Part 2

Natashinka, how wonderful to see you again! I thought you might not notice me when I saw you cross the street a block away, so I yelled as loud as I could, and I guess that my luck has finally turned around because, as if Hashem herself whispered into the ears of passers-by, three random strangers appeared to stop you and assure you that someone had called out to you! Well, that was very lucky because you seemed to not believe the first and to ignore the second – even though I thought I saw you look right at me! But when all three came to you, you were convinced. And now, here we are again, just as I was thinking of the rest of my story and wondering when you would come back to listen to some more!

So, Natashinka, where was I? Oh, yes, thank you, that’s where I was: when I received a small beige envelope that smelled of government files, I had forgotten all about my voyage plans. I ripped open the envelope with fear, and then anticipation, and then I sucked in a deep breath, exhaled slowly through pursed lips, and read. It turned out I needed to get other papers to prove vaguely connected interpretations of my previous papers. Some of the papers I needed, I never even knew existed.

So, to make a long story short, I went out and I found almost all the papers, and the papers I didn’t find – well, I got other papers that explained my inability to find the papers they asked for in the first place, and further papers attesting to the legitimacy of the explanatory papers, and explanatory papers interpreting the reasons for the previous explanatory papers. Well, there were so many papers that I cried for the mountains of trees wasted on such nonsense! Ah, but you know what the Torah says! The Torah says: “Why use paper when we have our memories!” This Torah commandment, Natashinka, is the reason why, until the seventeenth century, Jewish people didn’t even have last names: we couldn’t remember them! Besides, who needs a last name? Like our great foremother, Rivka, once said: “Why remember, when you can forget? The key to a long, happy life is great health and a bad memory!” But what do I know? I’m just an old Jewish lady!

After I sent the final papers, I waited and waited for a reply, but got tired and bored and, to tell you the truth, golden calves, like the ones Queen Esther tended, were dancing in my head. I began to imagine what Mr. Richman’s house looked like. Did he have hand-knitted woollen rugs – classy ones with style and personality, instead of the typical red and white patterns? Did he have one of those countertop stoves that don’t even look like stoves, they just look like a shiny black counter until the red, scalding rings appear – all pretty and inviting like – and burn the hell outta your elbows! I tell you, my dear, I wouldn’t want one of those stoves in my house – no way! Why, I’d end up cooking myself for supper just for sitting on my countertop, damn thing.

So, I went to the post office and filled out one of those forms that makes your mail follow you around. I gave them Mr. Richman’s address as the forwarding address. I figured, how do I know where I’ll be between here and there? Then I packed rope, candles for the Shabbat, a pillow, a sleeping bag, a blowup mattress, a cast iron skillet, a big pot for soups, a little pot for tea, a strainer for spaghetti, a gas camping stove, a hibachi barbeque set, some chamomile tea bags, some Earl Grey tea bags, a tin of loose green tea leaves, black coffee, a set of tarot cards, a set of playing cards, a towel, a copy of The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, a journal to record my daily affairs, a copy of Gideon’s New Mishnah – I’m not yet old enough to read the Zohar, or I would have surely packed that good book too! – and a bottle of Manischewitz for Mr. Richman, because a person should never come to visit empty-handed.

Soon-Sue showed up to say good-bye – late as always – and said my trip was a fabulous idea and might be just the thing to help me with my financial problems, but of course Soon-Sue likes everyone’s ideas all the time. On the other hand, Amicable Amy said, “Little girl,” – because a short woman is always a little girl – “little girl,” she said, “What in the world are you thinking? What, you are going to just traipse out of here and walk to Mr. Richman’s place? He doesn’t even know you! And what do you think he will do when he finds you standing on his front porch trying to rub your shoulder against the small of his back? He’ll call the police, that’s what he’ll do. You’ll be arrested. Is that how you want to live out the rest of your life? Behind bars for stalking Mr. Richman?”