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A chapter from Travels with Vera, "The Old Man Who Came to Eat" was chosen to represent Israeli Literature in China. It was translated into Chinese and appears in an Anthology of World Literature

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The Old Man Who Came to Eat
(Translated into English by Ora Cummings)

One day when I came home from school Mama told me that from tomorrow I’d be eating in the kitchen, because “the old man from the big villa in the main street” would be eating in the hall every day, except Friday and Saturday.

Next day I got home before one o’clock and opened the door somewhat hesitantly so as not to disturb. There was a white cloth on the table in the hall and on it white china tableware for three courses and gleaming silverware and a white lace-trimmed serviette so that the old man could wipe the crumbs from his mouth, like Papa always does.

I went into the kitchen to take some food for myself when the doorbell rang.

‘Go to your room Verushka. We’ll eat after he’s gone because it’s impossible to move here with the two of us.’

Our kitchen could hold two people only if one of them was passing through. In that case the other one could sit at the little table next to the stove and eat in somewhat cramped conditions. That day the little table was laden with flatware from the white china service, which was decorated with a gold band and used only for guests. I heard mother greeting the guest in German and immediately afterwards she came into the kitchen and put on her starched and perfectly pressed white lace-trimmed apron.

I left the door of my room open so I could hear the movement between the kitchen and the hall, the sound of plates being put on the table and the questions Mama asked: ‘Is it tasty? Hot enough? Would you like something to drink? Right away, it’ll be right there.’

His speech was soft and quiet. When he finished his meal, Mother called me in to introduce us. I held out my right hand as befitted a well brought up girl, I gave him a firm handshake the way Papa had taught me so the old man would know that I’m not a spineless softie, bobbed a curtsy, and said in German, ‘I’m pleased to meet you, I’m Vera.’

He returned my handshake and I saw that his glasses had a thin gold frame, his eyebrows were thick and combed, and his eyes were blue gray. He was wearing a light gray check suit, a shirt as white as snow, and a wine-colored bowtie with tiny gray dots. When he released my hand he picked up his carved walking stick, raised it in a sort of salute, put on his hat, and said, ‘A pleasant day to you, ladies.’

‘What’s his name?’ I asked Mama after he left.

‘Mr. Gutenberg, like the inventor of printing,’ she said. ‘He used to be a famous lawyer in Germany, and now look at him, he’s got nowhere to eat lunch.’

‘But he has got somewhere to eat, he comes here, and you spoil him.’

‘Heaven help a person growing old like that,’ she replied, ‘he’s dependent on his children or strangers to cook for him. I hope I’ll never reach that stage and that to my dying day I’ll be able to serve myself and not need favors from others.’

‘Do you do it for free?’ I asked.

‘No, he pays me well.’

‘So why favors?’ I persisted, ‘You cook and serve, and we get money for it.’

‘A wife, a wife, that’s what he’s short of. Men need a wife at their side who’ll wash for them, cook for them, and take care of all their needs. They can’t manage on their own.’

Papa, I thought, doesn’t even know how to make himself a cup of coffee. Mama does everything for him. Once, when she was taken to hospital and spent the night there, he sat in the hall and cried and didn’t eat anything. I warmed up food for myself and asked him if he wanted some, but he said that if Mama doesn’t serve his food, he’s unable to eat.

Mama not only cooks for him. She stands at the window and waits for him to come home from work. As his car drives into the neighborhood she runs into the kitchen, heats the soup until it boils, and then, as he opens the door and hurries to wash his hands, she ladles the boiling liquid into a bowl and walks quickly into the hall and puts it onto the half tablecloth covering his part of the table, and then she stands watching him as he eats the first two spoonful’s. If he goes on eating and doesn’t look up, she sits down beside him. Sometimes he does look up and says, ‘It’s not hot enough,’ and she quickly takes the bowl back into the kitchen and reheats the soup.

‘I don’t know how to cook,’ I said, ‘so how can I look after some man?’

‘That really isn’t good, Verushka. How many times have I told you that you should stand next to me and see how to do everything, because the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. Your husband will send you packing.’

I told her that Annika can’t cook either and doesn’t know how to do anything in the house, and not only hasn’t her husband sent her packing, he does the cooking and washing and makes them supper so she can have a rest after work.

‘True,’ Mama argued, ‘but that’s because they haven’t got children, so what can she do in the house? Sit and stare at the walls until he comes home from work?’

I wanted to be exactly like Annika, but I didn’t say so out loud because I knew that right away Mama would say, Heaven help us, don’t say that, may God bless you with lots of children and may you be a wonderful housewife and wife to your husband, God willing.

‘Look,’ she said, and walked to the hall window, ‘look at Dorka the new neighbor, an exemplary housewife. How she cooks and bakes, it’s heavenly. And all day her mind is only on her husband and her children that she raises happily. She gives them a good Jewish upbringing and her husband admires her and on Fridays he sings “A Woman of Valor” to her and you can see there’s great happiness there.’

I asked her if she wanted Papa to sing “A Woman of Valor” to her, and she said that it’s not part of our life today because we only say the Kiddush and have a festive meal. But I knew that every Sabbath eve after the meal she opens the door as if she’s airing the apartment, but the truth is that she’s listening to the Sabbath songs coming from the neighbors’ apartment on the second floor.