Wonder Boys - Michael Chabon [85]
“That’s sweet,” said Philly.
“Hi, everyone,” said Marie, emerging at last from the kitchen, cheeks puffed out, her thin yellow hair afly. She was carrying a silver plate on which sat a small stack of matzohs, and another, larger plate on which they were piled high. As she rounded the table you could see her taking in both that Emily and I were sitting next to each other in apparent amity, and that her other sister-in-law had made an interesting choice of festival apparel, but she said nothing, and only smiled a little wearily at Irv. She set the big plate of matzohs on the table between Emily and Deborah, and the smaller silver one in front of Irv. As she did so she laid a hand on his cheek and planted a sympathetic peck on his high forehead. Then she sat down beside Philly. Only the seat opposite Irv remained empty now.
“What’s the holdup?” Irv called into the kitchen. “Come on, Irene. James is getting restless, here.”
“Not really,” said James.
“I’m coming, I’m coming.” Irene swept into the living room, looking even more flustered than Marie, her face red, her forehead shining. She was wrapped, as on all special family occasions, in one of a number of flowing garments she had made for herself, according to her own design, drawing her inspiration, as far as I could determine, from the caftan, the muumuu, and possibly from certain episodes of Star Trek. “I was just having a little problem getting the Seder plate arranged. The one we bought in Mexico last winter.” She carried the broad, painted earthenware plate to the table and started to set it down in front of Irv, beside the matzohs, then stopped and stood frowning at it, shaking her head. It was a pretty thing, decorated with green vines and yellow flowers and dark blue undulations, and loaded up with the usual ritual foodstuffs. “I’ve got the moror, and the parsley, the charoses, the bone, the egg … Damn it, I can never remember what this sixth little circle is for.”
“What sixth circle?” said Irv, his tone implying that the problem for which she had been holding up the Seder was not only minor but would probably turn out, in the light of his impatient logic, to be nonexistent. “The horseradish, the parsley, the charoses, the shank bone, the egg. That’s five.”
“See for yourself,” she said, setting the plate before him.
Irv counted off on his fingers the items that had been set into five of the plate’s six round indentations, mumbling over again to himself the list of items he’d just enunciated.
“Bone, egg, and, uh … Oh!” He snapped his fingers. “Matzoh! It’s for the matzoh,” he declared.
“The matzoh.” Irene slapped him on the side of his head. “The matzoh won’t fit in there, Irv. That’s ridiculous. What am I supposed to do, crumble it up? And look at that. Read that word there.” She pointed to the Hebrew word painted in blue characters on the bottom of the empty compartment. “That doesn’t say matzoh!”
Emily sat forward, leaning across me, and craned her neck to read the inscription. Her left breast brushed against my arm. She was so close to me that I could hear the creaking of her jeans.
“It says, ‘Cazart,’” she offered.
“Chaz-art,” Irene tried. “Chazrat.”
“Chazrat?” Irv was incredulous. “What chazrat? Look, it says ‘matzoh.’ That’s supposed to be a mem,” He rolled his eyes and looked disgusted. “Mexicans,” he said.
“It doesn’t say matzoh.”
“Maybe it’s for the salt water,” Philly suggested.
“Maybe it’s an ashtray,” said Deborah.
“Maybe it’s not really a Seder plate,” I said, trying to remember if we didn’t engage in this same dispute every year. “Maybe it’s supposed to be for some other, similar holiday.”
“I think it’s chazeret,” said Marie quietly.
“Chazeret?” we said.
Marie nodded.
“Some kind of vegetable, maybe?” She said this as if she were dredging up some fragmentary and poorly learned bit of Jewish knowledge upon which any of us would be able to improve, but I could see that she knew precisely what she was talking about, and had done all along. Marie was scrupulous about not outshining