Part 3

So, I said, “Well, why shouldn’t he let me rub my shoulder against the small of his back? He’s a Jew, ain’t he? Well, he’s a Jew and I’m a Jew, and it won’t do him any harm to lend me the small of his back for a few measly seconds. Everyone says what a kind and wonderful man he is, so well-loved the world over, only Hashem is ever loved more. Of course, he’ll let me rub my shoulder against the small of his back. What’s he got to lose anyway? It ain’t like it’ll make him any poorer, and even if it does make him poorer, well, he’s so rich he can afford to become poor and never even notice!”

But Amicable Amy said I was a stupid fool, and ugly and short to boot. And Soon-Sue said that she was late for her appointment with the bank to consolidate her debt consolidations, and I asked how many times one can consolidate on already consolidated debts, but she was already tripping over my landing where the one step is missing. Amicable Amy just rolled her eyes, but she’s like that. She laughed when Dancing Gordon broke both of his feet while trying to get back into his wife’s, Happy May’s, house. Then, Amicable Amy borrowed my last ten dollars and my best used pan, with almost half of the non-stick coating still intact, and flipped her bleached blonde hair over her shoulders as she left, just like Samson flipped his hair when he ordered Delilah to sacrifice King Solomon’s golden calf instead of Abraham’s daughter. And you know, Natashinka, I bet that Amicable Amy combs her hair after sunset when her friends are at sea.

So, I sat down and wrote a good-bye letter to my many beloved friends and explained to both that the deal was sealed, just like the Seal of Eve, who was befriended by one when she parted the Dead Sea – that seal took Eve, perched upon his seal fin, back all the way to the Sea of Galileo.

Oh dear, but… where was I? Oh yes, well, to make a long story short, because I had forwarded my mail to Mr. Richman’s abode, and for sure needed to at least fetch my mail. What if I were to miss an important job interview invitation?

Anyway, I bet lots of people pilgrimage to Mr. Richman’s place every year. Luck is luck. And just last year, Soon-Sue said she thought she heard something about a pilgrimage to Mr. Richman’s every Ninth of Av. But the Ninth of Av is not a lucky time to start a journey. Besides, I don’t want to be part of some giant group of crazies storming Mr. Richman’s house on some quaint Shabbat morning in Av. I don’t want him to associate me with those Jews! And, there were other things in the letter too, and, to tell you the truth, Natashinka, after I finished writing it, and rewriting it, and crumpling it up and throwing it into my trash bin, and fishing it out and unfolding it, and wiping the ketchup stains off it, well, I just thought to myself, I thought: “Mycelle , Mycelle Moheret Ksamim, why do you bother? Everyone knows that Amicable Amy will just show it to everyone and make fun of it, and show everyone at the dyke bar how stupid I am, and I will never make another friend again, so…” So, well, I did what any good, learned Jewish yenta would do: I folded that letter and stuck it between my black coffee bag and the hibachi barbeque set, and I kept that letter because I’m the only one who truly appreciates its valour. And Natashinka – Natashinka, I have that letter right here, right here, still good as new but for a few more food stains and some coffee grounds, and I can read it to you right now. What? No, no, don’t be silly or modest, of course I understand that you may not feel worthy, but please don’t try and make excuses for your shyness and insecurities, surely you have time enough to hear a short letter written by a writer such as Mycelle.

Well, here it is right now, here is that letter, now you just sit down right here, yes, right here on this slab of cement, and don’t you worry about what the wardens might think. Just tell them you’re a Jewish, unemployed, lonely writer, and they will nod their heads knowingly and step backwards slowly. Ah, yes, that’s right, comfortable, ain’t it?

Are you ready, Natashinka?

Good.