Israel Book Shop presents Chapter 2 of a new online serial novel, If Anyone Is Listening, by Esther Rapaport. Check back for a new chapter every week. Click here for previous chapters.
Copyright © Israel Bookshop Publications.
The office was elegant and upscale, but that was not the reason he had come specifically here. The two reasons that had led him to contact Sun Jang, the owner of this factory, were his finely tuned production line and his reputation for honesty.
“When you catch a Chinese person lying, he won’t even blink,” Gedaliah had explained to him when they’d first spoken. “He’ll immediately say, ‘Okay, right. You want us to agree on something else?’ But everyone says that Sun Jang is very okay—reliable, diligent, smart. He gets it.”
The meeting at the office of the manager of the ‘Factory for the Production of Motorized Toys,’ the translation of the long, convoluted name in Chinese, went very well. They agreed on an adorable upsherin boy doll that would daven, sing zemiros, recognize the names of the aleph-beis, ask for a ‘nosh with a hechsher,’ and do a few other shticky things along those lines. The deputy manager sat in on the meeting, and at one point, Gedaliah joined by phone. Things were falling into place. Aside for one thing, which Shimmy and Gedaliah had not taken note of before the flight.
“Three and a half weeks at least,” Shimmy told Batya on the phone, when he was in the taxi, on the way back to the hotel. The interpreter sat beside him, also on the phone, and in any case, he didn’t know Hebrew. “That’s how long it will take for the sample to be ready. And that’s considered very fast, they say. His deputy manager also said so. And Gedaliah was very apologetic.”
“What does it help that he was apologetic?” Batya said, fighting the tears that were rising in her throat. The apology wouldn’t help her at night, with Shmuli and everything else.
“That’s why I thought that I’d come home and then go back when it’s ready. But on the other hand, isn’t it a waste of money? Another round-trip ticket?”
“Ask Gedaliah for another loan.”
“I can’t. He’s already invested his part and gave me one loan. It’s enough.”
They were both quiet.
Shimmy stared out the window without seeing anything. Something was buzzing quietly near his ear, and he waved his hand and opened the window to bat away the insect. Maybe he could ask his father for something? His mother had told him last week that they’d gotten a nice sum of money from Rubinson, the guy from Abba’s shiurim hotline. They were putting it aside for seventeen-year-old Tzippy, so it wasn’t urgent for them to have that money right now…
“I can ask my father for a loan,” he said as the taxi stopped behind what appeared to be an endless line of cars. “But I can only do that if you agree to go there for Shabbos. If I call to ask if you can come for Shabbos, I can also naturally get in the request for a loan. I can’t call and talk about money when my parents haven’t seen us or Shmuli for three months already.”
Batya didn’t answer. She was thinking about her busy, tired mother-in-law, who retired to bed immediately after the Shabbos meals, and about her mother, who took little Shmuli to her room and allowed her, Batya, to rest instead.
She walked through the rooms of the house, straightening a picture, and tugging at the tablecloth so that the embroidered flower should be right at the center. Why was she doing all this, she wondered, if Shimmy wasn’t going to be coming home any time soon, anyway?
And if she had to go to her in-laws, then why did it have to be when Shimmy was out of the country, of all times?
“…so that I can come back,” Shimmy was saying. He recoiled when a big black bird flew very close to the open window. “The taxi just got to the hotel, so I’ll call you back a little later, okay?”
Shio Ching also finished his phone call at that moment. He looked at Shimmy. “What now?” he asked practically, after Shimmy got out of the car.
“Actually, nothing.”
“Are you waiting here for the production, or will you go back to Israel in the meantime?”
“I’m not sure yet.”
“Because if you are here in the meantime, I can take you to all kinds of places that would want your business, and you can make some money, besides for the toys that you want to produce.”
“Legal business?”
“Of course.” He hesitated for a moment. “Look, knockoffs of brand-name items are not legal, but it’s not as bad as other things… Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“Yes. And I don’t want to do that either. I have no interest in getting into trouble.”
“So what I wanted to suggest was that you buy non-brand-name items. Just regular things, and then import them to Israel. There are very cheap things here. Clothes, jewelry, furniture—you name it.”
“Made in China…” Shimmy murmured.
“Of course, China,” Shio said, sounding a bit miffed. “Where else, France?”
“No, no, of course.” Shimmy hastened to dull the impact of the insult. “So, what are you suggesting?”
“Maybe food? Candy?”
“No, I would need to hire kashrus supervisors for that, and it would involve too many logistics for me right now.”
“Yes, kosher.” Shio Ching nodded understandingly. “How about clothing, then? If you buy clothes that are ready-made, all you have to do is take them to Israel and sell them.”
“I need to think about it,” Shimmy said, wondering what Gedaliah’s reaction would be to the idea of his using this opportunity. For some reason, he was actually thinking of his father now. He knew what his father would say about this: that utilizing opportunities was a good thing, but there was no reason to try grabbing everything at once.
How he had hated this sentence as a child! For the most part, he didn’t like Abba’s statements. They were focused and terse, and were too much on target, to the extent that he wondered how his father knew him so well, even though, these days, the two of them met so infrequently.
***
After two and a half days of speaking only with Yudi, I call at an hour that I know Ruchy is also home. I cannot not speak to her, even for a short time, because Ruchy is very sensitive. And so is her mother.
Yudi answers the phone, and I gauge his mood based on his tone. He sounds fine, baruch Hashem. At least for that.
“I went to Blumenfeld, my boss, today,” he tells me, and in my mind’s eye I can envision his brown eyes sparkling. “I told him that I can’t just wash dishes all the time. First of all, I want to meet people. And besides,” he paused for a moment, “I know how to cook a little, because you taught me. So I could help out with that also. Why should I just wash dishes all day long? Yuck.”
“So, what did he say?” I ask carefully.
“That he’ll think about it.”
“Great, let him think it over,” I say. It had not been easy to find work for Yudi. Even though his in-laws are from there, we, from here, made a lot of effort to find a place where he could integrate. But if my son can get up and speak assertively to his boss, I’m happy. “I’m sure you spoke very politely to him.”
“Yes, of course.”
When we finish our conversation, I ask to speak to Ruchy. Based on the background noise, her mother is there, and maybe even her two sisters. “Hi, Ruchy! How is everything?” I ask.
“Fine, fine,” she answers cheerfully. “I baked a cake today for my nephew’s Chumash seudah, and it came out amazing!”
“A cake? That’s so nice! Which kind?”
“A chocolate cake, three layers. Delish.”
“It really does sound delicious,” I compliment her.
“Yes, we ate a bit from the sides, and my mother and Chanale also ate some, and they both said it’s great. It’s also pretty.”
“Oh, it’s a shame that you can’t send cake by fax or mail.” I try to inject some good cheer into my tone. “I would love to taste it, too!”
“But we can send a package,” she said, and then raised her voice. “Mommy! Can I send my shvigger some cake? Yes, she does want it! It’s too complicated? Oh…too bad. My mother says I can’t,” she updates me sadly.
“But take a picture for me,” I request.
“Oh, yes, for sure!” She sounds excited again. Then she tells me what she did today with Chanale—her aide—and with her mother, who had also been there this morning. Now her mother has come back, to check if everything is okay and if she or Yudi need to buy or clean anything.
I really admire her mother, I absolutely do. Because I know how hard it is to raise a child with limited cognitive abilities.
But Ruchy’s abilities—or shall I say, disabilities—are different from Yudi’s, even though he had only washed dishes today and she’d baked a complicated cake.
And I’m here, in Eretz Yisrael, and he’s there, in New York. And I wonder and worry about him, all the time.
As I speak now with my daughter-in-law, I feel like a shvigger all the way.
***
If anyone is listening to me, think: Have you ever been disappointed by something? Real disappointment, that eats away at you and hurts? I’m sure you have. There is not a single person who has come to This World to simply lick honey all day. And if there are those around you who seem to be busy all day with harvesting honey and eating it, well, then, you can be sure that the bees are not always such good little insects.
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