Kosher Steak

Kosher Steak: A story of boredom&;despair

I was looking at him from across the table. He was oblivious to my
staring, as he was preoccupied with the bloody, undercooked steak. The
blood was dripping from the sides of his mouth, and he had a silly,
somewhat absentminded grin on his face.
'Tasty?' I inquired rather timidly, not wanting to wake him too
suddenly from his trance. I repeated the question with a bit more
vigor.
He bolted, and replied "Oh man, this is the best, just awesome, what's
it called again?
My eyes hit the floor in a pang of embarrassment, "Ugh, I think they
call it steak? around these parts'. I quickly gave my proximate
vicinity a fleeting scan, hoping no one accidentally overheard his
pearls.
Lucky this time. But only a fool relies on luck; or a fatalist. I
probably fit in with the latter crowd, but that's not the point.
I found myself fascinated with his utter intentness on the slab of
meat that was laid before his eyes.
Oh by the way the guy's name is Niklaas, but I'll just call him
Nik.
He didn't strike me as the glutinous type, quite au contraire; his
frame was rather athletic, his features reminiscent of a seasoned skier
or snowboarder. His face constantly harboring a 3 day old stubble; come
to think of it I've never seen him clean shaven. I wonder if he has
some kind of trick up his sleeve to maintain his rugged look.
Anyone, upon setting eyes upon Nik comes to the rather superficial
conclusion that he's probably indulged in a life of late-night narcotic
binges. This possible reason could come in handy in attempting to
explain his certain how shall I put it? Dimness.
But no, upon certain inquiries that I've carried out, the only
indulgences that Nik has ventured into have been minor experimentations
with marijuana and caffeine. I must admit that I was a bit incredulous,
so I poked and jabbed a bit further.
'C'mon Nik, you can tell me man, it's me you're talking to. A few hits
of Acid perhaps? Some peyote maybe?'
Nik just grinned at me from across the table, as he addressed the red
juice that was becoming just a tad embarrassing on his mouth.
'No, man, never did any of that. I'm just in a natural good mood, and I
don't need that stuff"
I momentarily considered asking him about any possible cradle mishaps,
or if his mom had been the subject of medical experimentations, but I
was saving that for later.
"Good steak, eh?" I piped in, playing the part of the
conversationalist.
"Yeah, awesome'; his eyes still fixed to the orphaned plate.
I took a cigarette out of my denim jacket's front pocket and played
with it between my fingers for a few brief moments. Giving my lungs
some foreplay before I let the velvety smoke penetrate them with love
and toxins.
'Do you mind if I smoke?' and before He could reply I honored him with
a plume of smoke that seemed to outline his face, in a virtual and airy
frame.
He contemplated for a short while, his eyebrows indicating some inner
tug of war taking place between his earlobes and finally asked if I
could spare him one of my American delights.
I found this amusing for no particular reason, and again I delved into
my pocket and retrieved one of my beloved Winston's, and handed it to
him, rather ceremoniously.
He held the smoke as if he were a virgin, and I frowned upon his
inexperience. He didn't catch on. Quel surprise.
'So what's the deal with Sandy? You fucking her?' I asked matter of
factedly.
'No?', he answered slightly embarrassed and then added 'I mean she's my
girlfriend.'
'Oh!?so she's just into foreplay? an oral freak of sorts?'
'No?I didn't mean that'
'Oh?you were just embarrassed by my crass way of coming across?
'You're a sicko, you know?, he said with a mix of amusement and
disgust.
'You might be right Niko, but we're not talking about my mental
ailments, let's stick to more pleasant topics?like Sandy. So how is
she?'
'Oh Sandy's great?best thing that's ever happened to me', he stated as
he simultaneously sunk into a state of afternoon lust right before my
eyes.
'Charming', I said in a drier than a 70 year old nun voice. This seemed
to encourage him to open up even more.
'Yeah, I met Sandy at college, I used to hang out with her roommates,
and then one day it just happened.'
'Just happened? Doesn't love tend to just happen?' I retorted with a
slight lager induced slur.
We both remained quiet for a while, he sipping his Diet Coke, and me
sipping a Keith's.
Maybe it was the fact that he didn't like being the object of my
inquiries, or maybe my natural curiosity somewhat rubbed of on him. I
don't know and frankly it's not of any interest, but the point remains
that he started his own line of questioning, which is of rather
considerable interest.
"So, I hear you're from Israel?what's that like?'
'Lots of Jews'
'What do you mean?'
'What do you mean, what do I mean?', I said with a hint of
aggravation.
He was looking a bit uneasy, and seemed to weigh his next words but
decided to continue on nonetheless. 'Don't you think you're
generalizing?'
I looked at him good and strong, wondering if he'd been putting me on
all along with a burlesque act. I could see no acting in his eyes,
neither malice; just a perpetual grin, a good natured one at
that.
'Generalizing?', I feigned mock outrage.' What's there to generalize,
it's the Jewish homeland, or didn't you know?'.
'Oh, Yeah, so you're telling me you also speak Jewish?'
'It's called Hebrew, and Yeah, as a matter of fact I do'
He got a bit squeamish, but his grin still radiated and at that point I
found it hard not to find a bit of sympathy in my heart, for Niklaas
who had been fortunate enough to have led such a sheltered life until
this moment.
I asked him what's it like to be him; again he needed a further
explanation, which I'll save from you, but which I can promise was
delivered not without an effort of maintaining my smile.
He persisted in quenching his new found curiosity, which apparently
he'd managed to keep at bay for the past 24-25 years of his uneventful
life.
He went about it in an overtly polite voice, fearful of offending my
feelings when the only thing he was offending was my sense of
aesthetics, but hey he was joining good company, and besides I don't go
write about every person who offends my sense of aesthetics.
'So do the women in Israel, like do they wear covers over their
faces?'; he savored the word Israel as he pronounced it, much in the
same way people check out the texture of a newly learned word. I raised
my head warily, from between my hands and I asked myself what
unforgivable sins had I perpetrated in previous lives to deserve all of
this.
I retorted with something along the lines of 'Do all the guys in
Napanee molest their younger sisters'; he didn't catch my meaning but
he did feel that he had offended me in some way, though I doubt the
word aesthetics crossed his mind.
I had arrived at a crossroads of sorts in the conversation. Should I
get aggressive, should I resign myself to this level and just sweat it
out, knowing that this is only a phase in my life, fraternizing with
Nik and his like. I even briefly considered just getting up and leaving
in mid-sentence. But the truth is that I reached under my belt, and
felt the warmth of my Beretta 9mm; I caressed it ever so sensually, in
a way one might caress the only thing that really understands one's
needs.
I find the Beretta to be slightly effeminate, but that's ok; I supply
it with the required amount of masculinity, so in a way we've managed
to find that vital balance that's needed in any relationship.
The few caresses to my lady's chassis seemed to have filled me with
enough serenity to go on with the mental game of ping-pong that was
taking place.
Nik was taking some collegiate Television program at the time, and he
gave the impression that he sincerely wanted to pursue a career in the
entertainment business. I tried to shed new light on his reality,
change the angle for my good friend. Who knows, I might even be able to
help him out.
'Nik, you are sure you want to pursue a career in television?', I set
the foundations down.
'Yeah man, of course I do'
'Good, just making sure. You don't mind if I shed some light on your
position in the industry then, do you?'
Looking a bit(more?) confused and not knowing exactly where I was
taking this, he nonetheless nodded for me to go on.
'I'm going to give you a breakdown of the industry the way I see it.
You may or may not be aware of the fact that there is a substantially
high percentage of Jews in the industry of entertainment. If you aren't
aware I'm sure this comes as a great shock to you, but rest assured
that it is so. Again, you may or may not have heard the name Moses
Znaimer in the halls of your school, you might be surprised to hear
that this is a typical Jewish name. Now for the sake of argument, let's
imagine that it wasn't me here seated in front of you, but Mr. Znaimer
and the occasion was possible employment for you in the industry and
somehow under strange circumstance you had decided to spray him with
your pearls of wisdom and Cosmopolitics. You tell me, do you think
Moses would be impressed? Do you?', the last part of my monologue was
delivered with a gusto that would have made Samuel L. Jackson blush in
shame.
Nik just had his perpetual grin on; maybe he was thinking how lucky he
was that he never had dabbled with narcotics, maybe he was thinking of
how he was going to recount this little episode to Sandy after a quick
knee-trembler back at her place. I couldn't be sure what was playing in
his embryonic mind, but rest assured it wasn't very significant,
because in the heat of the moment I was overwhelmed with an
irresistible sense of drama. You know the feeling.
We had completed our meal and it was time for the bill. I motioned the
over-aged waitress over for this purpose. She asked if we want separate
bills to which I declined; No, one bill would be enough.
The amount came to $22.99. I inspected it myself and handed it over to
Nik. It was only courteous.
He said something about $12 being rather expensive, and I inquired if
he really thought so.
In the meantime I pulled my partner out of my pants and held it in my
right hand under the table.
'Nik, would you say your life's worth more than $11.99?'
'what?'
I repeated the question once more.
He didn't seem to get what I was getting at, so he simply replied that
it was.
'good, so I guess you'll be picking up the tab'
'You're joking, right?
'wrong', and I told him to take a look under the table, which he did.
He saw the very serious, and ungrinning face of my reliable
companion.
I told him that I have no qualms about taking him out right there and
then if he should choose not to pay.
The waitress came by again and asked how will we be paying. I told her
that my friend would be picking up the tab this time.
She said something like 'now, that's what I call a friend'; I agreed
with her. Nik, ashen pulled out his wallet, retrieved 3 crisp 10 dollar
notes and handed them over. The waitress said she'd be back in a moment
with the change. I told her to keep it. I put my friend back in it's
place, and walked with Nik to the parking lot.
I told him I'll see him around; he didn't reply.
Occasionally I see him around, we exchange pleasantries but I get this
distinct feeling that he's still mad at me. Oh well?.