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MOURNERS’ MEAL

She decided to open the restaurant right away, the morning after the funeral. When Itamar heard about it, she thought he’d explode. “Just one hour ago you buried your husband, and already you’re in a hurry to sell çorba?!” “We don’t do çorba, Itamar,” Halina said in her most reassuring voice, “and it’s not about money at all. It’s about people. I do better being with clients at the restaurant than sitting at home on my own.” “But you’re the one who insisted we shouldn’t sit shiva,” Itamar said. “You said you didn’t want all the hassle.” “It wasn’t because of the hassle,” Halina protested. “When people leave their body to science, you don’t sit shiva. That’s just how it is. When Horshovsky’s father died, nobody …” “Give me a break, Mother,” Itamar snapped. “Leave Horshovsky out of this, and the Shiffermans and Mrs. Pinchevsky from Twenty-one Bialik Street. Just us, okay? Does it seem reasonable to you that the day after Dad dies you go and open the restaurant as if it were business as usual”? “Yes,” Halina insisted. “In my heart, it won’t be as usual, but for everyone who comes into the restaurant it will be. Your father may be dead, but the business is alive.” “The business is dead too,” Itamar said, gritting his teeth. “It’s been dead for years now. We haven’t had so much as a dog in here.”

At the hospital, when they told her Gideon had died, she didn’t cry. But after what Itamar said, she did. Not in front of him, of course; as long as he was around, she kept a stiff upper lip. But as soon as he left, she cried like a baby. “It doesn’t mean I’m not a good wife,” she assured herself between sobs. “I’m a lot more upset that Gideon is dead than that Itamar said those things, but insults are much easier to cry over.” It was true. Ever since they’d moved to the arcade the clientele had dwindled. She’d been against the move from the word go, but Gideon said it was their big chance, “the chance of a lifetime.” Ever since then, every time they fought, she’d remind him of that “chance of a lifetime,” and now that he was dead, there was nobody for her to remind. She and the Chinaman had been sitting in the empty restaurant for three hours in complete silence. The Chinaman had been very fond of Gideon, who was very patient with him. Gideon used to spend hours teaching the Chinaman how to make cholent and gefilte fish, and whenever he ruined anything, and Halina would blurt out a swearword, Gideon would intervene: “Never mind, never mind.” If nobody shows up by three, she’ll close, she thought. Not just for today. For good. Two people running a business is different. When there’s a crowd there’s someone to help out, and when there isn’t, at least you have someone to talk to. “You okay?” the Chinaman asked, and Halina nodded and tried to smile. Maybe even before three. She’ll just lock up and leave.

There were almost twenty of them, and as soon as they stood by the door looking at the menu outside she knew there’d be a racket. The one who came in first was gigantic, a head taller than she was, with salt-and-pepper hair and eyebrows like a carpet. “You open?” he asked, and for a second she debated, but by the time she’d opened her mouth to answer, the restaurant was packed—with gold-and-purple nail polish, and the sharp smell of vodka, and shrieking children. She and the Chinaman lined up a few tables, and when she brought them the menus the tall guy said, “We don’t need menus now, lady. Just bring everyone plate and knife-and-fork.” And while she and the Chinaman were setting out the plates she spotted the picnic coolers. They started pulling out food and bottles of drink and filling plates, looking not in the least embarrassed. If Gideon were alive, he’d have kicked them out, but she didn’t even have it in her to say anything. “Now you come here with us,” the tall man said. She signaled the Chinaman to sit down at the table with them, and sat down herself, though she wasn’t really in the mood. “Drink up, lady,” he commanded. “Drink up.” He filled her glass with vodka. “Today is special day.” And as she stared at him, puzzled, he added with a wink: “Today is day we find this restaurant you manage with Japanese guy. Why you not eating?”

Their food was tasty. And after downing a glass or two, Halina didn’t mind their coarseness anymore. Even if they weren’t ordering anything and even if they were using up all the dishes, she was glad they had come, filling the whole place with their shrieking and their laughter. That way at least she didn’t have to stay there on her own. They drank l’chaim —to life. To her life, and to the life of the business, and even to the life of Gideon. For some reason that she couldn’t quite figure out, she told them he was abroad on business. Then they drank to the life of Gideon’s business abroad and to Joseph, which was what they called the Chinaman. And to the life of Joseph’s family and then to the life of the state. And Halina, who was a bit drunk by then, tried to remember how many years it had been since she’d last toasted the state. When they finished everything in their picnic coolers, the tall guy asked her what she thought of their food, and Halina said it was excellent. “Very good,” the tall guy smiled. “I’m happy. And now, we have your menu.” At first, Halina didn’t understand what he meant. Maybe because of the vodka. But the tall guy explained right away: “You sat with us and you ate our food. Now it is time for us to sit with you and eat your food.”

They ordered from the menu as if they hadn’t eaten a thing, and ate voraciously. Salads, soups, pot roasts, and, afterward, even dessert. “Your food is good, lady,” the tall guy said, taking out his wallet to pay. “Very good. Even better than what we bring.” And when he’d finished counting the bills and putting them on the table, he added: “Your husband, when he is coming back?” Halina hesitated before answering, and then said it wasn’t clear yet and that it all depended on his business over there. “He left wife behind, alone?” the tall guy said disapprovingly, his voice kind of sad. “That is not right.” And Halina, who wanted to say everything was fine and that she was managing, really, found herself nodding, and smiling, as if her eyes weren’t glistening with tears.

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