Guesthouse for Ganesha Read online

  “Lassen Sie uns—Let’s review sewing tasks. This is most important, of course.

  “Hmm. Wo soll ich anfangen? But where to begin? Where to begin?” Frau Schneider’s speech was slow-paced as she tapped her fingers on the wooden table. “Vielleicht—Maybe. Hmm. No, no, you’re not ready for that. Too advanced.”

  Esther bit down hard on the inside of her right cheek.

  Oy, gevalt—Good grief! This woman is so slow, she thought. So much more could be accomplished in these hour-long sessions. But I can’t let her see me fidget. Or have her perceive that I’m frustrated by her pace. Frau Schneider is not a professional teacher, after all. I have to remember she is doing me a favor, even if I must clean her wretched little shop. I could never afford a real language class.

  “Ach so! Here is one—how many centimeters would you like the hem?”

  More often than not, Esther emulated the words without error. She learned quickly. Typically, she would only need to repeat a sentence or term no more than three times to grasp its meaning and successfully replicate the enunciation. This language came easily to her. German shared an extensive vocabulary with her native Yiddish; its greatest challenges were syntax and alphabet. Esther worked diligently to prevail over what seemed irrational sentence structures with the pertinent verbs lined up in formation at the end. She did have a foundation—slim as it was—to fall back on. Her first two years of schooling, at ages four and five, had included a mandatory German class once each week. During those years, Poland and Galicia were still part of the Austro-Hungarian Empire, and German was the official language. However, when the government changed, few in her shtetl had any use for it, and what had been learned was quickly forgotten. Now, from the recesses of her mind, Esther found she could forage remnants of correct pronunciations and tense formulas.

  With repetition, diligence, and time, an acquired fluency would soon enough be her reward. Each day while she sewed, or walked to and from appointments to pick up or drop off assignments, or lay in bed longing for sleep to arrive, she would practice words and terms, sentences, and grammar patiently, over and over and over again.

  Her determination to perfect this new language kept her mind occupied during the times she was not concentrating on the particulars of a sewing issue or strategizing new ways to secure projects and make more money. It served as a distraction and aided her underlying challenge of forgetting.

  As the months passed, Esther’s fortification continued to grow tall and thick around and within her. She remained unwavering in her resolve to survive at all costs—to continue on, as though to spite life itself. Forward motion was essential. Stagnation would imply that his action—Tadeusz’s unbearable act, devoid of heart or consciousness—had wholly consumed her. And that was unacceptable.

  She held fast to her mantra, “He cannot prevail, he will not prevail.” A potent reserve of strength arose from her depths. The person whom she had turned to—leaned on—shared everything with—was gone. She had to carry on self-reliant, without wants or desires. This is the better way, Esther would think. I have no need for another—ever! In the bitterest way, I’ve learned that people so often—most often—disappoint.

  Thus she remained in self-imposed solitude, not interested in friends or relationships of any sort. She spoke only when absolutely necessary, and then mostly about cloth and color, size, shape, and measurements, or about supplies, those items essential for sewing, eating, or bathing.

  However, not surprisingly, every once in a while, Esther’s thoughts would roam. When they did drift away from thread and needles and their utilitarian uses and inventive potential, it was toward that most perplexing evening, just four months after her arrival, and the encounter and image for which there were still no words of explanation. This was the only reminiscence she allowed herself. And then, for only a few moments. Nothing more. There was work to be done.

  Esther never returned to her childhood home of Przeworsk, Poland, not even for a brief visit. No longer able to offer hearth and home, it was now only a place of lost innocence and bankrupt hopes. Her image of that once beautiful, fertile town, personifying the assurance of unlimited possibilities, had dissolved into a wasteland of disappointments.

  She had written to her parents soon after arriving in Köln to inform them of where she now lived, and every few months she sent a brief note to assure family members she was out of harm’s way and had settled into a new life. These were as light and hopeful as she could feign.

  “Alts iz git. All is good.” Esther closed each message with these mendacious words. “Kh’bin zeyer tsufriden do tsu zayn. I am happy to be here.”

  Toward the end of her first year in Köln, Esther answered a late afternoon knock on her hostel room door. Strange, she thought as she placed the skirt she was repairing on the table and took the few steps from chair to door. No one comes here. My rent isn’t overdue, and clients don’t know where I live.

  She turned the knob, cracked open the door, and looked out. There, on the other side, was Tonka, the youngest of her twelve siblings. Sweet, impressionable, adventurous Tonka. Esther’s favorite. A dark-haired version of herself.

  “A vunder—Surprise!” the young woman shouted. And jumped up to engulf her big sister in an embrace and cover her face in kisses. “I’ve missed you beyond words. Home is impossibly lonely and dull without you. We all miss you enormously.”

  Esther’s arms never left her sides, and her stance remained stiff, rooted in place.

  “Vos tustu do? What are you doing here?” she asked, her face taut, her Yiddish without expression.

  “Oh, Esther, our lives are not the same without you. Not a day goes by that we don’t talk about you. Talk about how much we miss you. Azoy fil—So much! How everything is different—wrong—without you. We want you to return home.” The words and hopes cascaded out of Tonka’s mouth. “Nothing would make me happier, nothing would make any of us happier, than for you to come back to Przeworsk with me. You know we are all extremely sad, devastated really, about what happened. To this day, we can’t believe what Ta—”

  “Her oyf—Stop! Don’t mention him, that name, to me—ever!”

  They were still standing on either side of the doorway, and the potency of Esther’s voice carried down the hall, tempting other lodgers to peer through slightly opened doors in curiosity.

  Appalled by this invasion, Esther yanked Tonka inside and said, “You can spend tonight, but you must leave in the morning. Just when the sun comes up. Can’t you see”—pointing to the piles of clothes all around—“I’m very busy and I have no room for you? There is no time to entertain!” She stomped her foot as churning emotions deep within—loss, grief, desolation—strained to rise to the surface. The floor reverberated in all corners. She bit down hard on the inside of her right cheek.

  “Ober, Ober—But—” Tonka pleaded. “Please, dear sister, I only—”

  “Nayn—No!” Esther shouted. “I will hear no more from you.” She turned her back and picked up the skirt and needle.

  Stunned by her sister’s reaction, Tonka cowered in the corner, distraught. Who is this person? she wondered. How could my once vibrant sister, my adored Esther, have become so hardened and aloof? So harsh? It will be impossible to persuade her to return home. Tears swathed Tonka’s face.

  No more words passed between them that evening. A weeping, despondent Tonka left before sunrise and carried home the news of Esther’s changed character. Her parents and siblings felt impotent. They had no frame of reference as to how to respond, to help, or how to react. All behavior—first Tadeusz’s and then Esther’s—was out of character, and they were baffled.

  Nevertheless, her family continued to regularly reach out as best they could. Her parents and siblings sent cards and letters often, filled with stories of life from their shtetl. Mostly, Esther let these missives pile up in a corner, unopened. But one day, there was an unusually thick envelope, and she decided to skim the pages. Her mother was the author of this letter,
and she wrote exhaustively about how generous the butcher had been in saving the fattest chicken for their Sabbath meal and details of the honey cake—with recipe—Aunt Fannie had made for Jakob’s recent birthday. “I know you won’t be surprised, but Rose is refusing to study. She gets so easily distracted, and now she’s falling far behind in her schoolwork, most especially mathematics. Might you have any suggestions? Estherle, you were always good at getting her to focus.” Her mother went on to portray with great amusement how the wheelbarrow had broken, once again, and that they had scraped together their zlotys to have a new one constructed.

  With a grunt, Esther tossed the letter on the mushrooming pile. She had read enough and returned to repair the inseams of the tweed pants that must be delivered by three o’clock. When the mound of letters, cards, and notes grew too high and spilled over, she put them out with the rubbish.

  No one in Esther’s family understood that a heart—her heart—once so full and bright and vital, filled with the desires and the dreams of tomorrow, could be decimated by a single act—and that of someone else’s doing.

  Ah … it is so very difficult … so challenging … the most challenging situation many would say … when someone’s action … a spontaneous irrational act … dictates events and directions that change the course … the hope … in fact the destiny of another’s life.

  It was not possible for her to go back in time … amend history … change that moment … that split second when fear took command … grabbed his head and his passion … shook his soul to its core and his life … her life … their promise … was lost.

  It was Tadeusz’s fear that redirected Esther’s life course. His fear of love … true love … that which humans most desire and that which can cause the most pain. Far too often … fear supersedes truth.

  Fear is a dark mask that buries perspective and reason and … yes … even true love … and repeatedly leads one astray …

  That mask had taken possession of Tadeusz.

  Certainly … in some cases it is part of a divine plan … however … more often it is fear that sets a course far afield of what our Dharma … true destiny … had planned. To flee because of one’s fears … to run away from that which terrifies yet is most desired … this is surrendering to The Fates.

  Of course it is understood … as a consequence of Tadeusz’s action … Esther’s heart would be affected … that her heart would become frozen … for it is the center … the very core of life.

  And it is no accident of divine design … that the heart is the first organ of the body to be created … and the last to die.

  One night, not long after Tonka’s intrusion, Esther could not sleep. She could not get comfortable, and her thoughts would not quiet. She lay first on one side and then the other. She tried her back and her stomach. No position led to slumber. She tried to distract herself with grammar and new vocabulary, but her resistance was low and her energy spent. Her mind attempted to direct her back to the encounter on the riverfront, the makeshift stand and the striking image of the elephant-headed man, but she shook her head sharply and tossed herself to the other side of the bed. No, Esther thought, squeezing her eyes tightly, no time for such nonsense. I must sleep.

  Out of her control, other images floated to the fore and took command of the here and the now. Sounds drifted back to the day—that day—that moment—when everything changed.

  Esther recalled the faint but evocative strains of klezmer music as though it had all occurred yesterday.

  Without effort—

  And with my assistance …

  —she was there.

  In accordance with the customs, musicians would lead the wedding procession to the town’s main square, where the marriage would be performed, stopping at the homes of the bride and groom to accompany them on this journey of promise. Invited guests, and most likely those who were not, would join in along the way, announcing to all the festivities were underway.

  However, as Esther and Tadeusz lived at opposite ends of their shtetl, and in consideration of the elder members of their families who could not walk far or long, they strayed from tradition slightly. They decided separate sets of musicians would lead each to the wedding site. Though all considered this logical and practical, Esther and Tadeusz secretly cherished the idea that for this one day, Przeworsk would be theirs and theirs alone. Everywhere and everyone enlivened with their celebration and music and beatitude.

  Esther stood in the front room surrounded by the female members of her family and close girlfriends. She looked tiny and delicate in the simple, flowing white dress with the laced neckline she had designed and lovingly sewn, imbuing the sheer fabric with her passion for this wonderful young man who had chosen her. The one who completed her sentences and shared her heart. It had taken more than five months to finish the dress to her satisfaction, but she spent the time savoring the moment when he would first see her wearing it. Her sisters had wanted to help, but she was the more talented seamstress—adamant that every stitch be the same as the next—not always graciously refusing assistance. Though rarely revealed, Esther was resolute about getting what she wanted, the way she wanted it.

  All the same, caught up in their excitement for her, she did yield to their demands that they participate in some way. On the morning of her wedding, after giving each sister a tight hug, she let them braid her thick blonde hair with sheer ribbons of white and yellow and fashion the bouquet of white posies she now caressed in her hands. While the girls fussed over her, Esther’s gaze rested on her and Tadeusz’s ketubah—their marriage contract—with the Tree of Life’s branches that she had adeptly drawn to frame the Aramaic words ensuring the husband’s obligations of protection, commitment, and honor.

  She smiled deeply as images of Tadeusz framed her thoughts: their encounter—the bakery—dos ershte bagegenish, first date—their picnics—saunters—the lake—first kiss—his homemade hamentashn—her borsht—laughing, always laughing—shared dreams and plans—meeting her family—meeting his family—their meadow. The time was nigh.

  When the lively melodic tones of the fiddler and accordionist arrived at the front door, beckoning her outside, she eagerly joined in and let them lead her forward. Walking slowly but deliberately, Esther felt every crunch of the fallen and dried September leaves below her white-laced slippers. The path was animated with a rich palette of reds, browns, and greens. When they were within sight of the square, Esther beamed, delighting in the red rose petals strewn along the way.

  As she took her place, Esther glanced around quickly and saw the badkhn give her a large, warm smile. The deeply lined face of their revered rebbe wore a solemn expression. Her family members, all fourteen of them, standing side by side, displayed a range of sentiments that matched their individual characters, nearly forcing a loud chortle she had to strain to conceal. Klezmer music encircled them all.

  Then she waited.

  Expectantly.

  Beneath the canopy they had created together—for this day—for their ceremony.

  The chuppah’s covering was of hand-spun, hand-woven, thick white cotton, interspersed with tiny threads of colorful silk Esther had managed to scrimp from tailoring jobs for wealthy customers. Five centimeters of blue thread from a man’s dress coat. Ten centimeters of light violet from one summer dress. Nearly twelve centimeters of a golden yellow from another. Threads from party skirts, trousers, fancy shirts, and frilly cuffs were scattered throughout, creating a playfulness and gaiety Esther felt echoed their union.

  The poles were made from branches taken from spruce trees in the woods close to their town. Just by the meadow alongside the lake where they had picnicked and swum, first kissed and made love. Tadeusz had selected four branches of similar height, weight, and shape and spent hours meticulously sanding them smooth. He had oiled them until they glistened.

  This was all done in the evenings at Esther’s family home, where they had sat by the fire with the sisters sewing or knitting, needlepointing or weaving, a
nd with her brothers regaling them with jokes and songs and tall tales of misguided exploits.

  The bends and curves of the branches were purposely not straightened, for Esther and Tadeusz believed they more accurately reflected the unknown. Those twists and turns that made life an adventure and not a preordained path of complacency.

  The cloth had been tied to the poles with streaming silk ribbons of purple and green—their favorite colors—braided together. It was an unnecessary and frivolous extravagance in the years that followed the Great War, but one Esther refused to do without to complete her vision. Her visual metaphor of their life and their future.

  As she waited, Esther dreamily reviewed the events leading up to this day and all that their future held before them. She did not notice the passing time and that the second procession, and with it Tadeusz, had not yet arrived. As her mind journeyed over the past few months, it struck her he had been acting preoccupied, even perhaps somewhat distant. But she had been so excited and consumed with the myriad wedding details, on top of her sewing work and other responsibilities, she barely took notice.

  When she saw him on Friday, right before shabbes, he was his usual loving and joyful self. But in parting, Tadeusz had gently touched her right cheek and said, “Vos vel ikh ton on dir. What will I do without you?”

  Too full of the plans for the weekend ahead, she had merely thought he had misspoken, intending to say “would.” Or perhaps she had misheard him.

  Standing quietly, Esther realized she should not have arrived at the chuppah first—Tadeusz was supposed to be waiting for her. They had carefully timed the musicians for this to work out. As she watched her brother run off to investigate and began to hear mutterings from the guests, Esther felt a pain surge through her.