Preparing to interview Yakov Skolnik in the recreation room at Shalom Heights Residential, Rachael opened her purse to search for a pen and small reporter’s notepad under a clump of used tissues, a cell phone, and an unopened bag of gummy fish. Tap, tap, tap went Yakov’s smooth pale fingers on the armrest of his green recliner, frayed tartan blanket on his lap, table before him with a puzzle of a fluffy calico kitten in a blue basket, box lid and pieces overturned and scattered next to a bowl of chicken soup. Outside, traffic pulsed through the intersection of Broad Street and Nelson Avenue in northeast Philadelphia.
Rachael clicked open her pen and looked around the room. Like last time, four other men, seemingly similar in age to Yakov in their mid-thirties, sat in various levels of engagement with their own puzzle adventures. A nurse with the name tag “Betty,” stationed at the front desk, scrolled through her phone. When Rachael presented her visitor’s pass, the nurse had eyed her suspiciously – “You again? You won’t get very far with him this time neither. He didn’t eat his lunch today.”
Recent conflicts between followers of Yakov’s deceased father, Rebbe Nachum Skolnik, and a rival faction had restarted the rumor that the Rebbe didn’t die of natural causes, and Rachael intended to discover the truth. But she’d messed up on her first visit with Yakov. She’d aggressively questioned him about the circumstances surrounding his father’s death seventeen years ago. Yakov had refused to talk, looking only briefly in her direction. After fifteen minutes, when the clock on the wall reached 2:00, he’d thrown off his blanket, stood up straight – narrow shoulders pulled back – and dismissed her with a “See you next Monday at 1:00.” Grateful that he’d given her another chance, she’d follow his lead.
Yakov spun a puzzle piece between his fingers.
“I love puzzles,” Rachael said. “Can I help?”
He shrugged. “I kept your business card.” He patted the front pocket of his faded baggy jeans cinched around his thin waist. On the card, written in bold, black letters, was “Rachael Grossman, Journalist, The Philly Insider.” Three years ago, Mack Davis had recruited her right after college to work at his upstart and edgy online newspaper.
“Reporters ask a lot of questions,” Yakov said.
“Yes. You don’t like doing puzzles, do you?”
“I hate answering questions.”
“Sorry.”
“Here.” Yakov held out his piece.
She took it, making sure not to touch him.
She felt him watch her turn over pieces in search of a match for several minutes and then pointed at the upside down one closest to him. “Try this,” he said. She turned it upright. It fit. He slid over five others. They fit too.
“I bought some gummy fish,” she said. “They’re my favorite. Maybe we could share?” Leaving the group home last time, she’d noticed Yakov looking at her through the window. He was eating what seemed like pieces of jelly candy. When she waved at him, he abruptly turned away.
“Snack time’s at 10,” he said.
“We can wait until then.”
“Are they kosher?”
“Yes.”
“Are they the sour ones? I hate the sour ones.”
“No.”
“Let me see.”
She pulled the bag out of her purse.
Slowly, his gaze moved from the candy to her face. His brown eyes blinked and widened. Tick, tick, tick went the second hand of the clock. She put down the candy. Her fingers fluttered to her hair in a wave of unexpected nervousness.
“You have curls, just like me,” he said.
Could he really know who I am? Rachael asked herself. When rumors had resurfaced about the Rebbe, she told her boss that she was the only one who could find the truth. She explained that her mother was the Rebbe’s daughter who ran away as a teenager, cutting off all contact with her family. Rachael believed she could get her uncle Yakov, whom doctors had declared mentally incompetent, to talk. Mack gave her a deadline of two weeks. “Whomp it up if you have to,” he advised her. But she wanted to discover the real story, not just fabricate some bullshit. Through an acquaintance of an acquaintance, she secured a visitor’s pass to Shalom Heights.
While she was considering the best way to respond to Yakov’s comment since she wanted to save the secret about their family relationship for later if she needed it, Yakov said, “I wish I could be a reporter. I’d ask all the questions I want, and people can’t get annoyed.” He nodded towards the nurse. “They’d have to tell the truth.”
“You can be the reporter today,” Rachael said.
“You wouldn’t be upset if I asked the questions?”
“Nope.”
“You promise?”
“Yes. I love answering questions.”
“Why?”
She wanted to make him laugh, so she said the silliest thing that she could think of. “They’re like gummies.”
“How’s that?”
Great, now she’d have to explain it. Just start talking, she told herself. Something weird will come out. “The more you have in your mouth, the better they taste.”
He pondered that for a while, and then laughter burst out of him in muffled snorts.
“Shush,” the nurse scolded.
Yakov pulled the collar of his t-shirt over his mouth.
“We don’t disturb our guests.” The nurse waved her hand across the room to provide evidence of said guests needing quiet who didn’t seem disturbed at all.
“They sure are tough around here,” Rachael whispered to Yakov and returned to the puzzle.
After a while, Yakov straightened his shirt. “Why do you keep visiting me?”
“You invited me back.”
“I won’t talk about that night.”
“I’m optimistic.”
“Moisheh Kapoyr.”
“What’s that? A person’s name?”
“You said I could ask the questions.”
“Right, sorry.”
“I forgive you. It means ‘Mr. Upside Down.’ Mama called me that. Said I did everything the wrong way. Just like you.”
“I’d be happy for you to show me the right way.”
He pointed at the clock. “9:20. The Rebbe says, ‘Every moment has its own unique purpose.’” He called out to the nurse for his meds.
“I got you, Mr. Yakov.” The nurse brought over a mini plastic cup and a glass of water.
“Five pills?” Yakov asked her.
She nodded.
“Count them, Nurse Betty.”
She sighed. “One, two, three, four, five.”
“You sure?”
“See for yourself.” She jiggled the mini cup in front of his face.
“Room-temperature water?”
“Yes. You ready?”
“Not yet.” He folded his hands on his lap.
“Don’t waste the reporter lady’s time,” the nurse said. “She’s a very busy woman.”
“It’s fine,” Rachael said.
The nurse clucked her tongue.
“Really,” Rachael insisted.
“I’m ready.” He swallowed all the pills at once, followed by a gulp of water. “Snacks in 40 minutes?”
“That’s right, even though you didn’t eat your soup.” The nurse picked up the bowl.
“I told you I don’t like chicken soup on Mondays,” he told her as she walked away.
Cars beeped outside. The other residents sifted through their puzzles. Rachael searched for pieces of the basket.
“How old are you?” Yakov asked her.
“Twenty-four.”
“Married?”
“No.”
“Boyfriend?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“I’m too busy for a relationship.”
“Shmegegge.”
Rachael cocked her head.
“You don’t know that one either?” He frowned. “It means ‘nonsense.’”
She was so sick of people getting on her case about not having of a boyfriend. While her sorority sisters had wasted their energy on guys who let them down, she’d spent her time focusing on her courses and establishing a social media presence. How quickly she’d progressed at The Philly Insider proved she was right.
“It’s the truth. I don’t have the time,” she said.
“You’re lying. You’re afraid to get too close,” he paused, “to anyone.”
Rachael hadn’t been completely honest with her boss. Yes, her mother Dina had shared some stories about her younger brother Yakov, but they were mostly told as a warning to Rachael about the family she’d never met. Dina had been responsible for caring for Yakov who, like their father, “could see what others couldn’t,” but who screamed and hit her. Dina escaped by taking refuge with a distant cousin. Soon after, she received a package addressed to her in her mother’s handwriting with shredded family photos inside. When she was eight years old, Rachael had discovered those ripped faces and shuffled body parts in a shoebox in the attic.
“You’re wrong,” she said to Yakov. Her face flushed.
“You’re upset. You promised you wouldn’t get upset.”
She felt her eyes well up with tears. She swore to herself that she wouldn’t cry, no matter how tough things got. She reached into her purse for a tissue.
“I shouldn’t have said what I did. See?” He poked his chest. “Moisheh Kapoyr.”
His pokes turned into fisted thumps, harder and louder. The other residents stared at him. Rachael yelled for the nurse who she burst through the door trailing the stale smell of cigarettes. She wrapped Yakov’s blanket tightly around his arms.
“You alright, Mr. Yakov. Calm down,” the nurse said.
***
Yakov heard Nurse Betty’s voice warped, like through a wind tunnel. Slowly, he noticed the pressure of the woolly blanket, bringing his attention to his arms, twitching against his sides. Air rumbled in his throat. He detected wetness on his cheeks. Past the squatting nurse, he saw Rachael. Familiar broad nose and loopy curls. Chin different. Eyes blue, not brown.
“Tsuris,” Mama said in his mind. Too much grief. But the Rebbe would have rejoiced if Rachael had come. He would have told the crowd of men and boys in his study to move apart, so she could approach him, despite their tongue wagging and nasty looks. Yakov wanted to be like his father, but his mother’s words vexed him.
***
“Good job, Mr. Yakov.” The nurse released the blanket. “Time to say goodbye to your visitor.”
“Twenty-five minutes left,” he said.
“You need your rest,” she said.
“What about the gummy fish?”
“We got our own snacks.”
Yakov sloughed off the blanket. “The Rebbe teaches us, ‘A moment spent with proper intention is a moment spent building Godliness in our lives.’”
“You hold on,” the nurse said. “The reporter lady and I need to have a chat.” She grabbed Rachael by the arm and steered her across the room.
“Yakov ain’t like the other residents,” the nurse said in a low voice. “Old men with long beards and dark suits and hats visit him. Whisper in that Jewish language. I hear them mention the Rebbe. Yakov paces for hours afterwards. I don’t like it one bit. Then people like you come around, riling him up even more. It’s best you leave and don’t come back.”
“I made a promise to Yakov.” Rachael said. “Disappointing him might upset him again.”
The nurse sighed and shook her head. “Fine, but if I see him even start to get uncomfortable, you’ll have to leave.” She wagged a finger at Rachael. “I’m keeping a close watch on you.”
Rachael sat back down across from Yakov, took a deep breath, and let it out slowly.
“There’s something I should tell you,” she said.
“Mm-hmm.” He focused intensely on an edge piece he’d picked up.
“I’m your sister Dina’s daughter, but she doesn’t know I’m here.”
He grabbed another edge piece, turned it right side up, and fit them together.
“You look like her, like me, but different,” he said.
He searched through the pieces, overturned one with a basket weave, and handed it to Rachael.
***
The way Rachael concentrated on the puzzle reminded Yakov of the last time he saw Dina. It was the eighth night of Hanukkah with the smell of latkes and burning candles in the dining room. They sat on the floor and played dreidel. She was winning – twenty-one chocolate gelt coins to his nine. Hebrew letters whirled and blurred. Her warmth a blaze and then gone. If he could just see her again.
“Did Hashem punish Dina?” Yakov asked Rachael. “Mama said He would.”
“Mom doesn’t believe that God punishes people.”
“The Rebbe teaches us, ‘Even in His punishment, we can find our purpose.’”
“Mom’s a teacher. Works with preschoolers. Dad’s an accountant.”
He smiled. “The Rebbe’s always right.”
“The Rebbe was a wise man,” she said.
“He is the wisest.”
The clock showed 1:50.
“Listen, Yakov, like I said, there’s this story I’m writing. My boss wants me to find out what happened to your father. You were the last one to see him alive in his study. I don’t want to upset you again, but if I don’t get the information, my boss will be disappointed in me.”
“Will you tell Dina you visited me?”
“It depends.”
“On what?”
“Whether I’m able to get the story.”
“I don’t understand,” he said.
“Dina doesn’t need to know if nothing is made public about our conversation.”
“Like it never happened.”
“Not exactly.”
He looked up at the clock. “Five minutes ‘til snack time.” He pointed to the bag of gummy fish.
Rachael handed it to him.
“I kissed the Rebbe goodnight in his study before I went to bed. He always took his dinner alone on Mondays. ‘An gute nacht, hozeleh,’ he said. He called me his “little rabbit” even though I was already big. ‘An gute nacht, tateleh,’ I said back. Mama wasn’t there, but someone else was.”
Rachael scribbled in her notepad.
Yakov shook the bag of candy. “I see blue ones. Do they taste like blueberries?”
“Sure.”
“Or raspberries?”
“Maybe.”
“They’ve got orange ones too.”
“Yakov, let’s get back to that night. Someone else was there.”
“Yeah.” He stared at the bag of candy.
They both checked the time. Two minutes until ten. “Come on, Yakov. Who?”
“That’s the third time you broke a promise to me,” he said. “One, two, three,” he repeated, louder each time, until he covered his ears.
Nurse Betty ran over. “Out,” she yelled at Rachael.
While Nurse Betty wrapped him in his blanket, he watched Rachael put away her pen and notepad. As soon as Rachael left, Yakov freed his arms, opened the bag of candy, and ran over to the window, ignoring Nurse Betty’s calls to return.
With a mouth full of gummy fish, he saw Rachael exit onto the street and take out her cell phone. He tapped the glass. He waved.
***
Rachael ignored him. She texted her boss: “Yakov said that another person was with him when the Rebbe died. The rumors are true.”
***
As Rachael turned the corner, Yakov recalled tateleh on his last night, smiling at him as he ate a spoonful of chicken soup. If only Yakov hadn’t distracted him, then he would have seen the chicken bone. Then it wouldn’t have gotten caught in his throat. Then he wouldn’t have choked. If only Yakov had run for help instead of watching as the Angel of Death glided into the study and placed his pale hand on tateleh’s shoulder.
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