Ghita Schwarz - Displaced Persons

They spoke in Yiddish at Sima’s home too, and with Chaim Sima did not feel the embarrassment of her mother’s shaky Hebrew, her father’s pointed ventures into Yiddish, diaspora phrases he uttered just to irritate her native friends. She could see how Chaim felt special, touched to be recognized, moved by the ease with which her parents welcomed him into their tiny home. He became warm, relaxed. Questioned, he told fragments of his history to Sima’s mother and father that Sima herself had never heard. And even as she felt driven to hear them, she hated hearing them, hated their light, harsh detail. Her father would be laughing, and her mother too: Chaim in a girl’s dress, wobbling on low heels; Chaim managing to be fed and sheltered for a few weeks by a brothel; Chaim wandering through the forest and coming upon an isolated town, convincing a Pole with an enormous dog to take him in. They really were very funny snippets-the only time, before or since, she had heard him say anything longer than a sentence or two about his past-but Sima had begun to cry a little. The other three, caught up in the tales of escape and trickery, did not notice.

SHE AWOKE SUDDENLY AS the plane began to shake, her neck stiff against the window shade. Four hours left. She heard the coffee cart being wheeled down the aisle and dug into her purse for a washed apple she had wrapped in a paper napkin.

She wondered whether his surgeon would make an appearance. Avishai. Probably not. She hadn’t even noticed him until lunch one day with Netta, not far from the hospital last summer. Her father had sent her away, telling her he needed to rest. She had been relieved to go, a chance to gossip with a childhood friend.

I think I am the only person I know who does not sleep with men other than her husband, Netta had said.

You are one of two, at least, said Sima.

That’s different, you’re in America.

There must be others. What about Yael?

You’re joking, right? Every time she goes to a convention there’s something else. Being a doctor-you can’t imagine the opportunity.

Sima giggled a little.

What, don’t you think about Avishai? The man’s attractive. And the way he dotes on your father-surely-

What, flirt with the doctor while my father is so sick? I walk outside the hospital and am shocked to see people walking, laughing, buying groceries.

I’m shocked you don’t notice people looking at you-your clothes-

Netta!

Really, you are so fresh, Sima, and pale-

No, no, no! You’re making me feel-I feel like locusts are about to come down on my head.

The sky doesn’t open every time someone gets cancer.

I know, said Sima, I know. I have to tell you-it’s strange to hear you say the word. In America they whisper it.

You don’t think Chaim does it?

What, whisper?

No! Sleep with women!

Netta! It’s different there. You just said so yourself.

Oh, yes.

Besides, he’s a man who doesn’t like anything in his world to be upset or overturned. He likes things calm. And believe me, if I found out something like that, a storm from the sky would not be-it would not be-

They were giggling.

Really, though, said Sima. She thought seriously for a moment. The truth is, I don’t think so. I really don’t-we-she stopped, then began again. I do wish he would be a little more hysterical. It’s lonely to be the only one screaming at Lola.

Well, I don’t have that problem, said Netta. Uri is the screamer. I think the children are angry with me for how quiet I am.

They are right. Lola is the same! She tries to see how long he can ignore her.

So it makes Chaim a good cardplayer.

Ha! Good liar, that’s what.

You have to lie to keep things peaceful, said Netta. Even if just to keep the car running smoothly.

I’m not so good at it. When Lola used to fall, she would look at me to see how terrible my face looked. That’s how she knew how loud to scream. Chaim could cover it up more.

Netta laughed. My kids just screamed no matter what.

Chaim had a habit of closing his face. After twelve years of marriage Sima could occasionally detect that moment when his face was half-open. And just as suddenly it would shut itself. It made her more attentive to his every blink and twitch-it made everyone more attentive to him. But once in a while, once in a while, could he not react? Could he not betray himself even to her? Could he not see how the calm bothered her? He could see through everything else. She still listened for the elevator stopping at their floor around dinnertime, bringing him home.

Walking down the hospital corridor, she had seen Dr. Avishai walking out of her father’s room and felt her face grow pink and warm. Ridiculous! A word from Netta and already she was distracted. But he did have a nice chest-not too broad, but fit-she loved that part of a man’s body, Chaim’s too, Chaim’s too.

She had entered her father’s hospital room smiling. But Berel’s face was stiff. Where were you?

Hmm?

Did you think I had already died? Underneath the sarcasm, Sima could detect something new: a desperation, his voice rough, as if he were trying not to cry.

I-said Sima. But you told me-

What did I tell you? I suppose you think I also told you to move across three oceans, to keep my granddaughter from me-

Sima’s shock stopped any tears. Her mouth was open.

You dare to laugh at me?

I wasn’t-I’m not-

Yes, you are. Now Berel was weeping openly. You are, and you are right.

Sima sat down, grabbed his hand. Her lips were trembling; her hands were shaking; her father’s was calm, a little cool.

Sima, he whispered after a moment. I am empty.

She looked at her father’s wet face, skin hanging from his jawbones. He had stopped crying, he was still, but he did not bother to wipe his cheeks.

Sima waited another moment, forcing herself to swallow and breathe. If he saw even the beginning of a tear, he would-she did not know what he would do.

Finally she answered: Maybe you want something to eat. I bought some halvah near the café. She reached into her purse. Just a bissl , she said.

Hmm, said her father, watching her unwrap her little package. Have you broken a rule for me?

Perhaps.

Ah, he said. He couldn’t help smiling. All right. Of all things, this won’t kill me. So when I go, you tell the doctor it wasn’t the halvah, and even if it was, I absolved you.

Don’t tell jokes, please, not about-

Who said it was a joke?

IN THE AIRPLANE LAVATORY, she washed her hands twice to rid her skin of the odor from that terrible beef they served. She hadn’t even eaten any, just opened the plastic wrapper and pushed it to the far end of her tray once she smelled it. Her hands looked dry, and the soap smelled like artificial cedar, terrible, but it made her feel better. When she returned to her seat they had already taken the tray away.

When she was a child her mother would become angry if Sima did not finish her food. Her father would help her when her mother wasn’t looking, would take what was left on her plate-it was a secret partnership, Berel helping her look like she obeyed, Sima giving him a little more to help him feel satisfied. She and her mother had small, slim-boned bodies, but her father’s had been broad, expandable, always ready for more, a hunger they had joked about in Russia.

She thought of her father’s lips lapping at the piece of halvah she had cut him that day in the hospital. His head leaned against the hospital wall, and he looked calmer, his eyes less red from the tears a few moments before.

You know, Sima had ventured, your attitude is part of the problem.

He glared at her. I think it is your attitude that is the problem.

She said nothing. Anger, that was good, she thought. Or not so bad. It cut her, it always had, but it was better than his crying. Much better. He had been angry and sharp since she was a child, she remembered it well, his quiet rage at her. There had been one night in Osh, she must already have been five, or six, maybe younger, they had both left her for work and she had wandered outside-how old was she then? She felt that they must have left Russia and gone to Germany soon after, but perhaps-