Trucker and Pup

Chapter 2-1

Chapter 2

“Oy, if I didn’t take care of you, I swear you’d fall through the gaps in the pavement.”

“Ma, don’t fuss.”

“Now you listen to your mother, Joey Goldman.”

Kevin watched in mild amusement as the diminutive, grey-haired, mature woman, took over the kitchen as well as Joey himself. It was fascinating to see the alpha male defer to his mother as she continued to harangue him for various perceived misdeeds.

Kevin and Joey had only just set the washing machine going with its first load, when they’d heard the front door opening, a tower of Tupperware boxes with legs coming through it.

“Feh, my Joey a balagoleh!” She paused in her unpacking of the pile of food containers, a sour expression on her face.

“Balagoleh is Jewish for lorry driver,” Joey translated for Kevin.

Kevin smiled in gratitude, but his thoughts were soon brought back to Joey’s mother.

“…when your dad and me had our hearts so set on you becoming a doctor.” She sighed dramatically. “You could have done so much better for yourself, Joey. Look at Peter Rosenthal. He sat all his exams, and he’s now a bank manager. Why couldn’t you have done something to make your mother proud?”

“Ma, Peter Rosenthal is a snivelling little pain in the arse…um, rear. And anyway he’s only an assistant bank manager.”

Joey’s mother didn’t seem to be listening; she just continued to empty her Tupperware boxes.

“Ma, I’ll never eat all this,” Joey said, gesturing at the mountain of food.

“Feh, it’s only a few leftovers.”

Kevin watched as the entire worktop soon was covered in various strange looking foodstuffs.

Turning to Kevin, Joey said, “My mother has been feeding her family leftovers for the past thirty years, I’ve yet to see the original meal.”

Kevin couldn’t help giggling, which stopped immediately when Mrs Goldman fixed him with a look.

“Are you Jewish, young man?”

“Oh no, Mrs, um, Goldman, if anything I suppose I’m an atheist.”

“Feh, that’s stupid, atheists don’t get any religious holidays.”

Joey started to snigger, but he stopped when the look was turned on him.

“I’ll heat up this chicken soup. You’ll have some, won’t you?” she turned to Kevin. “Even atheists have to eat.”

“Ma, I was going to order a pizza.”

“Pizza?” Mrs Goldman’s eyebrows disappeared into her iron-grey hairline. “You want to eat Italian take away food, when your mother has sweated over a hot stove all day to make sure her only son gets a wholesome meal into him?” Turning back to Kevin, “I bet you don’t disrespect your mother like that, do you?”

Kevin battled not to show any outward signs of distress. He hadn’t spoken with his mother in over five years, not since she and his father disowned him. “No, Mrs Goldman.”

“See, Joey? Your friend, um…”

“Kevin,” Joey supplied.

“He does what his mother tells him. Now sit down, I’ll soon have it ready.”

Bowing to the inevitable, Joey took his seat. “You got kreplach?”

“Sure I got kreplach. There’s lokshon, too.”

Kevin looked confused, not sure he was going to like the foreign food, but felt too shy, not to say scared, to say anything.

“It’s okay.” Joey whispered. “Ma’s a good cook.”

“What are, um, these crepe things?”

Mrs Goldman must have heard him. “You not had kreplach before?”

Kevin shook his head.

“Oh, you haven’t lived,” Joey smiled, obviously trying to get into his mother’s good books. “They’re dough balls filled with meat. And lokshon is noodles.”

Joey’s stomach rumbled. His mother took this as further evidence she was correct in her assumption that her son wasn’t eating properly. “All that food you get at those service stations. I bet it isn’t kosher.”

Joey didn’t reply, but his mother had moved on and didn’t notice.

“Now, young Kevin, you try my chicken soup, you’ll love it,” she said, placing a large soup plate in front of him.

Kevin could see several lumps that he assumed were the dough balls, floating in a sea of yellow liquid.

“Feh, that Mrs Rosenthal from down the road, she had the chutzpah to give me another chicken soup recipe last week. She told me that it was better than mine. Oy, nobody’s chicken soup is better than mine. Why, when the Rabbi’s mother was at death’s door last winter, after she had a couple of bowls of my chicken soup, she got out of her sick bed.”

“Didn’t the Rabbi’s mother die last year?” Joey asked, dipping his spoon into his own bowl of soup.

Mrs Goldman waved a hand in dismissal. “That was later. Probably happened after she’d had some of Mrs Rosenthal’s chicken soup.”

Joey winked at Kevin as his mother continued to tell her tale. Kevin had to admit the soup was very good, but he could only manage half of it.

“You not hungry? You’ll never grow up to be big and strong like my Joey if you don’t eat.”

“I thought I was in danger of falling through the cracks in the pavement?”

“Don’t answer back.” Mrs Goldman flicked a tea towel at her son.

“Ouch!”

Joey’s mother bustled around the kitchen, putting the food in the fridge and freezer. “Oy, why have you bought more bacon?” she asked, head deep inside the fridge.

“’Cause I like it, now don’t you dare throw it away.” Joey got up from his seat to guard his fridge.

“You’re not a good Jew. Such a disappointment. Not like…”

“Peter Rosenthal, yeah I know, Ma,” Joey said, cutting his mother off in mid sentence.

“He’s walking out with that nice Maureen Frank. Such a nice girl, and from a good Jewish family, too.”

Kevin saw Joey close his eyes.

“When are you going to settle down, Joey? You’re getting too old to be single. People will start to talk.”

“Let them. I’m happy as I am.”

“Feh.” She shrugged. “Such a disappointment. Not like your sister Carole.” Turning to Kevin, Mrs Goldman said, “That’s Carole with an ‘e.’”

Joey rolled his eyes. “Ma, our Carole is hardly a good example.”

“She got married and gave her mother a grandson.”

“Yeah, but she’s divorced now.”

The woman sighed. “That Maurice was no good, I never liked him, his eyes were too close together. You can’t ever trust a man whose eyes are close together. But she wouldn’t listen.” Turning to Kevin, she continued, “My children never listen. Oy, I got enough stress from my children for two people.”

Joey rolled his eyes again. “Ma, you were fawning all over Maurice when he asked dad for Carole’s hand in marriage.”

Joey’s mother moved on quickly. “Speaking of Carole, I’ve got to go and see her. Our Simon is misbehaving again. He needs a father figure, that’s what’s the matter with him.”

“Okay, Ma, thanks for the food. You better be off then,” Joey said, gathering up all the empty plastic boxes and pushing them, along with his mother, toward the door.

“Thank you very much for the soup, Mrs Goldman, it was delicious,” Kevin said, just before the woman disappeared out of the door.

“You’re very welcome, young man. He’s so polite, Joey. You ought to take a leaf out of his book,” Kevin heard Mrs Goldman say as she was propelled out of the flat.