Old people are cagey.
One of my father-in-law’s friends at his retirement home is a bright-eyed, petite and bird-like woman who lost her husband a year or so before my mother-in-law died. Unlike many of the other residents, both she and he are avid readers, with apartments filled with books, and they are both writers. “N.” has written books; she’s written an essay column for years and years, and she recently published a memoir, full of the dry humor she exhibits in regular life.
A month or two before my father-in-law’s book was published, N. persuaded him to give a series of talks on Islam and the Middle East for the other residents. We showed up at the last one, to find my father-in-law, handsomely turned out in a grey suit and nice tie, seated near a table on which rested a vase of summer flowers. N. was at his side, giving an introduction; both were beaming at the appreciative audience of thirty or so, all of whom were 80 or older. We represented the middle years. And over by N. there was a girl of seventeen or eighteen who I didn’t know, still dewy with the perfect skin and radiance of youth. I wondered what she was doing there.
N. insisted that my father-in-law tell a slightly racy story he’d told her about how “nobody in the Middle East ever gets divorced during eggplant season.” I can’t remember it exactly; it has to do with eggplants being a symbol of fertility and how, when they’re in season, couples tend to get along quite well. He went on to speak for half an hour, rising to the occasion as usual, and then fielded another half hour of questions, including some probing questions about his own prayer life and faith, provocatively posed by residents who hoped for once they had him cornered. He dodged them skillfully, managing not to admit to any faith in God while still giving the impression that he prays. Only those of us who really knew him were rolling our eyes.
Afterwards N. introduced her guest, who turned out to be the granddaughter of someone I knew - a remarkable and deeply spiritual Roman Catholic woman, extremely well-read and knowledgeable about Catholic mysticism. The granddaughter was headed for college hoping to study philosophy. My father-in-law turned on all of his charm – bright young woman had always been his favorite students - and the two of them talked and laughed together happily.
A few days later he told us that N. had called him on the phone. “I’ve made baba ghanoush,” she said. (It’s a baked eggplant/garlic/tahini puree well-loved as a dip in the Middle East.)“But I find I don’t have any tahini. Do you have some?” Of course he did, he always had tahini - which she already knew. “All right,” she said, “I’m sending someone up.” So who should appear at his door but the same girl, who sat and talked with him some more.
“She is so intelligent!” he gushed. “So nice! And very attractive. I told her I hoped I hadn’t disturbed her faith the other day - she’s Catholic, you know. She said, ‘It’s too late for me.’ I said ‘Well, you’re going to go to college and study philosophy -- they’ll disturb you if I haven’t.’ And then the phone rang. It was N.”
“’That’s enough!’” He quoted her voice on the phone. “‘Time to come home!’” -- and then he laughed a lot, shaking his head.
These folk myths are fascinating and this eggplant one is new to me. Your father-in-law is quite the flirt, isn't he, and both young and old do enjoy him. This is lovely to see and probably contributes to his enjoyment of life, and thus his longevity too, wouldn't you say, Beth? As always your stories delight.
Posted by: Marja-Leena | September 16, 2005 at 07:27 PM
I'd love to meet him. He sounds delightful.
Posted by: zhoen | September 17, 2005 at 07:05 PM