Jerusalem Maiden (18 page)

The afternoon sun behind the groom was blinding. As he entered the kitchen yard, Esther was relieved to glimpse prayer
tzitzi'yot
dangling from under his shirt. Yet the air of newness of this stranger was less intriguing than suspect; his religious practices seemed tacked on him like on a scarecrow. How could Aba, a man of unshakeable convictions, compromise on the Haredi piousness that underpinned the family?

Aba and Shulamit met the groom in the front room. Anger, hurt and dread playing inside Esther in equal measures, she waited in the bedroom with the delicacies for the guest so he wouldn't glimpse her collecting them from the kitchen.

Their voices hushed, the girls chanted in unison, “You got yourself a boy
goy
! Oy, oy, oy; oy, oy!”

Esther shoved them into Aba and Shulamit's sleeping alcove. “One more word and I'll chop your braids off in your sleep!” Choking back tears, she pressed her ear to the door. Aba had instructed Shulamit not to speak of Naftali's kidnapping; there would be no laying the family's troubles at the groom's feet. Instead, the conversation turned to the Armenians fighting the Ottoman ruler while seeking autonomy under British protection.

“Who can foretell how much worse a new ruler might be?” Aba sighed.

“Nations under British rule prosper. Get modernized,” the guest replied. His voice was low, but clear. “That's the only way our land will ever get electricity and running water. The British will bring a disciplined, uncorrupted administration. Who knows? Maybe we'll even travel from city to city in hot-air balloons.” He paused. “There's talk about Jews getting organized in Egypt and even in America to help them.”

“Organized in what way?”

“To fight alongside the British to defeat the Turks.”

Jews picking up guns? The man was a Zionist! Aba abhorred Jews who, instead of waiting for the Messiah to bring salvation, dried swamplands in the Sharon Valley, planted vineyards in the mountainous Galilee, and laid asphalt roads to connect these two parts of God's land. Now Aba didn't retort with Sodom's fire and sulfur as he did when arguing with Zvi-Hirsh.

Shulamit pushed the bedroom door open. There was satisfaction in her bunched-up cheeks as she elbowed Esther's arm with affection. “A very nice, serious man,” she whispered.

“A modern Jew. How can Aba allow him in our house?”

“Act with
tzni'ut
. Promise me you won't let him see your craziness. Think of your poor Aba and how hard it is for him to pretend serenity and to overcome his back pain.” Shulamit took out of the armoire the bottom of a tin can polished to a looking-glass finish and tucked it in Esther's hand. Using the edge of a coal fragment, she touched the corners of Esther's eyelids and brows. Then she retrieved a ceramic vial with rust-color powdered dust collected in Solomon's mines—the same the women of the Bible had used. “For your cheeks.”

Esther batted away her hand. “No more.”

Sighing, Shulamit placed the plate of pastries in Esther's arms. “Too bad we can't serve a honey cake to symbolize a life of sweetness.”

There would be no “life of sweetness,” she would make sure of it. Esther entered the front room. Keeping her eyes downcast, she sneaked glances and registered the thin, solemn face, the neatly trimmed beard so unlike the unruly facial hair of Me'ah She'arim men. The groom's features, down to the long, thin nose and defined lips—not too full, not too narrow—were pleasing. His skin was smooth, thank God. He was older than her brothers, though not by much.

She was taken aback at the sight of the brown velvet trim on the lapel and the cuffs of his sleeves. And the top of his walking stick against the wall was molded silver. This elegance—like that of the men on Mlle Thibaux's colored-pencil box—was ostentatious for a Jerusalemite. Aba surely disapproved of such foolishness. What did such a man want with the simple Esther?

Silently, Esther poured hot tea into tall clear glasses ready with mint leaves. Shulamit had saved four sugar cubes in Ima's tiny silver bowl, and Aba presented them to the groom, protecting Esther from an accidental touch.

Before taking his first sip, Nathan lifted a large package wrapped in white cotton and placed it on the table. “For you, a Jerusalem maiden,” he said, glancing at Esther.

She sat down, allowing a tiny, modest smile of thanks, and drew the package closer. Opening it, she gawked at a folded cloth of heavy brown wool. Enough to make herself a coat! In a smaller package lay a fur collar, wide enough to hang past her shoulders. Esther could barely catch her breath. Only Mlle Thibaux had owned a fur. For modesty, Esther would sew the collar with the fur side down. She blushed and cleared her throat of the many questions caught in it, but could only manage, “Thank you.”

Pierre, too, had offered her a coat. Her fingers caressed the smooth fur in her lap. Since the groom had arrived in Zalman's wagon and brought such extravagant gifts, he must have traveled to Jaffa's port, where ships imported fabric and furs. Talk now! Soon, the decent amount of time for this meeting would be over. Talk. She wouldn't be another Ruthi.

“Esther's Ima, may her memory be blessed, used to say that when the Messiah arrived she would have a fur collar.” Aba's light tone made Esther admire his bravery. “I joked that he'd face more urgent undertakings than to hang a dead fox around the neck of every
balabuste
.”

Talk. Esther folded the gift so as not to seem greedy. Talk. “Was your
diligence
trip to Jaffa comfortable?” she asked Nathan.

Shulamit flinched at the immodest directness.

“I came by train—”

“By train? But it's so expensive,” Esther blurted. She couldn't imagine this immaculate man dirty with the train soot that covered all passengers.

“Please forgive my daughter's forwardness,” Aba said.

But Nathan didn't seem to take offense. “I didn't travel
to
Jaffa. I live there.”

“Are you moving to Jerusalem?” she asked.

“Of course not,” Aba replied quickly. “You'll live with him in Jaffa.”

Esther's stomach gave a flip. Aba wasn't just purging her from their Haredi
klal
to live with a man who wore a velvet-trimmed suit and sported an elegant walking stick. Aba was exiling her far away. How insignificant was she to him?

“I am an agent of fine china. I must live near a port,” Nathan said. “Jaffa has been the center of commerce since ancient times. All trade passes there, from Africa to Europe and from west to east, merging with the Silk Road.”

The Silk Road. Esther's mind reeled. She had dreamed of one day visiting Jaffa, but the thrill of this promise was now eclipsed by the dread of staying there forever. It suddenly felt like death not to wake up to Jerusalem's ancient stones, or to the landscape of the mountains stretching away. With the trip back from Jaffa on the unpaved road taking two days, she might never return to the familiar sounds, sights and smells.

Aba poured sweet red wine made of Jerusalem grapes into tiny cups. “Hanna, who is a year younger than Esther, will stay here to help,” he added by way of explanation to the guest.

It suddenly dawned on Esther: Aba was selling her to a rich merchant to improve the family's lot. A prosperous groom would support them all! Esther bit her lip so the pain would dull the sting of the insult. Tova must have arranged the
shiddach
for Hanna. Her sister's betrothal would be set as soon as Esther's was executed. Her sister's yeshiva
boocher
, forever lacking a source of income, would be living at Aba's and would bring honor to the family. Her own rich merchant, providing for them, would never rise to her brother-in-law's status.

Esther's mouth was dry. The reality of the bargain was lashing her. Cast off, exiled to a city devoid of holiness, a place where Jews sat in cafés with women and swam in the sea, she'd be conscripted to a life in Diaspora among strangers.

“
L'Chaim.
” Aba offered the guest the wineglass and raised his own.

To life? Hers was that of a shriveled grape left on the vine after its brethren had made themselves useful in the making of sacred wine.

“To life. And may He bless you and your family with good health.” Nathan drank, then turned to Esther. “I visited your father on business a couple of times and noticed how well you ran the household—”

“Until Shulamit, that is,” Aba interrupted.

Nathan had had his
ankuken
? He had found her appearance pleasing. Was it acceptable to not want to marry, yet take pleasure in a man's adulation?

Nathan touched the tablecloth embroidered with flowers. His fingers were long. “Your father pointed out your handiwork. You are very talented.”

Talk. Tell this man that he's made a terrible mistake. Her family was unsuited for him. His Zionist ideas were an affront to Aba. Show Nathan that she was an impertinent girl not worthy of his money. Esther's tongue seemed glued to the roof of her mouth. God, who had given her courage before, now deserted her. In His eyes, too, she was no more than a blight on the grain of rice that her family occupied in His vast universe. Talk.

Nathan's gaze shifted back to Esther. It was kind. She was being too hard on God. He had sent her a husband who would keep her in comfort, in the port city from where ships sailed to faraway places. But in her head, she heard Ima's derision at the life of luxury that would deprive Esther of the suffering required for the redemption of the world's Jewry.

“For your china business, uh, do you take excursions to Europe?” Esther managed to ask.

“Esther!” Aba called out.

“Yes, I do,” Nathan replied. His voice was soft yet rich, containing a tune eager to come out. She imagined him chanting Shabbat
nigunim
at a crystal-and-silver-laden table, encircled by his many future children and an elegant wife who couldn't possibly be Esther. He continued, “I have traveled to Europe to order new merchandise and to supervise its shipment back to Jaffa.”

“It's a long trip. Very far,” Esther said.

“I apologize for my daughter's behavior,” Aba said. “She was taught humility,
tzni'ut
and obedience—”

But Nathan continued, “I took a steamer from Jaffa to Beirut along the Mediterranean shore, then traveled by train to Holland, France, Czechoslovakia, Rumania and Austria. It took months.” As he spoke, his arms stayed relaxed, so unlike the Haredi men, who gesticulated in conversation as if debating yet another Talmudic passage.

“Weren't you afraid of bandits?” Esther asked. From the corner of her eye, she saw crimson on Aba's face. He would be angrier once she did what was on her mind now.

Nathan brushed invisible lint off his pants. “I've been delayed by the war, but I'll get on the road again as soon as things quiet down.” He smiled. “You won't be alone. My sisters are eager to meet you.”

“Among Jews one is never lost,” Aba said.

What kind of a man wasn't offended by her lack of
tzni'ut
? Nathan must have socialized with Zionists, whose brazen women spoke to men.
I'll be living in Jaffa.
The words drummed in Esther's head with renewed dread.
I'll be married on Tuesday.
To a man unafraid even of sword-wielding bandits.

Aba's finger motioned to her to leave. “Esther must get back to her chores.”

She glanced at the clock. It had been only fifteen minutes. Desperate, she blurted. “I've been to a church. I saw an unclothed Jesus—”

“Esther!” In spite of his back injury, Aba jumped to his feet. Shulamit's intake of air was audible.

Nathan seemed to be the only one whose face didn't register a shock. “Interesting, isn't it? I've visited churches in Europe.”

She pushed Nathan's package toward him. “I don't want to get married. Ever.”

“Mr. Bloomenthal, I apologize—”

But Nathan cut Aba off, speaking to Esther. “Keep my gift, please; winter is harsh here. We'll wait a couple of months, until your fifteenth birthday. In the meantime, I must travel to Constantinople.”

Constantinople? Esther's head jerked. Aba's back straightened as if lashed. “Why there?” he asked, his tone urgent.

“I supply china to the sultan and his extended family. The war losses haven't compromised their opulent lifestyle—”

Before the guest had finished his sentence, Aba grabbed both his hands. “Bless you. Oh, bless you!” He hugged the surprised man. His veneer of dignity crumbled, and he started weeping. “Hashem has sent you to us.”

It took only two sentences to explain to Nathan about Naftali. In Constantinople, the command center of the Ottoman army, someone would surely know who Naftali's captors were and where they held him.

“I'll see what I can do,” Nathan said, his tone soft and eager.

A
vram's bride arrived, and their nuptials took place on Tuesday. Nathan would return any Tuesday next month, and Esther hadn't found a decent way to cause him to withdraw his offer, though she had managed to disgrace and infuriate Aba. Not only had her protests against getting married been ignored, but Nathan had wormed his way into the family's graces. He had sent a shipment of fat-dripping kosher salami, a small barrel of sardines, sacks of flour, sugar, beans and dried fruits, jars of sour cabbage, canned string beans, a basket of eggs preserved in lime putty, and three live chickens tied by their feet. It was a mitzvah to share their bounty, Aba said, and invited forty members of needy families to partake in the meal. The next day, the neighborhood buzzed with Nathan's generosity, while the Kaminskys were back to their dearth of food, and Esther felt more exploited and alone.

The feistiness she had mustered when speaking to her groom came to nil. Now Esther stood in the corridor and stared into the looking glass fixed in the coat rack. In the dim light, only half of her face was illuminated, leaving the rest in shadow. The hair pulled back into a braid over her ears left only fleshy earlobes visible. She grimaced, crinkled her nose, stuck out her tongue and pulled her lower eyelids to expose the lint-like capillaries. The girl reflecting back looked like Jephthah's daughter—the dispirited, acquiescent girl Esther had become since Naftali's kidnapping.

The unusually warm winter afternoon hinted at the approaching spring. Seeking an answer to her plight—and possibly to Ruthi's—Esther stole time before Hanna and Miriam would return from their play and sat on a stool in the kitchen yard. She opened her Bible to the poetry of the Song of Solomon, forbidden to her virgin mind.

The verses alternated between the bride's and the groom's lines, packed with words of desire of both spirit and body. And then there were the Daughters of Jerusalem, the maidens surrounding the bride, who tempted her to indulge in love before marriage, until she pleaded with them to wait.
I adjure you, O daughters of Jerusalem . . . that you stir not up nor awaken love until it pleases.

What did that mean?

Set me as a seal on your heart, a seal on your arm. For love is strong as death, passion fierce as Sheol.
What exactly were love and passion to be this ardent? Ruthi had no passion for Yossel and his painful
yi'chud
, so unlike these fervent verses.

A cool breeze stroked the needle-fingered leaves of the cypress outside the yard, and Esther's skin prickled with whatever it was that wasn't supposed to be stirred in her yet.
May he kiss me with the kisses of his mouth—for your love is better than wine. Your anointing oils are fragrant, your name is sweet-smelling oil. So the maidens love you.

Esther sucked in her breath. Lips meeting lips. She had never seen a woman and a man kiss and couldn't imagine Ima ever putting soft lips to Aba's. And if this was what Esther was supposed to feel about Nathan, she didn't. Nevertheless, something bore down at the bottom of her stomach, traveled upward through her breasts and rushed up to her lips until she had to squeeze her hand onto her mouth.

Shulamit waddled over. The way she pressed her back told Esther that her stepmother's womb had been blessed. “Like every bride.” Shulamit smiled and pointed at the open book in Esther's lap. “Our book of love.”

Esther felt crimson painting her face. She slammed the Bible shut.

“First comes marriage, then comes love,” Shulamit said. “Not the other way around.”

“What if I don't love him, uh, afterwards?”

“With money in his pocket, a man is wise and handsome and sings well too,” Shulamit quoted a proverb. She pulled over a second stool and sat down. “Don't you know that we have divinely ordained mates? Everything happens for a reason. Nathan was pre-ordained for you.”

Had Yossel been Ruthi's ordained mate? Esther's finger traced splintered wood in the stool.

“You'll make yourself love Nathan. You'll get help. The Talmud instructs us how to kindle love between a man and wife, starting with the
nidah
. When you are forbidden to one another for two weeks, the separation increases your desire.” Shulamit's finger tapped the closed book in Esther's lap. “Then there are the words that the Song of Solomon provides a man. The enchanting words of courtship.”

She closed her eyes and, lips parted, began to chant. “
How beautiful you are, my love, your eyes are doves. . . . Your lips are like a crimson thread, and your mouth is lovely. Your cheeks are like halves of a pomegranate. . . . Your neck is like the tower of David. . . . Your two breasts are like two fawns, twins of a gazelle, that feed among the lilies.
”

Catching herself, she opened her eyes and giggled. The roots of Esther's hair were on fire as if she had caught Aba naked. Was this how he talked? If so, did he say these words before or after he kissed Shulamit? Avram couldn't possibly be reciting this passage to his bride—

Her stepmother let out a luxurious sigh and pushed herself back to her feet. “So you see, the Bible takes care of the love part. When your groom says these words to you in the privacy of your
yi'chud
, you will feel love.”

Ruthi didn't. After Shulamit went back inside, Esther stared at an ant that was climbing up her sleeve. She batted it away, then hunted it down in the packed dirt and squashed it. Soon, the women touting
tzni'ut
as the cornerstone of spiritual strength would sprawl her legs to pluck each hair. Had Ima lived, she would have been the one to orchestrate the ritual. Esther's fists tightened. In His curse of Eve,
In anguish thou shalt bring forth children,
God had appointed the
klal
the executioner of its young women.

How far removed from the verses of the Song of Solomon. Esther opened the book again.

My beloved is all radiant and ruddy, distinguished among ten thousand. His head is the finest gold. His eyes are like doves beside springs of water. . . . His cheeks are like beds of spices yielding fragrance. His lips are lilies, distilling liquid myrrh. His arms are rounded gold, set with jewels. His body is ivory work, encrusted with sapphires. . . . This is my beloved and this is my friend, O daughters of Jerusalem.

Except for the jewels, Esther thought, this description was of Pierre.

Voices in the street shook her out of her reveries. Tova rushed over with panic on her face, Asher catching up behind her, blinking. For a split second Esther thought that he had spoken to her about his proposal. But no. The stricken faces told her it was much worse.

Tova reached the kitchen yard, dabbing her eyes. Asher breathed so hard he wheezed.

“Naftali?” Esther whispered in horror.

“It's Ruthi!” Tova cried out. “It's Ruthi!”

“She's killed herself,” Asher said.

“
Baruch Dayan Emet.
” Tova murmured the blessing said upon hearing tragic news.
Blessed is the true judge.

Clutching the Bible, Esther dropped down on her knees. The pain of the hard stone made the news real.

T
he members of the Burial Society had carried the body away before Esther arrived. The rushed funeral, shorter than Ruthi's nuptials, took place merely an hour later, as it was decreed that no corpse could be kept overnight. Esther's keening mixed with the wailing of relatives as she stared at Ruthi's body and head wrapped in the white shroud. It looked tiny as it was thrown into the dark bottom of the grave. Since Ruthi had desecrated God's image through suicide, she was buried outside the cemetery fence. The obedient daughter in life was shunned from the
klal
in death.

On the open hillside of the Mount of Olives, the shaking that had seized Esther wouldn't subside. The words from David's lament over Jonathan's death came to her:
I am distressed for thee, my brother Jonathan; very pleasant hast thou been unto me: thy love to me was wonderful.

Crying, Ruthi's mother closed her palms over Esther's hands. “Wasn't my girl beautiful? Now I'll never have grandchildren from her.”

You didn't want her back!
Esther wanted to shout.

A lost bird shrieked over the cemetery as Yossel recited the kaddish, and his monotonous rhythm revealed nothing of the deranged boy that he was. Then the mourners took turns with the shovels to fill the grave with earth. Esther scooped one mound of soil after another with all her might. She continued to labor in fury until someone yanked the shovel out of her hands.

As everyone left to walk to the
shiva
, Esther hung back, apprehensive about entering the house of mourning. Five months earlier she had been there for Ruthi's tragic wedding. The cemetery had emptied of people, but Esther couldn't tear herself away. She plopped on the ground and pounded the soil with her fist. “Stupid! You should have asked for a divorce,” she called out. Even though she hadn't seen it, images of Ruthi lying in the pools of blood sprouting from her slashed wrists stalked her mind. “Stupid! How much worse could a divorce have been?!”

Her voice echoed back from the valley, where she saw the top of Yad Absalom, the dunce-hat tomb of King David's rebellious son. She shielded her eyes as she scanned the vast cemetery spreading along the slope for Ima's grave; she would ask her to watch over Ruthi, if she knew where it was. The hill was covered with thousands of rectangular, whitish, low tombstones. Gershon's grave was somewhere here, too, merely marked
Yeled
.

“You should have asked for a divorce,” Esther called out again, her voice hoarse. A flock of swallows returning north startled up in unison like sacred scripture letters that had been tossed into the air.

T
he next afternoon, she forced herself to go for the
shiva
visit. Yossel's and Ruthi's male relatives, covered in ashes, their clothes torn in grief, sat on upturned crates and prayed from
siddurs
. Esther scrutinized the pain-filled faces of Ruthi's parents, aunts and uncles, and the rabbi and his
rebbetzin
, and wanted to point at Yossel and shout, “He killed her! And all of you were his accomplices!” But she, too, consumed by her own turmoil, had failed her friend.

Unable to stay a minute longer, Esther left. But she couldn't face her crowded home and Hanna's haughty remarks now that her betrothal to a yeshiva
boocher
had been announced. Instead, Esther let her feet carry her to the church, where works of art would be tonic for her sorrow.

Breathing in the aroma of burning wax and lemony wood polish, she walked the expanse of the center aisle. The shafts of lowering rays of sun pooled on the polished floor of the left nave and reflected on the fabric and bare skin in the painting in front of her. The eyes that looked at Esther from the prophet's sun-ravaged face were lit with kindness, reminding her of Aba's gaze when he had still loved her. The despair in the curved spine of the maiden at the prophet's feet depicted an emotion she understood all too well. But there was no prophet to mediate her life for her—as there had been no one to speak for Ruthi.

Taking in the composition of the background elements—a lone tree in front of a boulder, sheep grazing, a cooking bowl on the ground, puffs of clouds—Esther imagined herself on a ladder, working on this oversized painting, her scaffold strewn with paint jars and brushes. She would have spent days, even if they strung into long years, completing such a single magnificent work. This painting would forever reach out to strangers, not just across cultures, but also across time. She had believed only the Bible could do that.

She touched the cool, hardened canvas. Once, on one of their Shabbat excursions, she and Ruthi had paused at a pond. One frog was climbing the other's shoulders in order to get out, and Ruthi had asked why it didn't just hop out. Esther had shrugged. “It doesn't know it's possible.”

She didn't need to climb over Ruthi's dead shoulders. She could just hop to shore. That's it. She would visit Bezalel—just to look around, watch art being produced, nothing more than satisfy her curiosity. The building in the center of town, with its imposing Baroque columns, couldn't be a worse place than a church. Esther wouldn't visit the sculpting studio, although she might bump into Pierre—

She wiped her wet face with her sleeve. “Because of you, Ruthi, and for you,” she whispered. “I'll go to Bezalel. Now.”

Her steps lighter, she walked out. She sniffed the air. Something unusual hung about, not a smell or a sound, but rather some heaviness. Was God already warning her? Esther crossed the length of the church's alley, and the street leading to Jaffa Gate opened with a view to the south.

The sky was bathed in meat bouillon. The flushed burgundy tint lacked the brilliance of sunset and cast an eerie color upon the earth. Esther shielded her eyes and stared at the line of advancing scarlet clouds. Were her sins bringing Sodom-and-Gomorrah-like wrath?

The camels resting in the dust, awaiting pilgrims and cargo, turned their heads toward the red cloud and clumsily rose to their feet. Their nostrils flared, and a strange series of sounds, a cross between brays and neighs, blared out of their throats. Down at the thoroughfare, several automobiles hooted their horns amidst cargo-laden, agitated donkeys that suddenly jumped and kicked indiscriminately.

Esther was peering at the diluted light that broke on the white stones of the Old City wall in a reddish tone, flat and absent of any reflection, when she heard the shouts. People poured out of the market two hundred meters behind her, yelling, “Locusts! The locusts are coming!”

In the mayhem that erupted, someone pushed a washboard into her hands. Locusts! The eighth plague of Egypt! Shouting to add to the noise that should scare the locusts away, and running down the dusty path by the Mamilla neighborhood to head home, Esther drummed the washboard. Then the cloud was above her, and crimson darkness shrouded the world. She had reached the main thoroughfare when something dropped on her head, small and hard as a clothespin. Another dropped on her shoulder. They landed in pairs, then in dozens, and then there was a hail of them.