Photo Credit: E.T. Call Home - Tony Luciani, 2016 Archival print on Hahnemühle paper 15.125 x 16.625 in Raizel does not like to leave her apartment during the long cold, season. She sits perched at the window sill, torn bits of challah portioned beside her on the ledge, waiting for her feathered friends. A robin’s- egg blue pashmina drapes loosely across her thin shoulders. On the Esplanade below, her neighbour Malka is carrying grocery bags on her way back from St-Viateur. It’s almost Shabbat, and Malka is hurrying home to prepare the flanken, matzo ball soup, and lokshen kugel. Raizel, on the other hand, makes cholent. She has everything she needs. Sometimes a bit more, sometimes a bit less. Before Abe died, Raizel would prepare a proper erev Shabbat meal; never went without kreplach or tzimmes. Now she doesn’t even light the candles. There’s no one to say the Brachah with, no one to make Kiddush. It’s all too quiet. She goes to bed early. When the children call, she’s taken the phone off the hook; doesn’t want them to know she’s alone in the dark. In the morning, Raizel props open the bay window and rolls over the heavy oak chair,. The one Abe sat in for sixty-two years preparing client accounts and tax returns; its threadbare cushion still warm. She picks up the binoculars, placing her elbows firmly on the ledge, and straightens her arthritic back. The air is fresh. A light snow is falling. The parade of black-capped chickadees, blue jays, and purple finches remains hidden until she drizzles sesame seeds and the bread along the sill. But this morning she is looking elsewhere. They will have to wait. Scanning the park, past the wrought iron fencing and its pointy spires, and past the rose garden buried under tufts of snow, she spots Malka. And Chaim, trailing close behind. A pleasure to see him. Raizel first began to notice Chaim only after her daughter bought her the binoculars, “'to give her something to look at,”' her daughter had said, “'since she was refusing to go out.”' At first, Raizel thought she must be imagining things, thought maybe she should call Dr. Lipschitz to make an appointment. But no, it was him. Chaim would swoop down close behind Malka a few feet off the ground, his arms gently flapping, like a midnight black crow. He would accompany Malka as she walked along the stone pathway, always just as far as the gate leading onto Fairmont Avenue. And he would be dressed for the season; pastel peach plumage in summer and shimmering black feathers fringed with pointy barbs in winter; how did he know? Raizel and Abe had gone to Chaim’s funeral, they went to the shiva, they consoled Malka and her children; there was no doubt, Chaim was gone. But now, here, there he was, fawning over Malka all over again, her constant companion. Raizel had been curious how it was that Malka couldn’t see Chaim, didn’t seem to even know he was there. No hidden smile, no look back at him, no small wave. Nothing. So, it was strange when Malka began spending so much time promenading around in the park, no matter the weather, or time of day. Raizel felt a little chilled. She had been watching them for nearly an hour. She pushed the window closed and began to set the table for lunch. Cholent. It would warm her up. Before sitting down to eat, Raizel picked up the binoculars again and scanned the apartment. Would she be so lucky? Would it be one or two for lunch today? (586 words)
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April 2024
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