Holocaust Survivor Brings Me Three Slices of Cheese
Again this morning I heard some shuffling in the hallway. I hoped it was Eisenberg. I cracked my door and there she was across the hall, standing in her doorway. I went over and her dentures were out and she sprayed me with wet chunks of bread.
Within a few words, it became clear I was wrong about her accent yesterday. It was German.
"Are you German?" I asked, trying not to gag from the stench spewing from her apartment.
"Yes, I'm from Kastl," she said. "We had nice parks there, nice gardens. Nice Nazis." She raised her eyebrows. The white chunks she had rained onto my legs were burning little holes in my pants.
"Nazis?" I asked. I peeked over her shoulder, amazed that four cats could make such a fetor.
"I lost 21 relatives to the Nazis," she said.
"How did you survive?"
"Luck. Just luck. Everyone loved us in our town. My mother had this personality. Viennese, we called it. Singing, dancing. My father died of pneumonia. She found another man who brought her here in '44, on the condition that he marry her when they arrived, so that's how we came here in '44. I was 14, and I said, 'I will marry him, not you.' But by the time I was 16, I was no longer interested; I said, 'I need a younger man who can dance.' He married my mother and he became my real father."
One of her tuxedo cats had walked into my apartment. "You'll never get rid of him," she said. I called him back and as I petted him, she said, "I hope it doesn't repeat. It seems every ten or twenty years, people need to hate. The Bible and the Ten Commandments and everything disappears. It happened here with the blacks."
She told me to call her Isla and reminded me that she'd worked at Saks Fifth Avenue for three decades and that we should go shopping together with her 30 percent discount.
She waved goodbye to me, though we were three feet apart. "In my language, we say, 'Shalom.' It means 'peace, happiness,' everything."
"Shalom," I said.
"And if you ever need anything, you need some sugar, just ring my buzzer," she said.
A few minutes later, my buzzer sounded, the first time in three weeks here I have heard it. It was Isla. She had a plastic lid offering three plastic-wrapped slices of cheese.
"For lunch," she said. "I need the plate back but keep the cheese for yourself."
I thanked her and took the cheese and handed her back the plate. My door was closed when I heard her voice again. I opened it, and she said, "Don't eat white bread."
"Excuse me?"
"Don't eat white bread. It's nothing, empty. There's no nutrition in it. Wheat, rye, pumpernickel, that's good."
"Shalom," I said.
The cheese sits on my table. I probably won't eat it, but I will keep it for awhile and try to find someone to give it to, and I'll remember the feast this was in other times.
Within a few words, it became clear I was wrong about her accent yesterday. It was German.
"Are you German?" I asked, trying not to gag from the stench spewing from her apartment.
"Yes, I'm from Kastl," she said. "We had nice parks there, nice gardens. Nice Nazis." She raised her eyebrows. The white chunks she had rained onto my legs were burning little holes in my pants.
"Nazis?" I asked. I peeked over her shoulder, amazed that four cats could make such a fetor.
"I lost 21 relatives to the Nazis," she said.
"How did you survive?"
"Luck. Just luck. Everyone loved us in our town. My mother had this personality. Viennese, we called it. Singing, dancing. My father died of pneumonia. She found another man who brought her here in '44, on the condition that he marry her when they arrived, so that's how we came here in '44. I was 14, and I said, 'I will marry him, not you.' But by the time I was 16, I was no longer interested; I said, 'I need a younger man who can dance.' He married my mother and he became my real father."
One of her tuxedo cats had walked into my apartment. "You'll never get rid of him," she said. I called him back and as I petted him, she said, "I hope it doesn't repeat. It seems every ten or twenty years, people need to hate. The Bible and the Ten Commandments and everything disappears. It happened here with the blacks."
She told me to call her Isla and reminded me that she'd worked at Saks Fifth Avenue for three decades and that we should go shopping together with her 30 percent discount.
She waved goodbye to me, though we were three feet apart. "In my language, we say, 'Shalom.' It means 'peace, happiness,' everything."
"Shalom," I said.
"And if you ever need anything, you need some sugar, just ring my buzzer," she said.
A few minutes later, my buzzer sounded, the first time in three weeks here I have heard it. It was Isla. She had a plastic lid offering three plastic-wrapped slices of cheese.
"For lunch," she said. "I need the plate back but keep the cheese for yourself."
I thanked her and took the cheese and handed her back the plate. My door was closed when I heard her voice again. I opened it, and she said, "Don't eat white bread."
"Excuse me?"
"Don't eat white bread. It's nothing, empty. There's no nutrition in it. Wheat, rye, pumpernickel, that's good."
"Shalom," I said.
The cheese sits on my table. I probably won't eat it, but I will keep it for awhile and try to find someone to give it to, and I'll remember the feast this was in other times.
posted by Thon at 10:39 AM
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