Ninety is ninety. The number all by itself may always have an empty ring about it, but when your grandmother is ninety and she calls you «little boy» and you’re forty, well, that’s something to think about. Just think of how much is wrapped up in that one little number!
«So, maybe you won’t be going to the synagogue today? Look at the weather!»
«That’s no matter. Why should I care about the weather? At my age I can’t afford to stop going. I haven’t missed once yet, so why should I take a holiday today? Ever since it became dangerous to go to the synagogue, I haven’t missed a single time! Even when the men were afraid to go, I still went!»
«And you weren’t afraid?»
«What would they do to me? Somebody has to go to the synagogue. Else they could say that now nobody goes there it isn’t needed any more. Something about that you don’t understand?»
«Grandma, what an advanced social consciousness you have. Wow! So, you asked Him not to let them close the synagogue?»
«I’ve never asked anything. I certainly don’t have to ask Him anything.»
«But everybody asks Him! The Russians in their churches, the Tatars in their mosques, and the Jews…»
«No. There’s nothing that needs asking for. I tell Him what the situation is so that He’ll know the truth. And He Himself knows what to do.»
«And how do you plan to get yourself up those stairs?»
«That’s no matter. Little by little. But the closer I get to Him, the better He’ll hear me. I don’t exactly shout, you know. I could even tell it all to Him right here, He’d still hear me. But I think He’s pleased that I’ve been going to the synagogue all these years.»
«Everything’s all the same, it’s all the same.»
«Little one, the sun too rises and sets, and people are born and die, and money comes and goes. When you get older, you’ll understand.»
«What do you mean, Grandma? I’m already forty!»
«It’s not that you’re forty, it’s that I’m ninety. I never have asked Him. It happened once that – a verbrennen soll alts wern… das ich hab gemeint… du verstehst, du verstehst alts – und ich hab gerechnet – das ist ein sof (I should let it all all burn up… that’s what I thought… you understand, you understand it all, and I decided then that this was the end). But He decided otherwise.»
«Bobei, meine teure Bobei! Ich bet dir, leb noch ein hundert jahr!