Israel Book Shop presents Chapter 28 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 problem was that Shimmy had forgotten how hard it was to get rid of the bat. All his verbal efforts at persuasion were ineffective, and his vigorous hand motions were useless. At one point, Christopher flew up so high it became a tiny dot in the sky, but when Shimmy squinted, he was still able to see it.
What was the point? It didn’t seem that anything was threatening his freedom. The situation was no different than it had been on his first visit, when the bat had accompanied him to the airport and then disappeared. The minute he would receive a message about an outgoing flight to Israel, he would go to the airport and make his way home, no matter how much that nudnik Christopher would film and photograph him.
Shimmy walked to the sidewalk, feeling foolish as he held the box with the oversized doll. What were people thinking of him? Or maybe they realized that when a man walks in a central industrial zone for toys in Beijing, holding a box with a huge doll, that doesn’t mean he plans to play house with it?
But he did end up playing with it. Less than an hour later, after growing sick of aimlessly wandering around, he called for the driver to come, and went back to his little unit. There, after charging the doll’s battery, he sat down on a chair and stared, transfixed, as Tanchum slowly walked toward him, opened his arms, and said, “Abba…” When the programmer had spoken about facial recognition, he surely didn’t mean that the doll would recognize its main manufacturer as its father. Or did he?
“I’m not your father,” Shimmy said automatically to the doll. Christopher the bat stood on the edge of the folding table and fixed its eyes on the scene. It looked like it was considering whether to get offended by the idea that someone else was capturing Shimmy’s attention.
“Abba…” Tanchum said again, with its cute, plastic smile, and continued to toddle robotically over to Shimmy.
“What’s your name?” Shimmy asked it.
“Tan-chum,” the doll replied, although its accent wasn’t very authentic. It was okay, a three-year-old child doesn’t usually speak too clearly either, right?
“Say ‘Tanchum’ like this,” Shimmy requested, stressing the word correctly.
“Tan-chum,” the doll said again, just like before, as it moved closer to Shimmy. Then it stopped. It turned around in its place and said, “I want to go for a walk!” Then it headed for the nearest wall and bumped into it. A tinny wail came out from the speaker.
“That’s a good doll,” Christopher piped up suddenly, “But it’s not him talking, right? It’s all recordings, based on the information you loaded it with.”
“Well, what can you do already?” Shimmy said, even though he knew the one speaking was Yang Yang and not the robotic bat. “Just record, film, and translate—that’s it.”
“Come on, Christopher is a lot more sophisticated than that,” Christopher/Yang Yang said. “Did you forget how he attached itself to you based on his personal preference? And notice that he’s continuing to do it.”
“Now he’s following your instructions.”
“Not true! We give him a free hand. It’s he who has made the decision that there’s a need to follow you.” He hesitated for a moment. “And an interesting point—maybe it will tell you something: Since last night, something in our system has indicated that surveillance of you has risen to the next level in Christopher’s ‘thought’ process.”
***
“Someone’s at the door, Chana’le!” Ruchi shouts.
“So go and see who it is,” Chana’le replies from the stairs as she heads to the basement laundry room. “You said that your father made an order for you for some basic items, right? It might be that.”
Ruchi checks that Isamar is breathing calmly and stands up to go to the door. “Who is it?” she calls out.
“Open up, please,” says an unfamiliar voice. “I’m from Child Protective Services of New York.”
Ruchi pales and leans weakly against the wall. “Why did you come here?”
“Open up, please. I’ll explain everything when I’m inside.”
Ruchi’s eyes flit rapidly around the room. Should she call Chana’le? It will only show this scary lady that she can’t manage on her own. Hesitantly, she unlatches the door and opens it.
An African-American woman stands there, smiling sourly. “I came to see how your baby is doing,” she said. “We got a phone call that he cries a lot. Too much.”
“No, that’s not true!” Ruchi is adamant. “It’s the baby of a neighbor in the building behind us. I think they are Hispanic. He’s the one crying so much. Isamar is…a good baby.”
“We don’t care what nationality the crying baby is.” The woman’s smile disappears, leaving only the sour look. “Babies need to helped. Can I see him?”
“Ummm…yes.” Ruchi turns back into the house, followed by the stranger. They walk into the small dining room, and Ruchi points to Isamar’s carriage.
The woman’s eyes scan the room. “It’s clean here,” she says, “and neat.”
“Yes.” Ruchi is standing at the door. Where is Chana’le already?! But she won’t go call her now. This scary lady might decide that she has to take Isamar from them! That can’t happen!
“He spit up,” the woman says with a disgusted look on her face, when she peeks into the carriage. “You don’t clean him up?”
“He’s sleeping,” Ruchi murmurs.
“Babies spit up when they sleep too. Who is with you in the house?”
“Umm…Chana’la.”
“Who is that?”
“She’s…a friend. She comes to help me with Isamar.”
“She’s not helping you enough if this is what his outfit looks like now.”
“He was clean just before,” Ruchi says defensively, trying to make sure her words are clear. “And it’s just a tiny stain. We’ll change his clothes when he wakes up.”
“And he’s okay, healthy?”
“His…his foot isn’t okay, and they may need to do surgery.”
“Surgery! Will you be able to be in the hospital with him? To take care of him? To deal with all this? Care for him after surgery? Do you know what a baby is like after surgery? What a disabled child is like?”
Ruchi gapes at her silently.
“No, you don’t know, and you won’t be able to.”
“I—”
“Where do you give him baths? Where does he sleep? Does he have a crib, or only a carriage and an infant bouncer?”
“Of course he has a crib!” Ruchi is distraught now. “It’s, it’s…there, in the other room. Why did you come? To take my baby from me? I won’t let you!”
“I need to see how capable you are of caring for him.” The woman’s voice is icy. “If you can’t manage when you have help—then I think you are a terrible mother.”
“I’m not a terrible mother!” Ruchi’s voice is trembling. “I’m not terrible at all!” Another second and she’ll burst into tears. But then this woman from CPS will be convinced that she really is terrible. Because a normal, good mother does not get hysterical like that.
So maybe she really is terrible?
Ruchi takes a deep breath, trying to take control over everything raging in her throat. She breathes in and out, in and out, and closes her eyes tightly. Something brushes by her, and she snaps her eyes open. “Don’t you dare try to kidnap him!” she shouts.
“He’s in the carriage,” the woman says over her shoulder as she walks toward the kitchen. “I want to see what the rest of your house looks like. Based on that, I’ll convey my impression to my superiors. Where is your friend?”
“She’s in the basement, doing the laundry.” Ruchi hurries to her son’s carriage, staring at him wide-eyed. She needs to breathe deeply to calm down, to take in lots of air, because air is calming. Maybe she should just take Isamar out of the carriage and hold him until this scary lady leaves, to make sure that she doesn’t take him away from her.
With trembling hands, she picks up Isamar and sits down on the couch. He continues sleeping in her arms, and again, she closes her eyes. Just take a deep breath and breathe. And make sure Isamar doesn’t fall, and that I don’t scream, so they shouldn’t say I’m a terrible mother…
Ruchi bites her fist forcefully, hoping the woman won’t walk in right now. Her mother doesn’t like when she does this kind of thing, and neither do her sisters. They say she looks not normal when she does it. But maybe she really isn’t normal. Which other mother gets such a visit? And the baby is going to have surgery, and she won’t be able to handle him then!
You will! Something inside Ruchi’s heart tells her. Maybe it is Yudi’s voice. But Ruchi is envisioning the hospital corridors, and she is scared that she won’t be able to manage that. If Isamar needs an operation, she is not going to come with.
What kind of mother is she? Terrible, the lady had said.
“Ruchi?” Someone is shaking her. It is Chana’le. “Ruchi, is everything okay?”
“Go follow her!” Ruchi tells her aide. “Please, go see where the lady went. Tell her not to talk to me. Let her go to…my parents’ house, and talk to them, if she wants. I can’t have her come here and tell me these things!”
“Who are you talking about?” Chana’le asks.
“That black lady, from Child Protective Services.”
“Huh? Where is she?”
“She went to check out the whole house, to see if Isamar has a normal crib, and a bathtub…” Ruchi’s whole body is shaking. “I can’t. I can’t. I can’t. Enough!”
“First of all, give me Isamar. I’ll go see who this is. Why did you let her in?” Chana’le asks.
“She made me open the door for her!” Ruchi sobs. “And she told me that Isamar is dirty, and that I’m a terrible mother.”
“Dirty?” Chana’le is already walking toward the door of the dining room, studying the sleeping baby in her arms. “He’s not dirty, besides for this tiny stain near his collar. He probably spit up a bit.”
“She said he’s dirty, and that I’m a terrible mother. And maybe they will take him from me, because I won’t be able to take care of him when he has the operation.”
Chana’le doesn’t wait to hear anything more. She walks briskly through the rooms of the small house, but aside for an open window, she doesn’t see a thing that’s out of place.
She comes back to the dining room and sits down next to the young woman who by now is sobbing loudly into her palms. “Ruchi, there’s no one here. I checked the whole place. Maybe you just fell asleep and dreamed something frightening? Could that be it?”
***
Today I want to continue speaking about our parents. Do you know, dear listener, how much pain, tears, and effort were invested in raising you? Even if you don’t always see it in real time, know that all of it was there.
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