Chicken Dreaming Corn

Family Portraits

Family Portraits April 5,1925 Dear Theodora Eminescu, I was the boy on thefarm of your Papa, Stefan Eminescu, a kind man he was, I pray he is well in hisold age and if the Lord G-d has taken him that he rests in peace. I pray this letterfinds its way to you and that you are happy with children, a good husband, and muchgood fortune. I am living in Mobile, Alabama, in America, where G-d gives me many gifts—a good wife, Miriam, and three healthy children who makefor us muchjoy. Our child Lillian, of blessed memory, fell to afever. Always we hear her sweet voice. Life in Piatra Neamt was hard for many. My brother Ben died of a bad heart, Chaim of afever too like my Lillian. My loving mother, Shayna Blema, died in sadness for her sons. May their memory befor blessings. My Papa and my sister Golda are alive. Golda, her heart is breaking that he did not go with her to Poland. If you know anything about my Papa, his name isAzril, tell me soon. He went to live with his brother, Shmuel, but we hear nothing. I want to bring him to Mobile but I do not have the money to comefor him in this year. 71 72 CHICKEN DREAMING CORN Theodora Eminescu,Ipray thatyou arewell and remember this boy who slept on the sacks in your Papa's barn. Youwere kind to me. Now I sleep manyyears on a bed over a store thatis my own. Please write to me at the address of my store. Sincerely, Morris Kleinman long the cemetery rows,bythe Japanesemagnolia opening creamyblossoms beneath the cool-blue,Passoverweeksky, Morris made his wayto Lillian's resting place.At the seder Aa table, as always, he had felt her sitting with all the others; the holiday had been her favorite of theyear. "Ziben yoren" he said, shakinghis head in disbelief. Seven long years. Reachingthe plot he felt the mourner's prayerkeeningathis lips, "El molai rachamin" and crying, muttered it. "O God, full of mercy."He reached down and found apebble to setatop the stone. Nine other pebbles were atop the marker—the symbol of those who had recentlyvisited the grave, whohad kept their friend, sister, daughter alivein memory.He stepped back,gazedat the mutesky, looked back to Lillian, closed his eyes and saw her behind the counter of the store, in a checkered cotton dress, hair plaited long. When he opened his eyeshe sawonlyher namechiseled in rock.He turned away. He stepped toward the plot whereSamLutchnikwasayear and a half ago laid to rest. "Ah," he said sadly,laying his hand on the stone, "you, too." It had been a chilly December morning that Sam had been leafing through a collection of Mobile Registers holding his ad; he had simply stopped, layinghis head down on the page. Pearl had been brave at the funeral for her husband, receiving visitors with gracious reserveat their home abovetheir store. Two months later, when she'd been coaxed out of solitude to go with Morris and Family Portraits 73 Miriam to a MaryAstor movie at Arlington Pier, she dissolved in tears watching advertisements for Mobile stores that preceded the movie. Outdoors, with the bay night closing over the park, the screen showed a portrait of Sam, eight feet tall, offering the best prices in town. "What would you sayto this?" Morris spoke aloud to the ghost of his competitor: "Morris Kleinman, the King of Cut Rate. The Only King Left After the War. Yes?" Morris answered aloud his own foolish notion. "No, the Great War, who thinks about this now? These Southerners they are still fighting the first one." Even as the ranks of gray-suited veterans had thinned, year by year, into a platoon of granite-faced warriors struggling down Dauphin with wheelchairs and crutches, the commemoration of the War Betweenthe States still grew. The tube radio nowplayed music in their home, the motor cars crowded Dauphin, and Morris's sons came up past his shoulder, but this old war endured in the stories JacksonLevy told about his grandfather Ashertaking a cannonball in the right legin Chattanooga; in the nicked andglistening swords from Vicksburg that Donnie McCallbrought in to show off to Morris's customers. Whether from defeat or death, Morristhought, the sense of loss never reallywent away. Like storm water on the backs of magnolia leaves it clungto the...