| The
evenings come early, so our outings are short-
ened. But that's all right,
because we do get quite
cold. After we've seen Ferdeleh comfortably rein-
stalled in the stable, the Quebec heater blazing to
keep him warm, we hurry
upstairs to the kitchen,
stamping the snow off our boots at the door. I
stand in front of the coal stove, in front of the open
oven. Grandpa warms
his hands over the opened
plates. Annie has heard our return to the courtyard,
and a cup of warm chocolate is waiting. The kitchen
is warm and cozy, with
Mamma, Grandpa, and me.
Winter days. It never rains. So
I can ride nearly
every Sunday with Ferdeleh and Zaida on the sled. Un-
less there is a snowstorm, which is still far too often.
The
dark and white contrasts lend the streets some
solemnity. The thick vapor
trail of our breathing con-
spires, paradoxically, to bring everything close
and
farther away. But our trade is the same, and so is
our chant. Though
sometimes we juggle it, just for
fun.
Grandpa and I
sing, "Rags . . . Clothes . . . Bot-
tles." Then I sing "Rags
. . ." but Grandpa sings
"Clothes..." and I correct myself,
following Grand-
pa, grinning. "Clothes... Bottles... Rags..."
Where I fail to follow, his face betrays a mild con-
sternation,
along with the grin. I'm delighted with
this game, myself initiate changes,
and giggle when
Grandpa fails to follow these.
"Clothes
. . . Rags .. ." and I sing "Bottles," but
Grandpa sings "Iron."
And we laugh.
The light is failing. Evening is falling.
And we are
returning home.
I jump down from the sled,
run to open the gate to
the courtyard, and Grandpa "gee-up's" Ferdeleh
to
enter.
But something is happening. There's some commo-
tion in the yard. A crowd of the neighbors and chil-
dren is gathered in front
of Mr. Baumgarten's shop.
Edna breaks from the crowd and runs excitedly to-
ward us. "Go back ... go back! The police are
here, looking for you!"
I am frightened, but Grandpa gives me a reassur-
ing gesture
and rides on into the lion's den.
The tailor's shop has
been transformed into a
court house. No physical alterations. And no deco-
rum. Anarchy.
The city council and the police department,
in the
shape of a small, plump French-Canadian civic of-
ficial and a
big French-Canadian cop, have come to
investigate Mrs. Tannenbaum's complaint
against
Ferdeleh's stable. Mr. Baumgarten has offered them
the use of
his shop to conduct their inquiries.
In the tailor's shop
are, for the defense, the at-
tractive, youthful Mrs. Murphy and Mr. Baumgarten
himself.
And in the right-hand comer, weighing a hundred
and eighty-seven pounds and a half, wearing a blue
dress, the Indomitable,
Mrs. Tannenbaum! Flanked
by her husband, Lou.
"Only
one neighbor is complaining. We can prove
it," says Mr. Baumgarten.
"The law is the law," says the little official. He
aspires to an orderly interview, but everyone is talk-
ing at once, and he
and the cop are confused.
"She smells worse than the
stable!" says Mrs.
Bondy.
"We know about you,
Mrs. Bondy! You better
keep your mouth shut!"
"You
know what, you dirty-mouthed English
bitch!"
"Just
a minute. Just a minute!" the cop intervenes.
Edna
pushes open the door and shouts into the
melee. "Why don't you ask me?
I'm a neighbor!"
Lou Tannenbaum nervously complains
to the cop,
"She doesn't live in the courtyard."
The
cop pushes Edna out and closes the door on
her.
"She's
an interested citizen," complains Mr. Baum-
garten.
"She's a whore!" Mrs. Tannenbaum screams.
"That's
right! She has nothing to say here," adds
Lou.
This
infuriates Edna. She dashes to the window and
bangs on it, shouting, "That
dirty hypocrite! He's one
of my regular customers!" And louder still,
for all to
hear, "Lou Tannenbaum is one of my regular cus-
tomers."
Lou Tannenbaum is frightened. "A lie. A dirty lie!
She's lying!"
Wave after wave of this washes over the
drowning
official, and he cries, "Just a minute! Just a minute!
We're
trying to hold an investigation!"
Grandpa and I walk
in. Nobody pays any atten-
tion. Edna is behind us, and stands shouting in
the
doorway. "It's not a lie! She hasn't slept with him in
nine years!
She says it's dirty."
Mrs. Tannenbaum is shivering.
"May your insides
rot... may your tongue shrivel..."
And
the official says, "The issue is the stable."
And
Grandpa asks, "What about the stable?"
And Mrs.
Tannenbaum rants, "May cancer eat
your flesh."
And
the official looks at Grandpa and asks, "Who
are you?" And Grandpa
answers, "The criminal."
The official takes another
look. Addressing Grand-
pa politely, he-explains that there has been a com-
plaint against the stable, and that the law requires a
stable to be situated
at least a hundred yards away
from human habitations. The stable will have
to be
moved.
Mr. Baumgarten asks, "What politician
does he
have to pay off to get out of this?"
Grandpa
says, "I'm not moving the stable."
The policeman
says, "If that stable isn't moved in
thirty days, you'll be in court."
"The stable has been here for twenty years. No-
body's
making me move it."
And Mrs. Tannenbaum asks, "Am
I to be covered
with horse shit for the rest of my life?"
"Was
it you who dumped that stuff on our stairs?"
Lou Tannenbaum asks Grandpa
menacingly.
"Whoever did. I already apologized. Now,
I have
to get my horse out of the cold. . . . Good-bye."
Grandpa
nods to me to follow him, and leaves.
Grandpa leads Ferdeleh
into the stable, and into
his stall. We remove his blanket, brush him down,
and feed him.
The official, the cop, Mr. Baumgarten, Mrs.
Tan-
nenbaum, and all the rest have followed us.
The
official hands Grandpa an envelope. "You will
have to find a stable a
hundred yards from a dwell-
ing."
"Is not
a stable a dwelling? Have not human be-
ings lived in stables with their fellow
creatures? He
whom you worship was born in a stable."
This
gives them a moment's pause. The cop
changes the subject. "That's a very
old horse. It's
time he was put away."
"When
your mother and father get old, will you
put them away?"
"Hey.
It's not the same, eh?"
"That you cannot love
a horse the same way you
can love a person only says you cannot love a per-
son all that much either, Mr. Policeman."
"Hey,
it's not me who's being judged here. It's
you."
"Ecclesiastes
says we are all being judged here, be-
cause we don't know what it is we have
to put away.
Our hatreds, our vanities, our sins should be put
away; not
those we love."
The tailor is ecstatic. "Mr. Ellas!
Lenin himself
couldn't have said it better!"
The
official and the policeman start to leave. The
official throws a last word.
"That horse better not be
here when we come back in thirty days."
"It will be here. As sure as God is just, it will be
here." Grandpa smiles at me, and gestures again that
I am not to worry.
"Where else would it be?"
Relieved, and very,
very, very proud of my grandpa,
I am content.
Another
Sunday. The sled slides along the moun-
tain road. The mountain is snow-sheathed,
and all
the branches carry silver linings. Covered with warm
blankets,
we sit on the sled. We are going down a
slight incline, and my snow-white
steed - Ferdeleh is
at least as white as the city snow, though maybe not
as white as the Mount Royal snow - my snow-white
Ferdelah jaunts along, and
the winter bells jingle mer-
rily. But I am not at ease.
"Papa
says they'll put you in jail if you don't find
another stable."
"They
won't put me in jail. God will find a way for
us. Remember the story I told
you about the good
little squirrel and the fat greedy squirrel?"
"Yes, the fat greedy squirrel kept stealing the lit-
tle squirrel's hazelnuts."
"And?"
"And that little squirrel never gave up!"
"That's
right. And what did God say about such
a little squirrel that never gave up?"
Brightly I answer, "God said, 'For such a squirrel,
I have to make a miracle.'"
"And," says my
grandpa triumphantly, "He did!"
Recollecting the
story, I grow excited, and eagerly
continue, "When that big fat greedy
squirrel came
to steal the hazelnuts again..."
Grandpa
takes over,"God turned them into
stones."
And
me,"And the big fat squirrel broke all his
teeth."
And
Grandpa finishes, "And he never stole the lit-
tle squirrel's hazelnuts
again. So ... when people
like us need a miracle ... it happens. I have it
from
the highest authority."
"Do you believe
in miracles. Grandpa?"
"No, but I rely on them."
Chapter
XVII |
