Always and Forever (50 page)

Janet walked further down Hester Street until she came to Orchard. Masses of people occupied the sidewalks but there were few children. The surrounding buildings were much the same as on Hester Street, crumbling tenements with laundry flapping in the wind, and here and there were street vendors who sold shoes, handbags and belts. She walked slowly, peering into windows that looked as though they hadn’t been washed in years. Pausing at the entrance of a store, she heard the sounds of laughter as the women in a back room stuffed pillow casings with soft white eiderdown for the ladies and gents of Park Avenue to lay their heads on. She stepped aside as several of the women, with white feathers clinging in their hair, walked out to the street and stood in front of the store to smoke a cigarette. One took out a package of Luckies and shared it with her coworkers. Janet went inside to look at the magnificent satin comforters. When the owner asked if there was anything she could help her with, Janet smiled and said she was just looking.

“So go look,
mein
dear. Enjoy.”

“Thank you, I will.” She browsed for a while longer, then left.

Next door the sign read, Kowalski’s Fine Fabrics. As she walked into the dimly lit store, a voice from the back, Fayge Kowalski’s, greeted her. “So what can I do for you,
dahlink?”

Janet answered, “I’m looking for some silk, can you show me something?”

“Yardage I don’t sell. If you look, you’ll find.”

Janet rummaged through the bins of fabric until she found a three-yard remnant of lovely orchid taffeta. At one corner was a large grease stain. Would there be enough material when she cut the stain off, she wondered as she held it up. Yes, she felt she could work it out. “How much is this?”

Fayge chewed and swallowed her mouthful of hard-boiled egg before saying, “Make me an offer.”

Janet didn’t have any idea what it was worth. “How much do you want for it?”

“Make me an offer,” Fayge repeated as she salted the egg and took another bite.

Janet stood there, bewildered. “I don’t know how much to offer you.”

“So how much is it worth to you?”

“I really don’t know.”

“Make a wild guess, I’ll take it or I won’t.”

“All right … ten dollars.”

“Twelve.”

Janet was beginning to catch on. “Ten-fifty.”

“That’s a very fine piece of silk—100 percent. Ten-fifty I wouldn’t take.”

“Eleven?”

“Eleven-fifty and it’s yours.”

“I’ll take it.”

As Mrs. Kowalski stuffed the taffeta into a brown grocery bag she looked Janet over and thought … such a pretty little
shiksa.
It really wouldn’t have hurt if she’d given her a better price. She looked like such a sweet little
nebbish.

When Janet handed Mrs. Kowalski a twenty dollar bill she glanced first at the money and then at Janet. “This is the smallest you got?”

Janet went through her wallet again. “I only have a ten and a five.”

“Give me the ten. You owe me the dollar and a half.”

“I’ll change it and come right back.”

“No one would change it for you. You’ll owe me.”

Janet smiled. “It’s very sweet of you to trust me.”

“What’s sweet? If you trust, nobody cheats you.”

It was early evening when Janet let herself into her room and leaned back against the door. Somehow the room didn’t seem as depressing as it had that morning. What she had seen and experienced had washed away the emptiness she felt. And the thing that impressed her most was the fact that Mrs. Kowalski had trusted her. It was rather like Kansas. She undressed, showered and contentedly got into bed. Sleep came blessedly easy tonight. So many of her misgivings seemed to have gone. She fell asleep with thoughts of next Sunday in that special world of Fayge Kowalski.

The week that followed was no different than others had been, but she knew when Sunday came there would be no question of how she would spend it. The experience had sustained her for a week….

This Sunday morning Janet awoke eager for the day that lay ahead. On the way to the subway she stopped at the bakery and bought a strawberry torte to give to Fayge in exchange for her trust. As she wove through the crowds of Hester and Orchard streets, retracing her steps of last week, once again the curious scene gave her a feeling of belonging. She
did
belong here. This place made her feel that way.

When she walked into Fayge’s store she found her eating a chopped liver sandwich at a table in the back. Janet smiled. “I’m so happy to see you, Mrs. Kowalski.”

Fayge continued munching and looked up at her vaguely, wondering who she was. Then she remembered, the little
shiksa
who had been here last week, the one from the orchid taffeta. Wiping the crumbs away from her mouth, she answered, “Likewise, I’m sure. You came for more material?”

“No, I want to pay you your money and thank you for trusting me,” Janet said as she handed Fayge the cake box.

If Fayge was surprised that the
shiksa
had remembered to give back the money and that she herself had forgotten the money was even due her, she was astonished by the cake box the girl had presented her with. Who remembered Fayge? To get back the money and to get a present on top of it … “This you didn’t have to do.”

“You didn’t have to trust me and you did.”

Looking deep into Janet’s almond-shaped eyes, Fayge felt ashamed that she had charged her eleven-fifty for the piece of material when, in fact, it wasn’t worth five dollars …
Nu,
God, so I was a little greedy. “Listen,” she said, “I got a pretty piece of brocade upstairs where I live. On you it would look beautiful. Come, I’ll show it to you.” Taking a ring of keys in her hand, Fayge got up, her bulk protruding beneath the loose cotton dress, and on her turned-over heels made it to the front of the store to turn the sign to
CLOSED
and lock the door behind them. A step or two beyond the entrance to the store she slowly proceeded up a narrow stairway, holding onto the banister. When they reached the top Fayge paused, her breathing labored, and put her hand against her full bosom and felt the thumping of her heart.
Oy vay,
those stairs would kill her …

Janet followed down the dark hall, unable to avoid noticing the warped wooden floors and the chipped painted doors which led to the four bedrooms. When they reached the living room, Janet was shocked at the condition of it. In the corners there was material stuffed into paper bags and cartons that looked as though they were ready for the trash bin. A threadworn sofa with protruding springs sat against one wall. In the center was a large round table and surrounding it were six unmatched chairs. Fayge pulled out a box, sending the bags on top tumbling to the ground, then reached inside and plucked out a creased but magnificent brocade in startling colors of gold and peacock blue. Handing it to Janet, Fayge said, “Here’s a present. On you it would be beautiful … it’s you.”

Janet couldn’t accept it. “Thank you, Mrs. Kowalski, but really, I couldn’t—”

“What do you mean you couldn’t? Then I couldn’t take the cake.”

“Well, that’s different, it was my way of telling you how much I appreciated your trusting me—”

“A cake you didn’t have to bring me for your appreciation. Why shouldn’t I trust you? You’re a nice girl,” she said, placing the fabric in Janet’s hands.

Janet had tears in her eyes when she looked at it. “I don’t know what to say.”

“What’s to say? You’ll make a nice dress. Now, maybe you’d like a cup of tea?”

“Thank you, I’d like that.”

“Fine, so you’ll sit.” Fayge quickly took off the food-stained newspaper on the dining room table and replaced it with a clean issue of the Yiddish
Forward.
After all, she was entertaining a beautiful young guest.

As they sat drinking the tea and eating the homemade sponge cake Fayge asked, “In New York I know you weren’t born. Where do you come from?”

“Kansas.”

Fayge squinted. “Kansas?” It was as far away as Pinsk.

Janet nodded. “Yes, that was my home until I came to New York.”

“Your family still live there?”

“Yes.”

“You live alone?”

Janet toyed with the crumbs and merely nodded.

From the sad look on Janet’s face Fayge knew she was very lonely.
Shiksa
or not, lonely could happen to anybody. “How come a nice girl like you comes to New York?”

“I wanted to be a model.”

Fayge shrugged. “A model was the best thing you could be?”

For a moment Janet wondered the same thing. “Well, you know how it is when you’re young and have crazy dreams.”

Fayge sighed. When had she been young? She was forty-five already and the foolish dreams she’d had were long gone. “You miss your momma and your poppa?”

“Very much.”

“You got brothers and sisters?”

“No, I’m an only child.”

An only child wasn’t so
only.
One of Fayge’s dreams had been to have many children, but God had had a different plan. But at least she had Mendel. Only two weeks ago she had brought him back from the sanitarium in Denver where he had been recovering from tuberculosis. Thank God … thank God for giving her back Mendel. “You’re not eating your strudel. Eat. Tell me, what does your poppa do?”

“He’s a doctor.”

That, Fayge liked. After God, doctors were the most important. “Well, finish the tea. Sunday is the best day for business and I gotta go downstairs to open the store.”

Janet got up and thanked Fayge for her generosity. When she picked up the piece of material, without thought she turned and put her arms around Fayge’s bulk and kissed her on the cheek.

Fayge held her close. Sweet little girl, she seemed so lost. “You’ll come Friday night for dinner? You’ll have a good
Shabbes
meal.
Oy vay,
you don’t even know what
Shabbes
is. It means sabbath. It’s like your day of rest. You be here at five.”

In the subway, Fayge’s words haunted Janet.
You don’t even know what Shabbes is
… Unfortunately, that was very true. She should have known, should have been taught that part of her legacy. Had her great-grandfather’s decision been different, she might have belonged to these people. Janet recalled having heard bits and pieces of his life. Now she longed to know how she had evolved into a Christian … part of her roots came out of the land of Canaan. Now there was a burning curiosity that would refuse to be stilled….

Janet knocked on Fayge’s door precisely at five on Friday evening and when Fayge released the door with a lever at the top of the stairs Janet walked into the stairwell, carrying a basket of fruit.

Fayge called down happily, “I thought maybe you could have forgot.”

“I couldn’t wait for tonight,” Janet responded, smiling.

“Good, good. Come now,
dahlink.”

Janet went upstairs and embraced Fayge and then found herself being led down the hall to the front room. It was so different from the first time she’d been here. The table was set with a snow-white cloth, and there were two candlesticks placed at the head of the table, a bottle of wine and a tray of homemade
challah,
braided and baked to a shiny, delicate brown so artfully that it was hard to believe that it was merely a loaf of bread. There were pieces of gefilte fish adorned with slices of carrot and a sprig of parsley, and small ruby red glasses completed the setting. But even more impressive was Fayge. Her curly black hair had been shampooed and fell in small ringlets around her really lovely full face, and her eyes, the color of soft ripe olives, sparkled. The rosy plump cheeks needed no rouge and her lips were natural red. Gone was the ill-fitting dirty cotton dress. Tonight she wore a beautiful black silk, with a cameo pinned in the center of the white lace collar. Small diamond earrings shone in the dimly lit room. As Janet handed her the basket of fresh fruit, she said, “You look so beautiful, Mrs. Kowalski.”

Almost shyly, Fayge answered, “Well, on
Shabbes
you wear your best. It’s a very special night to sit with God. Every woman should look like a queen.” Looking at the basket Janet had just handed her, she said, “This is very nice, but so many presents you don’t have to bring. It’s enough you brought yourself. Now sit down,
dahlink.”

As Fayge went back to the kitchen to baste the chicken, Janet seated herself on the sofa, trying to avoid the sharp springs that stuck through the worn fabric. She had just settled herself comfortably when she looked up and saw a man with the most extraordinary flaming red hair and beard she’d ever seen. His blue eyes, though, seemed sad. He was emaciated and bent. In that fleeting moment Janet knew this was Fayge’s husband and that he was very ill. Janet smiled tentatively and was about to introduce herself, but just then Fayge bustled back into the front room.

“Nu,
Mendele, you had a good rest?”

He nodded. “I had a good rest.”

“Sit, Mendele, sit,” Fayge said, helping him into the wooden chair. Like a loving mother she said, “Mendele, let me introduce you to—” She broke off, suddenly realizing she had invited the girl to dinner but had never thought to ask her name. Flushing in embarrassment, she said, “You should excuse me, but I don’t know your name.”

Janet had been called “dahlink” so many times, she hadn’t even noticed. Nor was she offended now. “It’s Janet Stevens,” she said simply.

“Very nice name. And this is my Mendele,” Fayge said. “Mendele, this is the nice little—” She was about to say
shiksa
but she caught herself just in time. “This is the nice sweet girl I told you about who gave us the cake. And now she brought a basket of fruit.”

Mendel said, “Very happy to meet you.”

Janet smiled. “It’s a pleasure to be here.”

Before another word could be spoken an old lady hobbled into the room with the aid of a cane. The resemblance to Fayge was unmistakable. The old lady was Fayge’s mother, Rivke. Her shoulders were bent, her face was etched with deep furrows. Her hands were arthritic and her legs swollen. Fayge hurried over to help her, saying, “You couldn’t have waited, momma? I was just going to get you.”

“When I need you, I’ll call you. In the meantime, on my two legs I can still stand.”