Smokers 2

1997, NJ

It was autumn of 1997, and he decided to spend a few days in the USA, taking the opportunity to visit relatives and friends. He arrived on a Saturday morning, directly from Rio, via Newark airport, where Léo Goldblatt was waiting for him, a colleague and friend from the years 1971/72 in São Paulo. Léo had returned to the region where he had been born, in Paramus, New Jersey, took him to his house and immediately said:

_ Eat something, sleep a little to compensate for the “jet-laeg” and let’s go out to dinner. Any suggestion? Meat restaurant? fish? pasta?

_ Leo, can we go to a Jewish restaurant? In Brazil we do not have much of this thing of typical restaurants, much less Jewish ones, and I have this curiosity. Last time I went to Katz, in Manhattan, and I liked it.

_ OK, there is a good one nearby, I will make a reservation.

At 7 p.m. on Saturday they parked and went straight into that restaurant, spacious and full, with people waiting. If it had not been for the reservation, it would not have been possible.

The 8 of them sat down: Léo, the couple of children (Paul and Vivi), about 25 years old each, Maurice, a neighbor who also spoke Portuñol and wanted to practice, and their respective companions. All very nice, very talkative, there was no lack of subject. He and his companion were the only “goyim” (non-Jews) at the table.

He noticed that the staff serving was almost all from “middle age” upward, and by the name tags and kippahs, also almost all from the Jewish community of the region.

After some long 20 minutes, the menus had not even been distributed, nor had the traditional pitchers of house water of American restaurants been placed. He noticed that Léo and the neighbor were beginning to get irritated with the lack of service. At least some “pickles” and a little drink...

So he decided to go smoke outside the restaurant’s entrance hall, where he had seen some people smoking. Arriving there, he put the cigarette in his mouth and, when he was about to light it, noticed that a little old lady in the restaurant uniform, Mrs. Sarah, could not find her own lighter, and he offered to light the lady’s cigarette, who was a little younger than his mother, and she accepted, thanking him, and asked what brand of cigarette that was, in his hand. It was a Hollywood Souza-Cruz, genuinely Brazilian.

_ Ah, Brazilian? Are you lost here?

Quickly all the smokers entered the conversation as if they were old acquaintances; each one had an acquaintance who had already been to Rio de Janeiro, or a relative who lived in South America. They asked whether he knew John Kaufman and, when he said no, he was looked up and down as a possible liar; he must not be from Rio nor from Argentina, how could he not know Kaufman?

But, apart from that detective moment from Kaufman’s relative, the conversation went very well, all of them saying that they wanted, as soon as they could, to go to Israel and that the following trip would be to South America on the next vacation, that the Caribbean sea was famous.

He ended up giving Mrs. Sarah the almost full pack of Hollywood, which she was contemplating with great interest and accepted with great joy. They finished smoking and went back inside the restaurant. The table still had not been served and Léo was already extremely irritated.

As soon as he sat down, things changed completely. Commanded by Mrs. Sarah, about 3 employees brought the menus, the appetizers, the famous water, the orders were taken, suggestions were made, in short, the table was treated as general VIP, to the point that the neighboring tables kept looking on with envy.

Léo and Maurice:

_ What happened here?

And he:

_ Man, brotherhood for brotherhood, minority for minority, persecuted for persecuted, smokers are the novelty of the market. It is worth more to be a smoker than a Jew, Freemason, Black, communist or LGBT.

Miguel Fernández y Fernández, engineer, chronicler and columnist, member of the National Academy of Engineering and of the Institute of Engineering # Rd, 3,635 keystrokes