While We're Far Apart by Lynn Austin Page B

entwined with the memory of Miriam Shoshanna – stuck him like a knife in his ribs.
    “How are you doing, Mr. Mendel?” Esther asked politely. “We haven’t seen much of you since the night of the fire. Are you okay now?”
    “Yes. I am fine. But I would like someone to cut off these bandages for me. As you can see, I am quite helpless with them on.”
    She took a small step backward. “Shouldn’t a doctor or . . . or a nurse do it? I’ve never done anything like that before. I wouldn’t want to hurt you.”
    “You cannot hurt me. Just cut them off, please. You will find a pair of scissors in that desk drawer.”
    “Why do you need them off?”
    “Because I cannot do anything for myself with them on. I cannot turn on the stove to heat up my dinner or turn down the radio – I can barely feed myself, and I am growing tired of it.”
    “I can turn on the stove for you. And fix the radio.”
    “Are you going to feed me, too? Heh?” He saw that he had frightened her a bit, and he hadn’t meant to. Why vent his frustration on her? “I am sorry. I should not have said that.”
    “That’s okay. I can help you in the kitchen, if you want.”
    Jacob glanced at Peter. He was sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the radio, listening intently.
    “It’s another base hit for the Dodgers . . . Looks like it’s going to be a double . . . Yes! He’s safe on second . . .”
    “Do you have a radio of your own upstairs?” Jacob asked her.
    “We do, but we’re not supposed to listen to it until after our homework is done.”
    “Ah. I see.” He would let the boy listen a while longer. “Come into the kitchen then, if you don’t mind, and we will see about some food.” He opened the crammed refrigerator for Esther and showed her what he wanted to eat. “Do you know the best way to warm it up? I am tired of eating everything cold, but as you can see, all my pots are dirty and I am unable to wash them.”
    “I’ll wash them for you.”
    “It would be less work for you to simply cut these off.” He felt a smile tugging his mouth as he held up his hands again. “Then I could wash them myself.”
    She caught the joke and smiled in return. “I don’t know anything about bandages, Mr. Mendel, but I do know how to wash dishes.”
    “Fine. Whichever you prefer.”
    He watched her choose a pot from the pile and scrub it clean with soap and water. “It’s really sad about the synagogue burning down, isn’t it?” she asked as she worked.
    “Yes. Yes it is. I suppose they will rebuild it. But even so, it will never be the same.”
    She scooped several spoonfuls of the casserole he had chosen into the clean pot and put it on the stove to warm. It had been a long time since Jacob had watched his wife work in the kitchen. Miriam Shoshanna had loved to cook. Watching her knead the dough and braid the challah for Shabbat had been like watching a sculptor at work. He wondered about the daughter-in-law he had never met, Sarah Rivkah. Did she bake challah for Avraham and light the Shabbat candles and recite the blessing? And his granddaughter, little Fredeleh –
    “Can I ask you a question?” Esther interrupted his thoughts.
    “Yes?”
    “Everyone says that my mama and Mrs. Mendel are up in heaven now, but I don’t understand why God wanted them, do you? Couldn’t He see that we need them down here a lot more?”
    Jacob felt tears burning his eyes. He looked at his cluttered kitchen, the stack of dirty dishes, then at the child waiting for his reply, and he realized her need was every bit as great as his was, even if her graceful hands were not covered in bandages.
    “I am sorry. But I do not know the answer to your question.”
    “Sometimes . . .” she said softly, “sometimes I feel really, really mad at God.”
    He could hardly speak. “Yes. Yes, so do I.”
    She looked up at him, and he saw her tears through his own. And before Jacob realized what was happening, Esther flung herself at him, clinging