Malka 1

(short story chronicling an unequal friendship)
I arrive at five minutes to nine, five minutes early. At this hour, no one in line at the counter. I buy vanilla hazelnut coffee, choose a window table.
Idly I wonder how late Karen will be this time. Truth is, I'm getting a bit tired of the occasional Saturday mornings we do coffee.
My time doesn't go to waste. The free paper has a nice story on the Governor-General's trip; she is doing a good job of representing Canada. The student paper, always interesting, catch them before they join the world of corporate cookie cutter journalism.
As Karen arrives, stands in line at the counter, she's talking on her cell. With boyfriend #1 and not quietly.
She sits, nods to me, continues on with her risque conversation.
As she opens her laptop, (this is a wireless hotspot), she's oblivious to the dirty looks coming from the people at the next table.
No sooner does she hang up, than she's dialing the hairdresser, booking an appointment.
I see she's surfed onto Jerusalem Post website. Why exactly does she bother? She hates the journalists there. Why not surf onto Haaretz? At least she would be in the company of political sympathizers.
After calling the hairdresser, she immediately dials boyfriend #2. And no, this is no secret, they are aware of each other.
Still, has she ever thought: when you demand freedom for an open relationship with a man or men, you are implying permission for them to do the same.
Now boyfriend #1 tends to use this freedom in a fairly innocuous manner. I rather doubt that she's aware #2 uses his freedom to frequent gay bathhouses. And often.
Now if she does know, means she's more sophisticated than I give her credit for. If she doesn't know, guaranteed it won't be me telling her. Like kings and queens of old she believes in slaying the messenger when the news is bad.
Hanging up, she turns the laptop so I can see it clearly. Overearnest tone, "look at this, just how insulting can he get?"
I raise an eyebrow, "Karen this journalist stated one of the Haredi neighborhoods in Jerusalem 'resembles an East European shtetl, but with the presence of modern applicances'. How exactly is that insulting? They'd be ecstatic reading that, it's the exact look they aim for. And I know from seeing enough photos, it's true."
Smug superior tone, "as always Malka, you fail to read between the lines, get the true gist. He's saying they all can afford those appliances. Not true, only half can. So, you see, he's your typical capitalist pig, playing off the rich against the poor."
I know better than to argue when I hear that tone. The ringing of her cell saves me from needing a reply. This time, it's someone she knows from the political action committee. Meantime, she taps out a blistering feedback to the Post, shows it to me and sends.
After this call, probably half a minute interlude and boyfriend #1 calls. She should be happy, most women complain men won't call.
Sensing this conversation will last forever, I rise, wave goodbye.
She puts a hand over the phone long enough to say, "we have to do this again. Always fun talking with you."
As the door closes behind me, I ask myself, not for the first time, if it's time to increase my level of self-assertion. As always, I conclude doing so with Karen would be akin to using power of reason upon a charging rhino. Better to just step aside, let the rhino go where he's headed and get on with life.
With my shoulder bag of overnight gear slung, I transfer from metro to the short bus trip needed to arrive at the house of my older sister and brother-in-law. It seems a bit odd, this recent penchant for New Age encounter groups. Quite frankly, neither seems the type.
However, I don't mind babysitting my niece Naomi, age ten, so I never question this.
I arrive just before 11:00 that same Saturday morning. They're choking with impatience, charge out the door with their overnight bags. As I hear the tires squeal unnaturally loud, again my suspicion rises.
Naomi flashes a wicked smile, "what a bunch of flaming hypocrites! Do you actually believe the story of where they're going?"
My knowledge of children is quite limited, not having one. Still instinct says don't lie. Cheerfully, "actually not."
She gives a laugh, "so they didn't fool you either? They think I'm soooo stupid. Their swingers club rents a whole floor in a hotel. That's why they were in such a hurry; get those rooms noon Saturday to 11:00 am Sunday."
"Are you sure dear?"
Smirk, "they got in a right royal dustup last time. Seems Mum caught Dad swinging with a guy. They were yelling at each other so loud, hotel security came up. Said tone it down, people on the floor below are complaining."
I'm tempted to ask how she knows this; decide I really don't want to know that.
She pouts, "Aunt Malka, I've been thinking. Grownups are disgusting. Oh I don't mean you, I mean the rest of them. I'm not sure I even want to grow up."
I sense words just won't cut it; hug her tight. It does the trick, the warmth softens her tension.
After that, we play chess, her beating me honestly two games outa three.
We head to the kitchen to decide what to do about supper. As we start chipping vegetables, she winks, "that coffee friend of yours, Karen, she ever figger that boyfriend is a faggy fruitcake?"
Again I'm not sure I want to know the source of her info. Quietly reply, "my guess is no."
"You know Aunt Malka, trouble with you is you're a pushover, let people walk all over you. If I were you, I'd that Karen's laptop and bash her over the head with it. Only way you'll get her attention."
"That's assault dear. Gotta solve problems in non-violent fashion."
Grin, "oh I know that, just joking. So next time, just take out your palm pilot, right there in the coffee house and send her an email."
Brilliant, why didn't I think of that?
She wraps an arm around me, "with one hand, you tap out email. With the other, talk on your cell, say with me. Then you'd be just like her."
Perish the thought! Rude is rude, even if it's I doing it.
After supper Naomi and I watch TV. Let me rephrase that. TV is so unimportant to me that I don't own one. I merely keep her company, let her choose. I'm unworried what she might choose as brother-in-law asserts he's programmed it child safe.
First chance I've had to think since I got here. What I learned today displeases me. It is, after all, a hypocritical example to set for your child.
Still, I always stop, take a breath, and view it as the devil's advocate. Suppose things are far enough gone between them that this monthly getaway is all that keeps them together. One could argue it's a good thing, staying together for the sake of the child.
But just a minute - am I guilty of anything? Of aiding and abetting?
We-ell, til today I didn't know. Ok, suppose I get on my horse, make a moral issue of it, refuse to babysit. Is that likely to stop them? Hardly - they have bags of money - could easily afford to pay a sitter.
In that case, all that happens is I end up the loser. After all, I do enjoy sharing time with Naomi.
"You feeling ok?" I hear, in a concerned tone.
"Oh yes dear."
"Hey don't worry about any of this crap. You and I are friends. We'll just pretend we don't know."
"All right, sound like a reasonable strategy."
She clicks off the remote. "And since your other friends tend to ignore you, I'm the only one you can talk with, right?"
And so it is we have a pleasant evening.
Just after Naomi goes to bed, my cell rings. It's Karen, boasting of snagging boyfriend #3. I let her talk some, then casually ask who.
I almost swallow the phone, hearing a name mooted around to be one of the neoNazi bigshots.
I wonder if she actually knows. Again, I decide it's never wise to be the bearer of bad news. With all her friends and grapevine, she'll soon hear from someone else.
And is she already does know, is that sick or what?
The sister and brother-in-law return just after noon Sunday, completely wiped and asking if I'll stay a bit and look after Naomi while they nap.
Not wishing to creep around quietly, we adjourn to a nearby coffee house. I get me coffee, her Italian soda and we do Sunday's paper. I'm impressed, she's intelligent, well informed on issues.
I catch a look from a woman at the next table, clearly says, "you must be proud of her."
I nod back, oh yes I am.