Good Enough

A good enough time passed since he pointed a gun at the old man’s face and demanded: ‘Tell me where the children are’. And once he found them at an uncle’s side yard, he told their mother, in their presence: Don’t you ever dare ‘kidnap’ them again.

A good enough time passed until everyone involved pretended this never happened.

That’s when it was finally ‘okay’ by the powers that be, for her to see them again. That’s when she got to see me.

Since then, I visited at her house a ‘good enough’ number of times.

I would go there. To that building where she lived with her other man and his children. Their 3 bedroom flat was on the second floor. That I remember. It had a balcony where she tended her dense succulent garden. I remember being very impressed by it.

What I also remember, but perhaps falsely, that whenever I arrived there, it was often only her and me, and already after the midday warm meal was served to the other people. Always by her.

In those times she would also prepare a four course meal, as she did every day, for the other people. She would say to me: ‘Shvi, Mamama’leh’. ‘Sit, Little One’. But would not sit with me.

Instead, she stood there, very close to my body, by my side, hovering over me, her hand often resting on my little shoulder. Longingly, her gaze would follow my hand as it reached to my mouth, time and again, with each and every bite I took.

In the middle of the table, slices of dark rye bread and a bowl of vegetables she fermented with brine: Cabbage, carrots, tomatoes, and dill, always dill. Sometimes fermented watermelon.

Then she ‘served’:

1. Salad

Finely chopped: Persian little cucumbers, tomatoes, white onions, parsley, and grated radishes. On top still a bit warm, a generous scoop of a freshly made creamy roasted eggplant mash, sprinkled with bitter olive oil and a pinch of salt from the salt dish.

2. Soup

Chicken with noodles, so thin, swimming and swirling in the warm yellow waters, floating elusive oil bubbles on the surface.

3. Main Dish

Sometimes, a smooth potato purée with fried golden translucent onion, and Schnitzel, a thin and flat breaded cutlet of chicken breast. Pounded before fried.

4. Dessert

Sometimes a pudding, sometimes, a sweet Kugel, made with noodles and raisins.

~~~~~~

And during this meal she just stood there, asking softly: Ze tov, Mamaleh? Is it good, Little One?

To that I whispered: Good enough, Eema.

She stood there the whole time, and other than these words we spoke, we were both achingly silent.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Share

Thank you for visiting with me here, for listening and reading WHAT IS BETWEEN US, a reader-supported column. To receive new posts directly in your email box please consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.

🤎🤍🖤

Orly