The sound of bubbling water from the large pot on the stove blended seamlessly into the soft music playing in the background, filling the small apartment’s kitchen—the radio tuned as it had been for years to the same oldies station.

Leah finished washing some carrots, potatoes, onions, and leeks. She moved the vegetables to the chopping board and began peeling and cutting them slowly, then dropped the pieces carefully into the pot. Her hands trembled slightly, and her fingers—stiff and swollen—showed clear signs of arthritis. The pain was familiar, a constant companion she’d grown accustomed to. But she ignored it; there were more important things on her mind.

After she finished adding the vegetables and seasoning to the lentils and peas already simmering in the pot, she covered it and lowered the flame. As she went to the sink to wash her hands, the bedroom door squeaked open and Haim emerged. He was yawning, still in his plaid flannel pajamas. He made his way across the living room, leaning on his walking cane.

“Good morning,” said Leah. 

“Good morning,” Haim said as he entered the kitchen. “What time is it?”

Leah took a peek at the clock hanging on the kitchen wall behind him. “It’s ten fifteen.”

“What? So late?” he said, surprised, and turned to look for himself. When he turned back around, he gave Leah a long look. “You’re all dressed up already?”

“Yes, I have a thing later. It’s not important,” she said. “You want some coffee?” 

Haim thought about it for a moment. “Nah. Not with this heartburn. Some tea would be nice though.”

“I’ll warm up some water,” Leah said with a smile. She filled up the kettle as Haim hung his cane on the back of the chair and sat down next to the dining table. 

“Mmm… Smells good!” he said, taking in the aromatic steam rising from the pot. 

“I’m making soup for lunch.”

“With peas?” Haim asked as he leaned forward, lifted his eyebrows, and looked at the pot—as if he could peer through the lid.

“Of course, with peas,” Leah said, amused, shaking her head.

Haim, who seemed pleased with the answer, leaned back in his chair. He picked up the folded newspaper in front of him and started to read.   

After returning the kettle to its docking station and turning it on, Leah noticed the blinking red light on the old-fashioned answering machine next to it. The same machine Haim bought some thirty years ago. She pressed the button and the machine beeped.

“Hi Bubby, it’s me,” started the message. “Just wanted to remind you that I’d be picking you up today around eleven for those tests. Don’t worry, the appointment at the hospital is not until a quarter to twelve, so we’ll have plenty of time. I’ll see you soon.”   

“Was that Shiri?” asked Haim. “What tests is she talking about?”

“Oh, it’s nothing,” Leah dismissed with a wave of her wrist, and quickly pushed the button to delete the message. “Just a routine checkup, that’s all.” 

“At the hospital?”

“Yes, I told you about it—you must have forgotten,” she said, drying her hands a bit too hastily on the towel without meeting his eyes, and then turned to face the stove. “So what would you like for breakfast?” 

Haim didn’t reply. He didn’t seem to have heard her. She knew he forgot to wear his hearing aid again.

“Haim,” she said, louder this time. He raised his eyes to look at her. “Shall I make some eggs?” 

“No need to yell, Leitche—I hear you,” he said with a smile. “Egg is fine, I’ll help.” 

But as he tried to get up his face twisted in pain. And though he didn’t make a sound, Leah caught a glimpse of it from the corner of her eye.

“No, no, Haim!” she scolded. “What are you doing? Sit, sit.” 

 “I’m not crippled, Leah, I can still help,” he protested.

“Of course not! Who said anything about you being crippled?” she said with a wave of her hand. “It’s just—there’s no need. I’ll be done in a second, and too many hands in the kitchen means more of a mess.” 

“All right,” Haim relented, lifting his hands as he sat back down. 

Leah walked over to the refrigerator—which had seen better days, yet still functioned well—and took out a couple of eggs, a red bell pepper, a tomato, and a cucumber. She placed the eggs in a small saucepan, filled it with water, set it on the stove, and lit the burner. Then, she reached for a small hourglass on the spice shelf—but when she looked at it closely, she noticed a small crack in the glass. She turned it a couple of times—it still worked, more or less. That was good enough. She placed it on the counter, and flipped it over, watching as the grains began to stream down in a thin and steady trickle. 

“Here,” she said, setting the blue pillbox—its Monday compartment open—on the table in front of him, with the colorful little capsules packed neatly inside. “But wait for the food before you take them.”

Haim stared at them, grimaced, and sighed with resignation.

“Don’t give me that face,” she said, folding her arms. “You know what the doctor said, Haimi. I swear, sometimes it’s like having another kid.”

“All right, all right, Leitche, I know. Don’t get upset,” he said in an appeasing tone as he emptied the compartment’s contents into his hand and placed them in a small pile on the table. 

“So? What do they say in the newspaper?” she asked while cutting the vegetables.

“Let’s see…” Haim tugged the newspaper straight and started reading. “Here it talks about the war in Eastern Europe. Already 2,000 dead. And there was another terror attack—20 dead.”

“Oy,” Leah sighed, shaking her head and pursing her lips. “So many years, it just repeats itself, doesn’t it? And for what? People have such short memories. They never learn.”

“Yes, you know what they say: the more things change, the more they stay the same,” said Haim. “A few generations go by, and they think they know everything better than everyone else.”

“Read something else, will you?” Leah asked.

Haim flipped through the pages. “Okay… it says here they invented a robot baby in Japan.”

Leah paused and turned to look at him. “A what?”

“It’s a little mechanical robot thing that looks like a real baby. They feed it milk like a baby, it laughs and cries like a baby, and even spits and sneezes—with mucus and everything.”

The electric kettle’s automatic shut-off switch clicked, indicating the water had boiled. Leah left the breakfast preparations and walked over to make the tea.

“Ah,” she said, dropping the teabags into the cups and pouring the water. “You mean a toy for children.”

“No, it’s for young couples,” said Haim, eyes still on the paper.

Leah walked over and placed the cup in front of him. “Young couples?” she said, lifting a quizzical brow. “What do they need with that?”

“It says…” He cleared his throat and adjusted his glasses. “Japanese scientists invented the ‘baby robot’ to give young couples the experience of caring for a baby. The idea is that doing so might encourage them to have children, and would help raise the birthrate.”

Leah chuckled.

“Well?” said Haim, lifting his eyes to look at her. “What do you say about that?”

“What can I say?” She kept chuckling through her words as she returned to finish preparing the food. “Best of luck to them!”

Haim shrugged. “Ay, Leitche, today everything is automatic, mechanical, pre-prepared. And fast, fast—people don’t even take the time to stop and think, or understand, or appreciate.

“Please! Think? That takes effort!” she said. “They don’t want to work hard. They believe all the answers are in those little phones. They don’t even bother checking—if it aligns with their views, it must be true, if it doesn’t, it must be a lie.”

Leah glanced at the hourglass and noticed the grains had stopped falling—it seemed to be stuck. She picked it up and gave it a light flick, but only a few grains managed to escape through. She frowned, flicked it once more. There—working again. Good. She set it back down.

With the eggs still boiling, Leah arranged the sliced vegetables on the plate.

“And I’ll tell you something else,” said Haim after taking a long sip of his tea.

“Half of what they say, I don’t even understand. I just nod along as if I do, and if they ask me something about it, I either pretend I forgot or change the subject.”

Leah shook her head and a broad smile spread across her lips as she pulled a placemat and some silverware from the drawer. She walked back to the table, set everything down in front of Haim, then pulled out the chair next to him and sat.

“Let me give you an example,” he said. “When Michelle’s little one—Ari—came to visit last week, you remember?”

“Sure.”

“He asked me if an encyclopedia is like Wikipedia on the internet, and what video games I used to play as a kid!”

Haim laughed out loud, and Leah joined him with a soft chuckle.

“Now try and explain to the kid that not only did we not have computers—or even televisions—but cars were considered a luxury! Heck, we were lucky if we had money for a radio! And he doesn’t even know what a radio is!”

Leah exhaled a laugh, then said, tenderly, “He’ll understand when he’s older.” 

“When he’s older, it’ll change for him as well…” Haim said with a small nod.

Leah patted Haim’s hand lightly, but the growing sound of the boiling eggs knocking against the saucepan suddenly jolted her. 

“Oh no! The eggs!” she cried out and rushed to the stove. She turned it off just in time. The pan hadn’t burned. 

“Ah!” she yelped as she touched the pan’s handle, pulling her hand back and grabbing it with the other. 

“What happened? Is everything all right? Are you okay?” asked Haim, alarmed. 

Leah glanced at the burn on her hand, bit her lip, and said, “It’s nothing—the pan was just a bit hot, that’s all.”

She grabbed a towel, wrapped it around the handle, and brought the pan to the sink. Then she turned on the tap, letting the water fill it while keeping her aching hand under the cold stream. 

“I think the eggs are overcooked—they’re probably completely hard-boiled by now,” she said, disappointed.

“That’s all right, Leitche. Hard-boiled is good—exactly what I wanted,” said Haim.

Leah quickly pulled out a small adhesive bandage from the drawer next to the sink and placed it over the burn before turning off the water. She placed an egg in an eggcup and carried it together with the plate to the table, setting them down in front of Haim as though nothing had happened.

“Thank you, Leitche,” he said, gently touching her arm. But before Leah had a chance to sit down next to him, the phone rang. She startled slightly and instantly looked up at the clock. It was only ten thirty.

“Hello? Ah, Frida, how are you?” Leah said as she answered the phone. “Really? Congratulations! Mazel Tov! How is she doing? How’s the baby? That’s wonderful! When is it? Of course I will come! Thank you for calling, I’ll talk to you soon. Bye-bye.”

“Frida’s granddaughter Hannah had her baby last night,” she said to Haim as she sat next to him.

“Is she the doctor?”

“Yes. She’s a good kid, very bright—almost forty!” 

“That’s admirable,” said Haim. “And very courageous, it’s not easy going through it alone.”

“A lot of young people today get married much later—if at all. They get a career first, live alone, then maybe move in together.”

“Well, it’s good she has a child now,” said Haim. “Children are so important—a way to leave something behind. Everything else will work itself out. Is there a father in the picture?”   

“No, no. There’s no father, she got the child from a… sperm bank. She actually had to pay for the… stuff,” Leah giggled.

“Really?” said Haim. “They sell it? At a special bank? I’d imagine there are plenty of young men out there who’d be happy to give it away for free!” He laughed.

“Oh, don’t be crass,” she said, amused, and joined him with a subtle laugh. “A bank for sperm, can you imagine? If I had told my mother and father—may they rest in peace—that one day there’d be a bank where you deposit sperm, they would’ve had me committed to a mental institution!” They both burst out laughing. 

“They would have washed your mouth out with laundry soap!” said Haim through the laughter.  

As the laughter faded, Leah sighed and said, “This isn’t our world anymore, huh, Haimi?”

“The world belongs to the young, isn’t that what they say?” he replied with a tender smile, caressing Leah’s hand. “That’s how it goes. Once you were the lead in the play—now you’re sitting in the theater, watching the show.”

“Watching the show and not understanding half of what they say,” she said with playful sarcasm. 

“Exactly!” said Haim, and they both laughed again.

“I’m so glad to see you’ve got your appetite today,” said Leah with a tender smile. “If you’ll feel up to it later, maybe we could take the chair, go for a stroll in the park. It’s a beautiful day out.”

“I don’t know, Leitche…”

“The doctor said it’s good for you to go outside.”

“All right, if I feel strong enough, we’ll go. Maybe get you that cherry-vanilla ice cream you like.”

Leah squeezed his arm warmly and nodded as the song “I’ve Got You Under My Skin” began playing in the background. She drew in a sudden breath and placed a hand on her chest. 

“Haimi, do you remember…?” she said, almost in a whisper. 

Haim, who still had a mouthful of egg and tomato, finished chewing, then said, “Of course I do. The movie theater in Warsaw, right before the war.”

“My parents wouldn’t let me meet you alone, so I had to bring along my cousin Ida.”

“They didn’t trust me to be alone with you,” he said with a mischievous smile and kissed her hand. “And they were right not to…” 

They both laughed. 

“What was the name of the movie? With that actor, you know…” she crinkled her forehead, trying to recall. “He was so handsome, tall…” She gave a small gasp as she remembered, “James Stewart! That’s it! James Stewart and Eleanor Powell! The movie was Born to Dance!” Leah smiled triumphantly. “They danced to this very song, and glided across the dance floor like two butterflies.”

“And I remember Ida sitting between us like a big ol’ cocoon.”

Leah smacked him lightly on his shoulder, and they laughed again.

Leah sighed. “Ah, poor Ida.”

“And you…” Haim pointed at her. “You wore a blue dress and had a red ribbon in your hair.”

Leah’s eyes widened. “You remember that?”

“Of course I remember. You were so beautiful that all I could think about that entire week was you, that dress, and that red ribbon,” he said, shaking his head slowly. “And all I wanted was to kiss you.”

Leah brushed him off with a wave of her hand, and rolled her eyes.

“Oh, come on…” 

“What? I’m not lying. That picture of you—that dress, that ribbon—it stayed with me. Even in the camp… it’s what kept me going.” 

Leah looked up at him, “Oh, Haimi…”

“So… what about you?” he asked, before taking another spoonful.

“What about me what?”

“What was your first impression of me?”

“You know the answer. You’ve asked me a million times before,” she said. “And don’t talk with your mouth full.”

Haim swallowed. “I want to hear you tell it again.”

“Oy.” She sighed with exasperation. “You’re such a child sometimes.” Haim shrugged playfully. 

“Well, I thought you were very bright, and I really liked your smile—you’ve always had a great smile,” said Leah. “And your eyes, I thought you had such kind eyes. And I liked that you were so tall—like James Stewart!” She chuckled. “I remember I wanted you to ask me to dance, hold me in those long arms of yours, and sweep me across the floor like in the movie.” 

Haim looked at her for a long moment, then reached out both hands with a wide grin. “Come on, Leitche. Dance with me.” 

“Oh, pshaw,” Leah said and shook her head.

“What? I’m serious,” said Haim, keeping his hands outstretched. 

“Are you crazy? What dance? You can barely walk.”

“I’m fine, Leitche—I’m not crippled. I can stand on my own two feet, you know. Dance with me,” he insisted.

“Haim, stop it. It’s not safe! What if… you fall? God forbid!”

“Then you’ll catch me,” he said with a smile. “Besides, this isn’t the Charleston.”

Leah cocked her head and shot him an unamused look. 

“Come on, Leitche,” Haim insisted.

“You’re insane,” she said.

“Sure, but you love me anyway. Come on, for old times’ sake. We only live once, you know,” he said, pushing himself up with the help of the dining table.

Leah had jumped up to help, but Haim was already standing firmly on his feet. She stood there a moment, then finally gave in with a resigned sigh and took his hand as he held it out to her. Haim pulled her gently toward him, and they began to sway slowly to the music. 

“You were always a talented dancer,” said Leah.

“It all depends on your partner…” he said.

“You old flirt,” she said with a chuckle, resting her head on his chest and closing her eyes.

For a moment, as they stood there together in the kitchen, Leah forgot about the burn on her hand, the pain in her joints, and the hospital appointment. She was sixteen again, with the red ribbon tightly wrapped around her ponytail and the blue dress brushing lightly against her ankles as she moved to the melody. And Haim was eighteen, tall, handsome, and gentle. They danced like that for a few seconds, the music wrapping around them—until a knock at the door broke the moment. Leah opened her eyes.

“Come in,” she called.

The door opened and Shiri stepped into the apartment. 

“It’s me,” she announced as she walked over to her grandmother and gave her a kiss. “Bubby, you really must lock the front door, it’s not safe just leaving it open like that.”

“You’re right, dear,” said Leah.

Shiri glanced around curiously. “Is there someone here with you? I thought I heard you talking to someone.”

“No, no one here. Only me. You must have heard the television,” Leah said as she turned and picked up the lonely plate, eggcup, and teacup of her breakfast from the table and placed them in the sink.

“Are you okay? What happened?” Shiri asked, concerned, when she noticed the adhesive bandage on Leah’s hand.

“It’s nothing. A little burn. I’m just clumsy, that’s all,” said Leah. 

“Bubby… I know we talked about this before, but I don’t think you should be living alone. It’s been a while since—” 

Leah cut her off before she could finish her sentence. “I’m fine, Shiri, really,” she said decisively.

“I’m just worried,” Shiri said.

“I know, ketzeleh,” Leah said as she gently touched Shiri’s face. “And I promise, I will tell you if I feel I can’t handle it.”

“Okay,” said Shiri. “Are you ready to go?”

“Sure. Just let me get my things,” said Leah. She walked over to the coat rack by the door, where her purse and jacket were hanging right next to Haim’s orphaned walking cane. It leaned there quietly, untouched, as it had been for so long. 

As she reached out to grab her belongings, her fingers grazed the cane, and she lingered on it for a moment. 

In the background, the song “We’ll Meet Again” by Vera Lynn began to play.

“You want me to turn off the music?” asked Shiri right before they stepped out.

“No, that’s all right,” said Leah quietly. She glanced at the cane for a long, final beat, then turned back to Shiri. “Leave it on. It keeps the house alive,” she said as she closed the door behind them. 

 

T. Weingarten is a writer whose work explores human nature, resilience, and identity, examining how people navigate change and inner conflict. She writes across literary genres and is developing a growing body of both short and full-length fiction.