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#Post#: 89--------------------------------------------------
Contained!
DIR By: StoryGod
Date: December 30, 2019, 2:02 am
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The day arrived. The day was here. Tikvah wore her favorite
argyle sweater, her blue skirt, and her filthy white tights that
were torn in the toes and not the knees. She needed tights and
new shoes for Rosh HaShannah. The school was off for day one and
she had a place to go. She was old enough to pray part of the
day and spend the rest of the time in kids' service if they had
it. She was fully ten years old now.
Albina put a candle into a piece of iced cake and slipped her
class ring over it. The kids at the table Saturday night sung
Happy Birthday, and Tikvah made a wish and blew out the candle.
Study hall had been a blur after that, but Tikvah had spent half
the evening finishing her English and then reading her book on
light. The book was consolation. Yes, that was the same words
used to describe the Haf Torah. It meant making a sad person
feel better. It was a great word.
There were no presents, but Albina promised to help Tikvah buy
some tights. Her mother sent her a birthday card and an Amazon
gift certificate for fifty dollars. You were supposed to receive
gelt for Hanukkah, Tikvah remembered as her seven suite mates
and she reached Central Avenue and crossed to catch the Number
Twenty bus to White Plains.
The real present was of course seeing her father. How many weeks
had it been....It had been months. She tried not to think of the
last time she saw him, standing in an archway near the kitchen
with his own mother. The state troopers had Tikvah by one arm.
She had cried like a proverbial banshee. She was going against
her will and she wanted the whole neighborhood to hear. After
the trooper shoved her in the smelly unmarked car, she stopped
screaming. He was hoarse. Her head hurt. Her throat hurt. She
was also very tired. Somewhere between New Square and Brooklyn,
she fell asleep. She could have slept for days.
Even now the memory of that exhaustion brought a peculiar kind
of pain with it. And Albina was right, it would happen again and
maybe be worse. Tikvah pressed her face against the bus' dirty
window and watched Central Avenue move through tree lined small
buildings turned to offices, to a park, to apartments and
finally old houses made into businesses. The bus turned at
County Center and went up Tarrytown Road to White Plains across
the Bronx River Parkway, under the railroad bridge, and into the
garage that served as a kind of common center.
Tikvah's legs felt like water. The day was hot and sticky, like
summer gone stale and mouldy. The trees looked tired, and ready
to turn to fall colors. September was supposed to be the month
with a killing front. Tikvah wondered if the weather in Rockland
County was cooler. They eight girls and Albina -- She really was
a mora that afternoon -- walked down Lexington Ave. and turned
left on Main Street.
The Galleria towered like a huge dinosaur of cream colored
granite or concrete. It was an old mall, built long before
Tikvah was born. It had steps near the place where cars could
drive through a kind of tunnel on the first floor. On those
steps stood two bearded men in black suits, white shirts, and no
ties. On their heads were grayish fedoras. One man was much
younger than the other, young enough to still have acne,
including several very pink zits. The other man had a slight pot
belly, and a few gray hairs in his wooly, brown beard. His eyes
were large and sad looking. They were beautiful eyes.
"Tati!" cried Tikvah who ran and hugged her father. She did not
care if this embarrassed her suitemates.
"מזל דיין
געבורסטאָג
טיקוואַה" he
said. "מזל דיין
געבורסטאָג
טיקוואַה."
"מזל דיין
געבורסטאָג
טיקוואַה"
"מיר גייען
אהיים."
וואָס וועט
איר טאָן
ווען די
פּאָליצייַ
קומען?
"זיי וועלן
ניט קומען.
מיר וועלן
דיך
באַהאַלטן."
"He's lying," thought Tikvah. "He may be lying to himself. He
may even think it's possible. After all, a Rav told him he could
drive on Shabbos to get me."
[Quote]TRANSLATION
"Happy Birthday Tikvah!" he cried. "Let's get out of here."
"We're going to the bank and then to the Container Store,"
Tikvah tried to explain.
"We're going home," her father insisted.
"What will you do when the police come?" asked Tikvah.
"They won't come. We'll hide you."
[/Quote]
"I'm so glad you could come to see your daughter on our
outing,"Albina cut in. "We're going to be walking to the
Container Store down near The Westchester. We have to hit
several banks along the way."
"My car is in the garage."
"Do you want to drive there and join us?" Albina stepped closer
to Tikvah. The girl glanced at her briefly. Albina slid her
smooth hand over Tikvah's smaller one, and quietly gave it a
squeeze.
"I'd like to give my daughter a ride."
"I have to stay with the rest of the girls."
"I understand. Come on Tikvah."
"You don't understand. The Court in Brooklyn says this has to be
a supervised visit Mr. Goldberg. Now you can walk with us or
meet us."
"וואָס
טאָן מיר
טאָן איצט?" the
young man asked Tikvah's father.
"היט דעם ... "
"לויפן!"
[Quote]
TRANSLATION
"What are we going to do now?" asked the young man.
"Watch this..." Tikvah's father replied.
"RUN!!!!!!"
[/QUOTE]
Tikvah focused on the ground. In all her dreams of this moment,
she did not imagine herself fighting not to move, but there she
was. She remembered leaping the fence six months ago, putting
her feet in the chain links and all but vaulting over the top,
landing in a rolling fall on the sidewalk, the pain coming from
far away, jumping to her feet and racing toward the open car
door.
Now she replayed the scene but with her hands twined through the
harsh metal links and her father driving away. "צי
ניט גיין
טאַטעשי!" Tikvah
screamed in her mind while her face ached. Slowly she raised her
head. Her father and the bochur who had come to protect him from
a mora with soft hands and round shoulders cast dark shadows on
the sidewalk.
"It's a good day for a walk you know," replied Albina. Tikvah
squeezed Albina's hands again. She wondered how she would
unfreeze and take a step. She wondered if her leaden legs would
obey her, yet they did. Soon all eleven of them were walking
through the retail kaleidoscope of Mamaroneck Avenue, crossing
the street and making detours at ATM machines and pausing by the
Dollar Store and other less expensive emporia. Talking about
different food and where to get bargains. The bochur, whose
English was poor, was at a loss for words even though Mr.
Goldberg, Tikvah's dad happily translated.
Tikvah forgot about her shabby shoes and torn tights. Dad even
translated the girls conversations about how to keep ice cream
novelties in the pantry, asking how far they had to transport
them. "Not very far at all," explained Jupita explained. "We
just need the right boxes to put them in."
"מיר נאָר
דאַרפֿן די
רעכט
באָקסעס צו
שטעלן זיי
אין," Dad told the bochur.
"זיי
דאַרפֿן אַ
וועג צו
פירן ייַז
קרעם באַרס
און
סאַנדוויטשיז."
"וואו טאָן
זיי
באַקומען
אייז קרעם?" the
bochur asked. "Where do they get ice cream?" Dad translated.
"They serve it in our dining hall," Tikvah replied and then
translated. "זיי
דינען עס
אין
אונדזער
דיינינג
זאַל"
"אַז
סאָונדס
אַזוי
פאַנטאַזיע."
"That sounds very fancy," Dad translated.
"The food is decent," Albina explained. "עס
איז נישט
כשר אָבער
עס טייסץ
גוט," Tikvah's father turned it back into
Yiddish.
The bochur shook his head. Tikvah remembered that the pizza had
disappeared Friday night. Now there were hamburgers for those
who wanted them and a choice of beans, nuts, and cold cooked
grains on the salad bar. The school tried to provide something
for absolutely everybody. It didn't care if a Jewish or Moslem
kid refused to eat bacon or if a person wanted boxed cookies at
every meal.
Tikvah was glad to reach the Wells Fargo bank and withdraw
twenty dollars. She also checked her balance narrating to the
bochur how to do this in Yiddish. "וווּ
איר
געלערנט
אַז?" the bocher asked. "He wants to know
where I learned to use an ATM.
"מייַן
מוטער
געלערנט
מיר. My mother taught me," Tikvah explained.
Using an ATM unlike swimming would not wash away faith. It was
just a convenient way to get money.
They turned down Maple St. and then looped around onto
Blookingdale Avenue. The bochur admired the stores. Dad did not.
"איז דאָס
וואָס איר
ווילט?" he asked Tikvah, who
thought the question, "Is this what you want?" strange.
"They're just stores," she decided to answer in English. "If
they have something I want, I buy it. I like the stores on
Mamaroeck Avenue better. I like watching all the people. I can
afford what they sell in Walmart." She then translated:
"אויב זיי
האָבן
עפּעס איך
ווילן, איך
קויפן עס.
איך ווי די
סטאָרז
אויף
מאַמאַראָנעקק
אַווענוע.
איך ווי צו
היטן אַלע
די מענטשן.
איך קען
פאַרגינענ
זיך וואָס
זיי
פאַרקויפן
אין
וואַלמאַרט."
The goal of course was the Container Store. The bochur stared
bedazzled and nervous. Tikvah knew this was a women's store,
though men could shop for containers, organizers, household
gadgets, and even hangers. One girl wanted to buy ten colorful,
plastic hangers. Tikvah and Corianne offered to pay for one
rectangular container and one fruit bowl respectively. "I need
money for shoes," Tikvah mentioned.
"You also need time, which you don't have," sighed Albina.
Tikvah's dad translated. He translated allover the store,
describing and narrating the wonders of something fairly simple
presented in not-so-simple profusion. Meanwhile three other
girls each bought one item, and Albina bought an ice cream
scoop. She said she would make a printout of who bought what and
tape it inside the pantry cupboard. Then Albina explained about
how each suite had a pantry for after hours food because there
were not vending machines. "The school asks each girl to provide
a bottle for soft drinks, but nothing else.That's why we made
this trip." Tikvah's dad once again translated.
"If you schedule a trip during an evening, I can give you a tour
of our suite. Would you like that?" asked Albina.
Tikvah's dad translated than his face took on an odd expression.
"Is this what you want to do the rest of your life?" he asked
Albina.
"I don't know what I want to do with the rest of my life. I
thought I wanted to earn a PhD."
"In what subject?"
"Philosophy."
"Why?"
"I loved the life of the mind. Hey you're forgetting to
translate."
"We all need something more," Tikvah's dad explained.
"I had Orthodox friends in college. It's not for me. I need to
earn a living and not be anyone's burden while I figure out my
future," she replied. "I have a master's in philsoophy and no
holes in my resume. The rest will have to take care of itself.
Don't you believe in bitochon."
"Do you?"
"In a fashion. The universe is going to have to take care of the
future, while I take care of the present."
"And where does that leave you."
"Responsible for eight children who are starting to become
teens. It's like The Prime of Miss Jeanne Brody...have you heard
of that."
"I have."
"Then you understand. The Universe is going to have to take care
of the future," Albina repeated. They walked back up
Bloomingdale Rd., Maple St., and Mamaroneck Ave. carrying their
bundles. The air broiled as the sidewalks exhaled. Suri and
Nelia complained of the heat. "We can stop at the Dollar store
for drinks," Albina offered.
"Dollar store soda sucks!"Suri announced. "We need a
translator," Albina reminded Tikvah and her father. Tikvah
realized she had spent her birthday between languages, not that
that was a bad place to be. She had gone to the Container Store,
and they did stop at Walmart on the way back. Tikvah's brown
shoes, purchased in May, still fit pretty well and were
comfortable. If she bought brown shoe polish and a brush and
chamois cloth, she could make them presentable enough with new
tights and a reasonably new skirt, shirt, and sweater, that she
would look good for Rosh HaShannah. "I'm buying tights with the
money mom gave me, and she can't stop me," Tikvah reminded
herself.
Still, Tikvah was not prepared to say goodbye to her father. She
had to do it. The bochur and Dad walked the girls to the bus and
waited until the Number Twenty pulled in. Then Tikvah watched
her father drift away as surely as in the what-if scene in an
April long ago, except she would see him again. Albina promised
to write to the judge and start scheduling supervised visitation
weekly if he would make the drive. It might happen.
Tikvah felt her legs ache. She could not remember if it had been
an act of will not to break into a run or she had just hung on
and hurt because... "The police got me and didn't get my father.
They took him to court, but they didn't put him in a car and
drive him forty miles against his will. I'm not going through
that again..." Tikvah felt a ball of red heat burst behind her
eyes. She blinked the hot tears that rushed down her face.
Somewhere along the line, Tikvah had learned how to cry without
making a sound. Tikvah took the sleeve of her prize sweater and
wiped her eyes and nose.
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