Israel Book Shop presents Chapter 25 of a new online serial novel, Nine A.M., by Esther Rapaport. Check back for a new chapter every week. Click here for previous chapters.
Copyright © Israel Bookshop Publications.
On a piece of paper, written with an unsharpened pencil:
Tram Ticket:
Passenger – Dror Elkovitz
Driver – Chaim Landau
Location – Yerushalayim
To – The Bais Hamikdash
Price – 2 silver shekels
“It’s too expensive, Chaim,” Naomi said seriously as she glanced at the large clock on the wall, and then turned back to the creased little note. Elky was already at work; she’d only be able to catch her for a few minutes during her lunch break.
“Expensive?”
“Yes. A silver shekel is worth much more than the marks we have here.”
“The flower-seller wrote it,” replied five-year-old Moishele, not quite grasping what she was saying.
“Who, Gittel?”
“Yes,” the boy said. He dashed over to the row of chairs that he had carefully arranged and shouted, “Tram! Tram! Who wants to come?”
“I’m just finishing preparing the medicines for my store!” Dror shouted as he organized empty spools of thread on a shelf. “These are the medicine bottles, and now I’m coming!” He skipped away and took a seat behind the “driver,” and all the three- to five-year-olds followed him. “To the Beis Hamikdash!” Chaim shouted, and with a deafening noise, the children dragged the row of chairs from one end of the classroom to the other.
Naomi turned away and went to prepare herself a cup of tea in the small kitchen. The sleepless nights she’d been having were not doing good things for her throat. She chatted for a few minutes with her grandmother’s friends, and then returned to the classroom, cup in hand. Rivku, the teacher of the other group, was helping Surele cut up some brown paper into money bills, and two girls from her group went out to collect little stones to use as coins. It was amazing what a game could do.
Rivku suddenly appeared at her side. “I just hope they won’t get angry at you for teaching the children Hebrew. They might claim that you are preaching Zionism,” she said. Her words contained no anger or rebuke, and Naomi didn’t ask who “they” were.
“No one here denies that according to the Tanach, Eretz Yisrael belongs to the Jews, and that our original language is Lashon Hakodesh,” Naomi replied, and her eyes looked deep into Rivku’s. “I didn’t incite the children to be bitter, and I didn’t ask to establish a state anywhere… I just illustrated a dream for them. So who is going to accuse me of Zionism?”
“I’m certainly not going to,” Rivku said, smiling. Then she changed the subject. “Surele, your student, is very talented. Did you see what nice money bills she prepared? She wants to manage the ‘Eretz Yisrael Bank.’”
“Excellent. Let her keep busy, so she won’t think about her friend Zuska the whole time,” Naomi whispered. She finished her tea. “Tell me, Rivku, do you mind if I go out during the lunch break for a few minutes? I need to take care of something urgent. You can leave another day during the break and I’ll stay here with everyone.”
“Okay, sure.”
It was the first time since the preschool was officially divided into two groups that all the children stayed together from davening until lunch. The classroom was cheerful and excited, and Naomi decided not to stop it. Katy was sashaying from corner to corner with the broom, announcing that she was the “cleaner of Yerushalayim.” Rivku helped Surele turn the desk into a banking station, and Naomi told the two girls in charge of lunch that today they were in charge of the “restaurant for the olim l’regel.”
“And there was room there for everyone!” Dror shouted. “So no pushing, no need to push!”
“Because we are the tzaddikim of Eretz Yisrael,” one of the lunch girls reiterated his message. She pointed toward a six-year-old with messy hair who was pushing her friend toward the table.
And that was when Naomi decided to expand the game beyond the walls of the preschool, to their homes.
At the moment, she didn’t have time to think about the practical details, as she hurried outside, up the path toward the trees and the factory. Time was short, and she had to convey to Elky the importance of the issue.
“Naomi!” her friend greeted her. She was just walking out of the main office. “How are you? How is your husband?”
“Baruch Hashem, he’s slowly starting to recover.”
“I’m so happy to hear that!” Elky flashed her familiar smile, and Naomi remembered the many wonderful hours they’d spent together over the years. “What’s going on? Why aren’t you at the preschool now?”
“My assistant and I are taking turns having a break. Today she stayed with the children.”
“Should we go to the main dining hall?”
“Sounds good. I haven’t been there for months.”
“My mother will be happy to see you,” Elky said. “And I’m happy to see you too, honestly. So, Naomi, tell me, how are things?” There was something in her voice that Naomi could not define. Like a slightly patronizing tone; it was something that Naomi had long detected. It used to be more subtle and delicate, but after Elky had become an office worker, and Naomi the preschool teacher, it had gotten stronger every time they met and talked.
“How are things? Well, I’m very worried about my student.”
“Who, the Neiman girl?”
“Yes. According to the doctor, she needs antibiotics urgently, more than all the other patients.”
Elky didn’t reply. They walked into the dining room, and were warmly welcomed by Rochelle Cohen, Elky’s mother. “Did you come to eat, Naomi?” she asked.
Naomi didn’t really know what to say. Why else would someone come to the dining hall at lunchtime if not to eat?
“She’s my guest, Mamme,” Elky replied. “You can write her portion down on my account.”
Naomi blushed and then remembered that she had been registered in the “small kitchen,” with the children and the elderly, and not among the diners in the main dining room. “No, I didn’t come to eat,” she said hastily. “I ate before; it’s fine.”
“So why did you come?” Elky didn’t try to argue with the rejection of her generous invitation, as she walked with a loaded plate to one of the empty tables. “You came just to talk to me, during your break? That’s so nice of you!” There was a clear note of disbelief in her tone.
Naomi looked around. Her mother wasn’t there; she must have gone back on shift in the sewing room.
Elky sat down at the end of a long, empty table, and Naomi sat down across from her. “Zuska needs antibiotics,” she said without preamble.
Elky made a whispered brachah and brought the fork to her mouth. She chewed, set down the fork, swallowed, and looked into Naomi’s eyes. “She has no chance,” she said bluntly.
Naomi held her gaze. “I want her to have one.”
“So you want. We want all kinds of things in life.”
“Not many things are as vitally important as this.”
“It’s obvious that you’re very devoted to your children. I mean, the children in the preschool.” Elky raised her fork with a sigh.
“My devotion won’t be worth anything if I can’t help them.”
Elky didn’t reply. She continued eating quietly, her eyes fixed on the table. After a few long moments she asked, “So what do you want from me?”
“Help me get medication for her,” Naomi whispered.
Elky stared at her. “Me?”
“Yes. I know you have connections with this.”
Elky lowered her voice, and Naomi had to strain to hear the words. “What connections? That I work in the office with Eva Sherer? She’s the one with the connection to patients and medicines, not me.”
“My understanding is that you can have some influence as well. You can be persuasive. I don’t know.”
“The truth is that right after Wangel brought the antibiotics to Leo, I spoke to them about your husband. But you said he’s starting to recover anyway, even without the medicine, right?”
“B’chasdei Shamayim, I really hope so.”
Two other workers arrived and sat down next to them, telling Naomi how happy they were to see her, and that she had to come visit more often. The conversation flowed until Elky bentched, and she and Naomi left.
“I have nothing to do with it,” Elky whispered when they were both outside. “And please, don’t ask me to do things that will get me in trouble.”
“I don’t want to get you in trouble, chalilah. The question is if there is something you can do without getting into trouble.”
“Maybe I can bribe Eva…” Elky’s voice was almost inaudible; only her lips moved. “But for that, you’ll have to give up your wedding gift from the Wangel family.”
“I didn’t get anything from them!”
“You did. Not a lot, like I did, but you did get something. As you know, Katarina likes your mother a lot… She gave instructions to pay you this month five times your regular salary, in honor of your wedding.”
***
Did she have fever?
Maybe not. Maybe yes.
Dena stood on the open porch, a steaming glass of tea cupped in her two hands, and looked down seven floors. Cars were driving down the dark road. The steam curled up from the glass, blocking her view of the headlights gliding down the street. She saw blurry spots of light melting into the black background, and turning into glowing strips.
“Mommy?” It was Duvi, padding over to her in his socks.
Dena took a deep breath. “Yes, Duvi’le?”
“Are you sad?”
“Me? N-no…why?”
“Because you don’t like paprika,” the six-year-old reasoned.
“Me? I like paprika very much, and so do you. You know how you always say that you like the chicken more than the potatoes because the chicken is red? It’s red because of the paprika.”
“So then, Tatty doesn’t like it.” The boy nodded to himself somberly.
“Tatty does like it,” Dena said confidently. “Did you forget what we saw in Zeidy Hanter’s factory?”
“Tons of paprika!” the boy exclaimed. “But…does it have worms in it?”
Dena looked behind her. All she needed was for Bentzy to hear his oldest son talking now. “Zeidy’s paprika is very, very good, and of very high quality.” She was talking fast, the words pouring out of her mouth. “Worms only come if the spices are a bit old, or if they are left open in the cabinet, or—”
“And we never leave open food in the cabinet!” Duvi cried triumphantly. “So we won’t get worms in our spices! But then why…” He scrunched up his mouth, as if remembering an important point that he had to clarify, but Dena decided the time had come to end this sensitive conversation. The sooner, the better.
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