by Jeffra Hays
A HALF JEW ON JEW STREET
By Jeffra Hays
Copyright 2011 Jeffra Hays
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
A HALF JEW ON JEW STREET
Strike on ferry, indeed.
Benjamin Holman did not like to be fooled. He pushed his straw hat back, and his half glasses up into the notch of his great wet nose and referred to Your South Indian Tour Book.
Hannah counted the taxis waiting outside their hotel lobby. “Benny? Maybe we could…”
“Look here.” Benny pulled Hannah toward him. A smiling, smoking Indian watched from his autorickshaw as Benny returned to his book.
Stepping behind her husband, Hannah folded her rosy hibiscus hat down onto her forehead to wipe her eyes with the brim. She peered from behind him at the timetable, flung perspiration from both her chins and set them, still dripping, on his shoulder.
“Fare eight rupees.” Benny’s thumb guided her down the schedule. “Daily every half hour including Sunday. What would Sunday mean here, anyway? Let’s walk to the pier. There must be some departure information. A strike? Next thing you know he’ll just happen to have a boat.”
“Yes. Sir,” said the driver as he left his rickshaw, “I take you and Madam across. A few steps down, only three hundred rupees for nice tourists like you. Few minutes to Kochi. I have strong arms.” He pulled up a sleeve; his chin swayed side to side. The Holmans already knew that a pendulous headshake meant Yes Oh Yes.
An audience of idle drivers gathered to enjoy the routine.
“And what do you think he pays in insurance premiums for this ad hoc ferry of his? We’ll walk to the pier.”
Benny took several steps; Hannah and a dozen drivers followed.
“Sir. For this week no ferry goes. A strike,” said another of the drivers. He retied his dhoti as he spoke; Benny turned aside to secure his own fly. “But for very small price I take you and Madam on bridge,” he pointed, “only ten minutes drive, and all day show you Kochi. Museum, old fort, fishing nets. You see our new baby elephant. Come.”
“Let’s take it, Benny.”
“I see. Madam is not so comfortable. Only February, only early morning, and too hot. Not like your country, no? My name is Pete.”
He bowed, extended his bony brown hand, and Hannah shook it. “Pete?”
“Short for Ganesh.” He grinned proudly, bowed sideways toward his rickshaw, then lit a cigarette and bowed again. “We go?”
“Benny? All I want to see is the synagogue. Last temple, I promise.” She patted her husband’s chest and tugged his tight wet shirt, pulling Benny as she leaned toward Pete. “How much is a very small price?”
“You pay me what you like, after service.”
“Oh no,” said Benny. “We’ll settle this first.” The guidebook warned about haggling drivers, vendors, touts. “How much?”
“Only one hundred rupees, for all day.”
Benny caught her eyes from under the hibiscus.
“Benny, just two dollars.”
“Follow me. Madam, please come.”
“Fine,” said Benny, “take us to the synagogue.”
They squeezed into the back of the rickshaw. Pete nodded to his abandoned colleagues, pinched the black bulb of his horn and pressed his bare foot onto the accelerator.
“Now Madam feels better. I can drive you to drink.”
“Not now, thank you, Pete,” laughed Hannah, and squeezed Benny’s arm.
“Just the synagogue,” said Benny.
“Ten minutes yes. Sir.”
They drove across the bridge; Benny followed his map. “He should have turned right,” he muttered to Hannah. “The synagogue is north. Ask him where he’s going.”
“I’m sure he knows.”
“Go on, ask.”
“Pete, would you mind …?”
“Synagogue closed now, Madam.” He turned to them as he drove. “Only ten o’clock opens. We drive now. See our new baby elephant. Parade today later for dedication in temple. Then I take you to Jew Street.”
Benjamin Holman had agreed to Hannah’s Search for Soul in India excursion only after his collapse in the meat locker of their sprawling restaurant. “A warning,” the doctors called it, “and a sign,” his wife said. She repeated rumors about the mystical Sub-Continent. “We work too hard, we eat too much. Remember when they all left to find gurus while we stayed and cooked? Well Benny, it’s our turn now. To India, destination for healing and romance,” and she jabbed him, but gently, in his groin as he sat in his hospital bed. All these years, and he still appreciated a poke.
Convalescing at home, he surveyed the maps and guidebooks she bought, experimented with vegetarian recipes, packed a history of Indian architecture for the plane; she obtained visas, consulted doctors about inoculations and insect repellant. Their itinerary set, their reservations confirmed, they bid a temporary farewell to their faithful restaurant staff and flew towards health, renewed love and venerable truth.
Having admired the temple courtyard and the elephant -- Benny wished Pete good luck with the baby-- they drove through crowds of shoppers, children, goats, dogs, and burlap sacks filled with powdered spices, until Pete stopped near the entrance to a narrow street. A tour bus was parked, unloading.
“Here is Jew Town, Jew Street.” Pete pointed, “Synagogue at end of street. Gift shops, souvenirs. I can wait. No money now.”
Hannah stepped out of the rickshaw. “But I don’t know how long we’ll be and it’s too hot to sit out here.”
“I wait all day, Madam.”
Benny hauled himself out, straightened his pants, bent over and wiggled his left foot across his right knee: pebbles dropped out of his sandal. “Let him wait, Han, we won’t be more than a few minutes. Then we’ll drive past the palace, the beach, whatever is worthwhile. I’ll check the book while you find your Jewish soul.” He grinned, kissed her, and tugged the hat brim over her eyes. “And you promised, last chance.”
“After all those other temples we couldn’t skip this.” She set the hat back over her wet hair. “If it hadn’t been for the Ben Somethings’ suggestion, remember their name?”
“The Ben Something Sand Jews? Of Hotel Bombay on Bombay Beach?”
“You’re teasing again. They say Mumbai now, Benny, so say Mumbai.”
“And Mumbai to you, Pete,” said Benny, waving his book. “We’ll be a few minutes.” They followed the tourists past the vendors, hawkers of bronze dancers, embroidered shawls, silk carpets, sandalwood gods.
“This was worth a little change of plans,” Hannah said.
“Only about a thousand little miles. But you always liked baby elephants.”
“True, and your pants are looser now. I think you’ve lost more weight. Can you see your toes yet?”
He laughed, glancing down and flattening his quivering stomach, then grabbed her elbow and stopped short. A board of beaded jewelry blocked them.
“Beautiful necklace for Madam?” urged a vendor. He dangled one for Hannah’s inspection.
She waved him away and continued. “But the Somethings were so enthusiastic and she seemed so inspired. Apparently it’s a famous tourist spot.”
“Apparently, yes. All this useless junk.”
“Bracelet for Mad
am?”
Benny shook his head.
“Say no thank you, Benny. Shaking your head only encourages him. No thank you, sir. Maybe later.”
The group of tourists stood before the synagogue’s entrance.
“Hier ist Judenstrasse,” said their guide, “und die alte Paradesi Synagogue.”
“We were treated better here than where they come from,” she whispered.
“You could say that about most places.”
They moved past the guide with the others.
“Please Benny, stay with me for a while. You’re only a tourist today. No worship necessary.”
It was cooler inside. They removed their shoes. Taking his hand, Hannah led Benny around to the front of the crowded synagogue to sit on the benches that lined the walls, and wait.
“I can’t concentrate until they all leave,” she said.
“I know, Han. Temperamental spirituality.” Benny consulted his book. “ ‘Blue floor tiles from China, mid-eighteenth century, hand-painted willow pattern. Chandeliers collected from all over Europe.’ I’m sure they’ll leave as soon as he finishes his mandatory lecture. A few pictures, a few questions, and back on the bus. No, first the souvenirs. The guide needs his cut. Then lunch.”
“But look at the building, the people. I sense something around us, something in the air.”
“You’re right. Did you see all those shoes?” He tapped his nose.
She bumped her forehead into his shoulder. “Oh, Benny, please, doesn’t this mean anything to you?”
“It does because you do.” He paused while she wiped her eyes with her hat. “And that’s why we’re here, so enjoy it.”
“I would enjoy it more if you did.”
He hugged her.
