Haji

Why did I come here without my list? It’s at home, under the fern on the credenza by the door. That much I know. And what was on it? God help me, I’ve been here to Haji’s cafe a thousand times and I have no idea what to buy. Aisle by narrow aisle, like last time, then. And a prayer that Nava won’t later look at me, judging wildly, when she can’t find…what was she looking for at the time? Haji is looking over at me from behind the counter. Please don’t come – don’t offer help. Pretend you don’t see me and that I’m just like every other customer. He’s pulling out a pad of paper – thank you – yes, go about your business. Ripping a piece of paper from it swiftly. Good. Busy with so many things to do around his small store this morning, surely. No – here he comes. Goodness, I had better start moving around like a real shopper. Now – something is going into this basket, so help me. His steps are so sure; I can walk like that, too. I am certain I need something from this shelf, let’s see – all these unappetizing jars of pickled God knows what, some beets, then?– no. Then – some bags of kidney beans? Of course not. Spices – those I have to last the rest of my life and then some. Time to be serious. I can’t keep fumbling around, I’ve got to choose something. He taps me on the shoulder, and I’ve been caught. Silently, he hands me my receipt from last week. He doesn’t meet my eye, but backs away with a quiet bow and a small smile. Thank you so much, Haji. Yes, of course, eggs. Milk. Yes. Strawberries. Yes, of course I need these again. This week a different fruit, surely, and whichever I choose, Nava will – gladly- remind me which one I was meant to get. Cereal – yes, for the girls, of course – but I still have some left at home. Cottage cheese. Good. The rest of this I can do alone, I think. Thank goodness for the paper, for the word, and for the record keeper, who reminds us always who we are, or at least who we were. Haji, thank you, you are a mensch among men.