A Castle in Brooklyn(7)
“I have to thank you,” he said in Polish, hoping that his quick breathing wouldn’t betray the fact that he’d rushed up to meet her.
She turned abruptly, setting those eyes, which were now sparkling with innocence, upon his own. When she looked up at him, he could see that her blue eyes matched the color of her coat.
It took Jacob a moment to speak—surprising, as he was never at a loss for words. But now his tongue had to catch up with his thoughts, which were going in several directions at once.
“I just wanted to thank you for praising my writing, but I hardly think it was that good.”
She laughed then, hearty, uninhibited. Her lips, painted a shiny coral, were full, and when she opened them to speak, they revealed a set of perfect teeth, a brilliant white. Jacob wanted to suspend time, to hold it forever. It seemed that his life was on the verge of something, but he wasn’t quite sure what it was. Too soon, though, he heard the voice, soft, throaty. Like him, she spoke in Polish.
“It was silly of me, I suppose. I clapped when no one else did, so I should be apologizing to you.”
Composed now, it was Jacob’s turn to laugh. There was something about this girl that made him want to keep smiling.
“Not at all,” he responded. “I liked it. By the way, I’m Jacob Stein.” He extended his hand, and when she reached toward him, he found her hand settled in his perfectly.
“Esther Itzkowitz. I’m pleased to meet you. Today was my first day attending this class. I’ve had influenza these past few weeks, so I think I’ll have a lot of catching up to do.”
“I’m sure you’ll be fine. We only meet twice a week, so there’s plenty of time to study. If you don’t think me too forward,” he continued, switching over to English, “I would be happy to help you.”
“Well,” she said, matching his English with her own as she ran her fingers through her short brown hair, “the problem is, I don’t have plenty of time to study because I work all day and most nights for my father. Oh, and he is—what is the word?—he is waiting for me now in the car.”
“Oh, of course,” he said, holding the door open for her as they exited the now-empty classroom and made their way down the marble staircase. At the bottom, she turned toward him, her blue eyes holding his in her gaze. And, reverting to Polish, she said, “Thank you for the offer, Jacob. So nice meeting you.” Then he watched as she slipped into step with the pedestrians rushing home between the raindrops and got into a black Oldsmobile Super Eighty-Eight across the street.
Jacob walked several blocks to his subway station before he even noticed he had become drenched by the now-heavy deluge.
“Nice to meet you too,” he said quietly to himself.
Jacob did not reflect much on things. He accepted what was and didn’t ponder much on the why or the how. But just the same, he found himself thinking, as each hour went by, about the next time he would see Esther. He found himself dissecting each phrase, each word spoken between them as if he were a scientist in a lab and not a bottle filler. She said she was glad to have met him, but was she being earnest or simply polite? The rapidity with which she had turned down his offer for help made him wonder if she was as consumed by work as she implied or if it was just an excuse not to see him again. Perhaps she wasn’t attracted to him. She appeared to be in her twenties, but maybe she was too young to seriously consider taking up with a poor young man such as himself. Or worse yet, perhaps there was someone else. These thoughts rambled through Jacob’s mind as he brushed his teeth in the morning or bit into his salami sandwich during lunch break, even when his head touched the pillow at night. He was so consumed by the young woman in the blue coat that he forgot all about the writing assignment until the night before class. He had to stay up well past midnight fixing ink to paper. His aunt Rose remarked on the late hour as she tiptoed in, seeing the light still burning over the kitchen table.
“Nu, Jacob, you are up so late still. How is it you have so much work for school?” the old woman asked in Yiddish, pulling her pink fleece robe tighter across her chest.
“It is nothing, Tante,” he said, raising his head just long enough to answer in English, his now-preferred language. “Don’t bother yourself about me. I’ve just forgotten about some homework. You should go back to bed.”
“Very well, then,” she said, as she moved closer to kiss him on the forehead, “but try not to stay up too late. You do need to get up early tomorrow morning, you know.”
Jacob didn’t mind that his aunt and uncle treated him as if he were six instead of twenty-six. After all, it was his father’s brother who had sponsored his journey to America and even provided him with his own bedroom in the couple’s small walk-up apartment in Borough Park, insisting that he could stay as long as he needed. His aunt and uncle, who had immigrated to the US in 1937, had been spared the horrors of living through the war and were more than happy to provide safety and a future for Abraham’s brother’s one surviving child. As for Jacob, who had long ago forgotten a mother’s loving touch, he was eager to help out at Uncle Abraham’s grocery and also earn a paycheck at the seltzer-bottling factory. Jacob assisted Aunt Rose with the laundry and household chores, sometimes even broiling a chicken or making a potato soup for dinner. She was grateful for his help, certainly, as arthritis through the years had gnarled her hands and made her gait unsteady. But even if Jacob had not done all this, the childless couple loved him as their own. For Jacob, the love he received in their household was like water gushing from a hose, filling what seemed like a bottomless hole inside. He had no plans to leave anytime soon.