Marching to Zion (18 page)

The orator paused. He wiped his big, shining face with a white handkerchief the size of a dishtowel. For a moment, he seemed to collapse inward. His shoulders caved in toward his chest, his neck bowed ’til his beard touched his belt. Then, as if a tight coil had sprung inside him, he popped himself open, stretching his arms to the heavens. His face tilted upward and his chest filled with air as his conclusion boomed forth.

Come home, O Israel! Today the census of the people in our homeland reaches 350,000, although the tax Ha-Shem levies upon his people is steep in blood and sweat. But the arms of one’s mother are always sweet, even in the most troubled times. In Jerusalem, where yes! our people were slaughtered just five years ago for the great sin of praying at our Wall, we did not abandon her. From days of old they have tried to wipe us out, and yet we stay, and our numbers grow and grow. Come home, O Israel. Make aliyah!
We will welcome you with bread and salt, with milk and honey. It is said that when a righteous Jew enters Jerusalem, even the stones dance. Listen to their music and come home!

The assembled applauded. Loeb and Goldsmith rushed over to shake the speaker’s hand. Then Loeb made an appeal for the World Zionist Organization and oral pledges were made. Even Fishbein was moved to pledge twenty dollars he could not spare. He left the synagogue inspired, resolved to present Minerva and Magnus with a new idea. Aliyah.

When he entered his home, he could not determine if the two lovers were flushed and breathing deeply because he had surprised them in an intimate moment or if they’d been arguing. They stood at opposite ends of the living room. What’s more, they looked in opposite directions, as if distracted by petty pursuits, although everything about their postures suggested this attitude was a deception. He heard Golde playing with the cat upstairs.

My darlings, he said to the other two, I have a solution to all our troubles.

They picked their heads up and regarded him with veiled looks. But what did they hide? Sorrow? Anger? No matter, his solution would distract from whatever ailed them.

Eretz Israel! he said. This is where we should go. To Jerusalem, City of Gold!

Blank expressions greeted his revelation. He went to Minerva first, grabbing her hands in his and speaking most passionately to her.

I am sorry, my child, that we did not go there straightaway when you was small. It’s where we belong. It is our home. Of course, if we had gone all those years ago, we would not have dear Magnus and our darling Golde in our lives, so maybe I’m only a little sorry.

He laughed in his strange, ragged manner so that the mirth that issued from him resembled a halting sob. He crossed the room to Magnus. He put his hands on the man’s shoulders and looked him square in the eyes.

I met a man today from Eretz Israel. He was darker than Golde. You know, in the East there are many Jews like him. And Africans who also live and prosper there. You will be as free as in Paree, I am sure.

He turned and stood with arms outstretched, one toward Minerva, the other toward Magnus.

So, what do you think? he asked.

He wiggled his fingers, expecting them to rush into his arms from blissful excitement. Magnus looked at his lover with his eyebrows raised, soliciting her assent before he made a move. When she spoke, her voice was as dry as Sinai sand.

Oh, Papa. You’ve gone meshugga
.

Magnus intervened.

I don’t know, Minnie, he said. I wouldn’t mind walkin’ the steps my Lord walked.

Fishbein started. Here was a new kettle of fish, he thought. His Lord. When did Magnus become a Jesus man? Well, they were all raised that way, he knew, but never in all the years he’d known him had Magnus Bailey ever uttered anything like this ‘my Lord’ that just rolled from his lips as if that phrase of devotion was common to the core of him.

Minerva spoke up before he could follow his thoughts on where the complication of Magnus Bailey’s beliefs, should they prove just and deep, might take them all. She held out her arms much as her father did and lifted her shoulders.

Papa. Magnus. Do I look like a pioneer to you?

The men stared at her. Her shoulders dropped.

I didn’t think so.

Golde came down the stairs, the orange cat under her arm with its neck stretched out, its feet dangling. Why the cat didn’t struggle for release was a mystery. When she achieved the foyer, she put the creature down. It ran and hid somewhere. The child saw her grandfather and went to him and wrapped her arms around his waist. He bent his head to kiss her cheek.

Zaydee, she whispered in an available ear, is it safe yet?

Whats you mean,
mine shepsele
?

Her long green eyes narrowed and directed themselves toward her mother, whose hands were on her hips, whose mouth was pinched.

Oh, nothing, Zaydee! she said with her gaze yet on her mother. Her grip on her grandfather tightened.

Then Magnus came and took her from him, scooped her high up in his arms, which pleased her so that she laughed and put her head on his neck to kiss him in three wet little smacks.

Come, little brat, he said, and I’ll read with you. We’ll take the Good Book and act out parts. You can choose the chapter and verse.

She chose David’s escape from Saul’s wrath. They settled in a corner of the room with Golde perched on top of a couch, her hand shielding her eyes as she made believe she was at a tower window peering out over the realm of Israel. At first, Magnus was on all fours pretending he was a sheep in a rocky field under her gaze, then he used a thin, reedy voice and was Michal lying to her father. By the time Golde pretended to descend the tower wall by a rope of twisted bed sheets, they were all laughing, including the child who made her laughter a part of the play as an exultant cry of freedom from David’s mouth.

Fishbein had collapsed in a chair, entirely distracted and charmed by the tableau. Not until everyone settled down and Minerva went to the kitchen to lay out their lunch with Golde behind her wanting to help, dragging Magnus along with her small hand around his large one as she did not want to be separated from either of them even for a moment, did Fishbein consider the child’s whisper to him, its odd urgency, the look that passed between mother and child. He pondered the mood of the room when he’d returned from shul and regretted he’d been so enthused with the idea of aliyah that he’d brushed his observations aside. A moment lost, he thought, too late to decipher it now, but one I should not forget. Then Golde called him to the dining room for lunch.

After lunch, Fishbein took a long nap as was his habit. When he awoke, he found himself tangled in blankets and in a sweat. Snatches of a nightmare came to him. He tried to put the pieces he could recall together. The dream had started out benignly enough. He was on a ship, a sailing ship soon to arrive at port. Golde was with him and he held her up high in his arms. Her legs wrapped around his bony hips. Their hearts were light, joyous. Although it made no sense since Jerusalem is a landlocked place, with no coastline, he felt he was showing her the shining city of gold as he had once held Minerva to show her Lady Liberty. That part of the dream he found reasonable, given the day he’d had. But then he remembered there’d been a chain of iron attached to his waist. When he looked backward to see where the chain led, he saw Minerva fastened to the other end. She was bent over the reclining form of Magnus Bailey, who looked to have something very wrong with him. Whatever it was, the sight caused Fishbein to gasp within his dream and clutch the child closer to his vest. He’d opened his mouth to scream but no sound came out. After digesting these details, ones both startling and vague as the elements of dreams often are, Fishbein shook himself, washed his hands, and quickly said a blessing of protection.

He went downstairs and the four had dinner together. Minerva returned as usual to her business, but at the latest possible hour. She could not abandon her livelihood on a Saturday night no matter how Magnus and Golde begged her to stay a little longer. The child went to bed on her own, and Magnus left also, back to that life of his they knew so little about.

Sunday followed Saturday as it always did, and Fishbein felt a fresh veil of melancholy descend over him as it did every Sunday, because toward the end of the afternoon a car would come and take Golde away from him, back to her foster home in the country until the next Thursday night. The hour approached when her departure was near. He told her to pack up her things in the satchel she carried back and forth and to say good night to her animals. He heard her chatter to the cat, gurgle to the tortoise, and chirp at the bird, and then there was a knock on the back door.

What now, what now, he thought, thinking the child’s car had come early as it sometimes did. He puttered to the door and opened it. There on the opposite side of the screen door was a short, round colored man, rocking back and forth on his small booted feet. His profession was obvious. He wore a black suit, a black fedora, and a round white collar. He clutched against his chest a white leather book with a big red cross on its front. Behind him was a pretty young colored woman in a long white dress covered by a kind of apron. She wore a white kerchief wrapped about her head and knotted at her crown. She looked like a nurse, but when the preacher made his introductions, he referred to her as Sister.

First, he lifted his hat. Reverend Dr. Willie Smalls, here, my friend, he said. And this is Sister Pearl. We have come to ask you if you’ve heard the Good News.

Vez mir,
thought Fishbein. I hear plenty of news, good and bad, he said, moving to close the door. And I wish you goodwill buts good-bye…

The Rev. Dr. Willie Smalls stuck his foot past the threshold. His head shot forth like Golde’s turtle’s head when it poked out of its shell, with elongated neck and eyes darting all about the room. He’s looking for something, thought Fishbein. Then his breath caught in his chest, and his heart thumped against his rib cage as he realized what, or who, the preacher sought. Stay upstairs! he tried to tell her silently. Is not safe!

It was too late. Is that Auntie Julie? Golde asked from the hallway as Auntie Julie was what she called her caretaker and teacher from the country. You’re early, Auntie!

She came around the corner into the kitchen. Although she was behind him, Fishbein knew she was visible to the Rev. Dr. Willie Smalls for the way the man’s eyes widened and lit up, the way a small, cruel smile played at the corners of his mouth.

Oh! Golde uttered, retreating immediately back around the corner, where she put her back against the wall, trying for all she was worth to flatten herself against it, into it even, if such had been possible, until she heard her grandfather use rude words in a brusque tone, none of which was like him at all, then the door slammed, and she heard the feet of the preacher and his companion retreat double-time away.

She crept back into the kitchen. Her grandfather sat in a chair at the kitchen table with his elbows on the table and his face in his hands. She went to him and gently touched his knee.

I’m sorry, Zaydee. I’m sorry. It wasn’t safe, was it?

Old Fishbein sighed, thinking what a life they had given her, to fear for her safety constantly, without knowing why.

It’s alright,
mine shepsele
. Nothing happens, did it? he said. You are here and I am here and puss and cheeps and the slow one? So it was safe in the end, yes? Wasn’t it?

Alright, she said with a brave smile and upturned chin. I believe you, Zaydee
.

But she crawled into his lap anyway and held on to him while he hummed her a song from the old country, rocking her sweetly in the fading light until Auntie Julie came and took her away.

There is a rhythm
to love affairs like the one that seared the lives of Minerva Fishbein and Magnus Bailey. The flames of lust burn too fast and too high to find sustenance in the heart, and whatever lies in their path suffocates. Charred bits of reason and care are strewn in their wake, opportunities lost forever. Weariness is thick as ash in the mouth. This did not happen to those two. Thanks to their history before the first embrace, from that day to their last they were joined together like iron soldered to copper. But the quick, sharp heat and inevitable cool was exactly what occurred between Dr. Willie Smalls and Sister Pearl of the Miracle Church of God’s People, especially on the good reverend’s side of things.

The gestation of the whore Pearl’s spiritual rebirth was either inordinately long or preternaturally short, depending on who judged the process. Twice a week for half a year, Dr. Willie came by The Lenaka in the midafternoon to provide her instruction while the root woman tended her shop and gardens. Whenever Dr. Willie arrived at the shop, Pearl’s demeanor changed. She stood straighter. She tamed her hair with her hands every other minute. Sometimes, she was unnaturally silent. Others, she talked nonstop. Aurora Mae put the girl’s agitation down to zealous piety. Nights the two women were alone, Pearl shared with her tales of whorehouse degradation, vulgar tales weighted by great sadness and remorse. Such pitiful incidents were all too familiar to Aurora Mae, given her bondage to the men who’d stolen her from her family then sold her to L’il Red. She felt a queer guilt that the madam had set her free thanks to knowing her from days gone, but at the same time, L’il Red had been a cruel tyrant to the broken girl weeping in Aurora Mae’s sitting room. The guilt blinded her where Pearl was concerned.

Most of the girl’s sordid stories ended with the testament, Oh, I surely hope I never have to do that again! which led Aurora Mae to think they were both pretty much done with men. A life of shared affection without lust wasn’t so bad, she tried to tell her. Not for the damaged ones like you and me. It never occurred to Aurora Mae that the preacher ravished Pearl daily while she trimmed her vines and ground her pestle.

It started when his hand brushed against Pearl’s thigh in seeming accident as the two knelt together in prayer. On Pearl’s side of things, an unnatural shock went through her from that small and fleeting touch. It was as if a lightning bolt had entered her flesh, struck a dry place, and started up a conflagration inside. Dr. Willie was a man of God. The men she’d known before were demons of spit and sweat and darkness. Not one had ever made her feel anything but numb. In her eyes, Dr. Willie was day to their night. Where the others had been links in the shackles that bound her, Dr. Willie was her key to liberation. She purely loved how the preacher’s hand would press her knee in sympathy when she spoke to him of her childhood as a sharecropper’s daughter in a pile of seasons too dry or too wet with no food on the table half the time and the cold or the heat stealing up her legs and down her breasts every day of her life, so that her skin was always raw and aching from one thing or another. She loved how he stroked her back lightly when she spoke of her older siblings who worked like slaves at her daddy’s side just to keep the family going. When she spoke of the babies younger than she, their illnesses, the tiny coffins, her tears would start, and Dr. Willie would clasp her to his bosom to still her grief, which pleased her as it made her feel some kind of loved, even though everything she told him was a pack of lies. She made up some of her best stories just for the burning warmth of him. They were half a sight better than those she made up for Aurora Mae.

There came a day when the preacher and his acolyte were parsing scripture together on the settee, and the story of Mary Magdalene came up.

How I wish my hair were long, Pearl suddenly announced, lifting her arms and running her hands through her short cornrowed mop for the way the gesture arched her back and lifted her breasts. She wore a modest gray shift, loosely yoked at her midriff. With her arms raised and her chest thrust forward, the shift tightened here and gaped there transforming its pious intent into a shameless invitation.

The reverend sat back and studied her with his eyes narrowed to keep the desire she provoked veiled. And why is that, child? he asked, his voice thick.

Quick as a bug, or maybe a lizard that skittles off a bench, she hopped up then knelt at his feet. Her hands on his ankles were hot. If it was, she said, I’d wash your feet with it.

She bent low and leaned forward. Her round, high backside came up so that he could not miss it no matter where he looked. She rubbed the side of her face against his shoes. It was too much. He took her by her elbows and pulled her up to him ’til she sat on his lap. He had her for the first time right there on the settee.

Now a conflagration had been lit inside Dr. Willie Smalls, too. Soon the only scripture read or psalms sung in the back rooms of The Lenaka were those committed in haste while Aurora Mae had yet to go to work and kept them bothersome company. They fondled each other even in her presence, the second her back was turned. Sometimes, while she waited on a customer an involuntary cry would issue from Pearl or Dr. Willie’s mouth as the fire between them burned high and bright. My, but the Lord is praised mightily this noon, Aurora Mae would say, shaking her head and smiling with satisfaction that the poor whore had achieved such sanctity and joy.

One day, Dr. Willie was late for their lesson. Pearl fretted and paced. Maybe something happened to him, she said.

Aurora Mae soothed her. Don’t be silly, Pearl. It could be so many different things keepin’ him. A man like that has his plate piled high with responsibilities. You’re not the only sheep in his flock, you know.

She’d meant to jolly the girl along, but in mentioning other sheep, she’d shoved a thorn deep in the whore’s heart. By the time the good doctor arrived, Pearl was trembling with resentment and irritation.

Dr. Willie, his head down and shaking from side to side, waved his hands in the air as apology. I know I’m as late as springtime in a cursed year, he said, but a poor sufferin’ child needed my counsel.

You see? Aurora Mae said before quitting the room. I told you so, Pearl. She’s been troubled about you, Dr. Willie. Had you run over in the street by the milk wagon and the fire engine both.

Once she was gone, he might have wished he’d been run over a little bit rather than face Pearl’s ire. Poor sufferin’ child! she hissed at him. I know men. You all can’t break a nasty habit unless another’s taken its place. What lost little slut was that zackly who required your impious counsel?

He put his back straight and his chin up in the air. What has been related to me in the confidence installed by power of my collar, he said, is sacrosanct. I cannot help you find peace with my great sin of tardiness. You must look to your own soul for that. You are bein’ both uncharitable and unreasonable. I see we have much prayin’ to do together, my child. Much.

Prayin’, she said. Oh yes, let us pray.

She got up close to him and pulled out from her bag of tricks a caress Dr. Willie found so perverse he thought he might die of sinful pleasure. If she would only do it again, he swore, he would gladly roast on the spits of hell forever in her name. So she did, that day and the next day and the day after that and every day until he grew bored, and then she opened her bag of tricks once more and pulled out a fresh manner of posing and poking and stroking and enflamed him all over again. This game of theirs continued long after her baptism until even a former whore as practiced and skilled as Pearl could find nothing new to intrigue him. She could only perk his desire by whispering wicked stories in his ear of the things they might do if they invited others to join them. He responded most favorably to fancies that employed the participation of Aurora Mae, which angered her although she kept her resentment locked in her heart. By this time, she figured she had Dr. Willie in her pocket, but if you asked him, he’d say he had her in his, and he’d tell you such with a world-weary sigh, like a man bound to a wife he no longer had use for.

That Sunday in March as they hurried away from Fishbein’s home before he had a chance to call the police, she proved herself more cunning than Dr. Willie usually gave her credit for, which was a mistake in every case.

Oh, my sweet Jesus, she said. I been wonderin’ why you wanted to try that house two days in a row. Never mind no one answered your knock yesterday.

Um, hmm, what?

That child peeping ’round the corner. She could be Magnus Bailey’s, couldn’t she?

Dr. Willie wasn’t so sure. His heart had caught in his throat at just the glimpse of her, but it seemed too good to be true that the Lord would deliver in that moment in that time exactly what he needed to crush Magnus Bailey once and for all.

What makes you say that?

Why her eyes! They are zackly his, ain’t they? Who is that old Jew anyway?

The preacher covered his excitement in vague mutterings, then hopped on a bus more to shut Pearl up than get anywhere fast. Elbow to elbow with a great press of colored folk stuffed in the back, he took to nodding his head and smiling at everyone as if he were greeting congregants at his ramshackle church just to avoid discussing the matter any further with her.

If there was any man alive Dr. Willie Smalls hated with all his heart, it was Magnus Bailey, who had poached from him the biggest, fattest calf he’d ever eyed toward sacrifice. If only she were his, Aurora Mae and her money could make the Miracle Church of God’s People a cathedral. Colored folk would come from every county in the state to witness its glory and hear the wisdom of its preacher’s word. He’d wear garments of silk and finest cotton, his Sunday suppers would never lack for meat, and he’d sleep in a fine feather bed of his very own rather than the miserable straw-filled one that cradled him nightly in the back of McCracken’s Cash Groceries, where he worked daily as stock boy and nightly as watchman for the privilege of housing his congregation on the floor above. Such were his hopes for Aurora Mae Stanton when he’d met her, well-heeled but hard put to joy after the flood. Until Magnus Bailey came along and in the space of a Sunday how-dee-do stole her clean away.

He suspected Bailey hated him as much as he hated Bailey, which was why it was such a shock to have the man approach him not one week ago to ask of him a favor.

Dr. Willie was sitting in Aurora Mae’s parlor waiting for Sister Pearl, who’d taken up permanent abode in the root woman’s house. They were due to make the usual rounds of the Miracle Church of God’s People’s devotees, offering spiritual guidance, Dr. Willie called it. Sister Pearl referred to the exercise as goin’ collectin’ or the shearin’ of the sheep. Bailey came in and removed his bowler hat as a sign of respect, which nearly knocked the preacher off his chair, such was his utter and complete surprise.

Dr. Willie, I’ve seen the good work you’ve done with Sister Pearl, Bailey said. She has transformed from a vile, wicked creature to a pious woman of great charity and cheer, and I’d like to applaud you for that.

Dr. Willie folded his arms over the shelf of his round belly, his hands tented as if in prayer. He smiled.

It’s the Lord’s doin’, not mine, he said, raising his eyes to heaven. All praise to Him on high.

Amen.

Amen.

The two enemies sat in opposing chairs now, beaming falsely at each other. Dr. Willie was having the time of his life. Magnus Bailey looked about to swallow thistles. The reverend had known more than his share of desperate men seeking release. He could see this one had a most heavy burden to unload. He leaned forward, putting on his gravest empathetic expression while inside he was just about bursting with pleasure to see the man suffer.

What troubles you, son? he asked.

Then Bailey said the most remarkable, the most desired, thing.

I need your help.

Of course, whatever I can do.

Bailey got up and paced the room, leaning on the mantelpiece by the hearth, then quitting it almost instantly. He had a great restlessness inside. Oh, yes, thought Dr. Willie, how he suffers! It was hard, oh, it was exceeding hard for the reverend not to laugh out loud.

Bailey told him about an old associate of his, the Jew Fishbein, whom he’d known ever since that man got off the boat in St. Louis many a year ago. Much of the good fortune Bailey had had in life, he swore, he owed to two people: Fishbein and, of course, Aurora Mae. And it pained him, it pained him awful to see the sorrow of Fishbein, a man who’d never hurt a soul on earth, let alone a colored man, an unusual quality, Dr. Willie would have to agree, for a white man in their part of the world. The sorrow of Fishbein, it seemed, had a name and that name was infamous. It was the name L’il Red.

She’s his daughter, you see, Bailey said. And if you could do for her what you’ve done for Sister Pearl, steering her away from the flesh, givin’ her a brand-new soul, sweet to Jesus, a soul that’d help her start her miserable life all over fresh, maybe someplace outta here, where the misfortunes that drug her down started, then it would heal her father also, I am sure, and I would not rest until I had properly and completely thanked and rewarded you.