Earth: Mrs. Finklestein’s Secret
The ventilation in the smoky kitchen wasn’t all that good and Mrs. Finklestein stood at the stove waving the smoke away from her face. She had a special recipe for apple strudel and she smiled to herself as she thought about it. She had burned the last batch of butter and was being more careful this time. She kept the heat on low and stirred the melted butter in the frying pan. She took the cored apples from the refrigerator and placed them on the countertop near the stove. Last night was apple coring time. Mr. Finklestein wouldn’t help. The thought pushed to the front of her mind.
“Why don’t you help?”
He said, “I don’t help.”
“Why?”
“I eat, I don’t cook.” Portly Mr. Finklestein sat in a nearby chair in a robe and socks with his feet propped up on a very stuffed hassock.
“You are good at eating.” Mrs. Finklestein smiled while she sliced up the apples, “But you could at least help.”
“I don’t help. I just eat.” He straightened the newspaper and cleared his throat.
Mrs. Finklestein combined the apples, raisins, cinnamon, sugar and the other ingredients into a big bowl. She pushed her glasses up her nose, stirred, and said, “You’re too fat.”
He put the paper in his lap. “I’m fat?”
“Yes.”
“I’m not fat.”
“Yes you are.”
“I’m not fat.”
“You are fat.”
He shook his head, “It’s your fault if I’m fat.”
“Why my fault?”
“You make the strudel.”
“You eat it.”
“You make it.”
“You eat it.”
“I eat it because you make it.”
“You don’t have to eat it. Not so much. It makes you fat.”
“Don’t make it and I won’t eat it,” He turned the page.
“What? You have no willpower?”
“I have willpower,” he said while fixing his glasses.”
“You have no willpower.”
“I have willpower.”
“No willpower.”
Mr. Finklestein sighed. “When will the strudel be done?”
“It’ll be done when it’ll be done.”
“Do we have any from yesterday?”
“No. All gone. You had no willpower yesterday.”
“I had willpower.”
“If you had willpower, there would still be apple strudel from yesterday.”
Mr. Finklestein sighed again and ruffled the paper as he would do when frustration was winning its battle. After a period of silence, he said, “Can I eat the dough?”
“You can wait.”
“I don’t want to wait. The dough is good.”
“You’ll wait.”
“Why should I wait?”
“To show willpower,” said Mrs. Finklestein.
“Why show willpower? Who is looking at the willpower? Dough is better than willpower.”
“You’ll show willpower.”
He shook his head and went back to reading the newspaper.
She eyed him from the side to make sure he wasn’t looking. She liked the cozy and warm atmosphere the making of apple strudel created. The smoky kitchen, the smoky living room that was essentially the same room as the kitchen as in many Manhattan apartments, Mr. Finklestein reading the paper, she sneaking in her secret ingredient. She crushed the little blue pills while making sure Mr. Finklestein did not see. She poured the crushed pills into the large bowl and mixed it all in together with the other ingredients. Forget willpower, Mr. Finklestein loved apple strudel.