Free Anna in Chains by Merrill Joan Gerber Page B

forbidden phrase “Christ the Lord” came up. He had been like a madman on the subject, though in most other ways he was a kind and reasonable man.
    Anna noticed suddenly that all the old people on the bus were now sucking on red candy canes. They looked like a gathering of lunatics. All of them on their way to their doctors, or to nowhere. Being alive was such a commotion and took so much effort. Why shouldn’t they suck on something sweet? What better was there to do?
    â€œSo I have a joke for you, Mrs. Goldman,” said Dr. Rifkin, her eye doctor, as soon as he walked into the examining room. Silver tinsel hung from the rubber plant against the wall, and the doctor had a little red-and-green Christmas wreath pinned to his white coat. “Four Yiddishe mamas get together to play cards.” He motioned Anna into the chair where he would tell her how fast she was going blind. He was tall, homely, and overweight. If her daughters had married doctors, they wouldn’t be having health problems and money problems.
    â€œThe first lady says, ‘ Oy .’ The second one says, ‘Oy vey.’ The third one says, ‘Oy vey is mir.’ The fourth one says, “ Ladies, ladies! We promised we wouldn’t talk about our children!’ “
    Dr. Rifkin laughed loudly at his joke and motioned for Anna to put her chin in the cup. Anna flinched at his deep laughter. She wasn’t in that class of women, she resented being thought of as a Yiddishe mama and she never played cards.
    â€œSo how is life treating you, Mrs. Goldman?” the doctor asked, turning wheels on his machine.
    â€œI don’t see well and my fingers don’t move where I want them to when I play my Mozart sonatas,” she said pointedly.
    â€œThen you’re extra lucky to be Jewish. You know why?” he asked, holding the eye dropper right over her head. “You can always play on the keys with your nose!”
    Anna frowned, letting the numbing drops freeze the surface of her eyes. He darkened the room, and a burning blue light materialized in front of Anna’s face. She stared into the heart of it, feeling it burn into her mind. The doctor’s head loomed an inch away. Not since Abram’s death, except for these visits to Dr. Rifkin, had she felt a man’s breath or heard his heavy breathing. When the measurements were taken and the lights turned on—with the doctor again a safe distance away—she steadied herself. It was her opportunity to introduce a new subject.
    â€œDoctor—how often do you think my daughters should have their eyes examined now that I have this condition?” Anna could never ask doctors enough questions, and they never gave her satisfactory answers.
    â€œOh—once every year or so.”
    â€œNot more often?”
    â€œIf they want to go more often—sure.”
    â€œShouldn’t they go every six months, so if this same problem turns up due to bad heredity, they won’t go blind?”
    â€œMrs. Goldman,” said Dr. Rifkin, “what’s the difference between a Jewish mother and a vulture?”
    â€œI have no idea,” Anna said coldly.
    â€œA vulture only eats hearts after they’re dead. A Jewish mother eats her heart out all her life.”
    The Christmas tree in the waiting room was broken out in an epidemic of angels; around its fake moss base, empty gift-wrapped boxes were piled. A curly-haired little boy of about four shook each box and then sadly set it down. Anna sat across the room from his parents with her heart pounding. She was to have laser surgery in half an hour. “Your intraocular pressure is way up,” Dr. Rifkin had told her. “Not much point in depending on the drops any longer. I’d usually schedule you for another day, but I’m going away for a couple of weeks and we should nip this in the bud. If you can wait till I’m done with my next patient, I’ll tell Sally to get