Israel Book Shop presents Chapter 31 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.
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Suesse Paprika estklassig
Max Hanter Geselschaft
Gueltigheitsdatum auf der Dose
(Translation from German: High-quality sweet paprika, Max Hanter spices, last date for use stamped on the cover)
“It’s a new package,” their father said as he took the package of spices out of his van. He pointed to the shiny orange-green label. “Check it well.”
“Definitely recommended,” Bernard added, as his sisters loaded bags with products on a wheelbarrow.
“Stop giving out orders as if you were a real officer in the Wehrmacht,” his sister Helena snapped. “As it is, I’m going out of my mind at this point. We’ve got tons of pairs of hands working for us on the other side of the house, but we still have to schlep this monthly shopping order as if we were slaves. At least they bring the firewood, and Father agrees that they can come in to clean too.”
They were standing at the front part of the estate when Bernard stuck a hand in his pocket. “Oops,” he said as he pulled out a pistol.
His father glowered. “That thing is not supposed to be seen here at all,” he said harshly, fixing his gaze on the front gate leading to the deserted road. “Samson Lager only exists for our workers. To the public, we are all innocent Austrian citizens. Imagine if a guest would suddenly arrive and see that thing in your hands.”
“Come on, what would happen?”
“You don’t have a license to carry a weapon—not the rusty ones from World War II and certainly not that new one. Remember, when you go upstairs to change into civilian clothes, your personal weapon goes into the closet and not back into your pocket. And you will recall that this is not the first time I have warned you about this.”
“Don’t worry, he wouldn’t take it to the university with him, Father,” Helena said scornfully. “Just the feeling of the pistol makes him feel powerful, that’s all. He enjoys every minute of this game.”
“In my eyes, it’s not just a game.” Bernard looked at the gun in his hand, running a finger over the gleaming barrel. “Our family has been running this camp for Jews for fifty years, and you think it’s only for financial gain. But for me? For me it is the truth. And it doesn’t matter that the whole world lives in a different reality. It will yet happen.” His eyes glittered. “And a secret appendix to the thesis that I am writing will get the highest grade possible.”
“Alright, alright, Bernard,” his father said impatiently. “When you start with your delusional pontifications, you don’t usually remember to finish.”
“Here, I’m finishing. I just wanted to say that in any case, whether or not the Reich will be reestablished, no one should make light of my contribution to this place. The newspapers and the articles, the memorial event for the Cosmos Fuhrer… I’ve definitely contributed lots of color and persuasive staging for this whole business. Who knows if I’m not the only reason it is still functioning! And,” he turned to his sisters, “despite all your complaints, you don’t look to me like you’re suffering all that badly.” He sniffed the air and burst out laughing. “All those aromas of chocolate and poppy and hot blueberry jam that are waiting for you tonight are thanks to me,” he said to Helena. “Hey, I wonder if you’ll get birthday presents from the Jews tonight!”
He pushed the wheelbarrow full of products along the path that led to the house. When he came to the vestibule, he turned the wheelbarrow’s contents onto the floor. “I have no patience for this boring work,” he grumbled. “Go on, Teresa and Helena, check every item.”
“Especially new and unfamiliar packages,” their father said, bringing up the rear. “Be careful about any kosher symbols or any other Jewish symbol or Hebrew letters. No one wants one minute of inattention to elicit questions from our excellent workers.”
“We can always provide answers,” Bernard said as he tossed the gun from one hand to the other.
“But it’s better not to start with the needless answers, when everything is running so smoothly. Preventing the problems in the first place is much better than dealing with them later.” He leveled his gaze at his son. “And that thing—up to your room, now.”
“Sure, Father,” Bernard said, saluting sharply before he turned to go.
“What did Father say there’s a new package for?” Teresa asked as she sat down on the carved wooden bench in the vestibule and began to study the mountain of products on the floor.
“The spices from the Hanter factory,” her sister said, folding the packaging from a bar of dark chocolate.
“Oh, yes.”
“Someone once said that their paprika is imported from Israel, but it doesn’t say so on the package. We’ve already checked a few dozen times.”
“And now—” Teresa munched on her chocolate while examining the large, clear canister, turning it slowly so she could see all sides of it. “Nope. It doesn’t say anything to that effect now either.”
“You checked carefully?”
“Yes.”
***
Vienna
Charna had a friendly smile and tone, and it was obvious that Dena’s mother-in-law liked her a lot. “Oh, this is so nice!” she exclaimed when both Dena and Charna were sitting in the kitchen at the glass table, which was piled high with refreshments of the type only Mrs. Hanter knew how to serve. “I’m so glad we’re meeting now, in the morning, without the children disrupting. Not that I have anything against my adorable grandchildren, Charna, or against your kids, who your mother tells me so much about…”
“Obviously.” Charna grinned as she leaned back in her chair. “But yes, I agree that it’s better they’re not here now. Sometimes we need to be without them, to have some peace and quiet, so we’re able to talk.”
Dena didn’t like that statement. Not that she never waited for the minute her children would go to sleep so she could have some quiet, but it grated on her ears to hear someone say it so explicitly. She missed her sisters so much right this minute, that Charna’s warm gaze just irritated her.
“I’ll go prepare you some tea,” the older woman said, and she disappeared.
“It’s here!” Dena called after her.
“What’s here?” She took a step back.
“There’s tea here already.”
“No, I meant Chinese tea,” her mother-in-law said, and continued out of the room. Dena got the distinct feeling that this was all staged.
“So, what’s doing, Dena?” Charna asked. “How is Vienna treating you? Are you getting settled?”
“So-so.”
“Why only so-so?”
“I don’t know…” Dena looked for the right words. “Everything is so different from what I’m used to.”
“So it’s just a matter of getting used to it,” Charna said understandingly.
“Well, yes, but it’s not only that.” She wasn’t so fluent in Yiddish, and she felt that the effort it took to find the right words was making her sound even more halting.
“What else is it?” Charna asked. She picked up a delicate porcelain plate and a silver fork with two tines and helped herself to a slice of Viennese torte with chocolate ganache and real cherries on top.
“It’s hard for me to define it. I was used to more…”
“More what?”
It would sound foolish to say “I don’t know,” for the second time in a minute and a half, right? “Maybe more Yiddishkeit… No, no,” she said hastily when she saw the other woman’s eyebrows crease in puzzlement. “Everything here is very heimish, and the people are very much like us. But I’m used to women living different kinds of lives, simpler lives, where the main thing is not only…” The memory of her first trip with her mother-in-law into town rose in her mind. “Not only clothes and furs from the most expensive factory in Europe—what’s their name? Wanges? No, something similar.” She suddenly noticed that the fur cape hanging on the hook near the door of the room bore the elliptical gold tag.
“Our life here is not only about clothes and furs,” Charna said, her eyes no longer smiling. “And excuse me, but it’s very arrogant to judge people based on those things. We have plenty of ruchniyus, too: shiurim, parshah classes, chizuk gatherings, and all kinds of other ruchniyus–oriented events that some people think are below them to attend.”
Dena got the sharp jibe. “It’s not that I think it’s below me,” Dena protested. “It’s just that it’s hard for me to get used to a new place and a new social scene. And when I spoke about furs, I didn’t mean specifically your cape…”
“So because you don’t want to make the effort to get used to it here, and to get to know us, you’ve decided that you’re better than us and you label us.” Charna tasted the cake. “That’s not very nice at all. It’s ga’avah.” She continued eating delicately.
Dena wanted to kick herself. She helped herself to a slice of cake, if only to buy some time as she tried to think quickly of what else she could say. Because as uncomfortable as it was for her to admit it, Charna was right.
Her mother-in-law walked back in and looked at the two younger women eating quietly. “I hope you two are finding a common language,” she said, looking alternately from one to the other, as if wondering whether to join them or not.
“Dena’s Yiddish is actually fine,” Charna said graciously. “And your cake is delicious.”
“Thank you. Your mother makes it like this, too, right?”
“Exactly.”
So, only her Israeli mother didn’t know how to make divine Viennese tortes, and only she, the Israeli daughter-in-law, didn’t know how to make social connections. And she had destroyed the first attempt at friendship with her foolishness. What could she say? If Ima would have heard her now, she really would have been ashamed of her. Ugh.
How much longer would it take for her mother-in-law to figure out that something had gone badly between her and Charna? And that for the most part, her daughter-in-law was to blame for it?
Dena forced herself to try to patch things up. “It really is a masterpiece of a cake. I would love to be able to bake on such a level.”
“In order to get to this level, you have to start from the bottom,” Bentzy’s mother said. “Charna herself is a gourmet cook, and I’m sure that being friends with her will help you with that.” She smiled broadly. “What do you say, Charna? You’ll agree to give Dena some good tips and recipes, won’t you?”
“Sure, of course,” Charna said, flashing a quick smile at Dena. To Dena’s surprise, it was not a triumphant smile, but a rather friendly one. “If she agrees to start from the beginning.”
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