L'Chaim Chapter Three: Living Without
Chapter Three: Living Without
‘Fell on hard times, purely dysfunctional,
Tried so hard to find it, tried so hard to find it,
It comes and goes…
And what do you want? And what do you need?
And what if we all came clean?
I’m questioning life, I’m questioning you,
And what if we all came through?'
Deliver Me, Moist
Chapter Three: Living Without
After leaving Chaim, crying on his bed in the dorm, Peter and Rabbi Kirsh went downstairs to his office. The kids were just leaving a class for lunch and so Peter caught Scott on his way to the dining room.
“Scott,” he said, grabbing his arm before he disappeared. The boy stopped and turned, having just finished laughing at a joke Juliette had told him. At Peter’s serious face, his smile faded.
“Crap, I know that look,” he said. Peter smirked at him.
“Chaim just arrived this morning,” he told him. “He’s in the dorm now, but he needs some alone time.” Scott looked at him like he knew what was coming.
“And you’re telling me this because…”
“After classes today I want you to show him around,” he said, “get him used to the lodge, show him where classes are…” Scott sighed dramatically.
“Why is it always me?” he moaned. Peter chuckled and patted him on the back.
Rabbi Kirsh followed Peter into his office and sat down. Peter sat also, opening Chaim’s file that still lay on his desk and skimming it quickly without really reading it. The words ‘possession’ and ‘parole’ jumped out at him.
“Don’t you think that was a little harsh?” he asked the other man, “taking away his prayer book…”
“Mr. Scarbrow,” the Rabbi began, his tone that of a man frustrated beyond capacity. “Chaim Mendel has consistently shown disrespect to his religion, gallivanting around the city with those addicts he called friends, taking everything he has for granted, including people, even stealing a car.” Peter looked up sharply.
“He stole a car? That’s not in his file,” he said, leafing through it again. It only said he was arrested for possessing drugs. The Rabbi waved his hand dismissively.
“It was a friend of the family; the charges were dropped. The point is, this is the only way to get through to him. He’s become highly erratic - one day professing a deep attachment to prayer and Torah and the next…” he gestured in the air towards the dorms, “spitting on it!” Peter sighed and closed the file again.
“Yes, but this behavior is common with his disorder,” he explained, “even expected. Chaim is having a sort of identity crisis; he both loves and hates who and what he is. It’s normal for him to yo-yo between extreme emotions and attachments like this. Our job, the reason he’s here, is to provide a safe environment where he can work through it.” The Rabbi nodded reluctantly.
“You’re right, of course,” he said, “you are the Psychologist, after all.”
“I’m not a Psychologist,” Peter responded, “I’m just someone…who knows all too well what these kids are going through. And believe me, I could have used a place like this then.” He paused, thinking, while Rabbi Kirsh ruminated on this new information about his peer. “Maybe it’s best for him to learn to respect his religion this way,” Peter finally said, nodding at his own statement. He looked up at the Rabbi with sudden interest. “You will be here providing religious instruction?”
“Yes,” Rabbi Kirsh responded. “Chaim’s father asked that I stay for the long term, so that he would have a familiar face, and I agreed. I will be teaching him lessons in prayer, Torah, Hebrew, Ethics…”
“Ethics?” Peter asked sitting up straighter, suddenly interested.
“Yes. We call it Mussar,” he explained. “It’s basically about character development; proper behavior, controlling anger and other inappropriate impulses, that sort of thing.” As he spoke, Peter suddenly began smiling. The smile became a smirk.
“Ever since our Art and Drama classes merged due to a staff shortage, we’ve been looking for something else to fill the space,” he said, more to himself than to the Rabbi. He then looked up at him, as if just remembering the other man was there. “Would you be interested in teaching this ‘Mussar’ to the entire group, and not just Chaim?” he asked, thinking this may be exactly what these kids need. Rabbi Kirsh thought about it, and then smiled and nodded.
“Of course I would,” he agreed, “it would certainly help him blend in more with the other students.” He paused thoughtfully. “I do have one question though,” he said. Peter nodded for him to go on. “How did you know to look in Chaim’s Tefillin? That was a pretty dangerous gamble.” Peter sighed heavily and rubbed his face with one hand before answering.
“It’s what I would have done,” he admitted sadly.
The last class that day was Calculus, and while the rest of the students were getting a head start on their homework, those sitting nearest Scott were chatting quietly among themselves. Kat, sitting far enough away not to be part of the discussion, shook her head at them, wondering how they ever got assignments done on time or passed any tests.
“So he’s here?” Juliette whispered, pretending to get help from Scott on a difficult question. He nodded, handing her his calculator, keeping up the ruse that they all thought fooled the highly observant yet surprisingly patient teacher.
“Yeah, he’s up in our dorm now,” he said, looking at Auggie next to her. “I’m supposed to show him around later.”
“Lucky you,” Auggie said sarcastically. Scott chuckled, finishing the problem he was working on and frowning at it.
“Man, I hate Calculus,” he muttered, balling up the paper in frustration and launching a rim-shot at the trash next to the teacher’s desk. The teacher looked up, frowned at him and shook his head, going back to his marking. Scott sunk lower in his seat and started the question over.
Chaim was still asleep when the others came upstairs. He woke slightly from all the noise around him, but kept his eyes shut, listening instead, hoping they would leave him alone.
“…yeah, but then he said…”
“Yo, shut up, he’s sleeping.” There was a silence and he knew they were looking him over. Let them, he thought, I’m going back to sleep.
“He doesn’t look Jewish,” another said. That had hurt more than he thought it would, and Chaim suddenly felt uncomfortable - they could see him, but he couldn’t see them. It wasn’t fair.
“I dyed my hair like that once,” said the first.
“I wonder why Peter didn’t make him wash it out.”
“He did,” Chaim mumbled into his pillow, no longer able to stand it. He opened his eyes and sat up, looking the other three over and trying to match voices with faces. “It’s permanent,” he elaborated.
“He lives!” said one in mock surprise. He looked Mexican or something, and Chaim really didn’t appreciate his tone - that sort of thing always ticked him off, especially so soon after waking up.
“Shut up,” he protested, but the words fell flat. He felt terrible, and everything he said sounded weak. The other guy looked annoyed, but mercifully let it go. He couldn’t deal with this right now…
“I’m supposed to show you around,” said the one who had claimed to have died his hair. It still looked dyed, in Chaim’s opinion - blonde with dark roots? Great; when the red finally washed out of his own hair, they’ll match. Just great. Wouldn’t they look cute together…
“Whatever,” he shrugged, sounding defeated. Even his own tone of voice was starting to annoy him. Maybe he just shouldn’t talk. It took too much energy anyway. He sat over the edge of the bed and tried to drum up the energy to stand, every inch of him wanting to just fall back onto the bed again. The other two went off and left him and his guide alone.
“Later, Scott,” the Mexican said. Scott was standing over him, arms crossed, looking about as enthusiastic about the coming ‘tour’ as Chaim felt.
Somehow, he couldn’t really remember, he ended up following Scott around the campus, staring blankly at all the stuff he was shown, and forgetting it almost instantly. He had visions of getting lost and everyone forgetting about him, and oddly, he enjoyed the little fantasy.
“So, that’s about it,” Scott ended. They now stood in the empty dining room, and Scott looked eager to get rid of him. He’d seen him looking longingly at a pretty brunette during the tour, and imagined that’s who he was anxious to get back to. Chaim nodded, wishing he could speak without having to make the effort to move his lips.
“Thanks,” he said, his voice raw. Scott made to leave, but Chaim spoke in sudden inspiration.
“Why are you here?” he asked, surprised at his own audacity. His parent’s had always taught him to respect the privacy of others, but he couldn’t help it - he seemed normal enough, after all. It occurred to him then that his definition of ‘normal’ was very different than everyone else’s, and so this Scott may in fact be a psycho. After all, he had thought himself normal for years until he’d decided to find out what thirty aspirin do.
“I don’t have to tell you nothin’.” Scott said, looking offended. Chaim shrugged defeatedly. Whatever; he didn’t have the energy to sustain a conversation anyway. Scott turned to leave, but then a woman came out of the kitchen and he stopped. Chaim looked up at her, recognising her as someone Orthodox, and wondered what she was doing here.
“Hello Scott,” she said cheerfully. She almost didn’t look at Chaim at all, but then stopped, staring at him. “You’re Chaim, aren’t you?” she asked with something approaching awe. He nodded. She smiled. “I’m Eli-Sheva,” she said kindly, “I’m here to cook for you.” Chaim frowned - his parents had hired a cook for him? Great, thanks - why don’t you just paint ‘spoiled little rich boy’ on the back of all my shirts while you’re at it? “Are you hungry?” she asked, “you’ve missed lunch, but I can still get you something.” He was hungry, but he didn’t want to admit it. She took his silence as assent, and before he knew it he was sitting at a table with her and Scott (who had reluctantly stayed at her insistence), eating tomato soup and talking about nothing.
“I don’t know if you know, Chaim,” she said, after setting down her coffee. Scott had been eyeing it jealously the entire time. “I’m actually your mum’s sister’s husband’s cousin.” Chaim frowned, wondering if it was just his abused brain that couldn’t understand what she’d just said. He looked covertly over at Scott, who was also frowning, and thought that perhaps it was her wording.
“Who?” She laughed at his confusion. Laughed!
“Sorry,” she said, “I’m boring you.” No, you’re confusing me - there’s a difference. You can’t bore a depressive, as they’re already at the boredom limit. Everything is boring to them, hence the depression. “Eat,” she said, when she saw he’d stilled his hand on his spoon. He thought the soup tasted good, but then everything tasted the same lately, so he couldn’t really tell.
“So, Scott,” she said after realising she wouldn’t be getting anything out of Chaim. “How’s your book?” Scott shrugged, still staring at her coffee.
“S’okay,” he said, not really into it. It was actually boring him to tears, but he had no choice to read it. Roger could be quite…scary…when a student was late with an English report. Eli sort of laughed, but he though it was more of an expression of sympathy.
“I couldn’t stand it,” she said, “they made us read it in grade eleven and I was so bored!” Scott actually smiled at this. Chaim watched the two discuss the horrors of John Knowles for another ten minutes or so, and before he knew it his soup was gone.
“Have you met Rabbi Kirsh yet?” Eli asked him, drawing him back into the conversation. He sort of liked her…she had a pleasantness that grew on you. He could tell Scott liked her too, but didn’t think it was because of her demeanour. Chaim nodded, wishing to get off that particular nasty topic. She smiled. “I heard he’s going to be teaching a class to all of you,” she said happily. Scott looked caught off guard at the comment. “Oh, Chaim, you’re done your soup,” she said. He looked down at his bowl, as if just realizing it too. She picked up his bowl and stood. “I’d better be getting back to it,” she said, “Dinner’s in a few hours. See you both later!” As she left, Chaim found himself wondering how someone so young could be so happy. It should be criminal. For some reason he and Scott sat there for a while even after she’d left.
“She’s okay,” Scott said, looking over at Chaim. He shrugged, and Scott looked away, annoyed.
“It is alright to talk, you know,” he said. Suddenly, he softened his expression, and Chaim couldn’t help but listen. “Look, I know you’re scared because this is a new place,” he said, looking around nervously to see if anyone might overhear him, “but it’s really not that bad. They’re all nice people.” Chaim looked at him, and for the first time, he saw him.
“Thanks,” he said, for the first time in years, really meaning it.
Darkness blanketed the campus. All over, in dorms and portables, people were asleep in their beds. All but two.
They had arranged to meet at exactly three minutes past five by the phone in the living room, wearing black. All black. He glided down the stairs, looking self-consciously around him, until he all but ran to the rendezvous point.
“Daisy,” he nodded to her.
“Ezra,” she nodded back. “Are we ready to attempt the impossible?” she said. He nodded.
“We are,” he said. Together they made their way, hugging every wall between the living room and the kitchen. After their initial conversation that morning with the Chef, Ezra had made it his personal mission to get into that kitchen again, no matter what it took. He didn’t know why it was so important, but then why did anyone do anything risky? Because it was there, of course.
At last at the kitchen door, Ezra revealed the tool hidden within one black glove - a hairpin. He held it up and nodded to Daisy who, with just as serious expression (with no end of laughter bubbling just below the surface), nodded back. It took just under a minute for him to open the lock (‘I’m out of practice,’ he defended himself to Daisy), and no sooner were they in the kitchen that they realised that the light was on, and the mixer was going at full strength. From her work counter in the centre of the room, Eli looked up at them.
“Hey, guys,” she said, “nice outfits.” Daisy and Ezra looked at each other, knowing that their precious and supposedly well thought-out plan had backfired. “You know next time,” Eli advised, “you should come earlier when I’m actually sleeping. It’s less embarrassing that way.” She chuckled at their shocked faces, and then reached beside her for a plate. “Here,” she said, “have a cookie.”
They shared a snack, and she complimented Ezra on his lock-picking skills, but warned them against trying again.
“It’s not that we don’t want you in here,” she said, “it’s just that the more people that are in here, the harder it is to make sure everything stays kosher.”
“But how could we do anything,” asked Daisy, “it’s already kosher, isn’t it?” Eli nodded in partial agreement, but then shook her head.
“Yes, but kosher isn’t just the food, it’s how it’s prepared,” she explained, “it’s not that we don’t trust you, it’s just that accidents do happen.” The two nodded and finished their cookies. “Now off to bed,” she said with mock sternness. “And if I catch you in here again this early, I’ll have to report it.” The two meekly made their way off to bed, parting ways at the top of the stairs.
“Well,” said Ezra, “It was a valiant effort.”
“Yes, it was,” Daisy answered.
“At least we got some cookies out of it,” he offered. The two looked at each other, laughed, and went their separate ways.
‘Fell on hard times, purely dysfunctional,
Tried so hard to find it, tried so hard to find it,
It comes and goes…
And what do you want? And what do you need?
And what if we all came clean?
I’m questioning life, I’m questioning you,
And what if we all came through?'
Deliver Me, Moist
Chapter Three: Living Without
After leaving Chaim, crying on his bed in the dorm, Peter and Rabbi Kirsh went downstairs to his office. The kids were just leaving a class for lunch and so Peter caught Scott on his way to the dining room.
“Scott,” he said, grabbing his arm before he disappeared. The boy stopped and turned, having just finished laughing at a joke Juliette had told him. At Peter’s serious face, his smile faded.
“Crap, I know that look,” he said. Peter smirked at him.
“Chaim just arrived this morning,” he told him. “He’s in the dorm now, but he needs some alone time.” Scott looked at him like he knew what was coming.
“And you’re telling me this because…”
“After classes today I want you to show him around,” he said, “get him used to the lodge, show him where classes are…” Scott sighed dramatically.
“Why is it always me?” he moaned. Peter chuckled and patted him on the back.
Rabbi Kirsh followed Peter into his office and sat down. Peter sat also, opening Chaim’s file that still lay on his desk and skimming it quickly without really reading it. The words ‘possession’ and ‘parole’ jumped out at him.
“Don’t you think that was a little harsh?” he asked the other man, “taking away his prayer book…”
“Mr. Scarbrow,” the Rabbi began, his tone that of a man frustrated beyond capacity. “Chaim Mendel has consistently shown disrespect to his religion, gallivanting around the city with those addicts he called friends, taking everything he has for granted, including people, even stealing a car.” Peter looked up sharply.
“He stole a car? That’s not in his file,” he said, leafing through it again. It only said he was arrested for possessing drugs. The Rabbi waved his hand dismissively.
“It was a friend of the family; the charges were dropped. The point is, this is the only way to get through to him. He’s become highly erratic - one day professing a deep attachment to prayer and Torah and the next…” he gestured in the air towards the dorms, “spitting on it!” Peter sighed and closed the file again.
“Yes, but this behavior is common with his disorder,” he explained, “even expected. Chaim is having a sort of identity crisis; he both loves and hates who and what he is. It’s normal for him to yo-yo between extreme emotions and attachments like this. Our job, the reason he’s here, is to provide a safe environment where he can work through it.” The Rabbi nodded reluctantly.
“You’re right, of course,” he said, “you are the Psychologist, after all.”
“I’m not a Psychologist,” Peter responded, “I’m just someone…who knows all too well what these kids are going through. And believe me, I could have used a place like this then.” He paused, thinking, while Rabbi Kirsh ruminated on this new information about his peer. “Maybe it’s best for him to learn to respect his religion this way,” Peter finally said, nodding at his own statement. He looked up at the Rabbi with sudden interest. “You will be here providing religious instruction?”
“Yes,” Rabbi Kirsh responded. “Chaim’s father asked that I stay for the long term, so that he would have a familiar face, and I agreed. I will be teaching him lessons in prayer, Torah, Hebrew, Ethics…”
“Ethics?” Peter asked sitting up straighter, suddenly interested.
“Yes. We call it Mussar,” he explained. “It’s basically about character development; proper behavior, controlling anger and other inappropriate impulses, that sort of thing.” As he spoke, Peter suddenly began smiling. The smile became a smirk.
“Ever since our Art and Drama classes merged due to a staff shortage, we’ve been looking for something else to fill the space,” he said, more to himself than to the Rabbi. He then looked up at him, as if just remembering the other man was there. “Would you be interested in teaching this ‘Mussar’ to the entire group, and not just Chaim?” he asked, thinking this may be exactly what these kids need. Rabbi Kirsh thought about it, and then smiled and nodded.
“Of course I would,” he agreed, “it would certainly help him blend in more with the other students.” He paused thoughtfully. “I do have one question though,” he said. Peter nodded for him to go on. “How did you know to look in Chaim’s Tefillin? That was a pretty dangerous gamble.” Peter sighed heavily and rubbed his face with one hand before answering.
“It’s what I would have done,” he admitted sadly.
The last class that day was Calculus, and while the rest of the students were getting a head start on their homework, those sitting nearest Scott were chatting quietly among themselves. Kat, sitting far enough away not to be part of the discussion, shook her head at them, wondering how they ever got assignments done on time or passed any tests.
“So he’s here?” Juliette whispered, pretending to get help from Scott on a difficult question. He nodded, handing her his calculator, keeping up the ruse that they all thought fooled the highly observant yet surprisingly patient teacher.
“Yeah, he’s up in our dorm now,” he said, looking at Auggie next to her. “I’m supposed to show him around later.”
“Lucky you,” Auggie said sarcastically. Scott chuckled, finishing the problem he was working on and frowning at it.
“Man, I hate Calculus,” he muttered, balling up the paper in frustration and launching a rim-shot at the trash next to the teacher’s desk. The teacher looked up, frowned at him and shook his head, going back to his marking. Scott sunk lower in his seat and started the question over.
Chaim was still asleep when the others came upstairs. He woke slightly from all the noise around him, but kept his eyes shut, listening instead, hoping they would leave him alone.
“…yeah, but then he said…”
“Yo, shut up, he’s sleeping.” There was a silence and he knew they were looking him over. Let them, he thought, I’m going back to sleep.
“He doesn’t look Jewish,” another said. That had hurt more than he thought it would, and Chaim suddenly felt uncomfortable - they could see him, but he couldn’t see them. It wasn’t fair.
“I dyed my hair like that once,” said the first.
“I wonder why Peter didn’t make him wash it out.”
“He did,” Chaim mumbled into his pillow, no longer able to stand it. He opened his eyes and sat up, looking the other three over and trying to match voices with faces. “It’s permanent,” he elaborated.
“He lives!” said one in mock surprise. He looked Mexican or something, and Chaim really didn’t appreciate his tone - that sort of thing always ticked him off, especially so soon after waking up.
“Shut up,” he protested, but the words fell flat. He felt terrible, and everything he said sounded weak. The other guy looked annoyed, but mercifully let it go. He couldn’t deal with this right now…
“I’m supposed to show you around,” said the one who had claimed to have died his hair. It still looked dyed, in Chaim’s opinion - blonde with dark roots? Great; when the red finally washed out of his own hair, they’ll match. Just great. Wouldn’t they look cute together…
“Whatever,” he shrugged, sounding defeated. Even his own tone of voice was starting to annoy him. Maybe he just shouldn’t talk. It took too much energy anyway. He sat over the edge of the bed and tried to drum up the energy to stand, every inch of him wanting to just fall back onto the bed again. The other two went off and left him and his guide alone.
“Later, Scott,” the Mexican said. Scott was standing over him, arms crossed, looking about as enthusiastic about the coming ‘tour’ as Chaim felt.
Somehow, he couldn’t really remember, he ended up following Scott around the campus, staring blankly at all the stuff he was shown, and forgetting it almost instantly. He had visions of getting lost and everyone forgetting about him, and oddly, he enjoyed the little fantasy.
“So, that’s about it,” Scott ended. They now stood in the empty dining room, and Scott looked eager to get rid of him. He’d seen him looking longingly at a pretty brunette during the tour, and imagined that’s who he was anxious to get back to. Chaim nodded, wishing he could speak without having to make the effort to move his lips.
“Thanks,” he said, his voice raw. Scott made to leave, but Chaim spoke in sudden inspiration.
“Why are you here?” he asked, surprised at his own audacity. His parent’s had always taught him to respect the privacy of others, but he couldn’t help it - he seemed normal enough, after all. It occurred to him then that his definition of ‘normal’ was very different than everyone else’s, and so this Scott may in fact be a psycho. After all, he had thought himself normal for years until he’d decided to find out what thirty aspirin do.
“I don’t have to tell you nothin’.” Scott said, looking offended. Chaim shrugged defeatedly. Whatever; he didn’t have the energy to sustain a conversation anyway. Scott turned to leave, but then a woman came out of the kitchen and he stopped. Chaim looked up at her, recognising her as someone Orthodox, and wondered what she was doing here.
“Hello Scott,” she said cheerfully. She almost didn’t look at Chaim at all, but then stopped, staring at him. “You’re Chaim, aren’t you?” she asked with something approaching awe. He nodded. She smiled. “I’m Eli-Sheva,” she said kindly, “I’m here to cook for you.” Chaim frowned - his parents had hired a cook for him? Great, thanks - why don’t you just paint ‘spoiled little rich boy’ on the back of all my shirts while you’re at it? “Are you hungry?” she asked, “you’ve missed lunch, but I can still get you something.” He was hungry, but he didn’t want to admit it. She took his silence as assent, and before he knew it he was sitting at a table with her and Scott (who had reluctantly stayed at her insistence), eating tomato soup and talking about nothing.
“I don’t know if you know, Chaim,” she said, after setting down her coffee. Scott had been eyeing it jealously the entire time. “I’m actually your mum’s sister’s husband’s cousin.” Chaim frowned, wondering if it was just his abused brain that couldn’t understand what she’d just said. He looked covertly over at Scott, who was also frowning, and thought that perhaps it was her wording.
“Who?” She laughed at his confusion. Laughed!
“Sorry,” she said, “I’m boring you.” No, you’re confusing me - there’s a difference. You can’t bore a depressive, as they’re already at the boredom limit. Everything is boring to them, hence the depression. “Eat,” she said, when she saw he’d stilled his hand on his spoon. He thought the soup tasted good, but then everything tasted the same lately, so he couldn’t really tell.
“So, Scott,” she said after realising she wouldn’t be getting anything out of Chaim. “How’s your book?” Scott shrugged, still staring at her coffee.
“S’okay,” he said, not really into it. It was actually boring him to tears, but he had no choice to read it. Roger could be quite…scary…when a student was late with an English report. Eli sort of laughed, but he though it was more of an expression of sympathy.
“I couldn’t stand it,” she said, “they made us read it in grade eleven and I was so bored!” Scott actually smiled at this. Chaim watched the two discuss the horrors of John Knowles for another ten minutes or so, and before he knew it his soup was gone.
“Have you met Rabbi Kirsh yet?” Eli asked him, drawing him back into the conversation. He sort of liked her…she had a pleasantness that grew on you. He could tell Scott liked her too, but didn’t think it was because of her demeanour. Chaim nodded, wishing to get off that particular nasty topic. She smiled. “I heard he’s going to be teaching a class to all of you,” she said happily. Scott looked caught off guard at the comment. “Oh, Chaim, you’re done your soup,” she said. He looked down at his bowl, as if just realizing it too. She picked up his bowl and stood. “I’d better be getting back to it,” she said, “Dinner’s in a few hours. See you both later!” As she left, Chaim found himself wondering how someone so young could be so happy. It should be criminal. For some reason he and Scott sat there for a while even after she’d left.
“She’s okay,” Scott said, looking over at Chaim. He shrugged, and Scott looked away, annoyed.
“It is alright to talk, you know,” he said. Suddenly, he softened his expression, and Chaim couldn’t help but listen. “Look, I know you’re scared because this is a new place,” he said, looking around nervously to see if anyone might overhear him, “but it’s really not that bad. They’re all nice people.” Chaim looked at him, and for the first time, he saw him.
“Thanks,” he said, for the first time in years, really meaning it.
Darkness blanketed the campus. All over, in dorms and portables, people were asleep in their beds. All but two.
They had arranged to meet at exactly three minutes past five by the phone in the living room, wearing black. All black. He glided down the stairs, looking self-consciously around him, until he all but ran to the rendezvous point.
“Daisy,” he nodded to her.
“Ezra,” she nodded back. “Are we ready to attempt the impossible?” she said. He nodded.
“We are,” he said. Together they made their way, hugging every wall between the living room and the kitchen. After their initial conversation that morning with the Chef, Ezra had made it his personal mission to get into that kitchen again, no matter what it took. He didn’t know why it was so important, but then why did anyone do anything risky? Because it was there, of course.
At last at the kitchen door, Ezra revealed the tool hidden within one black glove - a hairpin. He held it up and nodded to Daisy who, with just as serious expression (with no end of laughter bubbling just below the surface), nodded back. It took just under a minute for him to open the lock (‘I’m out of practice,’ he defended himself to Daisy), and no sooner were they in the kitchen that they realised that the light was on, and the mixer was going at full strength. From her work counter in the centre of the room, Eli looked up at them.
“Hey, guys,” she said, “nice outfits.” Daisy and Ezra looked at each other, knowing that their precious and supposedly well thought-out plan had backfired. “You know next time,” Eli advised, “you should come earlier when I’m actually sleeping. It’s less embarrassing that way.” She chuckled at their shocked faces, and then reached beside her for a plate. “Here,” she said, “have a cookie.”
They shared a snack, and she complimented Ezra on his lock-picking skills, but warned them against trying again.
“It’s not that we don’t want you in here,” she said, “it’s just that the more people that are in here, the harder it is to make sure everything stays kosher.”
“But how could we do anything,” asked Daisy, “it’s already kosher, isn’t it?” Eli nodded in partial agreement, but then shook her head.
“Yes, but kosher isn’t just the food, it’s how it’s prepared,” she explained, “it’s not that we don’t trust you, it’s just that accidents do happen.” The two nodded and finished their cookies. “Now off to bed,” she said with mock sternness. “And if I catch you in here again this early, I’ll have to report it.” The two meekly made their way off to bed, parting ways at the top of the stairs.
“Well,” said Ezra, “It was a valiant effort.”
“Yes, it was,” Daisy answered.
“At least we got some cookies out of it,” he offered. The two looked at each other, laughed, and went their separate ways.