Lily 10

Father is so dispassionate in his reading that he'd make the perfect intel officer. He sets aside any hatred, simply winnows information.
In fact, he's probably the only Jew in town to regularly surf onto Hezbollah and Hamas sites, simply to see what is happening.
As I sift Sunday's paper, I feel a tap on my shoulder. He points to the computer; must be good, he rarely interrupts.
It is the official census as published by the Independent Republic of Hezbollahstan. Now over the last two centuries, population has remained stable very near 300,000. A high birth rate is counter balanced by combat losses and many people living and working abroad, mostly in Lebanon.
Every five years, they do the census. This time, an inexplicable drop to 250,000.
At a loss how to explain this, they speculate maybe Israel is secretly kidnapping people, forcing them into slave labor in things like IDF laundries and picking oranges.
Father grins, easy enough to check. If it were true, there would be three effects:
1) all those places are affiliated with the Histadruth labor union umbrella organization. If this were true, there would be a large membership drop.
2) rise in unemployment.
3) it would take 10,000 to 15,000 soldiers to administer. So, have large numbers of IDF soldiers gone missing off the official deployment chart?
He surfs onto Histadruth. Forget a membership loss; they've experienced modest gains.
Unemployment is down, not up.
He refers to his own computerized chart where he tracks IDF deployments. Grin, they could hide say 1,000 soldiers on him and he'd never know. 10,000 to 15,000, not on your life. See all would have to be regulars; there simply are not sufficient reservists to break this into 12 shifts per year.
So, where did the 50,000 people go?
Two possibilities. One, the most likely, the recently signed tax information sharing agreement between Hezbollahstan and Lebanon could have driven them into the underground economy in Beirut.
Two, least likely, the Haredim (plural) are right, the IDF does have a time machine.
He grins, now suppose it's the former, it'd be say 35,000 women and 15,000 men disappearing. If the latter, be almost entirely men who vanish.
We click back onto the Hezbollah site to check census. He groans, it's not broken down by gender. How very like bureaucrats! Endless info, but never the thing you are looking for.
The next Bakehila conspiracy story claims the IDF is kidnapping several unfortunate Haredi youths. This time, they are sold as slaves to the cocoa growers in Ghana, the proceeds being used so the IDF can buy high tech mil toys from the US.
Now that stretches credibilty a tad. Last article I saw, slaves there were worth about $100 US. Then what about transport costs? If the IDF had to pay that, guaranteed money loser.
Ok, be generous, say $100 plus transport.
So, let's vacuum up all the Haredim in Jerusalem and multiply by $100.
Now let's see what that buys.
All Haredim in Jerusalem wouldn't get you even one item, it's that expensive.
It may seem funny, but I get into this stuff, become very like father.
I show him the article, my calculations and the costs of the high tech goodies.
Something in his smile tells me I have arrived, become worthy, equal to his other debating buddies. It's a wonderful feeling!

Lily 9

I'm feeling great as I walk out of the public library discard sale. It goes on for five days. Go in the last two hours of the last day and you can fill one of their shopping bags for three dollars.
And so I have one bag in each hand. Father will be proud of me, some of the neat topics I've found. I think of discussions, debates we've had of late. The deafness does have a silver lining; brought us closer together.
To my utter surprise, a police car comes to a halt; the doors left open as the two cops exit.
The big fat male Donut Eater is pointing his pistol, at me no less. I can lipread enough to understand they want me to put down the bags.
As Donut Eater covers me, the female cop checks the bags. After randomly pulling three books, seeing them stamped "Discard", she blushes, "sor-ry." Hands me back the bags and away they go.
I'm mystified. Did they think I was stealing library books?
Once I get home, examine my catch, I realize something. Lotta fiction paperbacks are as little as two years old, not badly worn. Is that the sign of a prosperous city or what? Wonder how many cities' libraries can afford to discard so soon?
For days the cop mystery dogs me, finally I shrug, one of those random events. No doubt I look similar to someone.
The Sunday local paper clears up the mystery. There is a cheese theft ring operating in town. Victimize restaurants and grocery stores. The police rationale is it's a commodity that keeps well, has a lotta value in relation to size and weight.
Where they get the cheese from is no mystery; where it is resold is.
Police have already checked the books of every pizzeria in town; comparing sales to purchase receipts for cheese bought from the food wholesaler. None of the pizzerias is either a victim of crime; nor a consumer of black market cheese.
Police speculate it is shipped to Toronto, black marketed to pizzerias there.
The contrast hits me. That is simply not a normal Canadian crime; more what you read of happening in the Third World. Selling black market food? Not here, not til now.
So, contrast in our city, signs of poverty, signs of wealth.
As Naomi and I walk to the library Monday, a man accosts her, she declines.
Later, I ask what it was. He was selling coffee packages, obviously stolen from Second Cup.

Lily 8

When I stated before that my relationship with my father had been superficial; that was a statement of fact, as opposed to being judgmental. I was merely comparing him with my mother. I meant there was no great emotional connection, but things were still ok.
You see, back in those days, I did not really understand his world. Now I do, lots better. He owns a rather successful business. However he does not get into greed mode, as so many other Jews and Gentiles can. Other than the standard forty hour week that his business is open, his only overtime is doing the monthend books himself. This is so he can keep a close eye, usually takes four to six hours per month.
So, compared to most other prosperous Jews, he has lots of free time. Others, like doctors, are caught up in the need to read so many professional journals.
Father's preferred mode of using free time is to be the wandering intellectual. Matters not whether he agrees with your cause or not, he'll still read up on it, just for the pure intellectual pleasure. He is fiercely anti Communist, but once or twice a year he'll buy the Communist Party of Canada newspaper at the newstand. Just so, he is rather against the Orthodox and ultraOrthodox (Haredi), but he'll still subscribe to their mags.
Myself, I've become much more like him. I intellectually wander on the web, pick up all sorts of interesting ideas which are worth a day of research in the university library.
As I find myself wandering some of the paths he has, our level of communication goes up. See I can type 65 words per minute; him 80; so debates are fun. He's up for any sort of hypothetical debate; other than Torah or sex.
I'm leafing through Bakehila, the Haredi mag. Now, it's mostly what you would expect. That is endless articles on how to be ever more kosher, splitting finer hairs. Suggestions as to good topics for Torah study. Since it is published in Israel, any news pertaining to the Haredi world; I mean that they feel is fit to print. And always with the moral tone. You see, it wasn't the Haredi who decided to pick up those rocks and throw them at seculars' cars on the Sabbath. It was the fault of the evil seculars for not having the decency to refrain from driving on the Sabbath. Just so, it wasn't their fault that 80 of them stoned the internet cafe. It was the sheer effrontery of the cafe owner, for defying their ban and allowing Haredi to surf. You do get the picture.
And about every third issue, they will have an article which could only be described as conspiracy theory. Always, some pseudo logical reason why a few Haredi disappear. You see, they simply cannot admit that - gasp - maybe some young Haredim don't like it and switch to the secular world.
Anyway, this time the conspiracy article is vigorously attacking the research arm of the Israeli Defence Force. These IDF worthies are so uptight that the Haredi get the draft exemption to do fulltime yeshiva (religious school) studies. So, they, well the IDF secretly invented a time machine. They will kidnap poor unfortunate Haredi youths and blast them off into the past.
I lay the mag down, ponder. Yes, we have invented lotsa stuff you circa 2000 people haven't even dreamed of. To the best of my knowledge, no one has ever invented time travel.
You see, human nature being what it is, no one would go to that amount of effort, and then not get some large reward. Suppose the inventor wanted to charge high end tourists, jaded with ordinary travel, large sums to travel into the past. Or suppose the Ulster Protestants invented it. They might never tell the world, keep it hidden away; but massive numbers of Catholics would disappear forthwith.
And back to the IDF. Let's say they invented it. Surely there are other, more useful targets. Any number of West Bank and Gaza Palestinians. Hezbollah people. Any journalist who didn't toe the party line. Even if - gasp - the IDF did have it, surely they'd target others before getting around to the Haredim. After all, they do have a court case outstanding, has been ongoing for years. If the IDF wins it, the whole Haredi draft exemption vanishes.
In any case, I decide the article is yet one more product of an over feverish imagination.
But just for fun, I'll argue it with father. He loves this sort of thing, we spend a whole afternoon playing with it.
His final take? If the IDF had invented it, kept it secret, there would not be a soul left in the Independent Republic of Hezbollahstan. West Bank and Gaza populations would be dropped by half. Then they'd get to Haredim, but only after the court decision, if the IDF should lose. After all, if they win, the Haredim are their soldiers, why would they wish to kill them off?

Lily 7

I stare at Naomi in sheer catatonic shock. Surely you are not serious, this is a joke.
Nope, exactly how it happened. Seems the joking between Aaron and Mary got a little carried away. Him, an over protected Orthodox lad, living at home, never had sex before, was curious.
She was not averse to his advance, reckoning a gentle lad like that would offer no violence.
Well they could not go to his house nor hers, so he would borrow an apartment from a buddy.
One thing led to another, they ended up in an SM relationship; spanking was the absolute least of everthing she did.
What Aaron did not know, his buddy had a grudge against him, had rigged up secret cameras.
And once he attained 2,000 photos, started a blog.
The funny thing, every Jew and Gentile in town is laughing at Aaron, yet no one is laughing at Mary, the consensus being he simply led her on.
Now Aaron decides to leave town. His family announces he will be continuing on in yeshiva studies in Israel.
I groan aloud, what a buncha morons! For sure they've lost him now. Send an Orthodox lad to a yeshiva for a year, he always comes home. Two years, odds are 50/50 they've lost him to the ultraOrthodox people who run most of the yeshivas. Beyond two years, almost nobody ever comes back. And he's already been there two years.
The restaurant is now in dire straits. The assistant cook, holder of the one year commercial cooking school certificate, capably moves up, having observed Aaron lots.
Mary makes assistant cook. To be fair, she has a dozen years experience, in bush camps and nursing homes.
The dishwasher impasse re-raises its ugly head. Naomi and I feel we have no option, can't leave Leonard stranded.
As the tedium continues ad infinitum, Naomi starts to hate Mary. I don't, view her as simply a victim of circumstance. One of those things that happen.
In the end, it's good old Mary who saves our butts. Seems she has a cousin looking for work.
The treacherous blogger, who knifed his buddy Aaron in the back, doesn't get off scot free.
Unnamed people, in masks, tie him to a tree overnight, allow the mosquitoes to feast.
Photos of his butt, plus other parts, festooned with mega bites, are then posted on their blog.
He too leaves town, headed for a yeshiva in Israel, hopefully not the same one as Aaron.
The ultimate surprise though, comes from the Greek mafia. The kingpin, who owns four of the pizzerias, holds a lavish wedding for his daughter, invites Leonard and his wife. Go figure.
Now Jews have always believed that the mosquito bite photo people, that is those avenging Aaron, were none other than Orthodox lads.
Something Leonard overhears at the wedding contradicts this. He's certain the Greek mafia did it. Their message? Mess with one pizzeria, you mess with all, solidarity.
A few days later, a half dozen show at the restaurant, curious to taste kosher.

(So ends Part One; the blog could be inactive for several months as Part Two is being prepared.)

Lily 6

Henry, the Native man, tells me he's sick to death of reading, that's reading anything at all, not just mysteries.
I shudder inwardly, wondering where this is heading.
Now you see, he signs earnestly, he feels he can do lots better that lotsa the crap (oh, pardon the language). After all these authors know little or nothing of the real thing, learning it all from books.
On the contrary, he has direct experience, having lived a number of years on the Lilac Valley Indian Reserve. It not only beats all other Canadian IRs, it even beats any city under 200,000 population, as to homicide statistics.
With a wicked smile, he signs of keeping the detective busy with a half dozen homicides. After all, he asserts, a true mystery fan loves a challenge; hates it when it's too easy.
I reply that all of literature is simply seeking out one's own niche, avoiding the crowd to maximize odds; encourage him to go for it.
By now, he's my friend, much rather see him writing than drinking.
He asks, could I help a bit? He owns the most basic model of laptop, spell checker is ok, grammar checker very poor. Would I mind reviewing his work, grammar only, not critiquing?
I readily agree. In that moment, I realize I'm better off here than Toronto. Here at least I have him, Naomi and my parents.
And I do detect the blog is running out of steam; the main agent provocateur losing interest. As his inflammatory postings dwindle, so do comments.
And then the blog stops totally. He's tired of our boring town, headed for the bright lights of Toronto.
In no time, there's a blog trashing him. See the big bathhouse fight in TO was covered in the Star, the Globe and Mail and gay paper.
He's lucky to get off with just fourteen days Drunk and Disorderly. That however is nothing compared to the angst of being "outed" in the Jewish community.
I refrain from putting comments on the blog. After all, it's his mother I feel sorry for.
Now in our town, there is one decent kosher restaurant, two delis and several stores.
Naomi's older brother Leonard has the two year Food Service Management diploma and several years experience.
His research indicates the city can afford to support a kosher pizzeria. Anything else here is run by the Greek mafia, meaning so much pork in its ambience, it's almost a violation of kosher to walk on the street by it.
Further his research shows kosher pizzerias in other places draw a large minority of Gentile customers, impressed by the higher standards.
And so he has the place and main equipment leased; small stuff bought.
The head cook will be an Orthodox lad Aaron, who's studied in a yeshiva in Israel for two years, so his kosher knowledge will be superb.
As grand opening day approaches, Leonard discovers the giant gaping black hole in his otherwise good plan. He is totally unable to recruit a dishwasher. There simply is no Jew in town capable of accepting that loss of dignity. Nor is there a Gentile willing to work with an otherwise all Jewish staff.
In absolute desperation, he hits on a last gasp idea. It's an evening only operation, closed Mondays. Naomi and I are always day shifters at the library.
He'll hire each of us for three evenings a week.
Naomi explains all this at work. Would I at least consider it?
I reply, only for a bit to get him going, wouldn't want it to drag on forever.
Leonard and Naomi will drop by my house after dinner.
Truth is I started with an open mind, help out a friend. When I saw his sheer level of condescension, I basically gave up. No pal, not on your life, you don't get to play the total ***-**** just because I'm deaf.
It gets more heated and I throw him out.
Next morning Naomi grins, passes a note. She'd told him how badly he'd blown it. He asked what it would take to change my mind. She replied throw in an extra dollar and a half an hour and write one superb apology.
So there it is, all six pages of it. After reading it, I realize I have no choice. I cannot let one lousy meeting cause boyo to go broke and deprive our town of a kosher pizzeria.
I rather doubt that the Greek mafia is shivering in its boots. After all, kosher is always more expensive.
Besides, Naomi writes, Aaron is a good catch, if you don't mind converting to Orthodox.
My reply, if he were the last man on Earth, I wouldn't convert to Orthodox for him. Just too crazy.
She smiles, well nice to know I don't have competition.
The various Greek pizza owners (not a real mafia, just local slang) choose to ignore us, with the exception some launch a souvlaki discount timed to meet our grand opening. What a joke! As if that would draw a Jew.
First couple weeks, place is packed with Jews only.
By the end of a month, we can see Leonard hit a home run. Place is always packed, now with 1/4 of the customers Gentiles. As in health-conscious, vegetarian upper income sort. Definitely not the sort that would have patronized the Greek mafia in the first place. I rather doubt that any of those places lost a dollar of business by us opening.
Leonard's advertising had been in the local Jewish weekly only, nothing in mainstream media. So, all those Gentiles in there would be by word of mouth. People with some connection to the Jewish world because they work, golf, gym or carpool with them.
And then fate relieves Naomi and myself of the tedium.
Henry now has an extended visitor in his home. His daughter Mary is leaving behind an abusive relationship, seeking a fresh start in a new place.
To Mary and Henry, they just can't grasp the reason for all the fuss. Is not a Jew like any other white person? Why not work for and with them?
She has a good work ethic, is quickly absorbed.
Though it is a mismatch by a generation, she and Aaron clown around, tease each other.
He jokes she'd be ok, but only if willing to convert. She replies, ok, long as you're not violent like my ex.
Ah but would you actually go so far as to do Aliyah (emigrate to Israel) with me? Of course, bring it on, leave behind brutal winter.
Would you go so far as to do your duty hitch in the Israeli Army? Why not sunshine? Record shows I already killed one ex. Was let off because it was self defence. Would it be much different killing a Palestinian? Or two or three or a dozen or two?
Ah but would you - gasp - go so far as to learn Yiddish for me? Not on your life. Gotta draw the line somewhere or I'd have no self-respect left. Aaron smiles wickedly, if he brought home a fiancee who didn't know Yiddish, his poor mother would have a heart attack.
Naomi ought to watch out. She could end up with that mother-in-law. To say nothing of the problems a mama's boy brings.

Lily 5

When I say that there is no one to communicate with, I am speaking in the figurative rather than literal sense. It's not exactly like I'm stranded on a desert island but close.
So far, I have discovered only one person in town who knows ASL. A sad-eyed old Native pensioner who hangs around the library a lot. Doesn't drink now, but obvious look of one with years of experience.
He and I are both in the same boat. That is, each of us was sent away to the course in Toronto, compliments of some public sector agency. And like any skill, if you never use it, you lose it.
I often run into him in the coffee house attached to the library.
It's hard to generate any real topic of conversation. Not only vastly different life experiences, but totally different reading habits. He never reads a newspaper, so current events is out as a topic. I often see him check out a dozen murder mysteries, a genre I loathe with a passion.
He favors Brit style mysteries as compared to American.
But somehow I don't care. I'm happy to let him regale with me stories of what he's read lately. When he asks me, I'll mention historical fiction which would be ok for his reading level. Still, regardless of anything I might say, he never gets around to checking one out.
And gradually I come to a realization, the library is saving his life. If he weren't reading, he'd be drinking.
There is my friend/co-worker Naomi. Out are phone and coffee house chats that go on forever of religion, history, philosophy, literature. However, she doesn't forget me totally and we do pass notes some.
So I'm in the state of pondering my identity. That is, am I primarily a deaf person or primarily Jewish? It seems impossible to be both, yet I am.
I'm already considering moving to Toronto, where there would presumably be something of a community of deaf Jews, when things turn southwards, and rapidly.
You see, like any book, Eva took out a blog to promote it and generate reader feedback.
It's fast and it's savage. The nature versus nurture argument around homosexuality heats up.
And since a lot of the readers know one or both of the lads and/or their parents, it gets personal in a hurry.
Soon, I'm under attack too. I'm being held as blame for my former fiance becoming gay.
And then they adjourn to a different venue, another blog. The owner of this blog chooses to remain anonymous. However, with all the clues given, it's obvious, former best friend of my former fiance. Knows lots and lots about me, the fiance, and his parents; but almost nothing about the other lad. We-ell, comments from the various people range from me never "putting out" to doing so insufficiently in quality or quantity to speculations of a sadomasochistic relationship. Oy!
I soon discover the bulk of the Jewish community in town is laughing at me. There is only one defender on the blog. User ID "Gaydar", an obviously gay and obviously Jewish guy asserts again and again that I had zero influence, it was in his genes. He's drowned out by the shouting of everyone else.
Mother's take on it is don't be in a big hurry to move to Toronto. Like anything else in life, these things have a limited shelf life. Soon be old hat. Hope she's right!

Lily 4

I no longer attend synagogue, unable to hear the proceedings.
Nor do I visit JCC anymore. After my refusal letter from Israel, I have little to no interest in reading of events there.
Not being able to talk with my mother, I miss out all the gossip of what her generation group is up to; the same could be said of my former friends.
In fact, my connection to the Jewish world is so tenuous, that all I see anymore are events in the local Jewish weekly.
Eva's book being released is a major event, getting a full page of book review.
Of course father buys, he buys everything that publisher produces. After all, he does have lotsa money and lotsa bookshelves.
The story is broken down into three parts: the lads' upbringing, set in a mythical town not our own; the gold panning in the Yukon; and the gay bathhouse scene in Vancouver. Each gets approximately a third of the pages.
I find myself raising eyebrows over the story of their upbringing. Eva wields a nasty pen, takes parents who were quite decent and makes them seem totally inept in parenting skills, thus producing the gay kids. I'm left wondering whether she's skated over the line into defamation of character and can be sued; or if it's simply artistic license.
The Yukon adventure is the best, totally authentic, obviously well researched, a cracking good modern day adventure in remote spots.
The gay bathhouse scene - oy - less said the better.
I find myself hugely relieved that my character didn't show in the book; can only imagine how much character assassination could be going on.

Lily 3

Just as it appears as if my life is now back in order, I'm no longer the Queen of Scandal, I am laid low by a fever for a week. That in itself is not scary, there are endless variants of flu floating around.
What is scary is that the fever causes almost total hearing loss. I can still hear things like sirens, whistles, car horns; but normal conversation eludes me.
I hate to trash the medical profession, but in my view they are merely one step up from your typical witch doctor, there being so much guess work.
The doctor pronounces that my hearing loss is somewhat likely to be only temporary. But is somewhat 51-49 or 90-10? He declines to be further specific.
Thus certified as temporarily disabled, my employer switches me from library tech to putting books back on the shelves. As it is only temporary, salary continues as before.
At the three month mark, this prognosis is moved to somewhat likely to be permanent. At this point, my employer has no choice but to demote me and reduce my salary. Truth is I really do not begrudge them, rules are rules and the other help would be upset if I got any special treatment.
Monetarily the loss is not huge. First, there is little difference in salary, as I have the one year tech diploma. Second, the marginal rate of all deductions is horrendous anyhow. Bottom line, I am poorer by eleven dollars per fortnight.
It isn't that which hurts. My friends have all vanished. All into endless phone calls and conversations in coffee houses, I am left out.
I had a good but fairly superficial relationship with my father, so no real change there. But gone are the long chats with my mother, now we hafta pass notes.
At work it hurts two ways. First, I am doing lesser work, considerably less than I was trained for. Second, workplace social as in coffee breaks and lunch. I don't fit with the former group anymore. Nor am I accepted by the new group. And no, I wouldn't call that antiSemitic, simply the impossibility of fitting in.
The library sponsors me to take an ASL course. At the time, it seems like a wonderful idea, full of promise.
Afterward, it proves a flop. Think of a parallel, suppose you were the only person in town who could speak Swahili, knew no English. Who would you talk with? Same problem with ASL.
As time passes I become more introverted than ever before, my free time going on two main pursuits, walking and reading.
My reply from Israel arrives. Longwinded in how I just plain do not measure up, especially in the medical category. And that, was done back when I could still hear. Guess the letter would be stronger if they did a medical now.

Lily 2

I don't have to travel to Ottawa for the medical; one of the doctors here in town is accredited by the Israeli Embassy.
His look says it all, refuses to meet my eye, mumbles something about forwarding the file. So, lemme guess, two strikes already. One, childhood bout with cancer. Two, the fact same left me incapable of having children. Israel has become a lot more fussy over the centuries.
From reading Haaretz web site, I know I'll get the lowest points in religious category. They don't take Reform seriously anymore, as if they ever did. To get real points, gotta be Orthodox or ultraOrthodox.
Add in my tech diploma will count for a lot less than a degree.
It'll be months before I hear, but it isn't promising.
And so it is I'm lying in bed Sunday morning feeling sorry for myself. Maybe I'll just lie here til I die.
My cell rings, call display shows Naomi, a co-worker.
Her first words are, "do your parents get the local Sunday paper?"
"Oh yes."
"Get the 'Name and Shame' section, then call me back."
The paper has about 18 sections, scattered over the coffee table. Taking Name and Shame, I head to the kitchen and pour coffee.
Seems the police went on a big drunk driving campaign. Nailed some 200 people. In Name and Shame, they show photo, name and blood alcohol count.
The legal limit is .08 here in Canada. I gasp to see the rabbi's photo, with a score of .19, highest of the lot.
I phone Naomi back.
She laughs, "to anyone else, he's just any Jew. They don't show occupation in there. However, I'm betting your recent troubles will be largely forgotten."
"Guess so, they'll have him to talk about."
"So cheer up and forget that gloom and doom."
I feel marginally better that week. Once, as an experiment, I drop in at JCC, to read the imported papers. I'm still getting funny looks, but nowhere near as much.
Next Sunday, my cell rings again. Naomi, more cheerful and chirpy than I've heard her in ages. In a tone like the cat who swallowed the canary, "look in Name and Shame, call me back."
We-ell, the police had a big John sting, nailed 400. Female police impersonating prostitutes, chatting up the guys, seeing which suckers can be arrested.
I gasp to discover six men from our synagogue in there.
I dial Naomi.
Cheerful laugh, she says, "from here on in, ain't a soul gonna remember your lousy choice of fiance. Now they got real stuff to talk about."
"Yes, maybe things will be better."
"Look Lily, you can't hide away forever. Next week, you and I, we'll go together."
"Ah no."
"We'll arrive at the very last moment, sit at the back. Please, try it, just once, for me."
"Ok."
I'm surprised to see it works. I have disappeared off the collective radar, am back to being plain old boring Lily.
As we leave, Naomi asks, "so, that wasn't so bad, was it?"
"Not at all."
"Hear anything back from Israel?"
"Not yet."
"Still, you know odds aren't good, I mean with everything considered."
"Ah yeah."
"You know, you're now outa the woods. Perfectly free to stay in town if you like."
It starts to sink in. Yes, ok job as a library tech at the public library, friends, good relationship with both parents. To be able to stay is a nice option.
I smile, "come on, let's go to the coffee house. Most decadent item on the menu and I'm buying."
She grins, "that's the spirit, let's go."

Lily 1

(The blog could be inactive for several months as this story is prepared; here is Chapter One.)

I've just walked out of the public library when I run into Eva, a friend of my older sister from her university days. I just vaguely nod, keep on going. Big shot doctor's wife, they say, nose in the air, does not talk with the peasantry.
She surprises me by stopping me, suggests the coffee house attached to the library. We settle in, me with vanilla hazelnut, her with decaf skim latte (why do they bother?)
She regales me with stories of doctor's wifedom. Seems every minute he's not doctoring, he's reading medical journals or drinking. Grin, "so, you see, I need a hobby. Going to write a book."
I could mention that unsolicited manuscripts sit for a donkey's age in the slush pile, but I refrain. Maybe she'll be able to prevail upon her cousin Nathan, the editor.
Vaguely I say, "nice to have a hobby. Got ideas on setting and characters?"
"Yukon and Vancouver."
I feel my neck muscles go tense. This is starting to hit close to home.
She gushes, "see the only thing people like better than historical fiction, is setting it in the here and now. Anachronism, throwback, retro. Two college lads are burnt out from study. The summer between graduating and grad school, they hop in an old car. Drive to the Yukon, pan for gold, using old maps from circa 1899."
It's now all I can do not to cry.
"But of course, I'll keep it good clean adventure, at the start. So I won't have either leaving someone behind."
Thank heavens for small mercies.
"But you see, the gold bug bites. They decide to never return."
I nod vaguely.
"What complicates matters is both are closet gay. So it's summers panning and winters playing barrista in Vancouver and making the gay bathhouse scene."
Acidly I think her own brother could help with background info on that. Maybe he already has.
"But life does not stand still. They marry legally, adopt a boy through Jewish Social Services. Then, before he's thirteen, the big showdown. Guess what that is over?"
By now it's comical, moved along into fiction. I grin wickedly, "one wants to spend the money on a bar mitzvah; the other on a gay cruise."
She looks crestfallen, "that predictable?"
I nod.
"Oh well, gotta rework that part of the idea. Tell me, that rat of a fiance who ran out on you, ever hear anything about him?"
I sigh, "I try to look at the bright side. Better it happened before marriage than after."
"Still, ever hear about him?"
"Both dead. Drinking in a bar in the Yukon. Some First Nations people can be homophobic. I'd understand how you didn't hear. It never made the Jewish weekly."
"But you don't mind if I write the story? I'd give it a more cheerful ending."
"As I understand libel laws, long as I'm never mentioned, I'd have no "
"Don't get me wrong. I didn't mean legal, I mean if this hurt you, your sister would kill me. So, how do you feel?"
"Leave me outa the story, you can say anything you like. It does seem almost comical."
She leans forward, "I've got it, the big breakup comes when one decides to make Aliyah (emigrate to Israel)."
By now I'm laughing, it's been cathartic, "sure, do the story."

After dinner, Dad goes to sit outside. Mum and I don't mind if he smokes the odd cigarette in the house; however a cigar clings like fury to drapes and furniture.
As I load the dishwasher, Mum says, "Lily, you haven't said a word in days, beyond what is absolutely necessary."
I nod.
"See there you go again. Now be honest, are you angry with us?"
"Not at all Mum."
"Whew that's a relief. Not thinking of converting out of Judaism or becoming a lesbian?"
"Not even close Mum."
"So, time to talk of the big taboo. This concerns the death up north, doesn't it?"
I groan inwardly, Jewish mothers, what can you do?
"Please Lily honey, talk to me. Anything is better than not talking."
"Mum, it's horrible, beyond all belief, everybody is gossiping. Oh yes, some are sympathetic, it's all his fault. Others, blame me, I should have been more whatever and he wouldn't have switched to gay. Some know the whole story; others haven't heard of the death."
"Give it time, honey, people will move along, find someone else to slang."
"Mum, it's ridiculous. Nobody judges me by my education, job, hobbies or anything else. I'm simply the one incident, it defines my whole life."
"So I guess that's why you've avoided the synagogue and JCC (Jewish Community Center) of late."
"If they don't smarten up Mum, I'll leave town." (Round here that means choosing Toronto or Israel.)
"Please make it Toronto honey, not Israel, too dangerous."
"Mum, the same number of people die. In Toronto they call it crime; in Israel, terrorism. What difference does it really make?"
"At least if you were in Toronto, we'd see you more often."
"Oh come on, you gonna say you can't afford the odd airfare?"
She laughs, "sounds great to me. I've been trying to convince him of a trip to Israel for years."