Their procession looped around a hill, past the Moslem section, with tall shining black markers, the cursive Arabic incised in contrasting grey, above the names of the deceased written in English. Mitch glanced in the rear view mirror and saw Amina studying the stones. They pulled up in front of the Cemetery Office, a large fieldstone building with green shutters. The driver of the hearse got out, left the engine running, and walked quickly, but not unseemingly too fast, into the office, emerged shortly with an envelope and drove down the curving road, across a narrow stone bridge. They passed by three stone columns, decorated in gold with the symbols and names of the Twelve Tribes of Israel, announcing they were entering Menorah Gardens. Their fourcar convoy came to a halt facing down hill, next to a small gravel patch. Mitch saw a brown mound of earth and the open rectangular grave near a small grove of young trees, their narrow trunks protected from deer by black corrugated plastic tubes. Two men in coveralls stood at a respectful distance. Behind them was a back hoe, dull yellow from continuous use. Its arm was bent downward, its bucket shovel resting on the ground, as if in mourning.
Mitch reached across the front seat and took Judy’s hand. “Ready?”
“Yes,” she said softly. “Today I’m ready. The night Aunt Helen died, I wasn’t. I thought we had some more time.” He smiled at her. He too had thought they had another day or two.
They got out of the car. Off to left, in the field below, a light granite wall, about three feet high, marked the end of the sacred space for the Jews. Beyond that, a bright red tall wooden frame, with gold Chinese letters, proclaimed that the next section was their sacred ground. In addition to gravestones and flat bronze markers, there was a large wall with cubicles like safety deposit boxes, for the urns of the cremated Chinese.
They followed the men from the funeral home, wheeling Aunt Helen’s casket first over the gravel and on to the worn dirt path to the grave site, the Rabbi first, then Mitch and Judy, Eleanor holding her mother’s elbow to help her balance, Amy and Amina and Josh walking with Izzy, who leaned heavily on his aluminum cane. The two Park Lawn employees came forward and helped to arrange the straps under the coffin and lower it into the grave. It shouldn’t take four men, Mitch thought. Aunt Helen must have weighed less than 80 pounds when she died. No, he reasoned. The coffin had to be placed in the grave with dignity. Four men, two on each side could control the rate it descended, not too fast, no unseemly straining, a slow steady pace ending with an audible knocking of the wood on hard earth. The men, in the brown coveralls blended into the background, like fall leaves on a path through the woods. It was only the family, Amina and Izzy. Not even enough for a minion.
They grouped around Rabbi Silver at the foot of the grave. Mitch heard the Rabbi say something about Aunt Helen being at peace at last, having been sent on her way surrounded by the love of her family. As if he had read Mitch’s mind, he noted that there were not enough at the cemetery for a minion to pronounce a kaddish but he didn’t believe any Jewish soul should be buried without saying a kaddish at the gravesite. God would hear it, he said, and led them a second time in the mourner’s kaddish. He stepped back and motioned to Mitch.
Mitch took one of the shovels standing upright in the loose dirt, dug in and threw a shovelful of fresh earth on to his Aunt’s coffin. He remembered his mother and father’s funerals. Without knowing if there was any religious significance, he decided to do what he had done when his parents were buried. He threw two more shovelfuls of dirt into the grave and passed the shovel to Judy. She followed his lead, throwing three small amounts on to the coffin. Eleanor did likewise and then, helped her mother. Amina looked at Mitch, asking with her eyes whether it was proper for her to participate. Mitch took the shovel from his mother-in-law and handed it to Amina. She wrapped her head scarf more tightly around her neck so it would not fall off and added her shovelfuls to the pile which covered the top of the coffin. Amy deferred first to her brother, then to Izzy and finally to Rabbi Silver. Amy took the shovel from the Rabbi. Mitch was afraid she would break down. His daughter resolutely filled the shovel each time, walked to the grave’s edge, and instead of throwing the dirt, slowly turned the blade so that the earth slid down like a brown curtain on to Aunt Helen’s coffin. She stuck the shovel firmly in the mound of dirt and stood next to her grandmother and Eleanor.
Mitch thanked Rabbi Silver for his remarks. “It’ll help Amy through the mourning,” he said.
“You should be proud of her. She has a sense of righteousness and justice I don’t see in many of our young people.”
“She gets that from her mother,” Mitch said glancing at Eleanor who was listening intently to Helga.
“Don’t sell yourself short, Mitch. Is the family sitting shiva?” he asked.
“Yes. But not for the full seven days. Just tonight and tomorrow. We’re a small family. And my sister is leaving Sunday.” He thought since he had moved Aunt Helen from New London, people who knew her there wouldn’t come to Washington anyway. He wondered if he should place an obituary in the New London paper. He decided not to. Probably the only ones who would come to their home would be those who knew him and Eleanor, either from work, or their neighbors. “No need for you to come and lead us in a service, is what I mean,” Mitch said embarrassed.
“It’s not a problem. You do what you and your family are comfortable with. I’ll try and drop by tomorrow evening,” the Rabbi said. “After sundown,” he added.
Mitch made sure the funeral home attendant had tipped the two cemetery employees. He was assured it had been done. It was all part of the price, the man had said, offering his condolences one last time. The family remained in the parking turnoff, looking back at Helen’s open grave on the slope of the hill, warm in the mid day sun.
“Mr. Farber,” Amina said. “I liked what your Rabbi said about Helen. That was the person I knew.” She stood next to him, looking toward the grave but speaking to Mitch and Judy. “I told you of the Somali proverb and what the Holy Koran says. It is written and Helen died by Allah’s will. Your Rabbi said so in his sermon about Yom Kippur.” She mispronounced it, emphasizing the first syllable and giving the last a sharp e sound.
Mitch decided not to explain to Amina that Rabbi Silver, he, and the other members of the Congregation, didn’t interpret that prayer literally. They didn’t believe in a God sitting on a throne, observing every human being and writing in a large book with a feathered quill pen what was going to happen to each of them in the coming year. It was an accurate translation of an antiquated concept. Rather, they believed they would be judged for their actions on earth and because life was uncertain, they should try every day to be as good as human beings as possible. Rabbi Silver had said, in one sermon, it was a divine command they go out and make the world a better place.
“Allah took Helen in His time,” Amina continued. “I understand why you wanted to remove the feeding tube.” She looked at both of them directly. “But she did not die from lack of sustenance. The tube had only been removed that morning. She died because Allah decided it was her moment,” she said with complete conviction. “I am sad because she is no longer with us. I am sadder still because I will not see her in paradise when I die.”
“Why is that?” Judy blurted out.
“Because only those who believe in Allah and Mohamed as his Prophet, can go to Heaven,” Amina said, visibly taken aback by the question. “And if, in their lifetime, they have been good Moslems,” she added.
“Daddy,” Amy asked. “Is that true?” Mitch hadn’t noticed his daughter joining them. “There are separate parts of the cemetery for the different religions. Does that mean there are separate heavens? I mean like we all worship the same God.”
Judy looked at her brother, waiting for his answer.
“I don’t know, Amy,” he sighed. He was not a deep religious thinker. He was not even that religious. “My personal belief is God made all human beings. Then we divided ourselves up into different religions. I’d like to think that all huma
n beings, as all God’s children, will be together in the same heaven.” He turned to Amina. “I don’t mean to offend you.” He felt uneasy about saying any more and unsure what else to say. “Look, Amy. It’s a question you’re going to have to ask Rabbi Silver. You’re asking me about other religions. It’s sort of a comparative religions study question. I don’t know enough about it,” he confessed, his voice trailing off.
“But, I mean, Amina doesn’t believe what you said,” Amy persisted.
“That’s why you need to talk to Rabbi Silver. Let’s not keep pushing this, Amy. Ok?” Mitch said, a bit more abruptly than he intended.
“Are we going to have a monument for Aunt Helen’s grave?” Amy asked.
“Yeah,” he replied. “We’ll order one. Probably put it up in the spring. Why?”
“I want it to have an orange blossom carved on it.” Amy said. She reached in her pocket, took out an orange and showed it to them. “I was going to put it in the grave with Aunt Helen,” she said, starting to cry. “But that’s silly. Aunt Helen doesn’t need an orange now. But if it was on her stone, everyone would know forever that she loved oranges. And I could take my children here and show them and tell them the story,” she sobbed.
Mitch hugged her tightly, feeling his own eyes tear, more because of his daughter’s heartfelt sorrow than the finality of his aunt’s passing. “We’ll look into what designs we can get on Aunt Helen’s stone and decide as a family. I promise you.” He saw Eleanor steering her mother toward the Buick. Helga was holding a handkerchief to her nose and dabbing at her eyes. “Come on,” he motioned to Josh and Izzy.
He and Judy drove Amina and Izzy back to the Nursing Home. As he opened the lobby door for Izzy, the old man stopped just inside, relieved by the warmth of the overheated reception area. “I should tell you, your son is very upset. Over his aunt’s death of course.” He unwrapped his muffler and kept his hat on “One problem with old age. You’re cold all the time.” He put the muffler across the back of the chair he usually sat in. “He’s afraid he won’t see me again. I told him he can visit. You know what he said?” Izzy looked up at Mitch through his thick glasses. “He said, with this serious look on his face, ‘I don’t drive yet.’” Izzy chuckled. “Josh has touched me,” Izzy tapped his chest with his closed fist, “in a way I wouldn’t have thought anyone could anymore. I don’t know what he’s thinking but he said he had to talk to you.”
“We’ll come by on weekends,” Mitch replied. “Or I can drop him off and come back in an hour or so. Don’t worry, we’ll work it out.”
“Thanks for including me,” Izzy said, waving goodbye and sinking wearily into the chair.
Eleanor had lunch prepared and on the table when he and Judy got home. Mitch found his mother-in-law sitting by herself in their living room. He sat down next to her and gave her a mock gallant kiss on her hand. “It’s been a difficult day for all of us. Are you all right?” he asked, genuinely concerned.
“Under the circumstances, Mitchell, I am fine,” she said. Her stiff posture showed him she was anything but. He helped her up, escorted her into the dining room and pulled the chair out for her. He had the impression that their luncheon conversation was about everything but what was really on his family’s minds. Eleanor talked about what needed to be prepared for sitting shiva that evening and Judy went on about how difficult it would be, when she returned to Charlotte, to catch up on work, chores, and the mail. Both Amy and Josh alternately scowled or moped and said nothing. Helga, when she spoke at all, commented on what she was eating. Had Eleanor added dill to the cucumber salad? She thought the yogurt dressing was a bit rich. Had Eleanor used low fat yogurt or regular? Mitch wanted to take his wife to some private corner of their house and ask her what was going on with her mother. He knew from Ell’s tight lipped countenance and her nattering about nothing there was some deep problem which had surfaced sometime that morning.
As they cleared the table, Josh said “Dad, I’ve gotta talk to you. Now.”
“In a minute, Josh.”
Eleanor looked at her husband, motioning for him to be with their son. “Mother, Judy and I will do some of the cooking for tonight. Better to get it out of the way. Unless mother, you want to go home and lie down and I can bring you back later.”
“No. No. I am fine here,” Helga replied. Mitch heard the tiredness in her voice. “Why don’t you stretch out on the living room sofa? For a few minutes. It’s been an emotional day and you’ve been on your feet a lot.” He offered her his arm, which she took and walked with him to the couch. “Not for too long now,” she said. “Be sure Eleanor looks in on me shortly.” She removed her shoes and plumped one of the pillows behind her head. Eleanor had made it. Out of glittering silver and gold Pakistani fabric, she had bought at some market.
“Mitchell. Be a dear and bring me another coffee. It will be good for my nerves.”
“What’s the matter with your mother,” he asked Ell as he poured the coffee.
“She feels she’s losing control of her life. It’s a long story. I’ll tell you later. Josh’s waiting for you upstairs.”
Mitch found their son lying on the floor of his room staring at the ceiling. Against Ell’s better judgment, they had agreed to let Josh pick the color of the wall to wall carpeting for his room. He had chosen black. For that cave like appearance, he had told them. Mitch sat down on the floor next to his son, wincing from the pain in his right knee.
“Ok. I’m all ears. What’s up?”
“Dad. Could you shut the door?”
Mitch reached behind him, pushed the door closed and leaned against it to support his back. He stretched his legs out and massaged his extended knee.
“I want to adopt Mr. Lowenstein,” Josh said seriously. “I’ve thought it through. We could fix up the basement. I’ll live down there and he can have my room.” Mitch suppressed the image of Izzy using his cane to feel his way around Josh’s dark inner sanctum. His son continued laying out his plan, speaking quickly as if his rush of words would overwhelm any objection. “I’ll keep his room clean so mom won’t have any extra work. I can empty my closet so he’ll have a place for his stuff, I’ll keep my clothes in boxes on the shelves in the basement. I can help mom with the extra shopping, I’ll get his medicine from CVS and …”
“Whoa. Josh. Slow down.”
His son gulped. “What do you think, dad? Amy said it was a stupid idea and kids don’t adopt adults. Is that true? Could you adopt him for me? I love him dad, and now I won’t see him anymore.” Josh looked at his father hopefully, but tensely, steeling himself for the answer.
“Whew,” Mitch let his breath out. “I don’t know where to begin. Your idea is great. It shows how compassionate you are. You’ve grown to love Izzy and you know how lonely he is. But it’s not that easy.”
“So that means I can’t do it,” Josh said, deflated, staring down at the rug despondently.
“Yeah, we can’t do it but hear me out. We can make Izzy a part of our family in a different way.” Mitch explained families usually adopted children under a certain age who didn’t have parents to take care of them. Adults were able to take care of themselves. When they became older, like Izzy or Aunt Helen, he told his son, they needed special attention if they had medical problems, which they received either in a nursing home or with home care attendants. They could no longer live by themselves.
“We could have a nurse’s aide like Amina come and take care of Mr. Lowenstein at our house during the day,” Josh interrupted.
“It’s not that simple, Josh. Have you thought that at the Nursing Home, Izzy not only has care but also activities and companionship? We’d be at work, you and Amy would be at school. He’d be alone for much of the day which wouldn’t be good for him.”
“I could come home every day after school,” Josh countered.
“That wouldn’t be good for you. You need time with your friends. And your band? What about that? Izzy wouldn’t want you to give up everything for him.” He
shifted his weight so the door supported more of his lower back.
“Josh. You want to make Izzy part of our family. We’ll do that. We’ll take him to Temple for Rosh Hashanah next week, and Yom Kippur later in the month. He can be with us for holiday dinners and Sunday nights if you want. Maybe, we can work out a way you can visit him during the week, after school, provided” Mitch raised his palm in warning as his son grinned, uttered a hissed ‘yesss’ and thrusting a clenched fist in the air “provided, you have nothing else on and can still get your homework done. We also have to talk to Izzy and see what he wants.”
“He’ll come to dinner. I know that,” Josh said grinning. “He loves mom’s cooking.”
“Don’t we all. And speaking of that, mom and Aunt Judy are cooking up a storm in the kitchen for tonight when people will be over. You need to help out tonight, Josh.”
“I will dad. Can we see Mr. Lowenstein this weekend?”
“Well, yeah,” Mitch answered. “You can come with me tomorrow afternoon when I go pick him up. He said he wanted to come for shiva. Now start catching up on some of the school work you missed.”
Mitch looked in on Helga who was dozing and decided not to wake her.
“And what was that all about with Josh?” Eleanor asked, batting his hand away as he reached into a bowl to taste the chocolate cake mix.
“Our son, God bless him, wants to adopt Izzy. Good thing I talked him out of it. Otherwise, my dear, you’d be the mother of a teenage girl, a pre-teen boy and a myopic, but” he held up his hand to stop her from interrupting, “encyclopedic 75+ year old man.”
Eleanor smiled, shaking her head. “I don’t know where he gets these ideas from.”
The Orange Tree Page 39
