Hush (13 page)

Mr. Goldblatt then closed his eyes, held up his hands, whistled, and the Kazoola began. I ran after Devory, who was grabbing canned food, chairs, anything she found, though I had absolutely no idea why. I followed the mad dash back to the living room, where we laid the stash, including cups, a small table, cardboard boxes, spoons, and forks, out on the floor. Only when the room looked like the aftermath of a burglary did Mr. Goldblatt yell, “Kazooooola!” And in a split second we all stood in a line in front of him.

“Okay,” he said, winding his watch. “We’re starting. Miriam first.”

I stared at Miriam, bewildered, as she quickly began jumping over objects, skipping over cups, and swiftly stepping over the chair—without touching a thing. If you touched any of the scattered items you were out. Whoever finished the Kazoola the fastest won and got turned upside down while everyone tickled him. We all had our turns; I was out within seconds. With an undignified crash I landed on the floor trying to tiptoe over the small table. Devory won. She screeched happily as she ran around the table, everyone running after her, until her father caught her and the tickling ceremony began, and ended with cherry ice cream in the kitchen.

Mr. Goldblatt said that Shmuli had invented the Kazoola, and he held the fastest record so far.

“Remember what a troublemaker he was?” he said to Mrs. Goldblatt as we crowded around the table. “It’s amazing how he settled down.”

“Is Shmuli coming home for
Shabbos
?” Tzvi asked, jumping on the couch.

“No, not this week,” Mr. Goldblatt answered. “He wants to learn extra for the Talmud competition next week.”

Tzvi kicked a pillow into the air and caught it with one hand. “
Oy
, all he does is study all day.”

Devory’s mother pursed her lips. “You should learn like him. There is no better
nachas
that a parent can ask for, no greater pride for a mother or father. Shmuli has the best name in the
yeshiva,
” she said proudly. “He is such a
Talmud Chacham
. He’s only fifteen and his
rosh yeshiva
—head of the
yeshiva
—already told me that he would be the biggest match in
shidduchim
.”

Mr. Goldblatt nodded proudly in agreement and fondly pinched Tzvi’s cheek.

On Friday afternoon Devory and I helped Mrs. Goldblatt bake challah for
Shabbos.
We sat near the kitchen table—that is, I sat near the kitchen table; Devory sat cross-legged on the table rolling the dough. I tried braiding the challah, and though Devory said it looked like the baker’s work, it struck me as rather messy looking. We were working on our third challah when Shmuli walked into the house.

“Shmuli!” Mrs.Goldblatt ran to him. “I thought you were staying in
yeshiva
! What a surprise!” She hugged him tightly. “
Oy vey
, you’ll have to sleep on the couch with Tzvi, because Gittel is here too.”

“I was planning to stay in
yeshiva
,” Shmuli said, smiling broadly, curling his long side curls around his finger. “But a group of boys, guests from other
yeshivas
, came for
Shabbos
, and I decided that I’ll never be able to learn there in all that noise, so I might as well come home.”

He noticed Devory and me sitting in the kitchen and waved at us from the hall.

“Hello, Devory, and her friend Gittel.”

“Hello,” I said shyly.

When Devory and I were five years old, Shmuli would give us piggyback rides around the dining room table. He would play hide-and-seek with us and teach us Torah songs. But since his
Bar Mitzvah
he had suddenly become like an adult, with that deep, ugly voice, like my brother’s, a blond curly beard sprouting over his chin, and the huge black
kippa
covering most of his head. I no longer saw him, except when he came to see my brother when they were home for
Shabbos
, and even then, they would usually go to
shul
together. But Shmuli was a big helper, I heard Mrs. Goldblatt tell my mother. Whenever he was home, he would help out with the younger ones. He has the patience of a real father, she would say fondly. He even used to bathe Devory and put her to sleep until he went to
yeshiva
.

And now Shmuli played with the twins outside, while Devory and I fooled around in the backyard. He then bathed them so they should be clean for
Shabbos
and helped Devory set the table for
Shabbos
.

“I bought you a new book on the way home,” he told her as he handed her glass cups. “I’ll read it to you with the funny voices. Remember?”

“I wanna read it myself,” Devory said, placing the cups quickly near the plates.

“Hey, Gittel.” Shmuli turned to me. “Do you want to hear me make funny voices?” His blue eyes winked mischievously as if he were my secret friend.

I shrugged.

“I want to read it myself,” Devory repeated. She put the cup upside down near the plate and walked into the kitchen.

Shmuli took a pile of forks, spoons, and knives and spread them out on the table. “Look,” he showed me. “It’s the three soldiers Jim, Joe, Jan.”

He placed a fork in my hand. “Meet Jim. He goes first.” With a flourish of his hand, he dropped the fork on the table. “Now, where’s Mr. Joe?” He took the knife out of my hand, twirled it in the air, and put it by the fork. “And now, Mr. Jan.” He held up the fork, cocked his head, then threw it high up in the air and caught it with his other hand.

“See,” he said, smiling dramatically. “Jim, Joe, Jan. Now if I say to you, hey, pass Mr. Jan, you’ll know what to do.”

I giggled. He was funny.

“I’ll read you the book soon,” he said as he finished folding the napkins. “Maybe we’ll have time before I go to
shul
.”

But an hour before
Shabbos
, the twins had turned on the shower and soaked themselves completely and then ran around the house with wet shoes. By the time Shmuli had changed them again, he said he had to go to
shul
because he liked to learn the Torah before
Shabbos
.

Mrs. Goldblatt, mopping the floor for the third time that day, tiredly told Devory to watch over the twins until
Shabbos
, when she would put them to sleep. We took them out to the backyard, where they ran around in circles and then rolled in the dirt, giggling. I wanted to play a trick on them, but Devory, sitting dully on the steps, said she was not in the mood. We sat there until it was time to light candles.

When I returned from the police station, I couldn’t bear the tumult of Avrum’s
L’chaim
and all the jabbering conversations. So I ran up the stairs and banged on Kathy’s door. I looked down over the staircase furtively. I could hear my parents’ tense conversation and Avrum’s nervous voice floating up the stairs. The door to the house was opened downstairs. I saw Surie, the top of her perfectly coiffed wig, and the large cake she held carefully in her hands.

“The Schwartzes sent this,” I heard her say out loud as she opened the door to our apartment. “Isn’t it gorgeous?
Nu
, so when’s the girl arriving?”

I knocked again, more quietly. I closed my eyes, praying Kathy would be home; I could not go downstairs like this. They could not see me this way. Finally, I heard the creaking floor and Kathy’s slow, sure footsteps. She opened the door and pulled me inside.

“Gittel,” she cried, “you’re white as a sheet!”

I dropped my pocketbook on the floor. “I told Miranda what happened.”

“You did?”

Kathy held my hand and took me inside.

“I told her the truth,” I said, and again I couldn’t stop crying.

She said, “Gittel, Gittel, it’s good. It’s good that you told what happened.”

“Why did I tell her what happened?”

“It’s good, Gittel,” she repeated. “It’s the only way it could be.”

“You said I should tell her.…”

Kathy took me over to the couch. She pushed me down till I sat.

“You’ll feel better soon,” she said.

I bent over, putting my face between my knees.

“She lied,” I said.

Kathy put her hand on my back.

“Why are you saying that?” she asked.

I pushed her hand off. “She lied…after I told her what happened.…”

“How did she lie?”

“I tore up the file,” I said. “I’m never going back. And I can’t go downstairs right now.…” With Avrum getting engaged tonight, I had to get back home fast and put on the new suit my mother had bought me and smile at everyone brightly so that they should see how beautiful and perfect I was and that I was next in line for marriage.

My mother was calling my name. There was that frantic note in her voice, the one that came right before she completely freaked out, wondering where I was.

Kathy stroked my cheek. She said, “Gittel, Miranda didn’t lie. You didn’t want to hear what she said. It just hurt too much.”

Shabbos
in the Goldblatt home was like
Shabbos
at home. Then again,
Shabbos
was the same in all Jewish homes. Mrs. Goldblatt lit the
Shabbos
candles, one for each child, and then prayed, covering her face with her hands and swaying with emotion. We sat on the couch and sang the Friday night prayers, and when we finished Mrs. Goldblatt took a nap until Devory’s father came home with the boys from
shul.
The men sang the holy
Shabbos
songs and then Mr. Goldblatt made
kiddush
over a cup of wine. Mrs. Goldblatt then told us that every Friday night when Jewish men sing
Eishes Chayil
, the angels of heaven sing along and Hashem is happy because it is only because of Women of Valor building homes of
Torah
that the Y
iden
survived everything. We then went to wash our hands and said the blessing over the warm, fresh, homemade challah. In between eating the fish, soup, and chicken, we sang special
Shabbos
songs, called
zemiros
, and Shmuli said a
D’var Torah
sermon.

As soon as the meal was over, Devory ran upstairs. Shmuli, Leah’la, and I helped clean up the table, while Miriam and her mother were washing the dishes.

“It’s amazing how Devory disappears as soon as it’s time to help,” her mother said.

“Oh, none of us liked to help too much when we were nine,” Shmuli said with a smile.

“Oh, no, this girl is something special,” Miriam said sarcastically. “Never saw anyone so messy.”

“Well.” Mrs. Goldblatt sighed. “She’ll just have to grow up, like everyone does.”

When I went up to our room I found Devory jumping on my bed.

“Let’s see who could jump the other off.” She smiled mischievously. “I already jumped myself off.”

I bounced off at first try, but when I fell off the bed and bruised my elbow I stopped the game right there.

“All right, then,” Devory gave in. “Let’s play ghosts and scare the twins again.”

“Yes!”

And we did. We brought the twins into the room, and then chased after them, wrapped in sheets.
“Whoooooo! Whoooooooo!”

We had fun. They didn’t. Miriam heard the noise, yelled at us that we were acting like disgusting babies, and took the crying twins out of the room.

Devory still wanted to play, but I was tired already. She was not and was jiggling around the room like a jack-in-the-box. Even her freckles seemed jittery, and I told her if she wouldn’t stop jumping they would bounce right off her cheeks. They didn’t, even as she sang the most ridiculous songs out loud and danced around the room as if she were powered by batteries.

I lay down in my bed and closed my eyes. But when Devory saw me falling asleep she sat down right near my head and tickled me all over.

“Stop that!” I shrieked.

“I’m going to dress up like Haman on Purim,” she said suddenly. “What are you going to dress up like?”

I sat up in the bed. “I don’t know,” I said. “I want to dress up like a
shnorrer
—a beggar—then everyone will give me money.”