“Khoop,” Grandpa produced that sound in a special way. It seemed as if he tried to inhale as much air as possible, along with the food, to cool it down. His face looked very serious as he did it. It grew longer, his eyes narrowed, his brows came together. He stretched his neck as he bent his head over the bowl. It seemed his snow-white beard was about to dip into the bowl, but it froze a millimeter away from the buttery steaming surface as if it knew exactly where it needed to stop.
Grandpa Yoskhaim would always eat the same breakfast: choyi kaimoki with one piece of flatbread, butter and strong green tea. He ate his breakfast, just as he did everything Grandma cooked for dinner, with an excellent appetite. It wasn’t accidental that my mama, trying to feed me, would always say, “You peck like a hen. That’s why you’re just skin and bones. Look at Grandpa Yoskhaim: he eats well. That’s why he’s so healthy.”
That was true. Grandpa was very seldom ill. And if he was, he never stayed in bed.
It was rumored that there was a bullet in Grandpa’s back that had got stuck there in the long-ago days of the revolution and street riots in the Old Town. The doctors couldn’t make up their minds about removing it, so he lived with it till the end of his days. It never caused him any particular trouble.
He was amazingly industrious and durable, so Mama must have been right.
After Grandpa Yoskhaim finished his breakfast, he pushed the empty bowl away but stayed at the table. He fidgeted on the squeaky chair to make himself more comfortable and to sit more firmly.
Poking my spoon about in the bowl, I looked at him with sympathy. I knew very well what the next scene would be. It was invariable. But I watched it every time with the same keen interest, like a fan watching a fight between two wrestlers.
“Lisa,” Grandpa called loudly. “How much money should I leave?”
As he asked the question, Grandpa would stretch out his right leg, put his hand into his pocket and produce a tightly packed brown leather wallet.
Grandma Lisa, however, wouldn’t appear. Pots were clanking and water was running behind the closed kitchen door. This part of the scene was called “I can’t hear you, my dear. I’m very busy. Call me one more time.”
Grandpa would raise his eyebrows and sigh. He knew better than anyone that Grandma had perfect hearing. She could hear any rustle, even through the wall of a neighboring room. Yura and I, for example, never talked about our affairs if Grandma Lisa was nearby. She could hear everything, even if we whispered, and she could learn all our secrets.
Grandpa would call her again, louder this time.
At last, the kitchen door would swing open and Grandma would appear in the doorway.
Oh, she was a great actress. She never tired of playing her part and finding different nuances each day. It was impossible to replicate the extent of fatigue expressed in her face.
Rubbing her lower back with her hand, she made her way slowly to the couch, sat down and, after adjusting her headscarf, said loudly, “Inam shood.” With this saying, which literally meant “and that’s finished,” Grandma, evidently reminded her dear husband that she had been toiling since early in the morning to feed him, and now she was terribly tired, and she thanked God that she was still alive after all that work.
Grandpa Yoskhaim wouldn’t look at Grandma. He’d examine his wallet closely. It was sufficient to hear her tone as she uttered “Inam shood” for him to know how much money she would demand for expenses, so he wouldn’t wait for her to specify the amount before launching his defense.
“I gave you money yesterday.”
“Nothing’s left,” Grandma interrupted him immediately. “Today I need to buy…” and she would begin to enumerate foodstuffs, ticking them off on her fingers, “…rice, bread… Sugar’s almost gone… We need fish. Little flour left…”
“Flour?” Grandpa interrupted her, raising his thick brows. “You bought flour the day before yesterday.”
“You can’t be serious. It’s been three weeks. You ate pirozhki, didn’t you?
At that point Grandpa’s patience would be exhausted. It should be mentioned that it was very difficult to upset Grandpa, but Grandma invariably managed it. I couldn’t guess which grocery item would feed Grandpa’s indignation, but I knew perfectly well how he would manifest it, and I was looking forward to that final scene.
“Just look at her!” tormented Grandpa would exclaim, almost leaping out of his chair.
I don’t know when or why Grandpa began to use that rather inoffensive expression to express his highest degree of surprise and indignation at his interlocutor’s impudence. Obviously, the point was not the words themselves but the meaning and coloration he attached to them.
Grandpa’s indignation never produced any menacing consequences. To my disappointment, that was how their daily duel usually ended or, to be precise, the verbal part. What followed was what Grandma had been fighting for – the mild-mannered issuance of cash.
After expressing his indignation once again, this time in a whisper, “Just look at her,” Grandpa at last opened his wallet and counted out a bunch of cash. He did it shaking his head slightly, as if surprised at Grandma’s fighting abilities and his defeat. Perhaps, he still hoped to win one day.
Distressed, Grandpa returned the wallet to his pocket and shuffled out. He was, for some reason, more upset than usual.
He always left some cash for me on the chest of drawers to buy ice cream. I didn’t remind him about it today, out of compassion. After all, we were both men…
Chapter 26. The Maybug
Grandpa threw his knapsack over his shoulder, crossed the yard, shuffling his feet, and disappeared beyond the gate, off to work.
I made myself comfortable by the apricot tree to enjoy the morning coolness and solitude. Yura, my cousin and friend, hadn’t shown up yet. He might still be asleep for it was too quiet behind the windows of his house.
It was wonderful to sit like that in my old yard, doing nothing. After the long school year, after the rush and tension, the constant worries about homework, grades and other unpleasant things, it was so nice to relax, to feel that all those worries were in the past, not to think about anything, not a single thing, just to sit there allowing laziness to grip me, to envelop and lull me… And I didn’t want to ponder anything, nor could I. All thoughts seemed to have dissolved and vanished, and I felt a blissful void in my head. But I also felt a drowsiness. I absorbed everything that was going on around me in the yard with the utmost delight. It was non-stop life unfolding before me with exceptional clarity, in all its details.
Why were the hens cackling so loudly? Aha! There was Grandma Lisa entering the henhouse to feed them. The henhouse was not far from me, along the same wall as the trestle bed. I could see everything that happened there from where I was sitting. White hens, five of them, walked about restlessly, jumped up near Grandma, pushing each other away and quarreling. The rooster, unlike the hens, was a dark-feathered fellow, deep brown streaked with gold, who stood apart from them for some time. The rooster, whose legs looked like thick twisted twigs, with calloused toes and powerful claws, watched the quarrelsome hens with disdain. After observing the domestic quarrel, that sultan began to peck the grains scattered near him, shaking his red beard and moving closer to his silly wives.