The World Outside (12 page)

I gave the saleslady Mama’s credit card.

“If her mother doesn’t like the dress, can she return it?” Devorah Leah asked.

“She can, but it won’t be necessary,” the saleswoman said. “Her mother will love it.”

I wouldn’t show my family the dress when I got home. “I’ll model it for you after dinner,” I promised.

When we’d finished eating, I did the dishes and went to my room to change. I took the dress out of its tissue paper and put it on. It was as beautiful as I remembered. I went back down to the living room, opened the door a crack and stuck my head in.

“Attention, everybody! Here comes the most amazing graduation dress of all time!” I stepped through the doorway.

Mama and Papa stared at me, their mouths open. Papa quickly averted his eyes and focused his gaze on Mama. Yossi looked down at the carpet and began to laugh.

“You can’t be serious!” Mama cried.

Baba shook her head. “No sleeves and it’s black. For graduation!”

“It
does
have sleeves! And what’s wrong with black?” I twirled around. “I think it’s beautiful.”

Mama’s complexion turned crimson. “You can’t possibly wear this dress. It’s not modest!” she said. “We’ll go to the mall tomorrow and exchange it for something more suitable.”

I was so angry that I was trembling like a leaf. “If I can’t have this dress, I don’t want any other!”

Mama looked at my father beseechingly. “Natan, tell her I’m right. This dress is not appropriate for her. If she’s seen in it, her chances for a good match will evaporate. No yeshiva boy will marry a girl who dresses immodestly. Appearances are very important in Crown Heights. Tell her.”

“Listen to your mother,” Papa said.

Baba cleared her throat. “Can’t you fix the sleeves somehow, Miriam?” she asked. “Line them, maybe?”

Mama’s scowl relaxed slightly. “I could do that.” She walked up to me and pinched the lace off one of my arms. “Yes, it wouldn’t be difficult to line the sleeves,” she muttered.

“The sleeves are what make the dress special,” I tried to explain. “If you line them, you’ll ruin the dress.”

“We’re Lubavitch,” Mama said. “We dress modestly. See-through lace sleeves are not modest. You should know better, Chanie.”

I brushed away her hand. “If I can’t wear the dress the way it is, I don’t want it. Return it!”

“But your graduation—” Mama began.

“I’ll wear my Shabbos clothes!”

I stormed up to my room, tore off the dress and changed back into my school uniform. Then I went into my parents’ bedroom and laid the dress down on their bed, tossing the receipt on top.

CHAPTER 12

I
climbed the steps to the library and put my palm against the door, then dropped my hand before pushing it open. I turned around and went back down the stairs.

What’s the matter with me?
I asked myself. After all, this was my opportunity to get some answers.

I forced myself to climb the steps again. Back at the top, I found myself staring at the door. Once again, I couldn’t bring myself to open it. My hands were anchored to my sides. As I turned around to go down the steps a second time, I couldn’t bear to leave. I didn’t know what to do.

At that moment, an African-American man came up the steps. I moved out of his way. He pushed the door open and held it.

“You coming or going?” he asked.

“Coming. Thank you.” I scuttled through the entrance without giving myself the opportunity to change my mind.

I found myself in a large foyer with a marble floor. A desk stood in the center. Behind it sat a woman with wire-rimmed glasses and matching gray hair. She was absorbed in her reading.

My legs seemed to be made of lead, but somehow I crossed the expanse of marble. I stood in front of the desk, waiting for her to notice me. Finally, she looked up. Her eyes took in my long skirt and long-sleeved blouse, making me feel self-conscious.

“What is it?” Her tone was frosty. “What do you want?”

“I’d like to get information about
Rigoletto
.”

“You want
what?
”

“A book that tells the story of
Rigoletto
,” I repeated.

She took off her glasses and began to polish them. “
Rigoletto
?” she said in a bemused voice.

“Yes. It’s an opera by Giuseppe Verdi.”

I was glad Mama had at least told me the name of the composer.

The librarian’s eyes scanned my clothing once again. “I thought your people had your own music.”

I stood up straighter. “We do,” I said shortly and stared into the air above her head.

She put her glasses back on and chuckled. “All right, I get it. None of my business.” She stood up. “I’ll show you where to look. Come with me.”

You are in the library, you are in the library
, clicked her heels as we passed by shelves and shelves of books. I’d never seen so many in my entire life—and not one of them the Chumash. Our school had a large library filled with Jewish books, but it was nothing compared to this.

She stopped in the stacks at the back of the building. There was nobody around except a man sitting at a nearby desk.

“This is our reference department,” she said, gesturing at shelves filled with ornately bound books. “None of the books here can be checked out, but you can consult them for as long as you like in the library. All of our encyclopaedias are over here.” She nodded toward the man. “That’s the reference librarian. If you have any questions, he’ll help you. If I were you, I’d look in the
Encyclopaedia Britannica
first. Everything is in alphabetical order.”

With a wave of her hand, she was gone. I ran my finger down the spine of one of the books. There were so many of them, so many ideas. It was overwhelming. A peek at my watch showed that I’d better hurry or Mama would start wondering why I was so late getting home from school. I was only able to come to the library in the first place because we’d been dismissed an hour early. It might be a long time before I got another chance.

A round table and four chairs sat beside the shelves holding the
Encyclopaedia Britannica
. I put down my schoolbag and took the volume labeled with the letters
R
and
S
off the shelf. I sat down with it and took a pen and paper out of my bag, ready to take notes.

I found two columns about
Rigoletto
in the encyclopaedia and began to read. The tale was so different from anything I had ever imagined. It was a story of deceit and misunderstanding. Rigoletto was a hunchback jester in the Duke of Mantua’s court in sixteenth-century Italy. His love for his daughter, Gilda, was his only redeeming quality. He dedicated his whole life to protecting Gilda from the evils of his society and from the wickedness of the dissolute duke. In spite of all his efforts, Gilda was murdered at the end of the opera.

I had to admit that Mama was right: it was a worldly story. Too worldly for a Lubavitcher girl like me. But despite the gruesomeness of the story, the music of the opera was glorious. Still, I couldn’t understand why Mama was so obsessed with this particular one.

I looked at my watch again. It was time to go home. I put the book back on the shelf, packed up my notes and looped my schoolbag over my shoulder. When I passed the librarian at the entrance, she called out: “I’d like to talk to you!”

I approached her desk with knees trembling. What did she want? I’d done nothing wrong. I decided not to
tell her my name if she asked for it, in case she contacted my parents.

“I found two books you might like to read.” She held them out to me.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t …”

My eyes caught the cover of one of the books. It showed a young boy, his head covered by a yarmulke and a prayer shawl draped around his shoulders. Facing him was another boy in Hasidic clothing. A large Star of David was drawn above the title of the book, which was
The Chosen
. The author was Chaim Potok. I’d never heard of him.

“I love this book,” said the librarian. “It tells the story of a friendship between two Jewish boys. One of them is Hasidic, like you. The author was a rabbi.”

My hand seemed to have a mind of its own. It reached out and took the book from her.

She then showed me the second book. This cover featured a girl in an old-fashioned dress, riding a horse on a green hill. There was a hazy picture of a man in the background. The title was
Jane Eyre
and the author was Charlotte Brontë. I’d never heard of her either.

“This is a novel about a girl who changes her life during an era when things weren’t easy for women,” she said.

I thought for a moment of Baba, and how she and her daughters had worked day and night to give the boys
in the family the opportunity to devote their lives to the Torah; I thought of Mama, whose life was much the same; and I thought of Esther, not yet thirty, with eight children to care for and the youngest still a babe. I also realized that none of them ever complained.

“Life is difficult for women even today,” I said, “but the ones I know still seem content.” This was the first time I’d ever had this thought in my entire life.

Still, I took
Jane Eyre
from her.
I already have the other book
, I told myself,
so one more won’t make a difference
.

“Thank you for the books.” I started toward the door.

“Wait a minute! You have to apply for a library card before you can take them.”

I looked at my watch again.

“It’ll take you just a minute to fill out the application,” she said in a coaxing tone.

“I don’t have any money.”

“It’s free.”

“Will you notify my parents that I applied?”

She gave me a pitying look. “Why would I do that? It’s just a library card. Do you have any ID?”

I showed her my student card, which had my picture on it.

She handed me a pen and an application form. I went back into the library to fill it out. I wrote down my own name but gave David’s address and phone number. When I was finished, I took the application back to her.

She looked it over, then wrote my name on a small card. “You’ll be sent your permanent card by mail in two weeks,” she said. “In the meantime, you may take out the books I gave you using your temporary card.”

“Thank you,” I said, heading toward the door.

“I hope that you’ll enjoy them!” she called after me.

Mama was bent over the stove when I got home. As usual, Rigoletto’s voice filled the room.

“You took your sweet time,” she said, by way of greeting. “Moishe’s waiting.”

“Sorry,” I mumbled. “I’ll just take my bag to my room.”

On my way out of the kitchen, I stopped beside a small drawer where we kept odds and ends. After making sure that Mama’s back was turned, I opened the drawer, took out a small flashlight and slipped it into my pocket. The whole operation took barely a second. When I looked back again, Mama was still stirring stew on top of the stove, absorbed in her music, her back to me.

In my room, I changed out of my uniform and put my schoolbag on a chair. I decided to leave the books in it for now. Once I was back in the kitchen, I got Moishe’s food ready, but that turned out to be a wasted exercise. No matter how often I tried, he spat out his soup and wouldn’t eat the rest of his meal.

I crouched down so that our faces were at the same level. “What’s the matter, Moishele? What’s bothering you?”

I wished he could tell me why he didn’t want to eat, but it was hopeless. Finally, I gave up. I carried his dishes back into the kitchen and piled them in the sink to wash.

“He wouldn’t have his dinner, Mama.”

She sighed. “I hope he isn’t coming down with something. If he keeps this up, I’ll have to take him to see Dr. Deutsch.”

That night, after everyone had gone to bed, I took the books out of my schoolbag. Where to put them? I examined every nook and cranny in my room before deciding to hide them in my underwear drawer, with the flashlight beside them. I felt they would be safe there, since I always did my own laundry.

I knew it was wrong to take the books out of the library, but they’d looked so interesting that I couldn’t resist. Still, a Lubavitcher girl like me had no business reading books like these. I knew very well that my parents forbade non-religious books in the house. I also knew that the Rebbe wanted us to dedicate ourselves to religious studies. I decided to return the books the next day without reading them.

The next thing I knew, I was climbing out of bed and taking
The Chosen
and the flashlight out of the drawer.
I made a tent out of my blanket and began to read. The world around me disappeared as I immersed myself in the story of two Jewish boys living in Williamsburg, a place that seemed so familiar and yet so different. I’d never been there, even though it was so close to Crown Heights.

Around midnight, I heard a click, as if a door was being opened. I stuck my head out of my cocoon, but the door to my room was still tightly closed. I put
The Chosen
and the flashlight back into their hiding place and was asleep in a few minutes.