though she desperately wanted to be held. Was that what drew him to her daughter also? He could not remember.
"Why do you come in here with your big eyes?" Moellen snapped. Sarah, taking her cue, looked worried. There was always a treat to eat at the end of the game. "Ven big-eyed children kom in hier, you know vat I do. No? I show you." And with his lanky stride he went to the kitchen doorway "Look! You see? Jah. An oven. Into de oven mit dem all. Und den, vait, I show you."
Nathan was frozen to his place, filled with horror, though a smile of feigned delight was painted too broadly on his face. Moellen quickly returned from the kitchen with a baking sheet. Now Sarah smiled.
"Take one!" he ordered. "It may be one of your friends." Sarah squealed and gurgled laughter as she looked at the tray of gingerbread men, chose one, and started to nibble on a foot.
"Yes," commanded Moellen. "Start mit a leg—one of your friend's legs. Und den—den, vat do you eat next?"
Sarah only laughed. Mrs. Moellen smiled distantly until the door opened. Nathan did not have to turn to know who it was, and no, her appeal was entirely different from that of her mother.
"Come on, Sarah, let's get the strudel. An apple strudel, please."
"Achh!" said Moellen. "Now dat you have eaten the legs of your fwiend, you must eat"—he looked around his shop—"a head!" He presented a plate of garish pink marzipan heads with kelly green hats. "You better eat one."
Sarah hesitated and looked at her father. "I think you've had enough," he said. "It will make you sick."
"No, it won't."
"And your mom will blame me."
"Let's not tell her!"
That sounded like an enormously good idea. Sarah ate one of the bright little heads, sadistically nibbling a feature at a time, the nose, the chin. Nathan tried not to think of Eli Rabbinowitz's face. How well this German understood children, and they loved him. Nathan too as a child had loved going to the Edelweiss to be teased by the funny German. Was that where this interest in things German began? Nathan wondered.
After the strudel was wrapped and paid for, Nathan turned around. She was there waiting, her hip cocked in a casual pose, her lips moist and soft. Did it show? Did it show?
"Hello, Karoline, nice to see you."
"Hello, Nathan." She gave him that slight touch of lip on the cheek, just close enough to fill his head with her buttery perfume and then retreat. "You could call me," she whispered.
Nathan smiled politely and walked out with his apple strudel and daughter. When they got home, Sarah ran to Sonia and said, "Mommy, Mommy, guess what? I had three olives, an alphachoke, and somebody's head."
Some co-conspirator, that Sarah. He should remember that. Still, he was home, it was Shabbas, and whatever he was dreading had not happened. Unless it had, and he couldn't see it. Calamity sometimes wears disguises.
CHAPTER FIVE
The Meshugaloo Himself
S WEET-FACED R UBEN had given the block an all-clear wave because the linen-suited Joey Parma had turned east, away from their block toward the Casita Meshugaloo, a vacant lot on which a Puerto Rican country house had been built. The house had been covered with enough red and turquoise paint to conceal the questionable carpentry and in places skilled carpentry with questionable materials. A railing across the front porch was made out of dismantled wooden chairs. On top of this little one-story building dwarfed by six-floor tenements on three sides flew the red, white, and blue flag of Puerto Rico and the blue-and-white flag of Israel.
The remaining lot space was used to grow tomatoes, beans, and corn. They had even planted two banana bushes. It was an uncertain agricultural society, New Yorkers trying to grow food with the memories of their parents. Aside from five brilliant amber sunflowers, the crops were not doing well. But it was still early summer. Already, prospering weeds had grown into high bushes that gave the lot the illusion of lushness, much the way
"Why do you come in here with your big eyes?" Moellen snapped. Sarah, taking her cue, looked worried. There was always a treat to eat at the end of the game. "Ven big-eyed children kom in hier, you know vat I do. No? I show you." And with his lanky stride he went to the kitchen doorway "Look! You see? Jah. An oven. Into de oven mit dem all. Und den, vait, I show you."
Nathan was frozen to his place, filled with horror, though a smile of feigned delight was painted too broadly on his face. Moellen quickly returned from the kitchen with a baking sheet. Now Sarah smiled.
"Take one!" he ordered. "It may be one of your friends." Sarah squealed and gurgled laughter as she looked at the tray of gingerbread men, chose one, and started to nibble on a foot.
"Yes," commanded Moellen. "Start mit a leg—one of your friend's legs. Und den—den, vat do you eat next?"
Sarah only laughed. Mrs. Moellen smiled distantly until the door opened. Nathan did not have to turn to know who it was, and no, her appeal was entirely different from that of her mother.
"Come on, Sarah, let's get the strudel. An apple strudel, please."
"Achh!" said Moellen. "Now dat you have eaten the legs of your fwiend, you must eat"—he looked around his shop—"a head!" He presented a plate of garish pink marzipan heads with kelly green hats. "You better eat one."
Sarah hesitated and looked at her father. "I think you've had enough," he said. "It will make you sick."
"No, it won't."
"And your mom will blame me."
"Let's not tell her!"
That sounded like an enormously good idea. Sarah ate one of the bright little heads, sadistically nibbling a feature at a time, the nose, the chin. Nathan tried not to think of Eli Rabbinowitz's face. How well this German understood children, and they loved him. Nathan too as a child had loved going to the Edelweiss to be teased by the funny German. Was that where this interest in things German began? Nathan wondered.
After the strudel was wrapped and paid for, Nathan turned around. She was there waiting, her hip cocked in a casual pose, her lips moist and soft. Did it show? Did it show?
"Hello, Karoline, nice to see you."
"Hello, Nathan." She gave him that slight touch of lip on the cheek, just close enough to fill his head with her buttery perfume and then retreat. "You could call me," she whispered.
Nathan smiled politely and walked out with his apple strudel and daughter. When they got home, Sarah ran to Sonia and said, "Mommy, Mommy, guess what? I had three olives, an alphachoke, and somebody's head."
Some co-conspirator, that Sarah. He should remember that. Still, he was home, it was Shabbas, and whatever he was dreading had not happened. Unless it had, and he couldn't see it. Calamity sometimes wears disguises.
CHAPTER FIVE
The Meshugaloo Himself
S WEET-FACED R UBEN had given the block an all-clear wave because the linen-suited Joey Parma had turned east, away from their block toward the Casita Meshugaloo, a vacant lot on which a Puerto Rican country house had been built. The house had been covered with enough red and turquoise paint to conceal the questionable carpentry and in places skilled carpentry with questionable materials. A railing across the front porch was made out of dismantled wooden chairs. On top of this little one-story building dwarfed by six-floor tenements on three sides flew the red, white, and blue flag of Puerto Rico and the blue-and-white flag of Israel.
The remaining lot space was used to grow tomatoes, beans, and corn. They had even planted two banana bushes. It was an uncertain agricultural society, New Yorkers trying to grow food with the memories of their parents. Aside from five brilliant amber sunflowers, the crops were not doing well. But it was still early summer. Already, prospering weeds had grown into high bushes that gave the lot the illusion of lushness, much the way
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