Charles Lewinsky - Melnitz

People didn’t come to Pinchas’s shop just for the kosher food; it was also a place where one was bound to meet — and this was at least as important to many of the lady customers — someone who knew the latest gossip from both communities. The stories that appeared in the Israelitisches Wochenblatt on a Friday had already been discussed long ago in the shop, and in fact many articles signed ‘pp’ had only come into being because Pinchas, a freelance worker for the ‘rag’, had kept his ears open while filling bags with flour or sugar. Even the better sort of lady, who liked to send their maids to do the shopping, liked to drop by in person to discuss marriage prospects, exchange sickness reports or just have a good ruddel. Frau Okun, with her brusque, impatient manner, had often spoiled the fun of these cosy chats; Désirée, the ladies were delighted to note, was quite different in this respect. As her thoughts were mostly far away, she was in no hurry to take their money, and didn’t get involved in their conversations, which won her the reputation of being a very sensible and intelligent girl.

Male customers seldom came. Only old bachelors or widowers dropped in every now and again, to buy the meagre portions that they then prepared on their gas cookers at home. Young men attracted attention here, particularly when one of them turned up on a regular basis and seemed not to know what he actually wanted to buy. He hadn’t just happened to be in the neighbourhood, either, the well-informed ladies observed, he worked in a stationery shop on Schaffhauserplatz, and it was a good half-hour’s walk from there to Pinchas’s kosher shop. And besides — the ladies had not only keen eyes, but also good noses — he always arrived smelling of freshly applied eau de Cologne , which was an unambiguous sign in young men. ‘He is interested in Mimi’s daughter,’ the rumour soon circulated, and everyone waited to see when and how the young man would make his first step.

Désirée was probably the only one who heard nothing about these speculations. Two months of the long year had already passed, and Alfred’s letters were stacking up in the drawer with the sweet bonbons.

Mimi, on the other hand, knew all about it — what are friends for? — and immediately started making investigations. Not that she wanted to get involved, certainement pas , that really wasn’t her style, but as a mother one was obliged to know, above all since Pinchas, like all men, was terribly naïve in these matters. He hadn’t even been aware of the affair with Alfred.

The young man’s family, she had soon discovered, was not ‘one of our people’, which meant that he didn’t come from Endingen or Lengnau but had, a few years before the big wave of Russian refugees, come from the East. Mimi was proud of her tolerance in these matters, and even Eastern Jews — pourquoi pas? — could be very respectable people. The parents belonged neither to the religious community nor to the Orthodox Community, but visited a ‘schtiebel’, a kind of private prayer circle, where religious service was performed according to Hassidic custom, and where, above all at Simchas Torah, there was a lot of wild, exotic singing and dancing. The son, however — an only son, incidentally — had adapted very well to Zurich manners, and was even a member of the gymnastics society. So what could be more obvious than to invite Arthur to dinner and then ask him a few questions afterwards?

‘I wouldn’t mind’, said Mimi, after she had reassured herself that Désirée was in her room and couldn’t hear anything, ‘such a kosher admirer. The child needs a distraction. What do you think, Pinchas?’

‘He has never said a word to suggest that he is interested in Désirée.’

‘What do you expect? That he should buy a mitzvah and then wait until he is called upon? He was in the shop five times over the last three weeks. Cinq fois! ’ she repeated, as if the number were much more imposing in French.

‘And? Frau Wyler comes five times a day.’

Mimi waved her hands in despair. ‘Tell me, Arthur, are all men so helpless?’

‘It also seems to me that you’re reading a bit much into the situation.’

‘Bella Feldmann once saw him standing by the shop window for a quarter of an hour. And you’re not going to claim that there’s much to see there!’

Pinchas chose to say nothing on the subject. He had already had heated discussions with Mimi about his shop window. He was of the opinion that the customers already knew what they wanted to buy from him all by themselves, while Mimi dreamed of artistic arrangements of soaps based on the Tower of Babel, or the outlines of a Hanukkah candlestick in white and brown beans. She took Pinchas’s silence for resignation and returned to Arthur.

‘You could tell us a bit about the young man, I think. He’s in the gymnastics association as well, and you know everybody there.’ She looked at him so expectantly that Arthur couldn’t help laughing.

‘You would make the job much easier for me, my dear Mimi, if you could tell me his name.’

‘His name is Leibowitz. Jonathan Leibowitz. But everyone calls him Joni.’

The night was cold. A biting wind that heralded winter had cleared the streets, and the few people who were still out and about preferred to switch pavements rather than pass one another, as if everyone but themselves must be up to no good if they weren’t at home in a warm flat in such weather.

Arthur hadn’t buttoned up his coat, and felt the cold like a hot iron. The wind blew the first fine particles of ice, sharp needles that hit his face. Just not hard enough.

Not hard enough.

He had given no reaction, just taking his glasses off and rubbing the bridge of his nose, and then talked about Joni Leibowitz, as if he were struggling to remember the name. Yes, yes, he was quite a respectable young man, at least nothing negative was known about him, his father worked as a cobbler, he believed, and his mother brought in a little extra money with embroidery. He and Joni had even trained together at one point and in fact, now that Pinchas said it, it occurred to him again, they had once fought in a competition, he couldn’t quite remember who had won. Joni had still been a boy at the time, no more than seventeen or eighteen. Was he now actually old enough to…? Well, why not. It was a long time since they had seen one another and — ‘I’m sorry, Mimi’ — he couldn’t tell her much more about him. Joni was no longer active in the gymnastics association, and they had lost contact long ago.

They had lost contact.

Somehow, without noticing, he had reached the riverside facilities. Thick clouds covered the moon, and the water, sheltered from the wind by the Engen harbour mole, could be neither seen nor heard. A few lights shone on the other side of the lake, but before that the darkness was like an abyss. The chain of a ship rattled.

‘One should really jump in,’ Arthur thought, and knew that he would never do anything so final.

And he had no reason to, either. No reason at all.

The affair was long over.

No, thought Arthur, nothing dramatic would happen, the world would go on turning, he would go on doing his work, he would remain friendly, helpful Dr Meijer, he would go on explaining to the young people in the gymnastics association how to warm up their muscles before training and then to relax them again, somehow he would drum up the money for the association flag, and if Joni came to the flag consecration ceremony, they would say hello, friendly and detached.

Nothing dramatic would happen.

If Mimi was right in her assumption and Joni was interested in Désirée, he wouldn’t get involved. Perhaps she would forget Alfred, perhaps she wouldn’t, ‘love is not something that lasts,’ Arthur thought, and if what had to happen happened, he would go on playing his part, he would be the kind uncle who sends an original present for the engagement and a tasteful one for the wedding. Eventually the family would stop wondering why he didn’t have a family himself, even the most eager matchmakers would stop coming up with shidduchim for him, he would have found his place, he would just be harmless, slightly odd Uncle Arthur, and eventually he would be as old as he had always seemed to himself.