the pulpy leaf from Yussel’s hand, put it back in his pocket, put the pineapple on the kitchen table. “A fruit from Heaven, he spits it out. Boy, when you’re ready, you’re ready. When you’re not, you’re not. Thank God for the redhead.”

  All the men, except Slotnik, who was studying, formed a Building Committee. Feldman had a fight with him, said he had to contribute. Slotnik offered to pray for the success of the Building Committee. Feldman gave up. The Building Committee made plans. By fall, before the holidays, the dormitory on the north end would have a dozen beds for women, a separate place for families, another section for men. Every day trucks dropped off bags of mortar, loads of siding, kegs of nails, Sheetrock. Babe thought they were from the people who were putting kvitls on the grave, which meant their prayers were being answered. yussel kept saying, “there’s no free lunch.” grisha kept saying, “sure there is. if you’re eating at HaShem’s table.” On the south end of the Arizona, next to Grisha’s room, they added another room big enough for a single bed. Yussel told everyone the new room with the single bed could be for his mother-in-law or maybe his stepmother, someone. He moved into it before it was finished because that room was for him and Lillywhite. If she’s intended, Yussel decided, my imagination may as well be comfortable, have some privacy.

  “Yeah, well,” his father said from noplace. “I don’t think it’s intended you’re comfortable, Yussele. You better watch out. There’s a paradox here. Don’t forget, He gives you free choice but He’s the only one Who knows the consequences of your choices.”

  They wouldn’t leave him alone in his room. “In case you forgot, Yussy, I’m Babe. Today’s Wednesday. How many times a day do you have to take a nap? Over a month you’ve done nothing about the water rights. You don’t have the deed; you haven’t apologized to Lillywhite. What’s the matter with you? What are you doing in there anyway? You should call her. She saved my life, Yussy.”

  “We all make mistakes.”

  “Very funny.” Babe waited for Yussel to answer. He didn’t. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you about the water rights, Yussel. Your father also did this with the bed when he wanted something. You want something, Yussy?”

  “I’m not my father.”

  “Look, if there’s something we haven’t done, something someone’s said to you. You want us to call you Rabbi, we’ll call you Rabbi. You want Nova and bagels, I’ll fly them in from L.A. Just tell us what you want.”

  Natalie came. “There are people here to see the lake. They want you to pray for them. I don’t want to interrupt your meditation, but they want to give you money, building supplies, join. They say you’re bringing good luck and prosperity to their town. They thank you. Also would you like to join the Rotary Club? And there’s a man here who wants a blessing for his tennis elbow.”

  “Tell him to ask God. I’m busy.”

  Yussel heard trucks arrive, unload, leave. Heard building sounds, a cement mixer, Lillywhite’s music sneaking in under Ernie’s tapes. He dreamed of her dancing in the dark, taking a slow boat to China, singing in the rain. She played. She sang. He ached.

  Ernie banged on the door to the little room. “They brought a truckload of two-by-fours. You mind if we start some sub-flooring for the dormitory? Also someone sent over cement. Do you mind if we start pouring for the mikveh?”

  Yussel didn’t answer.

  “He doesn’t mind,” Ernie shouted to somebody, “so let’s go!” Yussel had never heard Ernie excited in his life. Hammering started that afternoon, went on forever.

  Natalie slipped a handful of kvitls under the door. Yussel read the little notes. “Dear Rabbi, pray for my mother who is crippled. Gloria Figuero.” “Dear Rabbi, pray for good luck on my new Martinizing business. Claire Alvarez.” “Dear Rabbi, pray for Chaim that he should love his wife. Mendl.”

  “How did you get these, Natalie?”

  “From your father’s grave. Now everyone knows who you really are.”

  �
��Excuse me?”

  “The lake. You can’t deny what you did.”

  “Natalie, if anyone’s responsible for the lake, it’s the shmuck Indian, Rosebud. Not me. Let them take their requests to him.”

  Outside, the cement truck rolled around. It was bright red and had ROSEBUD painted on its door panels. Babe ran from crew to crew giving orders. Her name-in-diamonds bracelet and her name-in-diamonds necklace flashed in the sun like artillery. The mikveh walls already had tiny high windows for light. The first floor of the men’s dormitory was complete. Bingo and Slotnik’s son danced over the trusses. The Blondische had become a concrete mavin. Ernie knew all there ever was to know about cutting glass. Indian Joe, wrapped in a faded blanket, sat on the Rabbi’s grave, laying out his bundle of sticks. Natalie was shouting mantras to increase productivity, menus to improve everyone’s sex life. Rosebud, with a shirt on, was taking orders from Babe. Two dozen seagulls Yussel knew had flown in from Far Rockaway were roosting on the Shanda, cleaning their feathers, carrying on. Sometimes Yussel found himself stroking his cheek the way she’d stroked his cheek, and he shuddered under his own touch. He began to imagine things he had never dared imagine. And up on the mountain, she played her music with a vengeance. She played “All of Me” until Yussel felt he had to climb out from his skin. Yussel immersed himself in the mountain pool every day for the dreams he had every night. Also he hoped to see her there, on the horse, hoped this time she’d kill him and he’d be done with her. Yussel wondered if anyone he knew had ever been in love, decided maybe his father, no one else. He thought maybe he should talk to someone, read a book, but what could he read? Who could he talk to? Grisha? Chaim? Oh, Chaim would tell him all right. And then tell everyone else. Also Chaim would go after her himself. He thought seriously about calling his uncles, decided it would be a terrible mistake.

  Yussel called Chaim. “Chaim, meet me at the drugstore.”