The Matchmaker's Gift(57)

Sara nodded. “Every word.”



* * *



Shortly before Sara graduated from Hunter, Esther had married Nathan Weisman. The couple moved to the Bronx to be near Nathan’s family and were expecting their first child that winter. Once Esther left, Sara filled in, cooking and tidying the rabbi’s apartment.

In the afternoons, she looked for a job. After earning her degree with high honors in math, she tried to find a position where she could utilize her skills. Math, she had learned, was the best antidote to matchmaking. There was no wondering or guesswork, only tangible figures. Whenever she was tempted by a flash of light, she turned her thoughts instead to the numbers on her page. Her matchmaking instincts were still there, of course, but she wanted to avoid the shadchanim. She was still trying desperately to keep her promise, the one she had made to her father long ago.

She visited her friend Jacob at his new eyeglass store to ask whether, perhaps, he needed a bookkeeper. Tunchel & Son had been open for a year, but Jacob was still building his reputation in the neighborhood. He offered to hire her one day a week. “I wish I could give you more work,” he said. “But, for now, at least, that’s all we need.”

Still, one day of work was better than none, and Sara was grateful for the job. She loved walking into the tidy store, with its modern glass cases and meticulous displays. Baruch Tunchel and Miryam worked behind the counter, while Jacob performed eye exams upstairs. There was no business office, per se, but Sara worked at a table in the rear of the store, going through the receipts, tallying expenses, and updating the ledgers once a week. Most of the time, she ignored the customers, but every once in a while, someone caught her attention.

There was the morning, for instance, when the sudden stench of onions and potatoes overwhelmed her senses to such an extent that she was forced to look up from her ledger for the cause. A gangly young man in a dark green apron had burst frantically through the wide shop doors and was standing in the center of the room with a pitiful expression on his face. Miryam began to offer her assistance, but before she could finish, he dropped a pair of spectacles on the counter between them. “The left lens is smashed,” he groaned. “And the frame is all twisted. Please, can you help me? Can they be repaired?” Baruch Tunchel stepped forward to inspect the damage and tutted as he held the eyeglasses in his hand. “There’s not much left here to work with,” he said. “Your best bet is to get a new pair.”

“My husband performs thorough eye examinations,” Miryam told him. “It’s important that you get an accurate prescription.”

“But I have no time for an examination!” the man shouted, and Miryam Tunchel took a few steps back.

“I’m sorry,” he stammered. “I apologize. Please … I work at the knishery over on Delancey, and I’m needed back soon for the lunchtime rush. My father will kill me if I’m gone for too long, but I told him I couldn’t work without my glasses. I dropped them and stepped on them—can you believe it? Please, is there anything you can do?”

Miryam’s eyes softened. “Papa,” she said to her father-in-law, “can you show this customer some of your old ready-made spectacles? See if any of them will do for now?”

The young man clapped his hands together. “Thank you! The knish store closes at five o’clock. Could I—do you think I could come back then for an exam? My eyes—they’ve been bothering me quite a bit as of late.”

Miryam nodded politely. “Of course. We stay open tonight until six o’clock. You can borrow a temporary pair for now, and then Jacob, my husband, will fit you properly.”

Baruch Tunchel brought over a box of wire spectacles left over from his pushcart days. The young man tried each one on in a frenzy. When he shoved the fifth pair onto his face, he smiled and laughed. “These will do nicely! Thank God!” He laid a few coins on top of the counter, but Miryam pushed the pile away. “Come back before six and we’ll work it out then.”

The man nodded his head and hurried out of the shop. “Thank you!” he called again from outside. “I will be back before six o’clock! I will see you soon!”

Miryam smiled and waved through the glass, but her father-in-law was far less pleased. “How can you be so sure he’ll return?” he grunted.

Miryam shrugged. “If he doesn’t, we know exactly where to find him,” she said. “The knishery on Delancey Street.”

“Humph,” Baruch Tunchel grunted again. “I’m going to open the door to let in some air. That meshuggeneh brought the whole kitchen with him.”



* * *



Curiosity kept Sara late at the store until the pungent man returned. This time, along with the greasy green apron, he wore a vaguely sheepish grin. “I didn’t even introduce myself earlier.” He held out his hand to Miryam. “Morty Finkel. Thank you again for your help this morning.” He tapped the spectacles resting on his nose. “These little beauties saved me today.”

Miryam smiled at him and pointed toward the stairs. “My husband is waiting for you,” she said. “I’m glad the spectacles were helpful, Mr. Finkel. But you should have a real examination. Otherwise, you might end up with terrible headaches. Or your vision could worsen from the strain.”

Morty nodded obediently and made his way up the narrow stairway. In the meantime, Baruch Tunchel reached into his pocket and placed Morty’s damaged spectacles on the counter. Baruch had removed the broken glass and molded the frame back into shape. “They’re missing a lens,” the old man said. “But I thought he might want to have them back.”