CAFETERIA

CAFETERIA

Though I am at a point where a lot of my earning is used in paying taxes, I still possess thehabit of eating in the cafeterias, especially when I am by myself. Besides, being able to meet the readers beginners of the language of Yiddish .the moment I get seated, we greet each other and start chatting about the Yiddish literature, the state of Israel, and the holocaust. Wediscuss the acquaintances that were eating pudding of rice ofthe stew of the prunes in the previous times. And they have already lost their lives. I was able to learn this news later since I read the newspaper seldom.  The food gets stuck in the throat, and we happen to stare at each other, wondering who is going to be in the next turn. Then we begin chewing our food again. , I am reminded of a scene in a film aboutAfrica where a lion gets to attacks a heard of zebras, they ran and started grazing again without assurance of what next.

I take less time with the Yiddish since I am busy writing a novel, an article, and a story. There is a lecture to attend  and the datebook is crowded with appointments of many kinds. In the meantime, I do converse in the mother’s speech, and some of the sentiments I hear aboutare not worthy of hearing standing on the moral point of view. Every person is out to grab a lot of money and get honors and prestige as they can. It seems that no person get lessons from these deaths. Even the old age does not perfect us orallows us to repent before entering hell.

I have lived in Poland and moved around for over thirty years, and I have some roots here. In some store and the vegetarian restaurants am well known. Women of the streets, pigeons, know me so well. Also, pass through a funeral parlor after lunch, which I  think of like a cafeteria where our quick eulogy is got or a Kiddush that directs us to eternity. The most people I meet at the cafeteria are the old men bachelors like me, who are either writers or teachers who have retired with their doctorate titles and many other different people..

In the fifties, a woman in her early thirties and younger than all of us appeared at the cafeteria. This woman was short, slim, and a girlish face had brown hair. A few weeks passed with snow and frost. I looked over the window and saw howpassengers almost slipped as they walked. The cars had to move slowly, and the stores were deserted. The telephone called, and I rushed to pick expecting good tidings. Nobody answers the phone even after it is said hello. Fear seized me that the good news was being held back by some power, and then I heard a stammering woman voice mention my name. She explained that she was ester and who I had met a few weeks ago at the cafeteria. She said that she was ester and that she had something secret that she wanted to share with me but not at the cafeteria.

I welcomed her at my apartment to hear about the whole secret. When arranging the house, I found an envelope that had a check-in. Trying to read what was in the envelope, I could not because I had misplaced my glasses. Easter arrived, and I welcomed her in as my divorceeneighbor stared at my guest in her door. Then ester continued telling me about her lawyer. She went ahead and said to me that she had seen Hitler. I thought that she had a vision, but she said that the years she saw long ago remained. She continued saying that she could not find rest because of what she had seen. She narrated how she met Germans one night at the cafeteria discussing with Hitler, and on seeing her one-man jumped at her, and can’t explain how she escaped.

The next day she met the hotel burnt for the case of erasing all her traces. From that incident, I was afraid that ester would continue calling me, and I decided even to change the telephone number. All in all, I stayed for long without visiting the cafeteria or hearing from ester.After many years I was able to find ester at the cafeteria when she had grown so old. She was smoking and dint look that happy. She explainedto me about her health condition and the kind of work that she was doing. She said that her lawyer wanted her to play insane to get the money.  The government was giving out reparatory money. The same layer demands twenty percent of the capital. She told me that she had to take a sleeping pill to find sleep, but she actually couldn’t afford to sleep. This all explains the mysteries behind the people losing their lives at the cafeteria.