It titters. Damn it!
So, guess I have no choice.
It was like being in a time warp. A drab and foggy Saturday morning in December. Here I was sitting in a little tailor shop. It was, I was sure 1988, yet the people around me seem to be from long ago and far away. Their accents, thick with ‘old country’ flavor, told the difficulty they must have had to conquer this English we speak with such ease. We had come to pick up a pair of slacks husband had left for alteration and were greeted as though we’d been customers for a long, long time. She told us she was decorating for Christmas, and explained that she didn’t decorate at home anymore…"because, no children there.”
She lovingly touched the artificial tree that graced a table by the window.
“Very old.” She said.
The tree barely stood a foot high and was laden with ornaments that appeared to have been collected through many, many years.
“Old is best.” I said.
She touched the tree again and softly said. “Yes, I think old is best.”
I gathered from her tone that she and the tree had seen many Christmases together and that it held bittersweet memories for her.
Her hand made a sweeping motion, calling my attention to the window and she told me that there used to be two signs, one that said “Merry Christmas” and one “Happy New Year”. Somehow “Happy New Year” had disappeared with some help from her husband, but she assured me “Is O.K., we make do.” Then she pointed to a snowman ornament that now hung where the sign should have been. Somehow I got the impression that she had seen a lot in her lifetime, and the loss of the sign was small in comparison.
A customer came in with concern about the proprietors' daughter, who was still in the old country. “Was it Armenia? Close to the earthquake?”, Was she all right?” The old lady put the young woman’s mind at ease by saying they were from the Ukraine.
By now her husband put in an appearance, and a difference of opinion occurred. The discussion involved just how far the Ukraine was from Armenia...700 or 2,000 miles. But, since neither would admit to being wrong, it was established the Ukraine was 700 to 2,000 miles away.
While this ensued a slender, dark skinned gentleman entered the shop.
"Is landlord." I was told.
His accent was also quite pronounced and I heard her call him Abdul. Never in my life could I have imagined a more appropriate name. He looked like an Abdul, He spoke like an Abdul, He was indeed a living, breathing Abdul.
He had come to wash the windows.
“And sign.” It was more a statement than a question.
She told me that since August she had been trying to get the sign cleaned. The building had been pained then and the sign was still smeared with paint.
“Last time I tell you,” she said, shaking a finger at him. “I not pay rent.”
At the thought of this punishment Abdul asked her husband if he had a bucket. He looked at me and said, “Make woman happy. Keep peace at home.” I had the feeling the sign would be cleaned before day’s end.
During all this time she continued to work on another two pair of slacks we had wanted to be altered.
“Not to tight.” She said. “Need comfortable. Only young like tight.”
“Not be shy.” She said, “If not comfortable after few times wear, come back, I fix.”
Then she wanted to know how many more pair of slacks there would be. Eight in all she was told.
“We make deal.” Said she. “I give you sale.”
She indeed gave us an offer we couldn’t refuse and gave us a receipt for the pair we were leaving.
Together my husband and I left the shop and it was 1988 again. But, somehow I felt different and I knew I’d been given a very rare and priceless gift. Here was a group of people who knew the true meaning of life. They had everything in prospective. Sure, there was threat of war, hunger, pain and I think they personally lived through part of all of them. And once you’ve been through the worst, it was the little day to day things that matter and count.
Trust, she took our check without even looking for an ID. “I Trust.” She had said. Relating that only twice in 15 years had checks been returned.
Love, for us, Abdul, her ever patient husband, all mankind.
Pride. “Not be shy, come back, I fix.”
And finally, Courage, for this little slip of a lady, who, no matter how much else she had to give up, carried one tiny artificial tree thousands of miles, to be a remembrance of Christmas past, Christmas present and for every Christmas future.
sh ‘88
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