by Elaine Starkman

He sold peaches from his cart
Yehiel, an old immigrant
from Eastern Europe, paler
than I, light eyes and lashes
I never knew if he landed here
before or after the war
when he might have changed his name.

With him was his young helper
Yosef the singing Yemenite; his dark
sandaled feet dangled over the cart
pulled by a donkey.  They slowly rolled
into our village just before noon heat.

Cush, the dog, ran along side them.
He knew his way back to nearby borders
always licked my face.

They both knew I'd buy; I always did.
How do you call that? I pointed to a peach.

Ahfarsek, Yosef, pronounced
the word with deep nasal twang.

An odd sound. I copied the way
he placed his tongue

on the roof of his mouth.
Ah-far-sek.

Excellent!!  Now taste! he laughed.
The older man silently sliced

into the soft fuzzy peach skin.
"Sweet, yes?"  Yosef grinned.

And here, Madame, apples-of-the-earth.
Here is mish-mish.  Here is the best,

Better here than in the city.  Buy many, Madame,
half kilo, just three shekel.

O fruit of the land.  O, honey and milk,
Coastal Sea

Where are you now
Singing Yosef,

Silent Yehiel,
Lost Cush.

Together with her husband who worked as physician, Starkman and her family of three small children went to Israel immediately after the Six Day War. Since then she writes on her experiences, as one of her subjects. Her work appears in the new Torah: A Women's Commentary published by URJ Books and Music. She's also the co-editor of Here I Am: Contemporary Jewish Stories from Around the World, JPS, which won a PEN/Oakland Award in 1999. She now lives and teaches writing in Northern California.

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