Just a Hat, page 2
LaLa’s students kept the rumor alive that the bowstrings would twitch if Miss Eleanor played a waltz. When Joseph asked her, LaLa said it was only a rumor. It had never kept Joseph from trying to make the bowstrings twitch with waltzes, though. Maybe he’d seen it once or twice. Your mind could play tricks on you in the old house.
LaLa said, “When your parents stepped out of the car that day we met, they both looked like they’d awakened from a terrible nightmare. Your baba was drenched in sweat. He’d soaked his handkerchief wiping his face. Your maman kept pulling wadded-up pink tissues from her purse for him. Little shreds of pink stuck all over his forehead and neck.”
This made Joseph laugh. Maman always had a reserve of wadded-up tissues in her purse. That was his fault. When he was in first grade, he had enjoyed pulling the fresh, pink tissues from the package tucked in her purse, leaving her lots of unpackaged clean ones.
Joseph said, “When they got out of the car that day, Baba was mumbling to himself in Farsi. I tried to translate for you, and I told you that he was saying his head was dirty.”
“Dirt on my head!” Miss Eleanor smiled at the memory. “A perfectly Persian way of saying he was as good as dead, but it didn’t translate well. I tried my best to see where all that dirt was, but your father had as clean a full head of hair as I’d ever seen.”
Joseph said, “Maman’s still a nervous driver, but she’s never wrecked. And I didn’t stop pulling fresh tissues out of the packages in her purse until I was in second grade.”
“How did she convince you to leave her purse alone?” asked Miss Eleanor.
Joseph said, “She put butterscotch candies in the side pocket and said I could look in only that pocket. If she caught me in the other part of her purse, then no candy. It cured me.”
“Nothing works so well with second graders as a bribe,” agreed LaLa. “That’s how I get my Sunday school class to memorize their Bible verses. If Mr. Rehkopf’s store ever gets rid of the Brach’s candy bin, we’ll lose the next generation of Southern Baptists.”
Joseph felt eyes on him. He looked toward the street. Two shirtless boys sat on their bicycles, watching. The possum-faced boy who ruined Mr. Ybarra’s fresh peach sharbet made a girlish pucker with his lips. “Pretty Boy,” he called to Joseph, “you work the garden like a good Mexican.” They laughed and rode away, each popping wheelies.
Joseph hated them. And he wasn’t afraid of the police.
3
BLUE BONNET
“What’s the latest?” asked Joseph. He imagined his cousin Shahla unkinking the phone cord in her kitchen in California. She was fifteen. It was their weekly Sunday-evening phone call. Long-distance rates were their lowest then. They always started their conversations by telling the funny things that happened when their parents misunderstood English. Usually it was their mothers who didn’t speak English as well as their fathers.
“Hit the button,” said Shahla, and she giggled.
“Oh, yeah,” said Joseph. “That’s a funny one. Your maman, right?”
Shahla giggled again. “Yeah. We were on the elevator, and this guy runs in as the door closes and says, ‘Hit the eight button, please.’”
Joseph said, “So did you let her?”
“No,” said Shahla. “I pushed the button for the eighth floor, and the elevator took us up to the sixth floor, and we got off. Maman looked at the man like he was crazy.”
Her adopted maman. Shahla’s real father was Joseph’s uncle, his mother’s older brother. Maman’s brother and his wife, Shahla’s mother, were killed in a terrorist car bomb in Israel when Shahla was only five years old. Shahla was safe because she was staying with her babysitters in Los Angeles. She had a grown older brother, but he’d disappeared after the bombing. Her babysitters adopted Shahla, but she still spent summers and holidays with Joseph.
“Did you explain it to her?” asked Joseph.
“Not until later. But it was so funny . . . when we got on the elevator to go down after the appointment, she stared real hard at the buttons like it was the first time she’d ever ridden an elevator, like maybe she’d missed something she was supposed to know about it. She finally took two fingers and punched the ground floor button really hard.”
Joseph laughed. He could visualize Shahla’s deep-green eyes twinkling. Her adopted parents were old, so she was gentle with them. Joseph would have tied them in knots within a week.
“What about you?” asked Shahla.
“Horseback riding,” said Joseph.
“Huh?”
“I told Maman that I got my jeans so dirty because I was horseback riding with the twins at their ranch. I said it in English, and she looked at me like I got off the little cheese bus.”
“What wasn’t clear about horseback riding?” asked Shahla.
“Maman said, ‘What other part of a horse would you ride on?’”
Shahla laughed softly.
Joseph said, “LaLa still laughs because Maman kept trying to figure out how I ‘played by ear’ on the piano. I knew Maman was staring at me pretty hard when she’d watch me play, but it took a while for her to come out and ask.”
“Is Miss Eleanor coming to your bar mitzvah?” asked Shahla.
“Yeah. The twins are coming too,” said Joseph.
“I like Mateo,” said Shahla. “He’s very courteous. I’m not sure why he hangs around with you.”
“Thanks, Cousin,” said Joseph. “I told Roberto that he better not come on to you. He thinks you’re hot.”
“Hot? Oh, yeah. That kind of hot.”
“You’re worse than our mothers,” said Joseph. “And you can’t blame that on Farsi.”
“I don’t hang around with nasty-mouth boys,” said Shahla.
“And don’t you forget it,” said Joseph. “If any guy tries to touch you, I’ll crush him.”
Maman came into the kitchen. “Youssef-jun, let me say hello to Shahla. Your ten minutes is up. That’s two dollars and ninety cents.”
“Quick,” said Joseph to Shahla. “What did I just think?”
Shahla was quick. “She spends more money than that every week on . . . emmm . . .”
“Shabbat flowers,” said Joseph hurriedly. “Love you, Shahla-jun.” He handed the phone to Maman. Maman talked for another five minutes. By Joseph’s calculation, it was a dollar and forty-five cents more than their weekly long-distance limit. Tenderness came into Maman’s voice, and a soft light crept into her eyes when she spoke to Shahla. It was the kind of happiness that you couldn’t be jealous of. When his cousin came to visit, it was hard to pry her away from Maman. Joseph wanted to do more practical things with Shahla, like teach her to play basketball and ride a dirt bike. Maybe Shahla reminded Maman of her dead brother.
Joseph knew Maman wanted to adopt Shahla, but Baba hadn’t let her. Joseph wondered why. It would have brought Maman so much happiness. You didn’t leave family behind without a pretty good reason. You didn’t withhold happiness for no reason. Joseph wanted to know the reason.
4
FUNNY HAT
The wooden floor creaked, announcing Miss LaNell’s entrance. Joseph tracked Miss LaNell’s entry from the front door to LaLa’s kitchen. He was in the restroom drying his hands. LaLa was in the kitchen, alerted by her sister’s march across the wooden floor. “Eleanor Forsling,” whispered LaNell, “is that little Arab boy with the funny cap here again?”
“Yes, sister,” replied Eleanor. “And he’s neither Arab nor little. They’re Persian Jews, and he’s growing like a weed.”
Joseph was almost thirteen. Not a little boy. He opened the door quietly and inched down the short hallway.
“Where is he?” LaNell whispered loudly enough for Joseph to hear. When his parents whispered, he could never hear them. Texans did everything big and loud, even whispering.
LaLa opened a cabinet door and closed it back. She must have taken down a glass and poured her older sister a glass of sweet tea. “He’s in the restroom. He knocked out half that pitcher of lemonade while my last student insulted Momma’s piano by practicing a Chopin recital piece. I swear it sounded like she was typing an obituary on the keys. I can only hope that her parents have poor hearing. That Persian boy can play the entire piece by ear.”
“It’s not proper,” objected LaNell. Joseph heard the whoosh-squish of the plastic cushion as she sat on a kitchen chair at the table. Joseph could visualize her keeping her purse in her lap as though the stray brown boy might dash in and snatch it at any moment. She always did that when he was around.
“It is proper,” argued Eleanor. “He flushes and puts the seat down every time. And I hear the water running, so he washes his hands.”
“No, I mean his coming over here every Saturday. Do you even charge him for lessons?”
“He doesn’t come over every Saturday. His family stays in the city for religious services once or twice a month. And there’s no reason to charge. He mows my lawn, changes my light bulbs, and takes out my trash. His mother sends over cookies for my students. His father fixed my screen door, repaired the carriage house roof, and took care of that big tree that fell over in the storm last year. I’m coming out on top, but I wouldn’t charge anyway. He’s a joy to teach.” Joseph heard LaLa pour herself a glass of tea and whoosh-squish into a seat. “Put your purse down. He’s not a thief.”
“But the Jews killed our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. They’re cursed,” said Miss LaNell.
“I’m not sure where your precious King James was printed, dear sister,” said LaLa, “but mine says Jesus was a Jew, the Romans killed Christ, the Jews are beloved of God, and God will bless anyone who blesses them and curse anyone who curses them.” Joseph could picture her pushing up her rimless octagon spectacles for effect. “Try to keep your good Southern Baptist curses straight.”
Joseph smiled and eased through the door into the kitchen. He was clad in dress trousers and a sharply pressed white shirt. A blue kippah with a decorative silver border perched atop his black curls. “Good afternoon, Miss LaNell,” he said politely. His Southern hospitality skills had been honed by Miss Eleanor. As far back as he could remember, LaLa spoke to him like an adult. She did that to all her piano students.
“Good afternoon, young man,” Miss LaNell replied stiffly.
“Thank you for the lemonade, LaLa-jun,” said Joseph. “I’d better get home.”
“Tell your maman thank you for the cookies.”
Miss LaNell spoke up. “Why isn’t a strong young man like you playing outside on such a nice day?”
Joseph stopped in the doorway. “It’s Shabbat. I have to go pray with my father.” He turned and flashed the white-haired old woman a grin. “I’ll pray that no one steals your purse.”
Joseph didn’t linger to enjoy her indignant gasp or LaLa’s wide, wrinkled, red-lipstick smile. He walked toward the front door at a good clip.
Miss LaNell said to LaLa, “Of all the disrespectful . . .”
Joseph stopped at the piano and considered. Abruptly he pulled out the bench and sat.
The notes interrupted Miss LaNell’s protest. She paused and turned her head. Joseph played a slow Texas rhythm. He sang: “‘An orchid is a flower that blooms so tenderly . . .’” He glanced into the kitchen.
LaLa sipped her tea and watched her sister.
Joseph continued singing. It was the song that LaLa had said was wedged in her sister’s heart like a ship that could never escape its moor inside a bottle. It reminded her of her first love who moved to Fort Worth to marry another girl. The song, LaLa said, could quiet Miss LaNell’s heart and give her bittersweet solace. It was a reminder that some things simply must be accepted in pain and silence. Joseph continued passionately: “‘I overlooked an orchid while searching for a rose . . .’”
Miss LaNell sat motionless until he finished. Quiet settled over the house, and Joseph returned to the doorway. He smiled, put his hand to his heart, and bowed slightly. “A beautiful song for a beautiful lady, Miss LaNell.” With a bit of worry, he said, “Please don’t tell Baba that I played on Shabbat, LaLa-jun.” Joseph turned and walked toward the front door. Problem solved.
“Did you . . . ?” he heard Miss LaNell ask LaLa.
“Longest fingers I’ve ever seen on a twelve-year-old,” interrupted LaLa. “He was born to play the piano, and he loves it. His father’s never let him play in a recital. I wish his father didn’t think it was a waste of time. Something tells me change is coming.”
5
THINKING CAP
Joseph attended synagogue in Dallas on Saturdays for Shabbat with his family at least once per month and the Jewish holidays. His parents took a long nap on Shabbat afternoon. When they were in Dallas, Joseph was free to visit his synagogue friends. When the family remained in Hazel on Shabbat, they didn’t mind if he went to LaLa’s house. In fact, they were usually glad for Joseph to go somewhere else while they took that nap. Since Baba was gone for work so much, Joseph figured they caught up on their talking. He was pretty sure they weren’t sleeping the whole time.
Joseph walked to LaLa’s on Saturday afternoon with a plateful of almond cookies and Persian halvah candy. Only the cookies survived the walk between houses. Joseph amused himself on the long Shabbat afternoons by listening to LaLa’s piano students plow through the classics. Joseph later imitated their mistakes and exaggerated them, which made LaLa laugh until she cried. Other times he’d play the Persian Jewish holiday melodies.
Joseph had never met his own grandparents. They either died in Iran years before he was born or still lived there, so Joseph adopted LaLa. This caused a few problems over the years when Jewish religious law crash-landed in Hazel, but Miss Eleanor was a Texas lady. Problems were not things to complain about. Problems were meant to be solved, like a sour key on her piano required a call to the piano tuner in Dallas.
This afternoon, LaLa’s last student had finished her lesson, but her father had not picked her up. LaLa invited the student to continue practicing while she excused herself to hang a load of laundry. Joseph tiptoed to the doorway from the kitchen and listened. The girl was Vonda Baer. She was in Joseph’s class one year in elementary school. He’d seen her in the hallway at the junior high school. He liked her honey-colored hair, her kind blue eyes, and light complexion. Her eyes were the color of the star and bars on the Israeli flag. Joseph’s own eyes were sabz, green. Maman said no one could choose an eye color, but everyone could choose the light that shone through them.
The girl bungled a chord. When she glanced up in frustration, she saw Joseph. He smiled. She smiled back. “I’m glad Miss Eleanor went outside,” Vonda said. “She does that funny thing with one side of her mouth when I mess up.”
Joseph said, “That’s Johann Pachelbel’s ‘Canon in D,’ and it can be hard to play. Girls like that one.”
“You can play it?” she queried.
“If you help me,” Joseph offered.
“I’m afraid we’re stuck then,” she answered. “Didn’t you hear me wreck it? I can’t do it.”
“Sure you can,” assured Joseph. He walked to the bench and took a seat beside her. The girl didn’t move away, so Joseph pressed closer, elbow to elbow. “Play it again,” he instructed. After an interval, Joseph joined in, playing a harmonizing tune. When they reached the end, she started over. This time, Joseph added a honky-tonk ending, which made her giggle. LaLa had started doing that when he was a little kid to make him laugh.
“That was fun,” she said, turning those two star-blue eyes toward him. “We made it sound like a real song instead of like trying to start a lawn mower over and over.”
Joseph said, “Miss Eleanor will be pleased. Play your favorite song.”
“It’s not classical,” the girl said. “It took me forever to work out the notes. I can’t play it when my dad’s in the house. He doesn’t like rock and roll. He’s a preacher.”
“Play it anyway,” urged Joseph.
She looked embarrassed, but she began to play “Don’t Go Breaking My Heart.” When she finished, he imitated it perfectly, only faster. She said, “You play it better.”
“I play by ear, so it’s easier for me. I’ve heard it on the radio. You know the words?”
She nodded.
“Okay, I’ll play, and you sing.”
“I don’t know . . .”
Joseph played, and they sang a duet. “Want to do it faster?” he asked. She nodded, and they produced a faster version. When they finished, they laughed.
“Want some cookies?” asked Joseph.
“Sure,” said Vonda.
Joseph stood and graciously beckoned. “They’re in the kitchen.” Vonda followed him, and Joseph pulled out a chair for her.
“Will you be in the fall recital?” asked Vonda.
Joseph shrugged and said, “I always set up the chairs.” To get her mind off the recitals, he offered, “I’ll pour you some lemonade.” Joseph set two cookies for her on a saucer, and he poured her lemonade into a glass. For himself, he used a napkin and paper cup for his snack.
“Why are you using a paper cup?” asked Vonda. An entire shelf of clean glasses was in the cabinet.
“I . . . em . . . can’t eat or drink from Miss Eleanor’s dishes.”
“Why not?”
“I’m Jewish,” Joseph answered. “I mean, I’d probably break everything. I’m pretty clumsy.”
Vonda considered. “I already know you’re not clumsy. You can play the piano ten times better than me. What’s ‘Jewish’? Like in the Bible?”
“Uh . . . yeah. Like in the Bible.” LaLa’s Christian Bible was like his own in the front, but it was arranged differently, and there was an extra section that made it Christian. Joseph was an only child, and he didn’t have much experience with girls. He needed a topic that they had in common. The Bible seemed safe.
