The Mystics of Mile End (9 page)

“At the bottom of the note, I scribble:
You see? People and numbers are not so different.
She sits three seats to the right and two rows back. I watch impatiently as the note travels to her, uncurls in her hand, sits beneath her gaze. Suddenly she smiles. She looks at me and I am so happy, a little laughter bubbles up in my throat, I can't help it.

“The next year is when the
tzures
start. They, may their names be erased, begin with their deportations. I am deported one day, with no warning, no chance to say good-bye. In the cattle car all I can think is, what if Chayaleh forgets about me, who knows how long we will be separated, what if we don't see each other for years and years and by the end of it she does not recognize me? They take me to the camp and make me stand in a line. Left, right, left, right, my eyes flick from side to side, I should be praying to end up in the good side but who knows what is the good side, if there is a good
side, what do they know from good sides? I lose track. Suddenly it is my turn. I am told to turn right. I turn right.

“I am standing in front of an officer. His mouth is moving but I can't hear what he is saying. He frowns and rolls my sleeve up for me. The needle presses down on my arm. I don't scream, I don't say anything, I can't make a noise. I see the first number it makes: 8. Then the next number: 1. Then 0. I cannot believe it. Then 1. A miracle. Then 0. This way, she will always recognize me. Then 4. He is about to write the last number—I almost have a heart attack—I can see he is about to make it a 1. Suddenly all the noise in the world rushes out of me, I plead with him like an idiot, like a
schmendrick,
like a
schlemiel,
‘Please, please, a zero, I need a zero, surely it won't make any difference, such a small difference between one and zero, what can it hurt'—I start to babble, I cry, I spit, and do you know what? This officer gives me a strange look. The needle presses down—and I see—zero! I am so happy, the officer sends me to have my head shaved, a little laughter bubbles up, the hair is falling all around my ankles and I am laughing and laughing like a
meshuggeneh,
I can't help it.

“My Chayaleh, she is deported just a few days later. When her arm is under the needle—it was a miracle performed by the Kadosh Baruch Hu—she sees the same thing start to happen, only it is
her
name that starts to appear: 8, then 1, then 0, then 5, then 3, then 0—and before the needle presses down one last time, she pleads with the officer to make it a 5. He gives her a strange look. A very strange look. He makes it a 5.

“After the camp is liberated, I end up in New York City. For months I live like a ghost. My mind is a slate that's been wiped clean, empty of memories. Then one day I remember Chayaleh. The next day I remember about the numbers. The day after that I call the telephone company and have them give me a new number. I print business cards with just that number on it, seven digits, no
name, no nothing, just the number. Scatter them about the city like pigeons.

“My Chayaleh, she has the idea very early on. She is living with her cousin just a few miles away, and she doesn't see my cards, yet she thinks to call a number. But she calls the number that is on
my
arm. She calls my name, not her own. Doesn't she realize that her name is sweeter in my mouth than my own, that I remembered her existence before I remembered my own? She doesn't realize.

“Years pass.

“One day a seed of faith sprouts in my mind. I don't know who planted it. The faith to believe that maybe—who knows?—maybe the idea that occurred to me occurred to her also.

“I call my name. She picks up. I say nothing. She hangs up.

“I call my name. She picks up. I say nothing. She hangs up.

“I call a third time. She picks up. I open my mouth, I try to make a noise, but nothing comes out. She doesn't hang up.

“She recognizes me by my silence.”

Mr. Glassman grew quiet. A few seconds passed. Then, without opening her eyes, Mrs. Glassman raised one of her hands. It rose slowly, slowly, slowly, until it reached the side of Mr. Glassman's face. She ran her fingers along his cheek, just once, gently, and then her hand sank back down onto the bedspread.

O
ver dinner the next day, I was listing off all of Lesley's great qualities, which would have been a lot easier if Alex had been there to help, but Dad just kept on yawning.

I took a deep breath, trying to think up more qualities Dad might like, but then I caught a whiff of perfume in the air. He must have been missing Mom even more than I'd thought if he was spritzing himself with her old perfume every day now! The secret theory that this put into my head was that maybe he would never love another woman because he was still too in love with Mom. I
tried to figure out if I should be happy or sad about that but it was hard.

Suddenly Dad said, “I almost forgot. Ira stopped me in the hall to remind me that Jenny's bat mitzvah is in two days. I wish we didn't have to go, but he and Judy were so good to you after . . . Well, I guess we'll just have to. You must be excited to see your friend perform?”

Sammy blushed and shot me a warning glance. “Yeah, I guess.”

Dad obviously hadn't noticed anything weird because he just started asking her how
King Lear
was treating her, and would she like to continue going over the text later on, since they'd finished the part about Lear's regret for banishing his daughter and they were ready to move on to the second act. But what she said next was that her class had finished
King Lear
weeks ago and besides she had lost her copy of the play. Dad looked at her like she was crazy and said, “But you never lose anything,” and she said, “I know,” and he said, “And yet,” and she said, “And yet,” and then we ate watermelon and nobody said anything. So that I wouldn't crack and spill the beans about Sammy's bat mitzvah, I repeated the word
watermelon
in my head, I was ready to
watermelon watermelon watermelon
all night if I had to, but everyone ate extremely fast and then Sammy cleared the plates.

Dad was just leaving the kitchen when the phone rang. Me and Sammy already had our hands wet with soap and water, so we didn't pick up. The answering machine kicked in and a very loud, happy voice filled the kitchen.

“David, hi, it's Ira! I was so excited about Jenny earlier that I forgot to say good luck to you all. I'm sure you're just as excited as we are! So, we'll see you at the synagogue, and Sammy, if you're listening, good luck with your—”

Dad was walking back toward the kitchen. On the counter near the sink was the glass bowl that had held the watermelon a few
minutes ago. It still had some sticky seeds in it. I hit it with my elbow and watched it fly in slow motion through the air, down, down, down, and—

Crash!

“—soon! Bye for now.”

The machine beeped. Sammy was frozen. I tried to figure out from Dad's face if he had heard the message or not but it was hard.

Then he asked, “Who was that, Ira?”

Sammy breathed a sigh of relief. He hadn't heard. I nodded.

“What did he want?”

“Just to remind us about Jenny's bat mitzvah coming up, that's all,” I said.

“Again? He already did that in person.” Dad frowned, looking puzzled. “Do you two need help cleaning up this glass?”

“No, it's okay, we can do it.”

He nodded and walked back in the direction of his study.

I started picking the sticky seeds off the floor. Sammy got a broom out of the pantry, swept up the pieces of glass, and dropped them into the trash.

We stood together at the sink. She rinsed dishes and I loaded them into the dishwasher. She was very quiet, so to distract her, I told her I'd asked Mr. Glassman what fruit was on the original Tree of Knowledge so I could help Mr. Katz with his, but nobody knew. She still didn't say anything, so I said, “What fruit do you think it was?” She turned off the tap and stared straight ahead with a funny expression on her mouth, like a smile, only sad. Her lips opened and then closed. They reminded me of a bird that opens its wings to fly but then decides not to.

T
he next day was the science fair. At 3:15, all the kids from all the grades started pouring into the gym to see the projects. Each group had its own table. Me and Alex stood in front of ours,
which held his radio equipment and my poster board, until he told me to hold down the fort because he was going to scope out the competition. He walked up and down the rows and the more he saw, the more he smiled. He gave me the rundown, counting off projects on his fingers.

“There's four model solar systems, which, please, are we in kindergarten? Two paper plate speakers. One X-ray demonstration. Three baking soda volcanoes—truly pathetic. Two potato clocks—been making those since I was five. Oh, and Gabe and Dean—
plus six other teams
—made tin can telephones!”

“Tin can telephones? Those are cool! Me and Sammy made one once.”

“When?”

“A few years ago.”

“Exactly. That's kids' stuff. I'm telling you, we've got this thing in the bag.” Alex checked his watch. “It's almost showtime. The space station is going to pass overheard in 3.5 minutes. We've got to start gathering everyone around!”

I saw Sammy walk in alone just in time to hear Ms. Davidson clap her hands and announce that me and Alex were going to be calling astronauts on board the International Space Station. Right away all the younger kids started swarming toward us. Gabe and Dean pushed them aside and came up close to our table. Even the teachers seemed interested, or maybe they were just nervous about all the commotion, because they pressed in too until the whole crowd was standing around us in a big circle, looking from Alex to his radio. The room got quiet.

Alex raised three fingers, then two, then one. Then he started speaking.

“This is VA2KFO, this is VA2KFO.”

A moment passed.

“This is VA2KFO, this is VA2KFO, come back?”

Just static.

“This is VA2KFO, this is VA2KFO, calling N1ISS, do you read me, come back?”

Still nothing.

Alex turned his back to the crowd to fiddle with one of the dials. I prayed as hard as I could, my stomach tight. The little kids in the audience were getting antsy. A couple of them wandered away toward a potato clock. Dean let out a loud, mean laugh. Alex turned back toward the crowd, ready to try again, but just then his eyes landed on Sammy, who looked worried. His face went bright pink. The next time he spoke, his voice sounded thin and high.

“This is VA2KFO, this is VA2KFO.”

Thin and high and desperate.

“N1ISS, do you read me, come back?”

Thin and high and desperate and lonely.

“This is VA2KFO, calling N1ISS, is anybody out there? Hello?”

The static crackled, and then a friendly male voice filled the room. “Hello, VA2KFO, this is N1ISS, we're reading you loud and clear up here on the International Space Station, over!”

The audience gasped. A couple of teachers clapped their hands to their mouths. Even Alex looked shocked. The voice boomed out from the radio again.

“Where are you calling from, VA2KFO?”

“Mile End, Montreal, Canada!” Alex spluttered. “We're at school, um, at a science fair!”

“Science fair, huh? Well then, hello to everyone listening, and welcome aboard! Do any of you students have a question you'd like to ask about space exploration?”

A flood of kids pushed forward. Alex let one little girl talk into the radio.

“Hi, I'm Carly. My question is, how do you take a bath in space?”

“Excellent question! Luckily it's not too dirty up here, but some
times we do get sweaty because we run or bicycle or lift weights. To take a bath, you just put warm soapy water on a washcloth, rub it around your body, and rinse it off.”

A boy spoke up next. “What do you miss most about Earth?”

“I really miss my dog, actually. A small Jack Russell terrier. Today's his birthday, and he's turning eleven years old.”

A few kids laughed. Then another boy came up to ask a question, but Gabe shoved him aside. “This is so fake!” he shouted. “You idiots think you're really talking to space? You're asking stupid, obvious questions and they're playing you stupid, prerecorded answers! Give me the radio, I'll prove it!” He snatched the radio from Alex and said, “Hey astronaut, my name is Gabe Kramer and if you're talking to us for real then tell us something only you could know!”

There was a pause, heavy with static. Then the voice said, “Well, Gabe Kramer, it sure is nice to meet you. For one thing, I know that you are a true skeptic, which is a very good quality in a scientist. Crucial to scientific inquiry, in fact! Just make sure you don't become
so
skeptical that you refuse to believe the truth even when it's right there in front of you!”

The audience roared. Alex grinned and snatched the radio back. “Thank you so much for your time, N1ISS! But monitoring your trajectory here, I can see that we're about to lose your signal, over.”

“You're absolutely right, VA2KFO, we're heading out of range now, so I'll say good-bye. Thanks for taking an interest in the International Space Station, you all have a great day, over!”

The room buzzed with static, then the sound of everyone talking at once.

Ms. Davidson said, “Well, everyone, now that we've had a chance to see all the projects, it's time to start voting! So, if you think Alex and Lev deserve to win first prize, raise your hand!”

Sammy's eyes were shining. She raised her hand high above her
head. As if she'd pulled them all up with her, a bunch of other hands shot into the air.

A few minutes later, school was over and Alex was calling his mom and she was picking us up and driving us to Baskin-Robbins, since the secret prize for winning the science fair was two free ice cream cones plus sprinkles plus any toppings we wanted in the whole entire store.