The Hottest Dishes of the Tartar Cuisine

Poor sow

Something had gone wrong in my life. I should never have allowed Sulfia to take up with a Jew. This was the consequence. Now my own daughter was bound to a Jewish family by an ugly, chubby-faced baby. And they wanted to leave; they always wanted to leave, and I had nothing against it. But what gave them the right to destroy me? What did they imagine would happen? What was I supposed to do without Aminat? Here in this city, or on earth at all? If Aminat disappeared from my life, she would take all color and sound with her. And then there was no point to anything anymore.

Rosenbaum whirled around Sulfia’s apartment now, putting things in boxes and hanging lists on the wall that he was constantly adding to or crossing things off of: “meet one last time with. . ” or “desperately need to get. . ” or “ask whether they want to have: what/who. . ” or “documents.” He was very friendly to me, and behind the thick glasses the look in his eyes was so sympathetic as to be insulting.

I went to Sulfia’s clinic so I could talk to her undisturbed.

I waited for her in front of the entrance, as I had so many times before. Poor sick people stood around, leaned against the wall, bandages on their heads, legs, or arms, cigarettes in their hands. I didn’t even feel sorry for them anymore — because now I had it far worse than they did. They might be injured, but nobody had reached into their living bodies and ripped the very heart from their chests.

Sulfia emerged and walked right past me. She hadn’t seen me. Then she turned around, looked at me, surprised, and walked back.

“Mother, what are you doing here, for God’s sake?”

“I have to talk to you,” I rasped.

“Then come to our place.”

“No. I want to talk to you alone. Without him.”

“Without whom?”

“Without him. You need to come to my place.”

We took the trolley. Sulfia said nothing. She held her purse tightly in her lap. She finally had a nice handbag like a real woman. Brown leather with a gold closure.

“Nice handbag,” I said, though the time for pleasantries was long past.

Sulfia opened the bag, took out her wallet, a folded cloth handkerchief, and her date book, and handed it to me. The bag was empty; I looked inside to make sure. Then I handed it back to her. I couldn’t be bought off so cheaply.

I had difficulty unlocking the door. Every movement made a dull echo in my soul. I looked my loneliness in the face and it grimaced nastily back at me.

Without Aminat I would be alone and my life would have no meaning. I explained this to Sulfia.

“Why do you want to kill me?” I asked her.

“We could try to take you with us,” said Sulfia, avoiding looking me in the eyes.

I’m not a piece of luggage, I wanted to shout, but said nothing. I was less than a piece of luggage. Unlike all their stuff, they didn’t actually want me with them.

“What would I do among all those Jews?” I asked. “And what will my little girl do?”

“Aminat is my little girl, mother,” said Sulfia.

I didn’t know what else I could do at this point.

“Without Aminat I’ll wither away,” I said. “Please leave Aminat here. I’ll look after her well. I beg you. You’re my only daughter.”

Sulfia stood slowly and straightened out her dress.

“I’m very sorry, mother. Truly. Very.”

I didn’t say anything more. I helped them pack. I went over and helped Aminat pick out the toys and books she wanted to take. I didn’t want to make her sad too far in advance.

Aminat was in good spirits. She quizzed me about Israel. That’s when I realized she thought I’d be coming soon after them. Sulfia had been clever. Aminat would happily go with them, she’d wait for me — and she’d forget me.

One evening I knocked on Klavdia’s door. She was now broader than she was tall. Since the stream of men through my door had stopped, she was both frustrated and resigned. She was surprised at the way I looked. I had changed since I found out I would be losing Aminat. I’d become a poor sow.

But I had a plan, and Klavdia would help me with it.

I told her that Sulfia wanted to take a huge stockpile of sleeping pills with her to Israel because they were so expensive there.

“Does she want to resell them there?” asked Klavdia, businesslike.

“Of course. How many can you get hold of?” I asked.

Two days later I had fourteen packages of some pill. I didn’t know anything about this kind of thing — I’d never taken any medications in my whole life. Klavdia still had moxie. When she sensed there was a chance to make some money at something, she didn’t hesitate. She sympathized with me — less because of the imminent parting and more because from now on my daughter and granddaughter would be living among Jews. Klavdia was at odds with herself. On the one hand, she thought that any Jew who left the country was a good Jew. On the other, she begrudged them their sunny foreign destination. Klavdia thought the Mongolian steppes would be a much better place for them all to go.