regarding possible murder suspects among our friends and fellow residents was best held somewhere other than where we all live, not to mention where Mrs. Bissela is always lurking. So we caught the afternoon shuttle that takes us downtown, where is our favorite place to have tea and to
shmooze,
the Garden Gate Café.
“Where are you ladies headed?” Andy, the shuttle bus driver, asked as we climbed up the steps and onto the bus. “Doing a little shopping?”
“Not exactly,” I said. “Could you drop us off near the Garden Gate Café, please? We are going for tea.”
“You’re sure you wouldn’t rather be dropped off at Mickey’s Tavern for a couple of beers?” Andy said, smiling. He likes to
kibitz,
that Andy.
I laughed, and not just because Andy made a joke, but because it made in my mind such a picture. I could see the two of us perched like large animals on high barstools, holding glasses of beer and
fressing
peanuts from a dish on the bar.
Oy,
there is more chance of finding a pig at the
seder
table!
Anyway, we found our seats and, after a few other residents had come aboard, Andy closed the doors and we were on our way.
As we rode, I asked Mrs. K whether she had as yet thought of a way to help Sol Lipman deal with Lily’s mother.
“Not entirely,” she said. “What I know is that it must be done in such a way that Lily’s mother leaves their apartment voluntarily. She must want to leave, and Lily must not have the feeling that Sol is kicking her out. Otherwise, there will be more trouble between them, if not now then the next time they have an argument, which knowing them would be very soon. Lily should not be accusing Sol of treating her mother badly.”
“You are right, of course,” I said. “So how will you manage that trick?”
Just then Andy put the brakes on quite suddenly, as some
shlemiel,
probably a
shikker
—a fool having too much to drink—swerved in front of the bus. We all fell forward and had to grab onto a rail, or onto each other, to keep from falling onto the floor. Andy always reserves these rare occasions to demonstrate to us the wide range of his vocabulary, and who can blame him? Someone on the bus waved their fist and shouted “
A khalerye
” (it is what Sol should not have said to Lily’s mother), and there were a few other Yiddish curses I will not repeat. If only Andy knew a little Yiddish he would have so many more insults to choose from.
We settled ourselves back into our seats, but our talk now turned to drunken drivers and what should be done to them, and I had to postpone finding out how Lily’s mother would be made to leave.
—
Andy dropped us off as close to the Garden Gate Café as he could manage, and we had about two blocks to walk. We did not mind, as it was a pleasant day, not too warm or too cold, and a little walk does us good. We were looking forward to our tea and a nice bagel with a
shmear
—
nu,
the cream cheese is not good for us, but who can resist?—when we arrived at the café and had a surprise. There was a sign on the window of the front door that said in big red letters, “Closed for remodeling. We reopen next week. Thank you for your patience.”
Oy gevalt,
what to do now? Andy would not be back to pick us up for at least an hour, so time was on our hands.
“Well, Ida,” Mrs. K said, “what do you think we should do?”
“We could just look around, I suppose, shop in the windows.”
That did not appeal to Mrs. K, and to be honest it did not to me either. I know it is something people do, but why waste a lot of time looking at things one has no intention of buying?
“Perhaps then we could find another tea shop nearby,” I suggested.
“Yes, that would be best. But it has been so long since we went anywhere but the Garden Gate, I have no idea what else there is around here.”
We began looking around us. Something caught my eye.
“Look across the street,” I said. “It looks like a new café has just opened. I can’t
shmooze,
the Garden Gate Café.
“Where are you ladies headed?” Andy, the shuttle bus driver, asked as we climbed up the steps and onto the bus. “Doing a little shopping?”
“Not exactly,” I said. “Could you drop us off near the Garden Gate Café, please? We are going for tea.”
“You’re sure you wouldn’t rather be dropped off at Mickey’s Tavern for a couple of beers?” Andy said, smiling. He likes to
kibitz,
that Andy.
I laughed, and not just because Andy made a joke, but because it made in my mind such a picture. I could see the two of us perched like large animals on high barstools, holding glasses of beer and
fressing
peanuts from a dish on the bar.
Oy,
there is more chance of finding a pig at the
seder
table!
Anyway, we found our seats and, after a few other residents had come aboard, Andy closed the doors and we were on our way.
As we rode, I asked Mrs. K whether she had as yet thought of a way to help Sol Lipman deal with Lily’s mother.
“Not entirely,” she said. “What I know is that it must be done in such a way that Lily’s mother leaves their apartment voluntarily. She must want to leave, and Lily must not have the feeling that Sol is kicking her out. Otherwise, there will be more trouble between them, if not now then the next time they have an argument, which knowing them would be very soon. Lily should not be accusing Sol of treating her mother badly.”
“You are right, of course,” I said. “So how will you manage that trick?”
Just then Andy put the brakes on quite suddenly, as some
shlemiel,
probably a
shikker
—a fool having too much to drink—swerved in front of the bus. We all fell forward and had to grab onto a rail, or onto each other, to keep from falling onto the floor. Andy always reserves these rare occasions to demonstrate to us the wide range of his vocabulary, and who can blame him? Someone on the bus waved their fist and shouted “
A khalerye
” (it is what Sol should not have said to Lily’s mother), and there were a few other Yiddish curses I will not repeat. If only Andy knew a little Yiddish he would have so many more insults to choose from.
We settled ourselves back into our seats, but our talk now turned to drunken drivers and what should be done to them, and I had to postpone finding out how Lily’s mother would be made to leave.
—
Andy dropped us off as close to the Garden Gate Café as he could manage, and we had about two blocks to walk. We did not mind, as it was a pleasant day, not too warm or too cold, and a little walk does us good. We were looking forward to our tea and a nice bagel with a
shmear
—
nu,
the cream cheese is not good for us, but who can resist?—when we arrived at the café and had a surprise. There was a sign on the window of the front door that said in big red letters, “Closed for remodeling. We reopen next week. Thank you for your patience.”
Oy gevalt,
what to do now? Andy would not be back to pick us up for at least an hour, so time was on our hands.
“Well, Ida,” Mrs. K said, “what do you think we should do?”
“We could just look around, I suppose, shop in the windows.”
That did not appeal to Mrs. K, and to be honest it did not to me either. I know it is something people do, but why waste a lot of time looking at things one has no intention of buying?
“Perhaps then we could find another tea shop nearby,” I suggested.
“Yes, that would be best. But it has been so long since we went anywhere but the Garden Gate, I have no idea what else there is around here.”
We began looking around us. Something caught my eye.
“Look across the street,” I said. “It looks like a new café has just opened. I can’t
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