The Matchmaker's Gift(31)
The path ahead was full of faces Sara recognized. She waved to her father’s pinochle partner before stopping to wish Jacob and Miryam Tunchel a good year. Sara’s brothers introduced her to some of their friends, including the two Lipovsky brothers, dentists who practiced farther uptown. Along the bridge, she spotted her teacher, and later, her neighbors from across the hall.
“A gut yohr, Sara! Come, say hello!” Mr. Raskin called to her from a few feet away, where he’d gathered with Ida, his sons, and their wives.
“A gut yohr,” Sara said. “Happy New Year to you all.”
It had only been a few weeks since she’d last seen Ida, but it felt as if it had been months. They had so much to catch up on, so much to discuss, that they could have stood talking together for hours. Eventually, the sun began to set, Ida’s family went home, and Sara’s brothers disbanded. Sara and Ida linked arms to walk back, making their way westward through the thinning crowd. The dentist brothers Sara had been introduced to earlier stood in conversation with the rest of their family. The men recognized Sara as she passed and nodded their heads to her in greeting.
It was then that she saw it, out of the corner of her eye—the narrow thread of light, linking Ida to the younger dentist. If Sara focused too closely on it, the thread of light disappeared. It was visible only when her eyes were turned elsewhere.
Sara felt her spirits lift and her mood buoy. Her feet, like the rest of her, felt almost weightless, and soon, she was practically skipping on the walkway.
“Slow down!” Ida said. “What’s the rush?”
Sara’s smile gave way to a burst of laughter. “I’m so sorry! I forgot where I was for a moment. I was busy imagining all the good things the new year might bring for both of us.”
The end of the bridge was not far away, so they walked to the railing for one last look over the water. The sky had turned a brilliant, lavender blue, and the gray of the city shone silver in the light.
“Will I see you next week for Yom Kippur?” Ida asked.
“Of course,” Sara said. “I’ll look for you at the synagogue.”
“My father wants me to stay at home until then, but I told him I need to get back to my classes. Maybe in the shtetl people slow down between the holidays, but here, in this city, it isn’t possible.”
Sara thought about all the work ahead of her—the information to be gathered, the introductions to be made. “You’re right,” she said to Ida. “Now is not the time for rest.”
* * *
When Rosh Hashanah ended, Sara asked her brother Joe how he had come to know the two dentists. “They’re cousins of my friend. You remember Morris? I met them both at his wedding. The older one, Izzy, is friendly enough—he was married himself a few years ago. Herman is the younger one. More serious, quiet.” Joe raised an eyebrow at his sister. “Why do you want to know?” he asked.
She grabbed her cheek with both hands and winced. “I have a terrible toothache,” she mumbled.
“Why don’t you see Dr. Rosenthal?”
“The last time Mama saw Dr. Rosenthal, she couldn’t open her mouth for a week! The man is almost eighty years old. I’d prefer to see someone who learned to practice dentistry sometime in the last fifty years.”
“That’s a good point,” Joe agreed. “I’ll ask Morris for the address.”
After school the next day, Sara walked up Second Avenue and turned left onto East Seventh Street. The Lipovsky brothers’ office was on the first level of a three-story house with a polished wooden door. Sara entered the waiting room just as the younger Dr. Lipovsky was finishing up with a patient. The air smelled faintly of antiseptic.
“Remember,” Dr. Lipovsky entreated, “no more of that saltwater taffy.” Despite the admonishment, the doctor’s tone was kind. With great care, he guided his elderly patient by the arm to the exit.
When he was gone, Sara introduced herself. “We met the other day on the bridge,” she said. “My brother Joe introduced us.”
The young dentist nodded and held out his hand. Beneath his stiff white doctor’s coat, he wore a neat white shirt. His manner was as straightforward as his attire. “Nice to see you again. Is there something I can help you with?”
For a moment, Sara forgot her excuse, but then she reached for her cheek and rubbed her jaw. “I have a toothache,” she explained. “I was hoping you might take a look.”
“Of course,” Herman said. “I’m happy to. My brother’s wife, Rebecca, usually greets our new patients, but she’s not feeling well today. They live upstairs, on the two upper floors.” Herman walked to an unoccupied desk in the corner and took a blank card from inside the top drawer. “Would you please fill this out before we begin? Name, age, and address. Oh, and the reason for your visit.”
Dr. Lipovsky’s touch was gentle. Despite a thorough examination, he could find nothing wrong. “I’m happy to report that I see no cavities and no decay of any kind. You’ve developed a sensitivity, but it should go away in a week or so.” He crossed the room to a wall of shelves, selected a small glass vial, and handed it to her. “This is clove oil,” he said. “Rub it on the tooth, and it should help reduce the pain.”
Dr. Lipovsky refused to charge her for the visit.