Israel Book Shop presents Chapter 23 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.
Shimmy opened his eyes in a Chinese hospital. The military helicopter that had brought him here seemed like a blurry, hazy dream. But the soft mattress was very real, as was the IV line connected to his forearm. He sat up in the bed and looked around. If, just a few hours ago, his only desire was to get out of the hole he’d been thrown into, now, after three hours of deep sleep and some time to recover, he also felt the acute lack of his phone, wallet, and watch. Did the thieves actually think the watch was gold? It didn’t even look like gold; Batya’s parents were totally not on board with that kind of thing.
Two short policemen approached his bed. They asked him a few questions in broken English and photographed him from all sides, as if he was the offender and not the victim; then they disappeared.
Shimmy got himself together and davened, and then ate two cucumbers for breakfast. His tefillin were in his suitcase in his hotel, along with a few cans of kosher food that would quiet his hunger more than these scrawny cucumbers, but where was he and where was the hotel? He didn’t even know what province of China he was in now. Was he still in the Beijing area? Was Shio Ching up to date on what had happened to him?
No one came to him. Not Yang Yang, and not the bat that had stood sentry patiently next to him until the helicopter had come, at which point it spread its wings and disappeared. The ones who had administered first aid in the helicopter didn’t know a word of English. They had loaded him onto the chopper, and without any extra words, had brought him here.
Shimmy got up and stumbled toward the window, his bruised limbs still aching. Not that he was familiar with all parts of the huge city of Beijing, but he wondered if he’d be able to identify something. The buildings outside the window were tall and impressive, and looked rather identical to one another. They must all belong to the hospital complex.
“Simmy?”
Shimmy turned around. “Shio Ching!” he exclaimed happily. “You came!”
“Sure I came,” the translator said as he approached. “How are you? Oh, my, you look dreadful!”
“Yes, it’s a miracle I am still alive after such a fall.” Shimmy studied him through narrowed eyes. Was he part of the plot of the taxi driver and his cronies? How could he know?
“Yes, yes. I was so worried! I came out of the amusement park—and you were gone, as if you had never been there! I thought the taxi went to park somewhere else, but no matter how much I searched, I couldn’t find him.”
“I know,” Shimmy said tiredly. “Can you find out when I’m getting out of here, Shio?”
“You took care of medical insurance before you traveled here, right?”
“Sure.”
“Good, so you won’t have a problem with money at your discharge,” Shio said. “Where do you want to go?”
“To my hotel.”
“And how will you pay them for the extra days?”
Shimmy stared at him. “That problem again,” he said tiredly, sinking back onto the bed. “I forgot about it for a minute. Now I’m really left with nothing! Not even my credit card!”
“Right, so you won’t be able to keep employing me.”
“I can get to the factory to see the final version of Tanchum without you,” Shimmy said, feeling that his snarky tone was a direct result of the fear and frustration he’d experienced the past few hours. And it wasn’t yet over, to be honest. “And then, I anyway have to board my flight. I think I’ll just go to the airport and wait there with my luggage. But I do expect you to help me with some simple things. Gedalya and I will pay you back every single last cent, don’t worry.”
“What kind of simple things?” Shio’s voice sounded distant.
“Like paying for my taxi, for example. I have no way out of here.”
“I’ll talk to Gedalya.” Shio’s body language did not emanate much empathy and willingness to help. “And I’ll see what I can do for you.”
*
“Hello?” Someone unfamiliar answers the phone. I glance at my phone to make sure I had called Yudi. Yes, it’s his number.
“Hi,” I answer politely. “Can I speak with Yudi, my son?”
“He’s not home,” the woman answers. “Do you want Ruchi, maybe?”
The woman doesn’t wait for an answer from me—I can hear her giving over the phone. Apparently Ruchi doesn’t really want to talk to me, though. I hear whispers, some heavy breathing, a somewhat chiding tone, and then finally, Ruchi’s weak voice: “Hello?”
“Ruchi, how are you?” I ignore her whimpering voice and try to sound like a warm, good mother-in-law. How does a warm, good mother-in-law sound? At these moments with Ruchi, I do not remember. But at least I’m trying.
“Baruch Hashem, fine.”
“Good, and how is cutie Isamar?”
“Baruch Hashem, fine.”
“Does he cry a lot?”
“No, not at all.”
“I’m happy to hear. So you’re able to rest?”
“Yes.”
“Who was that who answered the phone?” The nosy shvigger in action. “What happened, Yudi didn’t take his phone with him?”
“He went to work and forgot it at home,” she whispers. “And it’s Chana’le who answered. My aide.”
“Oh! I didn’t know that she started coming again.”
“Yes.” My daughter-in-law sighs. “My mother says that maybe in a month, we are going to go home, so I need to learn to take care of Isamar.” She pauses, sounding like she’s suppressing a sob. “So Chana’le comes to teach me how to do things for him.”
“Very nice,” I say in a cheerful tone. “So, what are you doing today?”
“We bathed him.” Her tired voice is in stark contrast to my cheerful one. “And now we’re dressing him.” Suddenly her voice gets infused with some life. “He has a really nice outfit that my grandmother from Toronto sent me. She sent a few outfits, and I have to use them all quickly, before they get too small on him.”
“That’s really nice. Take some photos and send them to me, okay? I miss him already. He probably got much bigger since we were there. They change all the time, these tiny babies.”
“Change?” I can’t detect if she’s alarmed or filled with hope. “Why? Who’s changing?”
“I mean that babies grow all the time, so they look different from week to week,” I say cautiously. “Like, he doesn’t look the same as he did when he was a few days old, right?”
“I don’t…I don’t know.” She sounds confused, and I berate myself, although I’m not sure what for. “Maybe speak to Chana’le and ask her.” I hear her whispering, “She said he looks different.”
“No,” I try to say, but the first voice, which had picked up before, now speaks into the phone, an authoritative voice filled with confidence.
“Hello?”
I don’t know how old this woman is; she wasn’t introduced to me at the bris, if she was even there. But she sounds younger than me by a good few years. “I just said that tiny babies change all the time because they grow so fast,” I explain before she asks, “and that Isamar surely looks different now than he did when I was in America, at his bris.”
“Right,” she says calmly. “It’s true. Isamar has grown, and his face looks rounder and bigger, which is normal for a baby who is almost a month old. That’s what your shvigger said, Ruchi.”
Is that the extent to which people need to explain such simple and universal sentences to my daughter-in-law?! I didn’t notice that in the past with her. Maybe it’s still the post-birth weakness, or maybe it’s because of the story with Isamar’s foot, or it’s the financial avalanches that are causing confusion all around and taking a toll on her as well.
With a sigh, I end the call and switch over to my Sara’le, who calls in just then. “Hi, Sara’le,” I say tiredly. “What’s doing?”
“You just spoke to Yudi,” she declares.
“No, actually to Ruchi.”
“Nu?”
“I asked for pictures of Isamar…whatever, it doesn’t matter. Yudi was at work, so I spoke to her and her aide. They’re taking care of the baby together, and everything is fine.”
“You don’t sound very fine.”
“I will be fine,” I promise her, and that’s when I realize that I really do have to find something to keep me busy. Selling fake jewelry isn’t relevant right now, and I’m not about to enter any kind of business during these financially tumultuous times. But maybe volunteering would be good for me?
“Maybe it’s a good idea for me to start volunteering someplace,” I say to Sara’le. “I just need to find the right field and the right place.”
“Something with babies?”
“Maybe… I’m not sure.”
“Hmm. No, not that field.” It’s spooky how Sara’le always seems to read my thoughts. “As it is, you are thinking about Isamar all day. Enough. That’s also why I’m not going to suggest that you volunteer at a special-needs girls’ home, even though I know of two such apartments in your area, and I’m sure they’d be very happy to get help.”
“No,” I say languidly. “Even if all the comparisons would be in Ruchi’s favor, I have no strength to get into the whole thing.”
“But at a clothing gemach you may constantly come across something similar to the dress Ruchi wore at the bris, or to her mother’s robe; and at a preschool afternoon program, you can always imagine which boy Isamar will look like when he grows up… Ima, maybe you should come and volunteer in my house? I come home every day at five, and I’m desperate for some help. And I’m afraid that if Ruchi’s aide would come here, she’d find that there’s tons of work to be done!”
*
I don’t want to go into details, but my son was robbed this week because of a few hundred dollars that he had in his wallet. Money is making people go out of their minds. It’s a shame that after the bank collapse, instead of stopping to clarify for ourselves where we are going, and in front of Whom we’ll have to give a reckoning, some of the world is only becoming more money-hungry and more mistaken…
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