Princess of Passyunk (24 page)

“I see. And why are you speaking to me now of Ganady's girl?”

Nick hesitated again, shifting from foot to foot. Then he wandered farther into the room, glancing quickly over his shoulder toward the staircase. “He asked me not to say anything, but, gosh, I figured he would have told you something about her by now.”

“Gosh?” echoed his Da. “What is ‘gosh'?”

“It just means I'm kind of surprised he didn't say anything.”

“About?”

“He told me he asked her to marry him.”

Vitaly Puzdrovsky's eyebrows nearly met over the bridge of his nose. “
Marry
him? A girl we haven't even met?”

“I think Baba Irina might have met her.”

“Is she Catholic?”

“Well...I think so. I think he met her in church. Anyway, when he tells us, you'll act surprised, right? I don't want him to think...you know.”

Vitaly turned back to his newspaper. “I shall be as silent as a nun.”

oOo

“Ravke, has our youngest son spoken to you of marriage?”

“Spoken to me of what marriage—his brother's?”

Vitaly hid a smile as he watched his wife's reflection in the mirror of her dresser. “I should say of his own. To a girl named Svetlana.”

Rebecca turned in her chair, her hairbrush poised for its forty-ninth stroke. “His own? He's spoken of this to you? Of—of marrying?”

Vitaly said nothing.

Rebecca set down her brush and put her hands to her cheeks. “He and Svetlana? Has he asked her?”

“It would seem so. I am not to have told you this, Ravke. Ganady's girl is having some family problems, and I think perhaps they must be solved before the marriage can be announced. Still, we should meet this girl, don't you think? We should invite her to dinner.”

oOo

Rebecca herself issued the invitation at breakfast the following morning.

“So, when shall we meet Svetlana?” she asked brightly while serving the oatmeal.

“Svetlana?” Ganady barely managed to keep his spoon from tumbling from his nerveless fingers into his oatmeal.

His mother dimpled prettily, her dark eyes sparkling. “We have let you have your secrets, Ganady Puzdrovsky, but now I think it is time we met this girl of yours. You will invite her for Sabbath dinner this week.”

Ganny coughed. “I don't know, Mama...”

“Well, I do,” said Vitaly. “Your Mama is right—it's time we met this girl. Certainly we must meet her before you marry.”

There was a sudden cessation of movement in the Puzdrovsky kitchen. Mama stood by her husband's chair, while he sat, expectant, a spoonful of oatmeal drooping toward his bowl. Ganady and Nikolai stared in unison at their father, while Marija watched the tableau, wide-eyed. Baba Irina laid her napkin across her lap, picked up her spoon and smiled.

After a moment of stunned silence, Ganady moved his eyes to his brother's beet red face.

“I'm sorry, Ganny,” mumbled Nikolai. “I thought Da must know, and I said something and...and then he really
did
know.”

“It doesn't matter,” said Mama. “If you have asked this girl to marry you, then we must meet her, don't you think?”

“Yes, Mama.”

“And have you asked her to marry you?”

“Yes, Mama.”

“Well, then...”

“I'm just not sure she can come. Things with her family are...kind of hard.”

“How, hard?” asked Da.

Ganny stuck his spoon into his oatmeal and sat back in his chair, debating silently what he should say. “Her Da wants she should inherit his business. But that's not what she wants.”

“What sort of business?” Da asked.

“Butcher shops. Her family has two butcher shops and her Da is opening another one and he wants her to follow him into the business. He wants to build a sort of Sausage Empire. I think he wants to turn them into delis, too. He said something about sandwiches.” Ganny shrugged.

“And what sort of man wants his
daughter
to follow him in such a business?”

“A man without sons?” guessed Baba Irina, serenely eating her oatmeal.

Ganny nodded. “She has a cousin Mikhail who works in their shop over on Passyunk Square, but I guess her Da doesn't want him to take over the shops.”

“Passyunk Square? I know this shop. Gusalev and
Sons
.” Da laid none-too-subtle stress on the last word.

“The window said ‘ Gusthof and Sons,' when Mr. Joe bought the shop. He said it would have cost too much to change it all, so he just had the broken pane replaced.”

“The broken pane?”

Ganny colored. “The pane with the name on it got broken. Mr. Joe said it was a sign from God he should have the name changed.”

“This is where you've been washing windows on Saturdays, yes?” Baba asked.

Ganny nodded.

“So you met Svetlana at her father's shop?” Da asked.

“Yes, I...I mean, no...I...” Ganady stopped. “Sort of. I met her there, but I didn't talk to her until later. I never see her at the shop anymore. I think she stays away because of the trouble with her father.”

Mama
tsked
and shook her head. “Such a disobedient girl...”

“Ravke Kutshinska, I do not think you are one to speak ill of the disobedient,” said Baba Irina tartly.

Rebecca ignored her. “Well, perhaps if she marries, this trouble will be solved, yes? Then her Da might let the shops go to both of you and you could run them.”

“Mama, I don't know anything about running butcher shops.”

“You could learn,” said Da sternly.

“So, tell us about your Svetlana Gusalev,” said Baba Irina, dabbing her napkin to her lips. “I hear she likes baseball.”

“Yeah. And she likes klezmer.” A smile tugged at the corner of Ganady's mouth. “And Mama's
pierniki
.”

“Then I shall bake some for Sabbath dinner. You will invite her, yes?”

“I'll...I'll try.”

Da broke the soft spell in which they'd sat by snapping open his napkin and spreading it in his lap. “Eat your breakfast, Ganady. You will go with me to work this morning. I want you to see what business it is your father does. Perhaps you will inherit sausage shops, perhaps not. But it will not hurt for you to learn a business.”

“But, Nikolai is learning your business.”

“Why can't both my sons do as much?”

There was no answer to that, so Ganady acquiesced.

Before he left for the machine shop with his father and brother, he slipped upstairs and went to his dresser as a supplicant to a shrine. She was there, The Cockroach, this time at the feet of the Virgin.

He studied the insect for a moment, then said, “My mother would like to know if you can come to dinner Sunday.”

The Cockroach waved her antennae at him and then climbed the icon to roost upon her shoulder, facing Ganady. He stood there a moment, holding his breath, half expecting the creature to speak. Then the absurdity of the situation overcame him and he began to laugh.

He was still laughing when he met his father and brother in the front hall.

oOo

Ganady received no answer to his question that night, nor the next, nor the next. On Wednesday evening, he went to The Samovaram to play for a bat mitzvah in the banquet room. The celebration was quite grand to Ganady's eyes and he was impressed with the generosity of the guests, who tipped him as though he were not receiving a fine payment from the hosting family.

He sat at a table in the empty and darkened main dining room after, counting his tips, wondering if perhaps he couldn't make a living playing music after all. Restaurant staff came and went through the access hall that led from the banquet room to the kitchen, paying Ganady no heed.

“You played beautifully tonight. But then you always play beautifully.”

Ganady glanced up and across the table. Svetlana sat in the chair opposite, her long hair draped like a silken shawl upon her shoulders. It shone softly in the subdued light from the banquet room.

He was struck mute, or perhaps simply lacked the will to do more than gaze at her.

She smiled. “I thought about dinner Sunday night. And I would really love to come, but I...I just can't. Not yet. It's not the right time.”

“Will there ever be a right time?”

She looked at him for a long moment while behind her the kitchen door opened and closed and the clatter and tinkle of dishes waxed and waned. She said, “That depends on you.”

“Me? Why me?”

She shook her head. “I can't say. Please apologize to your family for me. Tell them...tell them I have to take care of some family things.”

“All right. But they think we're getting married. What do I tell them about that?”

Her eyes locked on his. “You did ask me, didn't you? You meant it, didn't you?”

“Of course I meant it. Lana, I love you. I want to be married to you. Can we really marry?”

“Why shouldn't we marry?”

“Well...your Da...”
And the fact that I'm not sure you're real
.

“My Da won't be any trouble. He's already done what he's done. You're the one who has to decide now, Ganny.”

“But I don't understand. Where would we be married? In a synagogue or a church or...just in my dreams?”

She laughed. “Silly. If we got married just in your dreams, we wouldn't really be married, would we?”

“Well, where then?”

“Where are Yevgeny and Nick getting married?”

“At Saint Stan's. But you can't get married there, can you? You're not Catholic.”

“I'm not anything right now,” she said solemnly. “My Da isn't observant, you know. He only closes the shop on the Jewish Sabbath because Mama insists. He doesn't even go to shul anymore. And you know what I think? I don't think God is Jewish. Or Catholic. I think He's just...God.”

“Then...you want to get married with Nick and Yevgeny?”

“That would be wonderful. I would like that very much.”

“You're serious. You want me to—to plan our wedding.”

“Well, I'll help, too, of course. Goodness, Ganny, you can't plan our wedding all by yourself.”

“But...what can you do?”

“You'd be surprised what I can do.”

“Then I can tell people we're getting married?”

She grinned and tilted her head and his heart reeled dizzily in his chest. “I kind of think you have to. And besides, it sounds as if you've already told somebody.”

Ganady grimaced. “I guess I talk in my sleep. My brother Nick overheard me propose to you. I asked him not to say anything, but he told Da, and Da told Mama, and then he told the rest of the family at breakfast the next morning. I guess Nick can't keep a secret.”

“Well, if we're going to be married, it can't exactly be too secret.”

Ganny looked down at the bills he had half-counted. “What about Mr. Joe? Are you going to tell him? Or your Mama?”

She looked for moment as if she might cry. “I can't talk to Mr. Joe.”

“I know he's mad at you but-”

“No, Ganny. You don't understand. And I can't explain. Not yet. Just tell your parents that I can't come to dinner on Sunday, but that I'm really looking forward to meeting them.”

And that was exactly what he told them when he saw them at breakfast the next morning.

They exchanged glances, then his mother said, “Oh, well then. Tell her the invitation is open. She may come any Sunday.”

It was not left at that, of course. They asked her address; he told them only that she lived on Thirteenth. They asked where she had gone to school; he said he didn't know. They asked where he met her and what they did together; he told the story of seeing her in Saint Stan's, and of going to baseball games, and of ice cream at Izzy's. Then they asked where she worshipped and he said, “Mikveh Israel.”

This caused a bit of a sensation. Baba Irina smiled secretly; Vitaly and Rebecca cast each other worried glances; Nikolai and Marija merely wanted to know where Mikveh Israel was.

“She is Jewish, this girl?” asked Vitaly.

“Well, her family is Jewish,” Ganny admitted, “but not very observant. At least, not her Da. She says...” He hesitated, unsure whether to repeat Lana's words about God. In the end, he decided to tell the truth—if it could be called that, considering the source. “She says she doesn't think God is either Jewish or Catholic. She thinks He's both. That doesn't matter, does it—that she's Jewish?”

He fixed his parents with a searching gaze and knew that his Baba, who sat in her chair by the hearth pretending to embroider, and his sister, who knelt beside her pretending to learn a new stitch, were watching them as well.

After a moment of silence, Rebecca Puzdrovsky raised her head, thrust out her chin, and met her son's eyes. “Of course, it doesn't matter. After all, I am Jewish.”

“Rebecca!” exclaimed Da, who never called his wife by her Americanish name.

She turned her eyes to him. “Well, it is so, yes? I was born Jewish—not only of faith but of blood. My blood has not changed, and my faith in the Fathers has not changed. It is only that I now also believe in the Savior. I think this Svetlana is right: Our God is the God of Abraham and Moses and of the prophets, even if He is also the God of Jesus. Jesus Himself says so. I have read it,” she added when her husband's mouth popped open to reply.

Vitaly shrugged and muttered something about asking Father Zembruski, but Ganady did not think he would.

The Puzdrovsky Patriarch now turned his eyes to his youngest son and said, “It remains that we must meet this girl, Ganady. You cannot marry someone who is a stranger to us, no matter what her faith.”

After this a stream of invitations flowed forth from the Puzdrovsky household for Svetlana to join them at church, or at shul, or at dinner, or at The Samovaram, or at a baseball game, and Ganady carried every one faithfully. But her answer was always the same: The time was not right.