Ju Jitsu

         "O que cheira tão bem?" my Brazilian boyfriend asked my mother as we walked into her house for Friday Shabbat dinner.
         "Well, zippity doo dah to you too," she replied with a sly grin.
         "What smells so good, Mrs. Bernstein?"
         "As I said before," she paused, her mental wheels cranking, determined to get it right, "O meu nome é Alice."
         "Muito bom!"
         She grinned.
         When I first came out to my mother, she was a bit cool on the subject. It wasn't that she disapproved, per se, it was more that she didn't know how to engage with me. She didn't know what was appropriate to ask or not ask. Which was very odd. Until then, she was a typical Jewish mother - her children's business was her business too and there was no distinction between the two. I'd even become a doctor. Well, veterinarian, but she agreed that was close enough since my elder sister already was a cardiologist. There were times having that type of family and community is reassuring in the 'you mess with one of us, you mess with all of us' sort of way, but it could also be annoying. Like the time she dropped by during a date that was going well. She was 'dropping off extra honeyed bundt cake' she'd made for Rosh Hashana. She used her 'emergency key' for such an urgent mission and saw more than she intended. I never forgot to set the chain again.
         Things remained awkward until I met Raphael. Who knew that the key to restoring my relationship with my mother was to bring home a gay Brazilian Catholic; but a certain someone is often credited with working in mysterious ways. She took to him immediately and thought he was the most fascinating creature on earth. He did have a easy grace about him, and still does, that puts people around him at ease. She was even learning Portuguese, and honestly, getting pretty good at it.
         His first Shabbat was quite the affair. It's a big family thing that we do on the first Friday of every month when the whole family comes together for ritual chaos. The other Fridays are quiet, household affairs. She invited him. We both knew it was not optional for us. I spent days preparing him for the assault of siblings, aunts, uncles, cousins, bizarre foods, strange rituals, and my grandmother's Yiddish, which I swear she made up as she went along.
         Coming back to the present, my mother noticed the pet carrier that Raphael sat down on the kitchen floor.
         "What...is that?" she asked, pointing with a stirring spoon, not a speck on her immaculate apron.
         "It's a kinkajou," he replied simply.
         "A what?" Her eyebrows twerked, "It's not staying here, whatever it is."
         Raphael smiled, "Kinkajou. Someone brought it in to the clinic today because they didn't know what to do with it. We're taking it home."
         "What are you going to do with it?" She asked.
         She sat her spoon down on a spoon rest and pulled a chair up to the front of the carrier and peered in, her oversized glasses gave her an owlish appearance.
         "That's an unusual pet. I've never heard of such a thing."
         "I'm not sure," I admitted, answering her earlier question, "They're usually wild, but this one seems to be very tame. I don't know anything about its life up until about an hour ago. Somebody just left it by the door with a note saying, 'Sorry.'"
         "They're fairly common in Brazil," Raphael offered.
         "What does it eat?" Mom asked, looking up at him. He was well over six feet tall, so both Mom and I had to crane our necks to talk to him.
         "Plants, mostly berries and fruit. They really like figs."
         "I have some," she said, "And I'm sure Jacob would stop by the market on the way home and get more, won't you honey?" She looked up at me.
         "Yes."
         She went to the refrigerator and pulled out a little basket of figs. She quartered one on a cutting board with a small paring knife.
         "Don't you just love that purple color of a ripe fig?" She asked rhetorically, bringing the fig pieces back, using the cutting board as a tray, and plopping down on the chair.
         "Jacob, honey, stir the stew while I feed...what's his name?"
         "He doesn't have one."
         "What's a good Brazilian name?" she asked.
         Raphael just shrugged, "I don't know if we can keep him...or her, I really don't know."
         My mother's sly grin returned, "Ju Jitsu. Ju for short."
         "Oh God, Mom," I said from the stove.
         "How about Ju-Ju," Raphael offered.
         "Perfect! How's my little Ju-Ju bear?" she said in a singsong voice, offering it a piece of fig, which it took and gobbled down.
         I don't know if it smiled, exactly, but it seemed pleased with its new moniker. Or the food. Probably the food.
         "If you said he's tame, he can't be released into the wild can he?" She asked.
         "No, ma'am," Raphael responded.
         "It is rather cute," she said.
         "Do you want to hold him?" I asked.
         "Maybe for a moment," she replied, "Then I need to finish setting up the menorah and the dinner table. Jacob, honey, there's a cinnamon apple bake in the oven. Don't let it burn."
         "I can set up for Shabbat," Raphael said, "And I know Jacob can handle dinner."
         She cautiously opened the carrier door and coaxed Ju-Ju the kinkajou out with another piece of fig. She gave it to him and gently stroked his head.
         "I suppose he's kind of cute." She admitted.
         Raphael came over to the stove and slid his arms along my sides and came up behind me.
         "I think she likes him."
         "Hey Mom, until we find him a new home, would you mind if Ju-Ju stays here? We're both gone during the day."
         "I suppose I could take..." she lifted up one of the hind paws, "Him for a while."
         "Good."
         "But you owe me," she replied.
         "Yes, Mom."
         Raphael and I finished dinner and Shabbat prep while Mom made a new friend. She took him into the living room and introduced him to Wheel of Fortune.