Part 29 (2/2)
”But...how? Why? I mean, how did this happen?”
What he was really asking was whether she was a c.o.c.kroach turned woman, or a woman turned c.o.c.kroach. Not that it mattered to him, because he would have loved her either way. He wasn't certain, but he suspected there was a mitzvot for it.
Svetlana's mouth pulled up at one corner. ”It's a long story.”
”I'd really like to know.”
She shrugged and slipped up onto a kitchen stool, hooking her ankles around the legs. Her shoes slipped from her feet to clatter on the black and white tiles. They were pumps-or so Marija, who had just begun to care for such things, had informed him. They were the same color as her dress-darkest green-and had little satin bows on each toe.
She tucked her dress around her knees. ”It was my Da, the Sausage King of South Philly. Da, he's a very shrewd businessman. A self-made businessman. He's always had this dream of having a chain of shops here in Philly, over the river in Camden, maybe other places as well.”
”A Sausage Empire,” said Ganny.
She nodded. ”He'd build it and pa.s.s it down to his sons. But he didn't have sons, he had me-the Sausage Princess.”
”And he wants you to run the stores, right?”
She cupped her knees with her hands. ”Ever since I was a little girl, he's been trying to get me to take an interest in the family business. But, I gotta tell you, Ganny, my only interest in meat is cooking and eating it. But he kept at it anyway-buying new stores, looking for ways to expand the business. And, you know, I'd do it for him-run the stores-if it were that simple. But it's not.”
She took a deep breath then said, ”Once upon a time, he was happy with the idea that his daughter would inherit the stores instead of a son, but that all changed when he met the Bagel King-Yuli Bzikov (a pompous shmegegi if ever I met one). And it hit him: what if, instead of just cutting meat up and sending it home in little white parcels, he sent it home inside bagels? Sausage bagels, galobki bagels, all different kinds of meat-stuffed bagels.
”To Papa, it was a marriage made in heaven. They'd merge the two businesses, become legal partners. He'd get dough for his sausage-breads, Bzikov would get meat for his pierogies. And best of all, Bzikov had a twenty-year-old son named Boris. Pompous shmegegi junior.”
Boris. Ganady's hair stood on end. He did not at all like where this was going.
”And Boris liked me. So Papa got it into his head that the Sausage and Bagel Empires should be joined by ties of matrimony. He had a big party to announce my betrothal to the Son of the Bagel King.”
”The Pierogi Prince,” said Ganady, apropos of nothing.
”Exactly. But I didn't want to marry Boris Bzikov, even if he was a Prince. I was only fifteen-I didn't want to marry anybody. So when Papa made this big announcement-which, by the way, was a surprise to the bride-to-be-I was so shocked I jumped up and said... Well, I said what I was thinking, which wasn't very nice. And the Bzikovs were understandably offended, and Papa was outraged. He demanded I take it back.”
”What you said?”
”What I said-which I'm not going to tell you, by the way. But I didn't. So first, Papa complains about how America is having a pernicious effect on the behavior of young women-”
”He said 'pernicious?'”
”He tries to learn a new English word every week. 'Pernicious' was the word that week. Anyway, next he set a curse on me.”
Ganady blinked. ”A curse? A real curse?”
”A real curse.”
”That curse?” He pointed to the burner upon which the c.o.c.kroach carapace had recently expired.
”The same. He said-and I quote-'That I should have sp.a.w.ned such an ingrate. May I be accursed for sp.a.w.ning such a child. ('Sp.a.w.n,' was the word the week before.) May your mother, G.o.d bless her, be accursed for giving breath to such a child.' Then he smote his forehead”-she ill.u.s.trated sonorously, smacking her brow with the heel of her hand-”and cried, 'What am I saying? We've already been cursed, your poor parents, to have such an ungrateful girl. Now, it's your turn.' Then he cursed me.”
Ganady, caught in the middle of reflection that he had never seen anyone smite their forehead, asked: ”Just like that? He just said, 'You're cursed?'”
Svetlana tilted her head and shrugged. ”Well, not so much. He had Aunt Beyle do it. She's my mother's sister. Aunt Beyle's a witch-at least that's what Da calls her. One evening he comes home from work with a little box tied up with string, like you might put giblets in. And he comes up to me and says: 'This is yours until such time as you learn to obey or until a man loves you in spite of your low estate. Only then will you be free of my curse.'
”So then he hands me this little box. And he crosses his arms and glares at me like so”-she demonstrated-”and says, 'So open it, already.'”
She shrugged. ”So I opened it.”
”A c.o.c.kroach?”
”A c.o.c.kroach sh.e.l.l.”
”Then what? You just-poof?”
”No. I tossed it out-box, c.o.c.kroach, the megillah. Then I went to bed, thinking Papa must've been at the vodka. And when I woke up, I was in this white room with no furniture and no ceiling. I climbed out and found myself in the alley behind our building and every thing looked very, very big. I was there for a long time. And that's where you found me. And after a while, I got to come back to this...” She made a graceful gesture at her own body. ”But only a little at a time.”
She rubbed her hands up and down her arms, pressing the silky fabric of her dress against them, and Ganady's heart all but broke at the look on her face.
”I guess I really messed up, huh?”
”Well, the curse was mostly off. I could do something like this once a month when the moon was full, and I could be in your dreams on the Sabbath. But now...you kind of gave the c.o.c.kroach Curse a new life.”
Her grin was lopsided and sad and Ganny wanted to cry.
”Why a c.o.c.kroach?”
She slid off the stool. ”Aunt Beyle was reading Kafka.”
She was moving toward the door and Ganny leapt to stop her. He reached out and put a hand on her arm. Beneath the silky fabric, the flesh was soft and warm, very un-c.o.c.kroach-like.
”What can I do?”
She looked into his eyes, breaking his heart all over again, and shrugged. ”That's up to you,” she said, then added, in Yiddish, ”Khop nit der fish far du nets.”
Before he could respond, she kissed him softly on the lips and slipped out through the kitchen doors.
He froze for only a second, then pushed through after her. The short hallway was empty. He opened the second set of double doors and peered through into the dining room. Her seat was empty, too.
He stood in the doorway, bereft, staring at that empty seat, letting the sounds of celebration wash over him until be became aware that someone was standing very near him. Someone short, who smelled of rosewater and lavender.
”Oh, Baba...” he whimpered.
”What is it, Ganny?” his Baba asked him. ”Where is she?”
He had no need to ask who she meant. He hung his head. ”Gone. She's gone.”
”What? What did you do?”
He certainly couldn't tell her that. Even Baba Irina could not believe that tale. He swallowed painfully. ”She said, 'Khop nit dir fish far du nets.'”
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