Portraits by Cynthia Freeman

he do?” She laughed coldly. “As little as possible.”
    “How do they live?”
    “In a beautiful place on Delancey Street, two rooms. I help pay the rent and they eat here. Except right now, it’s a little hard for Gittel. In about two weeks, she’s going to have a baby, so I take the food over there every night.”
    “And Shlomo?”
    “He’s a good boy, goes to school and to cheder . He’s ten now.”
    “Ten?” Jacob said in disbelief. My God, where had the years gone? Jacob couldn’t remember him at all. Yes, he could, vaguely. A tiny thing wrapped in a bundle of blankets, who seemed always to cry until he was taken to Esther’s breast. Jacob recalled his resentment of the new one being held so tenderly. Had she held him that way once…?
    He got up and walked to the window. It had begun to snow gently. For some reason he could not articulate, he felt a strange sense of longing. He had wanted to hate his mother, he had tried to hate her. It was the only defense he had, the only tool to fight with, and it had given him strength. But now that he’d seen her, some of the armor had been chipped away—but just some. One didn’t live with the feelings Jacob had harbored for so long and then all at once feel reborn. Still, his hostility seemed more subdued, and he felt a sense of peace he’d never known before.
    Jacob was so deep in thought that the sound of the bell ringing as the front door opened startled him. A little boy ran past him, went to his mother and kissed her lightly on the cheek. Shlomo was always in a hurry. Before Esther could get his attention, he was already in his room, taking the straps off his books and removing his wet coat and cap.
    Esther went after him. “Shlomo, come, I have a surprise for you.”
    Shlomo followed her into the room.
    “This is your brother Jacob.”
    Jacob watched as the little boy’s eyes widened, then glistened with tears. Shlomo had dreamed about his big brother. He needed a man he could look up to. He loved his mother and Gittel, but a boy should have a man to talk to, to guide him.
    Jacob looked down at the boy with the large, brown, soulful eyes. They did not resemble each other at all. Shlomo was smaller than Jacob had been at the same age. The fact that they were of different fathers did not occur to Jacob. All that he cared about in this moment was that the little boy was his brother. Esther stood by, watching with tears in her eyes. Shlomo clung to Jacob, and Jacob held his brother close. This was a different love from any Jacob had known.
    Shlomo looked up into Jacob’s face. “I knew you’d come some day. Mama always said you’d come.”
    Jacob picked Shlomo up in his strong arms. “I guess mama was right.”
    In the shadows, Esther whispered to herself, Thank you, God, for your goodness. At last I have my family together. She went to the front door and locked it, then turned around the sign. Closed. Today, she didn’t need any customers. Esther hastened to the back of the store and began to get things ready for Gittel. When the basket was filled, she put on her coat and hat, then went to join her sons. “Come,” she said, “get ready now. We’ll go to Gittel’s.” Looking at Jacob’s thin coat, Esther added, “Shlomo, bring your brother the woolen muffler and the leather gloves. Oh, and in my drawer you’ll find my knitted hat.” Esther was once again in command, the strong Esther of old, the undaunted, indestructible Esther.
    When Shlomo came back and handed Jacob the long plaid scarf, he put it on, letting it hang. Esther stood in front of him. He was a head taller than she, and she had to reach up as she adjusted the scarf into a cravat. She smiled, which was something Esther hadn’t indulged in for a very long time, but he was really so handsome and her pride was enormous. “There, at least it will keep your neck warm. See if the gloves fit.”
    Jacob felt a sudden desire to take her in his arms and kiss her, but he couldn’t.