Christmas for Joshua - A Novel (22 page)

“
Really? Did she like the idea of bagels and lox for Christmas?”

“
With all the garnishes,” Rebecca smirked, “who wouldn’t?”

“
Of course. But keep out the capers—too bitter for Christmas.”

“
Good point. We don’t want to pickle the holiday spirit.”

“
Right.” I watched Debra lift up her old teddy bear and show it to Mordechai, who tugged at the blue-and-white scarf. “Will they come?”

“
She’ll ask the other nurses and let me know,” Rebecca said. “Most of them have family in town for the holiday weekend, so it might not work out, unfortunately.”

“
Too bad.”

“
Don’t be so disappointed.” She tapped a Jewish star on a string, making it spin. “It’s the intent that counts.”

We went to the kitchen and sat around the table. I was still in shock at Rebecca’s devious maneuver. She had pulled the rug from under my whole effort to confront Debra and Mordechai with the duality of my Jewish faith and Christian traditions. I had thought that staying under one roof with a Christmas tree would stimulate a passionate discussion about prejudice, xenophobia, and the destructive forces of extreme religiousness. But Rebecca had turned the whole thing into a benign effort at workplace harmony—a Jewish doctor making a last-minute, half-hearted, condescending effort to acknowledge the hospital workers and their holiday.

For a moment I was fuming, ready to blow up and tell all. But the cake was excellent, and my daughter was home for the first time since last summer, telling us about the beginning of her married life, about the new apartment and the first breakfast they had together as a couple—singed wheat toast and Mordechai’s version of scrambled eggs, which included cottage cheese, ketchup, and a few shards of eggshell. We laughed, and Rebecca brought me a cup of herbal tea, seeming completely happy and loving, though I could see the victorious glint in her eyes.

There was a headdress on the table, folded up. I picked it up. “Is this yours?”

Debra nodded. “You want to try it on?”

I did, and they found it very funny.

Touching his yarmulke, Mordechai asked, “Do you want to try mine?”

“I’m not kosher yet.” I handed the headdress to Debra. “Are you going to keep your hair covered like the Orthodox women?”

“I
am
an Orthodox woman.”

I gestured at her hair. “How come it’s not covered now?”

“Inside a woman’s own home,” Mordechai answered for her, “or even her parents’ home, she may remove her headdress, unless there are strangers around. It’s a special dispensation, according to Rabbi Mintzberg.”

“
Mean-Zeh-Berg.
” I sipped from my tea. “
Mount Mean.
”

“Not
mean
,” Debra said. “
Mints
. He makes me think of those little chocolate mints you find on the pillow in a good hotel, you know? Dark on the outside, but kind of sweet inside, with a sharp bite.”

“A sharp bite,” I said. “That’s him.”

“
The cake is excellent.” Mordechai put his yarmulke back on, glancing at me and looking away. He clearly was terrified of the moment of truth, when Debra would find out what had happened at the ketubah room at the Pillars of Joy.

“
Here.” Rebecca sliced off pieces and placed them on Mordechai’s and Debra’s plates.

“
I’m full.” Debra pushed it away. “Didn’t you like our rabbi, Dad?”

“
Just playing with words.” I wondered how Mordechai had been able to keep from telling her the truth. Spoiling her wedding night had been my concern, the reason I had demanded that they lie to her about me feeling sick. But keeping this secret for much longer was risky for Mordechai, who had the most to lose should Debra find out and feel deceived. Was he too young to understand this risk? Or was he hoping the secret would remain undisclosed?

“
He’s a famous rabbi.” Debra’s voice had a defensive pitch to it. “People come from all over to ask him questions of Torah. I feel fortunate to have had him officiate at our wedding.”

“
Speaking of the wedding,” I said, “it’s been three days already, and if you don’t mind me asking, did Debbie do a grandbaby for Daddy?”

“
Dad!
” Debra threw a cake crumb at me, and Mordechai turned red.

“I’m sorry, but your mother is worried.”
“Am not!” Rebecca sat down and pulled Debra into her lap, cradling her like a mother would a small child, which looked funny with Debra being much taller than her petite mother. “If you have to know, Dr. Dinwall, then after the wedding night a bride is forbidden to her husband for a period of time.”

“That’s right.” Mordechai smiled with those big, white teeth. “I’m dying here.”

The boy had a sense of humor, which delighted me with hope. In a way, I liked the idea that he couldn’t touch my daughter, but I also felt sorry for him. “A little bit of abstinence,” I said, “is good preparation for the harsh realities of marital coexistence.”

“Okay.” Debra got off Rebecca’s lap. “We’re going to sleep now.”

“Wait,” I held her arm. “What’s the update on your med school applications?”

She shrugged. “I’m only applying in the New York area—”

“My dad is on the board at Albert Einstein,” Mordechai said. “We’re hoping to end up there together.”

“
Great,” Rebecca said. “Ask for a two-for-one discount.”

“
It’s a good school,” he said, “and they’re very accommodating to observant students.”

Debra nodded, and I held back my disappointment that she wouldn’t be attending medical school at Columbia, as I had done.

We said our goodnights, and they were gone into Debra’s old room.

At the door to our bedroom, I asked Rebecca, “Did you really call Nina?”

“
Of course. I wouldn’t lie to Debra. But don’t worry. No one is available. We can take the kids to Sedona on Sunday as planned.”

“
The staff must be laughing all over Facebook.” I sighed. “Bagels and lox for Christmas?”

“
Are you looking for another fight?”

“
Hell, no!” I laughed. “You’re a clever woman.”

“
Exactly.” She handed me linen, a towel, and my toothbrush. “Go sleep with your tree.”

Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas

Going to sleep alone was a new experience for me. It had happened occasionally that Rebecca was already asleep by the time I got home from the hospital. But her presence in bed next to me would invariably have a calming effect, enabling me to get over the nervous rush of surgery and fall asleep. Still, I was on vacation now, and the jovial time we had just spent together gave me a good reason to be optimistic about turning Rebecca around. By tomorrow night, I expected to be back in the master bedroom upstairs, our pillow talk dedicated to a united effort of pushing back the tide of Orthodoxy that was threatening our relationship with Debra and the boy she had married.

I pulled the plug and the tree lights went off. Lying down on the living room sofa, I recited the night prayer, another calming ritual I had adopted years ago: “
Hear, O Israel, Adonai is our God, Adonai is One…
”

The sofa was plump and cushy. At first, the luxurious, body-forming leather under the linen embraced me comfortably. But soon, instead of lying on the sofa, I was lying
in
it. My eyes wide but seeing little in the darkness, I slowly sank into the soft cushions like a silent victim of warm quicksand. I stretched out to my full height, turned on my side, moved closer to the firmer edge, but with every new position the sinking sensation soon resumed.

Suddenly, I was overwhelmed by the onslaught of suffocation.

Air!

I kicked off the covers, leaped from the sofa, and opened the window, gulping in the night air. My heart was racing, and I chided myself for consuming all that iced tea so late in the evening, loading up on caffeine.

After a few minutes, my breathing slowed down. I turned on the lights and sat on the sofa. The pain in my left arm seemed worse. I rotated it, trying to loosen up the shoulder. I should have bought a smaller tree, perhaps an artificial one that required no heavy lifting.

Looking at my Christmas corner, I felt that something was odd about it. At first I attributed it to the Judaic decorations, which most people would consider out of place but to me seemed appropriate in light of my particular personal history. The oddity went beyond the decorations, and it took me a few minutes to pin down the cause:
No gifts!

The checkout lines at Wal-Mart defied the late hour or, more accurately, the
early
hour. It was almost 3 a.m. when I finished my shopping spree and pushed the cart through a parking lot full of cars and SUVs. Everything fit in the trunk of the Volvo, except for the set of Callaway golf clubs and the elongated box of gift-wrap paper, which I dropped in the back seat through the open top. I zipped up my windbreaker and drove home. The rushing air felt fresh and invigorating.

I brought in the goods without waking up anyone. The stepladder was trickier, but I managed not to bang it against the walls on the way from the garage. It wasn’t quite as tall as the highest bough, but I reached up to the top of the tree and tied the star-shaped balloon, which was painted in gold with shining letters:
Golden Days Are Here Again!
It was probably intended for a retirement party, but my choices were limited to items that were not explicitly for Christmas, or there would be trouble when Rebecca got up.

It took me almost an hour to write the three cards. Then, armed with scissors and tape, I sat on the carpet and began to wrap the gifts.

Part Six

Thursday, December 24 – Christmas Eve

We Wish You a Merry Christmas

By 8 a.m., I could tell from the sounds of toilets flushing and showers running that everyone was up. When Rebecca’s hair dryer quieted down, I sat at the piano and pounded the keys with the basic notes of “We Wish You a Merry Christmas.”

The sound drew the three of them to the living room, where they found me playing the familiar Christmas tune. Before my wife had a chance to hit me with a heavy object, I started singing the revised lyrics that I had written at dawn:

“
We wish you a merry marriage,

We wish you a merry marriage,

We wish you a merry marriage,

And a baby next year!

God’s blessings to Mordechai,

And to all of your kin,

God’s blessings to Debra,

And a baby next year!”

The big smiles on Debra’s and Mordechai’s faces encouraged me, and I continued to the next part:

“Oh, bring us a cutie munchkin,

Oh, bring us a cutie munchkin,

Oh, bring us a cutie munchkin,

Or twins for good cheer!

God’s blessings to Mordechai,

And to all of your kin,

God’s blessings to Debra,

And a baby next year!”

By the encore, the young couple was singing with me, “
We wish you a merry marriage!
” Rebecca took a little longer, but Debra forced her into it, and they sang together, “
We wish you a merry marriage,
” and giggled at each other as the last line came around, “
And a baby next year!”

Setting the mood so successfully with music, I found no resistance to my invitation to open the gifts. I had arranged the wrapped packages on the coffee table rather than under the tree so as not to trigger Rebecca’s wrath.

Mordechai went first. He removed his card from the box of golf clubs and read it.

“
Nice,” Rebecca said, reading over his shoulder.

I handed her a gift. “And this is for you.”

She tore the wrapping. It was a picture frame. The photo I had chosen to insert showed me flanked by Rebecca and my mother. It was a bit comical, as Rebecca was much shorter than my mother, and I was even taller. But most important was the fourth participant, my mother’s dwarfish Christmas tree, under which she had placed a single gift for me and my Jewish girlfriend—a box of kosher Elite chocolate, made in Israel. I still don’t know where she had found it, but Rebecca had been touched by the gesture. The photo was taken with my camera, set on a short timer, capturing one of very few occasions that Rebecca spent time with my mother, who died a couple of years later, shortly before her fiftieth birthday.