Israel Book Shop presents Chapter 27 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.
“How are you, Yaakov Shlomo?”
“Baruch Hashem, fine. Uh, is that you, Abe? This isn’t your regular number.” Yaakov Shlomo studied the note that was left on the pink runner on the hallway table:
Dear Abba,
There’s a container of vegetable soup in the fridge, and a plate with chicken and mashed potatoes. You can warm it up in the microwave. Love, Tzippy.
P.S. I wanted to be home this afternoon to warm up the food for you, but we have a school trip. Feel good!
“Yes, that’s why I called. Look, in the next two-three weeks, I won’t be available by phone, and I won’t be dealing with the hotline.” Rubinson sounded like he was in a hurry, or perhaps somewhat tense, to put it more precisely. “Do you hear me?”
“Yes.”
“So I’m giving you the number of a friend of mine who has agreed to manage the hotline for now. If you need something, call him, but only if it’s really necessary, because he’s only going to be dealing with serious glitches or things like that.”
“I hear. Is everything okay, Abe? Do you feel alright?”
“So-so. But Hashem is great, and He will help.”
“For sure. Be strong. Is there anything I can do to help you out?”
“Um… Maybe talk a bit less about the economic situation. I think you’ve been giving it too much attention lately, and people are getting sick of it.”
“I only went back to it because of the questions you faxed me.”
“Right, I’m not complaining. But still, maybe now you should change the subject, talk about different things. Not about materialism versus eternity, not about what’s happening now with the banks—just take it to a totally different place.”
“Fine. Do you have any specific preference?”
“Facing challenges is something people like to hear about—your lectures on that topic were very good. And you know what?” For a moment, he sounded like he was smiling. “You can also talk about unfounded suspicions.”
“Unfounded suspicions?” Yaakov Shlomo repeated, watching the container of soup revolve in the microwave.
“Yes, like when a person is suspected of doing something wrong, and he is harangued about it, but he isn’t actually connected to the crime at all. That’s also a tough challenge to face, isn’t it?”
“Absolutely. There’s a lot to talk about.”
“Um…on second thought, maybe it’s better to just ignore it… Let me think a minute.”
“Ignore what?”
Abe was quiet for a protracted moment. “I can’t decide,” he said finally, with a sigh. “I guess talk about whatever you want. Oh, but don’t say that you were asked not to talk about the economic situation, or that you were asked to talk about unfounded suspicions. Just start the speech with whatever the subject is. Okay?”
The conversation ended the same minute that the fax machine line rang in the other room. Yaakov Shlomo wondered if he should go over there. Walking was becoming harder and harder for him, and if it wasn’t urgent, he didn’t feel up to the effort.
But most of the faxes that came to the house were connected to Rubinson’s hotline. And because something about this conversation was strange, as if Rubinson was afraid of something or someone, maybe the fax that had arrived was important? Would it offer a clue?
The soup had two more minutes to go in the microwave, and Yaakov Shlomo decided to go check what had come in. It took him more than two minutes to get to the fax machine, and when he got there, he didn’t know if he should be regretful or happy to see that it was only a referral for surgery, which he would have to send to Assuta Hospital. So the mystery of the strange conversation with Rubinson, who was abandoning his beloved hotline, had not yet been solved, but at least he could finally make an appointment for the surgery.
***
The boxes in the warehouse were filled with cartons in various shades of blue, with a clear front. Tanchum was a huge doll, over two feet high, with sweet, soft facial features. An embroidered velvet yarmulke adhered to his soft nylon hair with two clips, which were actually attached with glue.
The manager eagerly showed Shimmy the charging port for the doll’s battery. “Now it doesn’t work,” he said. “But take it to your hotel, charge it there, and check it out.”
A few minutes later, Shimmy was standing on the sidewalk outside the factory, holding the big doll box in his right hand, with the bat hovering over his head. In theory, he was supposed to contact his driver now, using Christopher, but he had a sudden urge to do something different.
“Mr. Yang Yang,” he said. “Mr. Yang Yang?”
It took almost three minutes until he heard the man’s voice emerge from the bat. “Yes?”
“I want to walk around this area a little bit.”
“Sure.”
“How can I cancel Christopher’s recording feature? I don’t want my every action to be reported. Not because of any dark secrets or anything—I just feel the need for a bit of privacy.”
“So tell him to go,” Yang Yang said. “There is a way to disconnect him from our general system, but I can’t explain it to you from here.”
“So do it over there, in your place.”
“Okay, I’m doing it. Good?”
“How do I know you’re not lying to me?”
“Look, I don’t have time for nonsense.” Yang Yang sounded irritated. “And if you think I have nothing else to do but sit and watch your silly meeting with the manufacturer of your silly doll, then you are mistaken.”
“So you know where I went and where I am now.”
“To remind you, when you ordered the driver this morning, you said exactly where you wanted to go. And I see you now, with the doll.”
“Oh.” Shimmy felt like he was being mocked. “So what I can do is just send Christopher away from me?”
“Yes, for a short time. Because please remember that we are providing you with housing, food, and everything else, so that we can get a full profile of your behavior, in order to discover where Christopher’s bug with you is.”
“Okay, great, so I’ll send him away now.” Shimmy preferred to ignore everything else the man had said, at least for now. “How will he find me again?”
“The same way he always finds you.”
***
“Uh…Ima?” I have never heard Yudi sound so frightened. Maybe there was one other time, when he was seven, and he ran away from a group of kids who were making fun of him.
“Hi, Yudi, is everything okay?”
“Not really,” he says, his voice trembling.
“What happened? Where’s Isamar?” My voice is also trembling now.
“Sleeping,” he says, taking a deep breath. I take a deep breath as well. In the background, I can hear faint weeping, which I already recognize as Ruchi’s.
“Is he feeling okay? Are you feeling okay? What about Ruchi?”
“Yes, yes, we’re all good, baruch Hashem… But when you called just now, we thought that it was her again.”
“Who?”
“A neighbor who already called this afternoon to scream at us because of our baby’s crying. In the afternoon, the aide was here and she answered the call, but now the aide left, so…” He coughed. “So I had to answer, and the neighbor screamed a lot again.”
“Who is this neighbor?”
“I don’t think she’s even Jewish. I could barely understand what she was saying in English. But the part I did understand was, ‘They’re going to take him away from you!’ She said that a few times.” The tremor in Yudi’s voice grows stronger, and his voice cracks completely.
When those children had made fun of Yudi, back when he was a little boy, at least I was able to hug him and promise him that they were just silly kids who weren’t thinking, and that his heart was much better and smarter than theirs. But what can I do now, with this mean neighbor’s words? What can I do from here?
“Call Ruchi’s parents,” I say. “Tell them to go talk to this neighbor right away. They should tell her that she needs to stop interfering and threatening you. A crying baby is very normal!”
But maybe Isamar does cry too much, in a way that is beyond normal? I heard him a few days ago… Maybe Ruchi really isn’t managing with him?
Most of the time, she is with the aide, but maybe the aide is letting her try to manage by herself part of the time? And what happens after that, when the aide leaves? Yudi doesn’t know how to take care of babies.
I have no idea what Ruchi’s parents were thinking, but in my opinion, they sent the couple home too early. With all of my mechuteiniste’s backaches—and I hope Hashem sends her a refuah sheleimah—she still needs to arrange more help for her daughter. I mean, if they’re sending her home from morning to evening, then they need to make sure that even after the aide leaves, Ruchi has someone there to help her take care of the baby. Yudi is not cut out for this—do they not understand that?
“But Isamar didn’t even cry a lot today,” Yudi tells me. “There’s another baby that’s crying in a different house, somewhere nearby—we don’t know exactly where it is—and that’s the crying the neighbor is probably hearing. There are these buildings behind us with tons of apartments, and there’s no way to know which apartment the noise is coming from.”
“So Ruchi’s mother should tell this to the neighbor!”
“My mother-in-law can’t come,” my son says quietly. “Her back hurts. Ruchi just called her father to come and take us there for the night, like he always does.”
“But her mother can still call the neighbor, can’t she?”
“I don’t have ko’ach for this, Ima,” Yudi mumbles. “I didn’t even finish my coffee just now.”
“You shouldn’t drink coffee late in the day, Yudi,” I say. “It will be hard for you to fall asleep at night.”
“I’m very tired from work, and I fall asleep easily. You don’t have to worry about that.”
At least for that, I think to myself.
“Is Ruchi afraid of this neighbor?” I ask Yudi. “If she is, then stay there at your in-laws’ the whole time. Don’t come back home at all just yet.”
“I don’t want to stay there for longer,” Yudi says, sounding stubborn like he’s capable of being. “It’s good for me to be in my own house, at least for part of the time. I’m responsible for my choices.”
“I agree with you one hundred percent.” I smile. “Where did you get that line from?”
“From Moni.”
I should have realized. Very nice. Something else that will make me feel better now. “Tell me, what will you do if the neighbor calls again?” I ask Yudi, ignoring his suddenly heightened sense of responsibility.
“The best is if we can pay the aide to be here the whole day, until we go back to my in-laws’ each evening. This way…” He takes a deep breath, as if trying to regain control of himself. “This way I won’t have to answer this neighbor myself if she calls again.”
***
If anyone is listening to me, then I want to say that I have no idea who you are, and if you are a parent to a child or not. But either way, you surely are a child to your own parents. I ask you: Do you know how much strength a good child gives to his or her parents? Let’s think together: How can you give strength to your parents?
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