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.