The Reluctant Bridegroom
Hagai Cohen
My mother was in her final stages of terminal illness but her crisp memory and crystal-clear mind made her last days with us a memorable experience. She wanted to share with us stories of her early days, so we sat in shifts to write down what she told us.
"Mom," I said to her one day, "it may not be the right time but I remember an incident which troubles me for years, I'm not sure if my memory is playing me tricks or it really happened."
"Of course, it's the right time." My mother was anxious to talk and added drolly: "How long do you think I continue to be with you?"
"I see myself playing in the yard with our dog." I started "Her angry bark drew my attention to a strange man at the gate; the man was all in a black."
"How do you remember that?" interrupted my Mom. "You were two and a half years old."
"I see you," I continued without responding, "coming out of the house, hushing the dog, giving the strange man a hug and inviting him in."
"That was your uncle Isaac," said my Mom with a reminiscent look in her eyes, "and I said to you: 'Come, Yakov, say hello to your uncle,' but you were scared so you ran and hid under the bed." She laughed at the thought.
"I remember exactly when it was," said my Mom.
"It was in the summer of 1939, a few months after the British government issued the 'McDonald's white paper' (9. Nov 1838) banning the immigration of Jews to Palestine. The paper was tantamount to death sentence for countless European Jews. The organized Jewish Agency launched a campaign to smuggle in young Jews in any possible way. One of the methods was to send eligible bachelors to Europe, mainly to Poland, to marry young Jewish women and bring them back to Palestine as their wives. It was a clever trick, wasn't it? The young men got a tailor-made black suit from OBG, then the official tailoring establishment for the Jewish agency delegates, new black shoes, an umbrella, a hat and a matching black leather suitcase. As this wardrobe was expensive, each man had to sign a contract agreeing to marry three times."
My mother paused as her eyes looked back into the past. "Funnily enough, the contract stated the man may keep the wardrobe, but only after he fulfils his three marriages. That meant if he fell in love with his first or second wife and did not want to divorce, he'd have to pay for the suit and all that went with it.
Your uncle Isaac was a hired hand on a farm in Kfar Yehoshua and he lived in a shack. He volunteered and was accepted for the mission. He was ready to board the boat to Trieste when he got malaria and was hospitalized for a week. After the hospital, he came to recuperate before the next boat. He had lost several pounds and when you saw him at the gate he looked like a scarecrow in his oversized suit. He also smelled of hospital disinfectants which raised the hackles on our bitch. The dog calmed down only after Uncle Isaac took a shower and changed into a fresh set of khakis. The week he stayed with us passed peacefully. You became very friendly with him. You were fascinated by his flute and always begged him to play."
"I don't remember the part about the flute," I said, "but a flute solo does things to me and fills me with a unique pleasure."
"When Uncle Isaac was ready for his boat trip," continued my mother, "he got into his ill-fitting outfit, still smelling of the hospital, and was walking towards the gate when the dog charged. She bit him in the buttocks and tore his pants. A real crisis, he could miss the bus to Haifa and the boat to Trieste.
I mended his pants and treated his buttocks so he would not miss the boat again.
He was the only bridegroom who got married in patched pants with an infected rear end. Poor fellow, he could hardly walk."
My mom stopped again and closed her eyes.
"I wish you could have seen the wedding picture, (a mandatory 'document' requested by the British authorities.)
It was grotesque, He was ten years younger than her, eight inches shorter and half her weight. In the picture she was sitting and he was standing next to her. That's how they looked the same height. On their way back to Palestine, she found him so much to her taste that she chased him relentlessly around the ship and that probably frightened him. They could not communicate at all, they had no a common language. He went into hiding, probably afraid she would sit on his lap." My mother chuckled at her little joke and then coughed wretchedly. It took her a while to get her breath.
"He found shelter under the tarpaulin of one of the covered life boats, where a friend secretly fed him.
The Polish bride was so upset by his behaviour and decided to take revenge. After they arrived in Haifa and were interrogated and cleared by the immigration officials, she vanished into thin air.
She found shelter at the home of Polish compatriots in an unknown Kibbutz.
Uncle Isaac was desperate, he became depressed. He would sit long hours under the mulberry tree and play his flute. If that were not enough, he was sued for the black suit.
This saga continued for two years until one day, the sun came out for him. The Polish bride found a man her size, and decided it was time to divorce Isaac.
As they say in Yiddish; 'While people plan, God laughs'."
My mother turned to me.
"You know, Yakov, despite the hard time your Uncle Isaac had with that Polish bride, he was ever grateful to her. For years he kept sending her greeting cards on her birthdays and for the holydays."
"Why, Mom?" I asked. "He should have hated her for what she did."
"You see," said my mother, "his second wedding had been scheduled in Warsaw for the second week in September. Fortunately, he could not attend, as the woman would not divorce him. On the 1st of September 1939, the Nazis invaded Poland and carpet-bombed Vilna destroying the city and killing 1200 people. Two weeks later when Isaac second honeymoon was planed the Germans got to Warsaw. That second 'honeymoon', Isaac was mighty glad to miss."
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
Tuesday, July 26, 2011
The other woman
The other woman
Hagai Cohen
Four of us sat chatting, drinking wine and exchanging yarns, when Bob decided to share his friend’s story with us.
Bob had no opinion about anything. He always talked on behalf of someone else –
‘My wife thinks his work is primitive;’ or, ‘My nephew told me not to buy those shares;’ and so on.
Whenever he said ‘a friend’, or ‘that friend’ we knew he was talking about himself. So, when he said, “my friend” we all jumped to attention.
“A married friend of mine” said Bob in a voice of exaggerated confidentiality,
“told me an interesting story. He has a girlfriend he sees twice a week. Now, my friend never takes his socks off when he beds her. He claims that if he dies in the middle of love-making, the woman would be able to dress him completely except, for the difficult socks.”
“Come on Bob” said Bill
“Why should the woman care to dress him? Is she married too?”
“No, no, she’s not,” said Bob.
“Tell me, Bob, does he wear nylons or woollies? Which is easier to put on?”
“Maybe you should tell your friend,” said Steve, stressing ‘your friend,’
“to ask for a haircut and manicure before jumping into bed, just to look respectable if he happens to die in her arms."
I said, “Believe me, Bob, embarrassing your friend’s family will be the last thing on her mind.”
Steve turned to me. "Why not tell Bob about Mr. Rosenzweig, your next door neighbor?” he said and then turned to Bob. "This story will put a new slant on your friend's idea."
“Yeah, I think I will. Ok, Bob. Listen."
* * *
The burglar alarm in Mr. Rosenzweig’s house went off at 9.P.M. The house was in darkness, although Mr. Rosenzweig had returned the day before from a long trip around the world.
Mr. Rosenzweig’s alarm system was a real nuisance to the neighborhood. I had an agreement with Mr. Rosenzweig’s son-in-law (the electrician who installed the system), that every time the alarm went off, I would first disconnect the wires to the alarm and then call him to come and fix it.
So as before, I fetched a ladder, an insulated pair of pliers and a set of earplugs, and was on my way to fulfill my duty.
* * *
A year earlier, Rosenzweig’s wife had contracted Hong Kong ‘flu, and died. Mr. Rosenzweig's grief was short-lived. Two weeks, after the death of his beloved wife, a woman was observed coming to the house.
“She’s the maid I hired to take care of the house,” he explained to me, although I hadn’t asked.
Apparently, there was a lot of work at Mr. Rosenzweig’s household; very soon, the 'maid' was seen working overtime. On several occasions, she even stayed the night to finish her tasks.
A week later, Rosenzweig’s daughters, who could not stand the gossips, convinced him to take a long trip,
“just to relax and to visit places you always wanted to. Take the woman along to look after you,” they said.
A few more days were needed for the travel arrangements, and for completing the installation of the burglar alarm system. Mr. Rosenzweig was bent on exploring the world accompanied by a lady half his age.
They returned a year later.
* * *
I was on the porch leading to Mr. Rosenzweig’s main entrance to stop the damned alarm as I had done many times before, when the door opened and the ‘maid’ ran out naked and screaming: “He’s not well, he’s in a coma.”
I put the ladder and the pliers aside and moved in to stop the noisy alarm. I turned the lights on and went into the bedroom.
Lying on the bed was Mr. Rosenzweig motionless in a very odd position. He was at the edge of the bed; he had his arm extended with one sleeve of his pajamas top on it. The rest of his pajamas top was under his back, the bottom part was half way up on one leg and one foot up on the other. I did not know what had happened and decided not to touch anything. I could tell he was not breathing.
Two other neighbors, who had heard the lady’s cries, came to the scene. They seemed agitated and confused. I told them not to touch anything and to stay out. I picked up the phone in the entrance room, called the police and the emergency services. I also called Mr. Rosenzweig’s daughters.
After I was done, I turned to the petrified girlfriend: “What is your name please?”
“Rita” she said, “My name is Rita”.
“Rita,” I said to her, “I think you should put on some clothes.” My words had the impact of an electric shock: she had forgotten that she was naked and the two neighbors were too shocked to notice.
“Don’t take anything from the room,” I told Rita “Get into some clothes and do not go in there.”
A few minutes later, the woman came out in a dressing gown.
* * *
At 11:00 PM I had to leave the scene to catch a flight. Upon my return three days later, a police detective came to my house to get my deposition. I told him the sequence of events. He wrote them down and made me sign the paper. After the formalities were done I offered the detective a drink, which he took. While drinking he volunteered some information.
“Well the case is unfolding nicely, No more loose ends or unanswered questions.
The man gave a small party to celebrate his birthday and his return home. He had a few drinks and a very good time.
The people present at the party attested to the fact. After the party, Mr. Rosenzweig and his girlfriend washed the dishes and went to bed. While making love, his heart stopped. She was underneath him and, as she described it, suddenly two hundred pounds of dead weight fell on her. She panicked and rolled out from under him with great difficulty. She ran to call for help. When she opened the door the alarm went off. The only thing she could think of in her panic was that people should not see him naked. Therefore, she ran back and tried to dress him in his pajamas, not with great success as you know. You met her when she opened the door the second time to call for help.
The coroner insisted on a very thorough autopsy, for two reasons. One, there were marks on the body that needed explanation. Two, something about the lady’s name sounded familiar.
The autopsy revealed that the suspicious marks were made after the man was already dead. It happened when she tried to get out from underneath him and to put on his pajamas.
This woman apparently was involved three years ago with a man who died also whilst having sex with her. I looked it up, read all the old reports, but did not find any indication of foul play. Strangely enough she tried to dress the other man too. I think Rita needs ‘on the job training’ dressing corpses,” the officer concluded.
* * *
"Now, back to you Bob, if you happen to see your friend, please tell him about Rita and her great difficulties in dressing the two dead men. Suggest to your friend to stay completely dressed while making love. To be on the safe side tell him only his organ should be exposed. Tell him it would be better to perform the act in the garden. If he happens to kick the bucket during his lovemaking, his family will be convinced he was out for a leak. To eliminate any doubt, suggest to your friend to tattoo his penis:
‘It’s not what you think.
It’s only rigor mortis’”
* * *
"Come on Jack Please" said Steve.
Are you telling us that you went into the bedroom saw a dead man, did not panic and casually called the emergency crew, the police, the daughters and also reminded the woman to get dressed? I would be petrified and become a marble statue before I could even think.
"Elementary my dear Stevie, elementary"
When we fly a plane and encounter a flight emergency, (such as an engine fire for example), the alarm goes off.
The first item on the checklist is 'cut the alarm'. It is a conditional reflex or second nature for us. After silencing the alarm we do the necessary tasks to fix the problem. We follow a checklist. And that is exactly what I did in this case.
They all became silent until Bob broke in.
"I bet you there was one more item on your checklist you did not tell us about".
"And what might that be?"
"You did get the woman's phone number didn’t you?
We will never talk to you again if you don’t share it with us."
"Listen boys" I said smiling I am not admitting I got the number and I am not denying it either.
If I have the number it will be given only to my enemies. You are my friends, I love you, and I have no desire to write obituaries.
Hagai Cohen
Four of us sat chatting, drinking wine and exchanging yarns, when Bob decided to share his friend’s story with us.
Bob had no opinion about anything. He always talked on behalf of someone else –
‘My wife thinks his work is primitive;’ or, ‘My nephew told me not to buy those shares;’ and so on.
Whenever he said ‘a friend’, or ‘that friend’ we knew he was talking about himself. So, when he said, “my friend” we all jumped to attention.
“A married friend of mine” said Bob in a voice of exaggerated confidentiality,
“told me an interesting story. He has a girlfriend he sees twice a week. Now, my friend never takes his socks off when he beds her. He claims that if he dies in the middle of love-making, the woman would be able to dress him completely except, for the difficult socks.”
“Come on Bob” said Bill
“Why should the woman care to dress him? Is she married too?”
“No, no, she’s not,” said Bob.
“Tell me, Bob, does he wear nylons or woollies? Which is easier to put on?”
“Maybe you should tell your friend,” said Steve, stressing ‘your friend,’
“to ask for a haircut and manicure before jumping into bed, just to look respectable if he happens to die in her arms."
I said, “Believe me, Bob, embarrassing your friend’s family will be the last thing on her mind.”
Steve turned to me. "Why not tell Bob about Mr. Rosenzweig, your next door neighbor?” he said and then turned to Bob. "This story will put a new slant on your friend's idea."
“Yeah, I think I will. Ok, Bob. Listen."
* * *
The burglar alarm in Mr. Rosenzweig’s house went off at 9.P.M. The house was in darkness, although Mr. Rosenzweig had returned the day before from a long trip around the world.
Mr. Rosenzweig’s alarm system was a real nuisance to the neighborhood. I had an agreement with Mr. Rosenzweig’s son-in-law (the electrician who installed the system), that every time the alarm went off, I would first disconnect the wires to the alarm and then call him to come and fix it.
So as before, I fetched a ladder, an insulated pair of pliers and a set of earplugs, and was on my way to fulfill my duty.
* * *
A year earlier, Rosenzweig’s wife had contracted Hong Kong ‘flu, and died. Mr. Rosenzweig's grief was short-lived. Two weeks, after the death of his beloved wife, a woman was observed coming to the house.
“She’s the maid I hired to take care of the house,” he explained to me, although I hadn’t asked.
Apparently, there was a lot of work at Mr. Rosenzweig’s household; very soon, the 'maid' was seen working overtime. On several occasions, she even stayed the night to finish her tasks.
A week later, Rosenzweig’s daughters, who could not stand the gossips, convinced him to take a long trip,
“just to relax and to visit places you always wanted to. Take the woman along to look after you,” they said.
A few more days were needed for the travel arrangements, and for completing the installation of the burglar alarm system. Mr. Rosenzweig was bent on exploring the world accompanied by a lady half his age.
They returned a year later.
* * *
I was on the porch leading to Mr. Rosenzweig’s main entrance to stop the damned alarm as I had done many times before, when the door opened and the ‘maid’ ran out naked and screaming: “He’s not well, he’s in a coma.”
I put the ladder and the pliers aside and moved in to stop the noisy alarm. I turned the lights on and went into the bedroom.
Lying on the bed was Mr. Rosenzweig motionless in a very odd position. He was at the edge of the bed; he had his arm extended with one sleeve of his pajamas top on it. The rest of his pajamas top was under his back, the bottom part was half way up on one leg and one foot up on the other. I did not know what had happened and decided not to touch anything. I could tell he was not breathing.
Two other neighbors, who had heard the lady’s cries, came to the scene. They seemed agitated and confused. I told them not to touch anything and to stay out. I picked up the phone in the entrance room, called the police and the emergency services. I also called Mr. Rosenzweig’s daughters.
After I was done, I turned to the petrified girlfriend: “What is your name please?”
“Rita” she said, “My name is Rita”.
“Rita,” I said to her, “I think you should put on some clothes.” My words had the impact of an electric shock: she had forgotten that she was naked and the two neighbors were too shocked to notice.
“Don’t take anything from the room,” I told Rita “Get into some clothes and do not go in there.”
A few minutes later, the woman came out in a dressing gown.
* * *
At 11:00 PM I had to leave the scene to catch a flight. Upon my return three days later, a police detective came to my house to get my deposition. I told him the sequence of events. He wrote them down and made me sign the paper. After the formalities were done I offered the detective a drink, which he took. While drinking he volunteered some information.
“Well the case is unfolding nicely, No more loose ends or unanswered questions.
The man gave a small party to celebrate his birthday and his return home. He had a few drinks and a very good time.
The people present at the party attested to the fact. After the party, Mr. Rosenzweig and his girlfriend washed the dishes and went to bed. While making love, his heart stopped. She was underneath him and, as she described it, suddenly two hundred pounds of dead weight fell on her. She panicked and rolled out from under him with great difficulty. She ran to call for help. When she opened the door the alarm went off. The only thing she could think of in her panic was that people should not see him naked. Therefore, she ran back and tried to dress him in his pajamas, not with great success as you know. You met her when she opened the door the second time to call for help.
The coroner insisted on a very thorough autopsy, for two reasons. One, there were marks on the body that needed explanation. Two, something about the lady’s name sounded familiar.
The autopsy revealed that the suspicious marks were made after the man was already dead. It happened when she tried to get out from underneath him and to put on his pajamas.
This woman apparently was involved three years ago with a man who died also whilst having sex with her. I looked it up, read all the old reports, but did not find any indication of foul play. Strangely enough she tried to dress the other man too. I think Rita needs ‘on the job training’ dressing corpses,” the officer concluded.
* * *
"Now, back to you Bob, if you happen to see your friend, please tell him about Rita and her great difficulties in dressing the two dead men. Suggest to your friend to stay completely dressed while making love. To be on the safe side tell him only his organ should be exposed. Tell him it would be better to perform the act in the garden. If he happens to kick the bucket during his lovemaking, his family will be convinced he was out for a leak. To eliminate any doubt, suggest to your friend to tattoo his penis:
‘It’s not what you think.
It’s only rigor mortis’”
* * *
"Come on Jack Please" said Steve.
Are you telling us that you went into the bedroom saw a dead man, did not panic and casually called the emergency crew, the police, the daughters and also reminded the woman to get dressed? I would be petrified and become a marble statue before I could even think.
"Elementary my dear Stevie, elementary"
When we fly a plane and encounter a flight emergency, (such as an engine fire for example), the alarm goes off.
The first item on the checklist is 'cut the alarm'. It is a conditional reflex or second nature for us. After silencing the alarm we do the necessary tasks to fix the problem. We follow a checklist. And that is exactly what I did in this case.
They all became silent until Bob broke in.
"I bet you there was one more item on your checklist you did not tell us about".
"And what might that be?"
"You did get the woman's phone number didn’t you?
We will never talk to you again if you don’t share it with us."
"Listen boys" I said smiling I am not admitting I got the number and I am not denying it either.
If I have the number it will be given only to my enemies. You are my friends, I love you, and I have no desire to write obituaries.
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