They May Not Mean To, But They Do(54)

Karl did not want a bite of her pie. One more thing in his favor, she thought, finishing it with relish, scraping her fork against the plate to get the last lacquer-yellow traces.





37

Molly watched her mother opening folders, closing them, stroking, piling, opening them again. Each time Molly tried to pick one up, her mother swatted her away. It was hopeless. She headed for the kitchen to make some tea.

“What are you doing, Molly? You came all this way to help me clean up for the seder. Now please help me!”

Molly scooped up some mail from the other end of the table and began to sort it, but the sound of envelopes being torn open drew her mother’s attention, the way the flutter of wings draws a cat, and Joy abandoned her files to touch each piece of mail, to finger the envelopes as if they were silken Chanel or velvet brocade beaded with seed pearls.

When Joy finally went to lie down on the couch for a rest, Molly furiously extricated the bills from the slippery towers of junk mail, sorting, filing, labeling the files and sliding them, quickly, quickly, before her mother could wake up, into new blue plastic file boxes she had ordered from Staples. She labeled the file boxes. She stuffed the junk mail into kitchen garbage bags and took them out to the back hall, where her mother would not find them.

Out of breath, gathering up the last bobby pin, the matchbooks, doctors’ business cards, the coffee shop delivery receipts, Molly heard a horrified gasp behind her.

“My papers. Oh, my papers…”

Joy stared at the table, now empty. She sat down in Aaron’s chair, her small frame hidden in a voluminous silk bathrobe she had found deep in the cedar closet, a burgundy paisley bathrobe that had been Molly’s grandfather’s. Heavy fringe hung from the sash. On the lapels was a braided border. She looked like a diminutive general of the Empire in her exotic silk robe and Oriental chair, her delicate little face pale and weary, relieved to hear that the native rebellion had been put down, though at what cost?

“I think I have to lie down again. Or eat something.” Joy leaned her head back and closed her eyes.

“Listen, I have an idea. I can take care of all your bills from now on, Mom.”

“I’m not senile.” Eyes still closed.

“I can get everything on the computer and do it for you from L.A.”

“I’m certainly not ready for that, thank you very much.” Her voice had become rather severe.

“But I could—”

“Molly.” Joy stood up, the hem of the silk robe pooling at her feet.

“What?” Molly said, sulky now.

“Let’s face it.”

“What? Face what?”

“The buck,” Joy said, “stops here.”

*

Karl arrived at the apartment exactly on time. Joy opened the door for him and noticed again his eyes, hazel with flecks of green, slightly protruding. She could remember being young and troubled by how earnest those eyes were. He carried flowers, a burst of tulips in many different colors.

“Look who’s here,” Joy called out to her family.

“That’s not Elijah,” Cora said. “Is it?”

“This is a very old friend of mine and a dear friend of Grandpa Aaron’s,” Joy said. “This is Karl.”

Molly pulled her aside. “Mom,” she whispered, “this seder is for family. Our family.”

“One who locks the doors of his courtyard and eats and drinks together with his children and wife and does not feed and give drink to the poor and embittered—this is not the joy of a mitzvah but the joy of his stomach,” Ruby said. “Maimonides.”

“Oh Christ,” said Molly.

“I read it on Chabad.org.”

Molly shook her head and walked away. Joy kissed Ruby and said, “That’s very wise. But I don’t think Karl is either poor or embittered.”

“You never know,” Ruby said. “I mean, just in case, right?”

Joy nodded. “Just in case. But, Ruby, promise me, no more Chabad.”

“Don’t worry. I’m a feminist, Grandma.”

Joy hurried away to answer the door and let Natalie in.

“Are you poor or embittered?” she asked.

“Embittered.”

“Then you may enter.”

“I’m poor, Grandma,” said Ben, who stood right behind Natalie.

Joy hugged him and kissed him and thanked him for coming so far.

There were two more, Trevor and Melanie, a young couple from England who had just moved into the building.

This time it was Danny who pulled her aside. “Mom, what are you doing? This is a family thing. How many other people are coming? Hi, Natalie! Welcome!”

“This is so kind of you,” Melanie said. “We’ve never been to a seder.”

“Americans are so welcoming,” said Trevor.

Joy smiled. She wanted to lock herself in the bathroom and never come out. She wanted to sit by herself and think about Aaron and watch the traffic from the kitchen window. She forced another smile and took a seat beside Ben and grabbed his hand and kissed it. His beard had grown in. “You look like Grandpa.” Then she did get up and lock herself in the bathroom for a cry, but just a short one.

*

Looking down the table, Daniel realized that he, Daniel, was expected to lead the service. He cleared his throat and dinged a spoon against his wineglass. “Ahem,” he said, and there was a slight diminution of noise. They got through to the first glass of wine without too much commotion. There was an empty place for Elijah, but it looked like a chair waiting for Aaron. Daniel tried not to stare at it. Ben kept filling up the wineglasses. It was thick, viscous stuff, but Daniel had downed several glasses before they got to the part where you raise your second glass. When they finally did, he made a toast to his father and realized he was singing Bob Dylan’s “Forever Young.” “May your heart always be joyful…”