The World Outside (5 page)

Moishe gurgled with happiness when he saw me.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” I said, giving him a big hug, “but there was a fire across the street. Want to see?”

I pushed him to the window and pointed to the fire trucks that were just leaving. His head bobbed up and down excitedly. His arms flailed.

“Enough time wasted,” Mama said in a tired voice. “We have a visitor tonight. Yossi is bringing his new study partner home to learn Torah together. Avrohom Isaac and his family will also be with us tonight. I moved dinner back half an hour. That should give you enough time to set the table and feed Moishe.”

She turned on the cassette player and opera music filled the room. I scurried back and forth from the kitchen to the plaintive tones of the baritone singing
the role of Rigoletto. I wanted to hum along, but I knew Mama wouldn’t like it. The hair on the back of my neck stood up when I heard the anguish and desperation in the singer’s voice. I’d heard the same aria countless times, for Mama listened to this opera most of all, but I could never get used to Rigoletto’s suffering. I wanted to know why he was feeling such pain, but I couldn’t understand a single word of the Italian lyrics. I glanced at Mama. She was busy peeling potatoes, her brow furrowed in concentration.

I should have known better, but the words just slipped out. “Mama, why is Rigoletto so sad?”

Her knife stopped in midair. “What do you mean?”

“What is Rigoletto’s story? I can hear the pain in his voice, and I can’t help wondering what makes him so unhappy.”

“A Lubavitcher girl need not concern herself with such worldly matters.” She returned to peeling the potatoes.

I was tempted to point out that if Rigoletto’s story was so worldly that she couldn’t discuss it with me, surely the music she listened to so faithfully was also worldly. Luckily, I came to my senses in time and bit my lip to prevent the words from escaping.

“We’ll take some food over to the people across the street tomorrow,” Mama said. “The brisket is big enough for leftovers, and I peeled extra potatoes.”

“Are you talking about the people who had the fire?”

“Why do you sound so surprised? They lost everything. It’s a mitzvah to help those in need. That’s what the Rebbe wants us to do.”

“But you always tell me never to talk to or even look at black people I don’t know.”

She wiped her brow with the back of her hand. “Stop your nonsense, Chanie,” she sighed. “Your brother is waiting for his dinner.”

I fed Moishe and put him to bed. He grabbed my hand and wouldn’t let me leave him. “Ya, ya, ya!” he cried, a sure sign that he was upset. I had to give him his stuffed teddy and tell him two stories before his eyes grew heavy and I could tiptoe out of his room. I felt so tired that I didn’t even bother combing my hair before going to the dining room.

My family was already at the table. Even Yossi was there, with his study partner beside him. It was David.

“She finally appears,” Yossi said in a jocular tone. He turned to David. “This is my sister Chanie.”

I couldn’t bear to look at him, let alone my brother or Papa.

“David and I are learning together,” Yossi said to me. “I met him in the mall when we went on outreach there. We’ve been getting together ever since to study
the Torah.” He winked at me. “I don’t see
you
bringing anybody home to study.”

“David’s been wasting his time in college up to now!” Papa boomed. “He is finally learning something of value from your brother.” He nodded approvingly.

I fixed my eyes on the threadbare carpet.
Please, please, please don’t let David say that I already met him
. Mama won’t ever let me out of the house again if she finds out that I chatted with a strange boy in the mall.

“Nice to meet you,” I finally managed to croak.

“But we—”

My head shot up and David stopped dead. I tried to implore him silently not to betray me.

He coughed and cleared his throat.

“I’m sorry. I had a cold and I’m still coughing. But it’s nice to meet you too, Chanie.”

I sank into my seat, grateful that Mama was still in the kitchen.

Esther gave me a strange look. “Is everything okay?” she asked.

“Fine,” I whispered. I scooped Ari out of his high chair and buried my face in his softness. I held him so tightly that he began to cry.

Esther stood up. “If you’ll mind the baby, I’ll help Mama Miriam in the kitchen.”

I loosened my hold and patted Ari on his back until he gave a watery hiccup and began sucking on his
knuckles. I kept myself busy the rest of the meal helping to feed the children.

Meanwhile, Papa and my brothers were involved in an animated discussion of Rabbi Schneerson’s last Torah lesson. David was looking at them with a bemused expression on his face. From time to time, he glanced in my direction, but I kept my own eyes modestly lowered. Fortunately, Mama was preoccupied with lecturing Esther on the proper nutrition for children. It was only Baba who examined me thoughtfully now and then.

CHAPTER 5

W
hen I got home from school the next day, Mama stopped me from taking off my jacket.

“I’m going over to the Elliots’,” she said. “I packed a basket with leftovers from last night’s dinner, and I want you to come with me to deliver it. I called Rita Mae, but she wasn’t home. I don’t want to go over there by myself.”

We crossed the street to the apartment block. Mama stopped in front of the suite where the fire had broken out and knocked on the door. It swung open immediately. The man I had seen the day before, holding the little girl’s hand, stood in the doorway. He smiled tiredly.

“What can I do for you?”

“I’m Miriam Altman from across the street, and this is my daughter Chanie,” Mama said, gesturing to me. She held up her basket. The smells coming from it made my mouth water. “We brought food for the Elliot family.”

The man’s expression softened, and he held out his hand. Mama backed away from him as if she’d been bitten.

“Oh, sorry,” he said. “I forgot your customs for a moment. I’m Jeremiah Baker, Pansy Elliot’s brother. I’m trying to salvage what I can of Pansy’s things, but there ain’t much left.”

He turned sideways so that we could see into the apartment. The carpet was soaked with water and the few pieces of furniture were charred and broken.

“Where’s Mrs. Elliot?” Mama asked.

“On the fourth floor. They’re stayin’ with friends. Pansy’s tough and she’ll be okay, but I’m not so sure about that poor child. She’s scared.” He pointed in the direction of the staircase. “The elevator’s broken, as usual. The end of the hall, on your right.”

As we climbed the worn stairs, we stepped over dirty newspapers, empty beer bottles, used needles and even soiled diapers.

“It smells in here,” Mama muttered. “Why don’t these people keep their houses clean?”

Finally, we arrived at the apartment on the fourth floor. I knocked and the door was opened by the little girl with the saucer eyes. She stood mutely in the doorway, sucking her thumb and cradling the white cat in her arms.

Mama smiled at her. “Tell your mama that she has visitors.”

The little girl didn’t budge, but a voice behind her called out: “Come on in!”

I gently moved the child aside and we found ourselves in a small, dingy living area. Every inch of space was filled by a dark face. We were the only white people there. The room fell silent. Everybody stared at us for a moment, then the gentle buzz of conversation resumed.

Mrs. Elliot was sitting on a mustard-colored sofa in the middle of the room. Wooden crates in front of it and on the two sides served as tables. People of all shapes and sizes occupied rickety chairs. A woman was breast-feeding her baby in a dark corner while several other small children ran wildly around her. My eyes traveled around the room. Jade and Mrs. Orville were sitting by the wall, talking to the old lady who had consoled Mrs. Elliot after the fire. When she saw me, Jade waved and began to make her way over. Mrs. Orville followed her slowly.

“Chanie, I didn’t know you’d be here!” Jade cried.

“Neither did I.” I felt dowdy next to her in her low-slung jeans and finely ribbed sweater.

Mama scowled. “Who is this girl, Chanie?”

“This is my sister Cicely’s daughter,” Mrs. Orville replied. “Jade, this is Mrs. Altman, our neighbor.”

“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Altman,” Jade said.

Mama nodded frostily before turning to Mrs. Elliot.

“With your kitchen gone, I thought this might come in handy,” she said, handing her the basket.

“Thank you, Missus. We can surely use it.” Tears filled Mrs. Elliot’s eyes.

Mama patted her shoulder. “Now, now. The main thing is that nobody got hurt.”

“You’re right. But everythin’ is gone!”

A new arrival soon claimed Mrs. Elliot’s attention, and Mama and Mrs. Orville began to chat. Jade drew me to the side of the room, away from them all.

“These poor people have nothing left. What a terrible situation! I called my mother. She’s going to try raising some money to help them.”

“In Boston?”

“Why not? Mother works in Roxbury. She’s always raising money for somebody.”

“Roxbury? Is that a school or something?”

Jade shook her head. “It’s a neighborhood where lots of black people live, kind of like Crown Heights here. My mother is a pediatrician, and so is my father. They share a practice there.”

“Wow, a pediatrician! I don’t think I’ve ever met a woman doctor. Are you going to be a pediatrician too?”

“Well, I’m just in my second year of college, so I’m not sure what I want to do yet. That’s why I took this semester off—to decide. I’ll probably end up as a writer. Taking time off also gave me the opportunity to come
to Crown Heights and spend time with my auntie. I’ve been wanting to do this for a long time.” She grinned. “My aunt says you’re really smart. Skipped a grade and at the top of your class.”

I shrugged my shoulders, not wanting to seem immodest. How did she know about my school? It was hard to believe that Mama had said something to Mrs. Orville, for she hardly paid attention when I brought home my report card.

“Which school do you go to?” I asked, changing the topic.

“Vassar. It’s a great college. I love it. What about you? Which college are you headed to next year?”

“I’m not,” I said simply.

“What do you mean?”

“I’m not going.”

Her eyes widened. “Why not?”

“Lubavitcher girls like me don’t go to college. Nor do Lubavitcher boys. The Rebbe discourages us from wasting our time in secular schools. Mama and Papa want me to go to the seminary after I graduate and become a teacher in a religious school.”

“Is that what
you
want?” Jade’s voice was intense.

“I don’t know. If I can’t—” I couldn’t help sighing. “It won’t be so bad.”

“Can’t what?” she asked. “What were you going to say?”

“Nothing! Forget I said anything.” I noticed that Mama was beckoning me over. “We’ll talk another time. My mother wants me.”

“You bet we’ll talk.” She grinned widely. “I smell a mystery.”

“Stay away from that Jade!” Mama said as we made our way home.

I stopped in the middle of the street. “Why?”

“Because I say so!”

“But she’s Mrs. Orville’s niece, and Mrs. Orville is your friend.”

A car whizzed by, and she pulled my arm to get me off the road. “Come on, you’ll get us killed! No more arguments.”

I followed her to the sidewalk, but I wouldn’t give up so easily. “I don’t understand. Why don’t you want me to be friends with Jade?”

“I thought I’d made myself clear,” she said, wagging her finger under my nose. “This girl is black. She isn’t Lubavitch. You can’t trust the blacks. Everybody knows that if somebody breaks into a house in our neighborhood, it’s almost always a black person.”

“But that’s crazy, Mama! You can’t blame Jade for other people’s crimes! She’s done nothing wrong. She goes to college. Her parents are doctors, for goodness’ sake!”

She held up her hand. “I have said all I’m going to say. Just do as you’re told this one time, Chanie!”

The doorbell rang right after I arrived home from school the next afternoon. Jade was standing on the front porch.

“Hi! I was waiting for you to get home.”

“Jade!” I didn’t know what else to say.

“Who is it, Chanie?” Mama called from the kitchen.

I didn’t answer.

“Well, aren’t you going to invite me in?” Jade asked.

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

I hesitated. I didn’t want to hurt her feelings, but I had to say something. “My mother won’t want me to be friends with somebody who isn’t a Lubavitcher,” I finally said. I wasn’t going to tell her that Mama didn’t trust black people.

She giggled. “You’re joking, right?”

I shook my head. “She’s even angry that I’m so close with my friend Faygie, because her parents are
baal teshuvahs
.”

“
Baal
what?”

“
Baal teshuvahs
—Jews who become observant later in life.”

“Unbelievable! Your mother sounds very narrow-minded.”

“She likes our ways.”