LITMIR.BIZ

      As Hanna ran into the house, she was startled to hear Motlie laughing. Jakob was seated on a kitchen chair by the door of the bedroom, and he had obviously said something that amused her. Israel, also chuckling, was seated at the table. Hanna called out hellos to the men, and then went into the bedroom. Her mother’s face was pale, but she seemed to have the pain under control.

      “What is so funny?” she asked.

      Motlie began laughing again. “Jakob was telling about one of the men of his congregation getting married, and the groom’s father bought him a Shtreimel, one of those large, fox fur hats that Hasids are married in. But he had mistakenly gotten him one that was two or three sizes too large. And every time he nodded yes, it fell off, even when he was standing under the chuppa.” She looked up more closely at her daughter. “Have you eaten lunch?”

      “Not yet. I will get something before going back to work.”

      “The doctor,” said Israel. “He’s here.”

      A trim carriage driven by the doctor’s servant was pulling up to the house. Israel limped to the door, bowed stiffly, and then ushered the physician into the kitchen. Without a word, the doctor walked into the bedroom and looked down at Motlie.

      “I will need a lamp or two,” he said.

      Hanna lit the one by the bed, and then brought another from the kitchen. The doctor motioned her out, then closed the door behind her. Jakob carried his chair to the table and sat there with Israel and Hanna, listening to the muffled voices of the two in the bedroom.

      “There is some soup,” said Israel to Hanna, not really paying attention to what he was saying. “Do you want a bowl?”

      She shook her head. “No, I will wait.”

      They lapsed into silence, Hanna sitting stiffly in her chair, Jakob leaning forward with his elbows on the table, looking fixedly out of the window. Hanna glanced at him. He is praying, she said to herself. He is praying for Mama. She felt a surge of tenderness for the tall, skinny man, and then a sense of peace swept over her. God will listen to Jakob, she decided. She felt like placing her hand over his, but she knew that touching the Hasid would be a serious breach of his customs.

      The doctor was in the room only fifteen minutes or so, and then he stepped out, closing the door behind him. He motioned to Israel to come outside. Hanna rose from her chair to go with them, but a stern look from the doctor stopped her. She sat again, fear about her mother’s condition dampening her anger at the physician’s disregard of her concerns. In a short while, the doctor’s carriage started off, and after a minute or two, when her father did not come back in, she stepped outside.

      Israel was leaning against the wall of the house, tears streaming down his face. She touched him gently on the arm, and he turned to her. He placed his arms around her and laid his head on her shoulder and his heartbreak flooded from his throat with sobs so full of pain that Hanna was terrified.

      “She’s dying,” he choked out. “He said a week, maybe two.”

      “Oh, Papa,” she whispered, tears filling her own eyes. “Is there nothing he can do for her?”

      Israel shook his head. “He says there is nothing.”

      “Maybe an operation?”

      Israel moved away and wiped his eyes on the sleeve of his shirt, and then took out a handkerchief and blew his nose. He was breathing heavily, panting for air. He swallowed a time or two, and then said, “I asked about an operation. He said it is too late.”

      Hanna flung the tears from her eyes. “I will find another doctor,” she muttered desperately.

      Israel shook his head again, hopelessly. “There is nothing to be done. It is all in the hands of God.” He began limping towards the door, and then stopped and turned. “No more tears, Hanna. Whatever time your mother has left, we will give it to her with our love.” Then trying with all his might to straighten his shoulders, he walked into the house.