The Tenth Song (11 page)

As they neared the synagogue, they began passing people they knew. “Good Shabbes,” they said, nodding. Some answered; some didn’t. In either case, they smiled.

“Good luck,” he whispered to her at the entrance, parting to make his way to the men’s section. She squeezed his hand, then let him go.

She climbed the stairs. For the first time she could remember, she felt it necessary to reach out for the banister, gripping it firmly as she put one foot in front of the other, pulling herself forward to a place she didn’t want to be.

When she opened the door to the women’s balcony, she was relieved to see that she had arrived early enough to find it almost empty. Most women—herself included—usually turned up about halfway through the service, just as the morning prayers concluded and the Torah portion of the week was being read. That way, they could use the reading time to catch up on the latest gossip before they needed to fall into respectful silence for the rabbi’s sermon.

Slowly, the pews around her began to fill.

The secretive, silent stares. She could feel them touch the back of her neck, then crawl down her spine with disgusting and electric swiftness, not unlike a
roach scurrying down bare skin. Wherever she turned, she seemed to encounter them, like beams of high-intensity light aimed at the sky to warn away jets from skyscrapers.

Mrs. Garfinkel, who usually turned around to greet her, sat facing straight ahead. And Mrs. Finer, who sat behind her and never gave her the time of day, didn’t even bother to return her nod. Or was that what she usually did? Abigail suddenly couldn’t remember. Was it her imagination, she thought, or was the buzz in the women’s section an octave lower than usual? She felt raw and vulnerable, like an unbandaged burn victim anticipating pain from the very air around her.

Helen came in later than usual. She reached out and hugged Abigail, kissing her on both cheeks. “Be strong!” she whispered, leaning into her. Abigail breathed in the fragrance of her good perfume and her good fortune, a life without complications, a life in which it was so easy to be strong. Not that she begrudged Helen her life. She deserved it as much as or more than anyone. She was, after all, such a good person. She baked for the poor, visited the sick, and held fundraisers for weary domestic-abuse victims.

And I, Abigail thought, no longer have that scent. I smell of scandal and failure. I’ve been added to the “dontinvitem” list, a person to be avoided at all costs.

Joyce came in at her usual time. She walked with the slow caution and heartrending straightness of back that is the pride and achievement of the very old, each step a defiant rejection of lurking pitfalls. She had broken her hip last year, and now used a cane. She was a great-grandmother, a small, elegant European survivor, who wore lovely gold bracelets and earrings, and always dressed like mother of the bride. She said nothing, reaching out for Abigail’s hand and holding it the entire time. God bless her, Abigail thought, wanting to cry.

“It’s shameful, shameful! What is the world coming to? Your wonderful husband. How can they say such things? We all know it’s a lie. Really, Abigail, don’t let them get to you, my dear. They are always looking to pull down the best people. Let me know, whatever you need, my dear. Anything. Anything at all,” Joyce whispered during the rabbi’s sermon, ignoring all shushing.

In response, Abigail reached over and kissed her cool, papery cheek.

How simple, how natural were the words. It was what one expected in such
circumstances from the people who knew you, words that carved in fine relief just how badly most of the people she knew had behaved.

“How was it?” she asked Adam, as they walked home.

He looked straight ahead. “Fewer people seeking free accounting advice… And the rabbi wants to speak to us right after the Sabbath. Isn’t that kind of him!”

“You think?” Abigail turned to him, two spots of color in her cheeks that he hadn’t seen before. “Doesn’t it depend on what exactly he has to say?”

“What… what do you mean? He’s got to be supportive. He’s our rabbi, for goodness’ sake!”

“Right. We’ll see.”

“You never liked him, Abby.”

“I just never saw the connection between his wisdom and his deeds, that’s all.” She shrugged.

“What do you mean?”

“He’s very pro-Israel, right? But during the Intifada, when Israeli tourism was suffering, he canceled the synagogue’s yearly trip and privately told people to keep their kids home from Israel-year programs.”

“It was a difficult time, Abigail.”

“The Evangelicals didn’t cancel their trips. They increased them. It was a test, and he failed.”

He shook his head, ready to take up the rabbi’s defense once again, but stopped. There were people sitting in front of their house on their porch chairs. Strangers who jumped up when they approached, brushing wet leaves from their raincoats.

“Mr. and Mrs. Samuels? We’re from WBGL Channel Four. We’re wondering if we could ask you a few questions?” She was a startlingly pretty black woman holding a microphone. The man had a camera hoisted on his shoulder.

Abigail stretched out a clawlike hand, sheltering her face. “NO! Please. We have nothing to say! Now leave us alone. This is our Sabbath day…”

But instead of retreating, the woman moved in closer, blocking their way.

“Our viewers are interested in knowing if, as devout Jews, you have any guilt feelings about funding terror which might be used not only on American soldiers but on Jews in Israel and Jewish institutions all over the world… ?”

“Oh, my God, please leave us alone! We haven’t done anything,” Adam begged.

“Isn’t it true that the money transfers were in the millions of dollars? And isn’t it true that A. J. Hurling was an innocent victim of your scheme?”

“Do you know the damages they can ask for in a civil suit for invasion of privacy?” a familiar voice suddenly interrupted. “Not to mention libel. I know, because I’m a Harvard-trained lawyer.”

“Seth!” Abigail cried, surprised and relieved.

The reporter and cameraman exchanged looks, hesitated, then reluctantly stepped out of their way.

“Come in, Seth!” Adam held the door open, patting him on the back.

“It’s so good to see you!” Abigail hugged him. “What are you doing here?”

“I should have come over right away. I’m so sorry. It was all so confusing.”

“Seth, this isn’t your fault or your problem,” Abigail said.

“Yes, don’t worry about it, son.”

“Join us for lunch?”

He hesitated, then nodded. “Thanks, Abigail. I’d like that.”

“I can’t tell you how sorry I am that this has touched your lives, tainted your happiness…” Adam said, gripping his hand.

“Don’t worry about me! I’m going to be fine. But I am worried about your daughter.”

“Did you quarrel?” Abigail asked, biting her lip.

Seth hesitated, then nodded. “I’ve never seen her like that. She was furious. I’ll tell you the truth, it frightens me.”

“You don’t really think she’d do something reckless, hurt herself?”

Seth shrugged. “I have no idea, Adam, what she is capable of doing in her present state.”

“You’re exaggerating, Seth. I saw her three days ago. She was fine,” Abigail protested.

“Did she say anything about me, about the engagement party?”

Abigail thought for a moment; to her surprise, she realized Kayla had not said a single word about either. Only now, thinking back, did she realize how strange that was.

“Then you don’t know that she’s insisting on having the engagement party
on time or not having it at all? That she’s insisting on publishing an engagement announcement in the papers?”

Abigail shook her head, shocked. “She didn’t mention a word to us about any of this.”

“I understand your mother… your parents… have a different opinion?” Adam said tactfully. “And what about you?”

He shrugged with unconvincing nonchalance. “I don’t care one way or the other. I don’t care about parties. All I want is for Kayla to be happy. I’ll do anything you all think would be best. But I will say this: I don’t understand why we have to steer directly into the iceberg.”

“Have you told her this?”

“She won’t listen to reason, Mrs. Samuels. She thinks postponing it will be viewed as a slap, a judgment call about your husband’s innocence. She is adamant. And my parents are just as adamant. I don’t know what to do…” His eyes glistened. “Please, I didn’t mean to cause you more worries. You have enough on your plate. Can I help, by the way?”

“Thank you, Seth. But we are up to our ears in legal advice.” Adam shrugged.

“I understand that Marvin Cahill is representing you?”

Adam nodded. “Our family lawyer recommended him.”

“He has an excellent reputation, but I would be careful that he takes into consideration certain recent decisions about terror funding that have set some important precedents. Sometimes lawyers are lazy, even the best of them. I would also recommend going over the ruling made in the State of New York Supreme Court, Appellate Division, just this past year that had to do with money transfers… Has Marvin mentioned this to you? If not, I’d be happy to call him and point this out to him…”

“That’s very kind of you, Seth, but let’s get back to Kayla. Where is she now?” Abigail asked.

“Back at the dorms, I think.”

“You think?”

He lapsed into an uncomfortable silence.

“Seth?”

“She isn’t talking to me at all.” He swallowed hard, as if he’d bitten off a large piece of food that was preventing him from speaking until he disposed
of it. “Look, I said some things… things I didn’t mean. She took it very hard.”

“What,” Adam said slowly, examining Seth carefully, “kind of things?”

“Okay,” Seth finally blurted out, realizing all his verbal skills were inadequate to the task of finessing what had to be said next. “I told her I thought we needed to distance ourselves from your problems, or it could ruin our careers.”

Adam sat down heavily.

“I’m sorry, Adam. Really. I’ve thought about it, and I don’t care anymore. You see that I’m here. I let the reporters photograph me. I was just a little hysterical, I guess, and my parents didn’t help.” He stopped, gulping down a big breath. “I really love Kayla. And I do care about all of you.”

Abigail put her arms around him. “Of course you do, Seth. It’s all so awful. For everyone.”

“I should have come here with her. I should have been there for her.”

Adam nodded. “That’s true,” he said pointedly, less forgiving than his wife. Kayla was his princess. “But it’s not too late, Seth. Remember, we’re just at the beginning of all this.”

“Which is why you both have to talk to her. She’s got important follow-up interviews scheduled for next week with some top law firms. She shouldn’t cancel. It’s both our futures on the line.”

“Of course she shouldn’t cancel. Do you think she will?”

“I don’t know, Mr. Samuels. I don’t know anything. Would you call her now, speak to her?” he begged.

Adam’s eyebrows rose. “You went to yeshiva. We don’t use the phone on the Sabbath.”

“Oh, right. Sorry. It’s just that I’m not practicing anymore, even though I believe.”

“Something new?” Abigail asked, surprised.

“It’s the pressures of law school. But I’ve been thinking about it for a while.”

“I once had a friend who said he was a nonpracticing vegetarian. He ate steak every night,” Adam said dryly.

“Yes, well. I just wanted to see you both, to offer my help. If you need me to go over files or anything…”

“Thank you, Seth. Offer noted.” Adam nodded gratefully.

“Come, sit down, have something to eat.”

“Thanks, Mrs. Samuels. But on second thought, I’ve really got to get back. I’ve got a ton of reading to catch up on.”

Abigail felt a sense of relief. She was already rethinking the hug, wondering about his behavior and what it meant for the long haul. She wanted him gone.

“Don’t work too hard. Remember, the Sabbath is a day of rest,” Adam said.

“Maybe after I finish law school.” He smiled, backing away toward the door, then stopped. “Is there a back way out of here?”

“Go out through the garage, then hop over the neighbors’ fence. They won’t mind.”

Seth wiped his sweating forehead with the back of his hand. “Okay. Sorry. Thanks.”

They waited for him to go. “I’ll get the wine,” Abigail said. “And then we can eat.”

“I’m not really hungry,” Adam whispered.

Rabbi Moshe Prinzak was a distinguished man. Tall and slightly underweight, with the face of an ascetic made more worldly by an immaculately trimmed white beard and gold-framed glasses, he looked like central casting’s idea of a spiritual leader, Abigail thought cynically. His suits were dark and impeccable, his silver hair shiny and well cut, his black leather shoes always hand polished to a mirror finish. His rabbinical degree and doctoral degree, both from distinguished institutions, hung on the wall of his synagogue study in laminated perfection among thousands of learned volumes in Hebrew, English, German, and Yiddish.

He was a man who disliked controversy, unless he could forcefully cite an opinion that most people would be eager to agree with. He was a man constantly looking over his shoulder to see if his sermons, his written halachic opinions, sown in the ground of the modern Orthodox movement, had borne any bitter fruit that would poison his reputation among his far-right-leaning brethren who had sewed up control of Israeli religious institutions. Some thought he was exactly what a rabbi should be: a peacemaker and hater of divisiveness.
While others called him a moral coward, unwilling and unable to stand up to the religious establishment. Abigail leaned toward the latter.

For example, he took a strong stance on premarital agreements for brides and grooms but refused to sanction annulments for women married to drug addicts, homosexuals, and wife beaters who couldn’t get a divorce the normal way because their husbands wanted to blackmail them. And he had never expressed any opinion at all about cases of rabbinic sexual misconduct.

On the plus side, as Adam always liked to point out, he knew how to give an inspiring sermon, and he was sincerely interested in helping the ill or unfortunate members of his congregation, generously dispensing synagogue funds to those in need. Adam and Abigail had always contributed generously to those funds, as well as to other synagogue needs. Rabbi Prinzak had never been turned away from their generous home.