Friday, November 4, 2016

I will limit myself, just because I love you, to say just this: Mazel Tov!

“Young man,” she said. “What d’you have to say for yourself?”
In place of an answer I asked, “Remember you told us to wait, and not make a move, and not even think about a wedding until the end of the war?”
“So? Has the war ended?”
“No, but we’re going to get married anyways.”
“Oy vey,” she said. 
Then she added, “So, Natashinka? What’s the big rush?”
“No rush, Ma. We just want to be together, is all.”
“So what d’you want from me, now? It’s too late to ask for my permission or to expect my blessing. It’s a done deal, right?”
“Ma, I just want you to be happy for us.”
Mrs. Horowitz took a deep breath, before pressing on. “How happy can I be,” she asked, “when you choose someone who understands next to nothing about your talent, and will, no doubt, hold you back from any chance of success in your career, especially once you have a baby—mark my words!—and on top of all this, the young man has no education to speak of and of course, no job, and except for a vague dream of becoming a writer one of these days, your dear Dostoyevsky has nothing, absolutely nothing to offer, and meanwhile he’s serving the country in a war zone, aiming to save the world and in the process, risking not only his life but also your well-being—”
“Please, Ma—”
“Besides, how different can he be from all the others, those good-for-nothing low-lives in uniform, who sleep who-knows-where with God-knows-who?”
“All right, all right, I have a lot more to tell you in the way of advice but will limit myself, just because I love you, to say just this: Mazel Tov!”
“Thank you, Ma!”
“So? We have a date? When should I dye my dance shoes and fix my hair for the happy occasion?”
“We haven’t discussed any details yet, Ma. I’ll let you know.”
“Oh. I’m glad to hear it.”
“Are you, Ma? Really?”
“Sure,” said Mrs. Horowitz. “I’m so happy, to the point that I need to wash it down with some stiff drink. As soon as this conversation is over I’ll pour myself a big glass of Vodka and cry into it.”

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"Never has a writer touched me like Uvi Poznansky. Her books will last right in line with classic writers long gone..
- Skadi Winter, author