The World Outside (15 page)

The door to the studio opened just then and a harried-looking young man came out. He was perspiring heavily and wiped his brow with the back of his hand while slinging a knapsack over his shoulder.

The door opened again, and a man with a shiny bald head appeared. “Ms. Penner, please.”

The young woman jumped out of her chair. “That’s me!”

She followed the man into the room. The walls must have been soundproofed, for we couldn’t hear a single word coming from the studio.

“What are you going to sing?” David asked.

“I had trouble deciding, but I finally settled on one of Gilda’s arias from
Rigoletto
. I’ve heard it so often on Mama’s cassette player that I had the Italian words memorized without realizing it. I also picked one of Avraham Fried’s songs. I practiced them both at Devorah Leah’s house. I didn’t want to arouse Mama’s suspicions.”

“I think you chose well. Those songs will show the judges how versatile you are.”

We lapsed into silence. The only sound that could be heard was the tick-tock of the clock on the wall. As the minutes crawled by, I became more and more nervous. At first, I sang the songs silently in my head, but then I couldn’t concentrate on them anymore. Was I wasting my time here? Surely they’d never pick me to study at Juilliard! I was on the verge of leaving when the studio door flew open and the young woman stormed out. Her face was flushed and she was biting her lip as she walked by.

The bald man appeared in the doorway once more. “Ms. Altman?”

“That’s me.” I stood up.

“Good luck!” David mouthed.

I followed the man into what turned out to be a small, windowless room. Two men and a woman sat behind a narrow table in front of the back wall. The fluorescent lighting cast pallid shadows on their faces. To the left of the table stood a grand piano. The bald man sat down on the piano bench. I stood in front of the table, my hands clasped behind my back to still their trembling.

A nattily dressed man in a blazer and bow tie broke the silence.

“Good morning, Ms. Altman. Don’t be nervous. We just want to hear you sing. I’m Professor Glesby. These are my colleagues, Professor Stein”—he gestured to the
woman—“and Professor Tsai.” Then he nodded at the bald man by the piano. “That’s Mr. Axworthy, your accompanist. Please give him your music.”

“I have no music,” I somehow managed to say.

“No music?” He picked up a document from the table in front of him and began to read it. “Ah, yes,” he said with a little smile. “Your application … it was rather unusual. We were quite intrigued by it.” He continued to read. “No lessons, can’t read music …” he muttered.

The woman sitting beside him tapped him on the arm. “Is she the one?”

“Yes, it’s her,” he said.

Professor Tsai spoke for the first time. “So, Ms. Altman, you told us on your application that you want to sing because it makes you happy?”

I nodded.

“Do you know that’s the best reason any student has ever given us for wanting to study music?”

“Quite frankly,” Professor Stein said, “that’s the reason you were granted this audition.” She smiled at me encouragingly. “So make yourself happy, Ms. Altman. Sing for us!”

I stood there, rooted to the floor. Sing for her, a total stranger? And even worse, sing for three strange men? It had never occurred to me that I would have to do that. I knew very well that it was forbidden. I opened my
mouth, but no sound came out. Worse yet, I couldn’t remember a single note of Gilda’s aria or of Avraham Fried’s song.

“Go ahead, Ms. Altman,” Professor Glesby said in an encouraging tone. “We’re waiting.”

I opened my mouth again to tell them that my music was gone when suddenly a picture of Moishe laughing as I tickled him came into my mind. I thought of Mama and the pride in her face when she looked around our Shabbos table. I thought of Papa and the contentment in his eyes as he studied the Rebbe’s writings. And then the most amazing thing happened: the professors, the accompanist and the studio all disappeared.

A loud noise transported me back to reality. All three professors and Mr. Axworthy were on their feet, clapping with all their might. Professor Stein was wiping tears from her eyes. “Bravo! Bravo!” she cried.

I shook my head to clear it.

“You have a rare gift, Ms. Altman,” Professor Glesby said solemnly. “Your voice is sublime—untrained, of course, but we can change that. That’s what we’re here for. I think my colleagues will concur that there’s no need for a callback in your case.” The other professors were nodding in vigorous agreement. “You’ll have a letter from us very soon. Of course, we will need your high school transcripts. Please forward them to us as soon as possible.”

Before I could even absorb what was happening, the accompanist was ushering me out of the studio and back into the hall, where David and a young man, who must have arrived while I was inside, were sitting.

David bounded out of his chair. “How did it go?”

“I don’t really know.”

“What do you mean?”

“I forgot the songs—the music, the lyrics, everything—but then I sang ‘Ribono Shel Olom’ to them and they seemed to like it.”

I told him everything about the audition. By the time I’d finished, he was jumping up and down, shaking his fist in the air and yelling, “Yes! Yes! Don’t you see, Chanie? They as much as told you that you’ll be accepted!”

“You think so? When they said that I wasn’t getting a callback, I didn’t know what to think.”

“They meant that your voice is so beautiful, they don’t have to hear you sing again to decide. You’re in!”

“Baruch Hashem! I hope you’re right.”

I let out a deep breath and felt my anxieties float away. But then I thought of Mama’s reaction to such news and imagined what she would say.

“It really doesn’t matter,” I sighed. “My parents would never let me go to Juilliard, not with boys and girls studying together. They’d say that studying secular music is not appropriate for a Lubavitcher girl.”

“Forget about your parents for now. This is a time to celebrate. I know a place that makes the best coffee and hot chocolate on the whole Upper West Side. Let’s go!”

As we set out for the coffeehouse, David took my hand. His touch sent shivers up my arm and stirred butterflies in my stomach. The Evil Inclination was beckoning me, but I knew what had to be done. I tore my fingers out of David’s grasp.

“You know I can’t!”

“Oh, Chanie, sometimes I don’t think you—” His voice wavered and he shoved his hand into his pocket.

“It’s who I am!”

He turned his head away. I was so glad he couldn’t read my thoughts.

We walked along in silence, side by side, until we arrived at the coffeehouse. It was a small place with a
dingy front window, located between a dry cleaner and a dress shop. A homeless man was sprawled on the ground by the front entrance, all his belongings in two plastic garbage bags that he’d thrown down beside him. His battered baseball cap had been placed upside down on the sidewalk. A couple of dollar bills were in it. David was pulling open the café’s front door when I stopped him.

“Wait a minute!” I took a dollar out of my purse and dropped it into the man’s hat. “It’s a mitzvah to help those who need it.”

The café was so dim that it took a moment for my eyes to adjust. The only source of light was the grimy front window. The room was filled with small tables and rickety chairs, only a few of which were occupied. In one corner, a boy and a girl were kissing and touching each other. I looked away quickly. An African-American boy was strumming a guitar at another table. I was glad of the dimness, for it made my long skirt and blouse less conspicuous. Everybody else was dressed in jeans and short-sleeved T-shirts.

A waiter came up.

“A double espresso for me, please,” David said to him. “And you, Chanie?”

“I’ll have a glass of water, please. In a paper cup.”

“Get some coffee,” David said.

“I can’t. It might not be kosher. Anyway, water is fine.”

The waiter left.

“I’m sorry. I should have known that you might not be able to order anything here,” David said.

“That’s okay. I’m thirsty.”

He moved his chair closer to mine. “Do you realize that this is the first time we’ve ever been alone together in a public place except for the park?” He looked around. “It’s nice here. You can stay for a while, can’t you?”

“For a short time only. I told Mama that I’d be home after lunch.”

“She keeps you on a tight rein.” He scratched his head. “I know it’s annoying for you, but it’s also kind of nice for me to see. You’re lucky she cares about your safety. When I was younger, my parents were so absorbed in arguing with each other that they didn’t have time for me. I used to wish that they thought more about my welfare.”

“And since they got divorced?”

“It was tough when it happened—I was only fourteen at the time—but I’ve gotten used to the way things are.” He smiled. “You don’t need to worry about me.”

The waiter brought his coffee and my cup of water to the table and left. I emptied my drink in a few quick gulps.

David took a sip, then put his own cup down. “Good coffee,” he said. “Doesn’t it bother you not even to be able to order a cup of coffee?” He shook his head. “So many rules! About everything.”

“I’m used to it.”

I wasn’t telling him the complete truth. I really, really wanted that cup of coffee. But what could I do? I knew it was forbidden.

The minutes flew by. We talked and talked. It was as if we could read each other’s thoughts. When it was time to go, David insisted on taking the subway with me all the way back to Crown Heights.

“Next time, I’ll take the subway by myself,” I told him.

“You just have to get used to it,” he said. “But until then, I’m happy to come and get you.” He waved away my objections. “I’ll contact you as soon as the letter from Juilliard arrives. If it doesn’t get here this week, should we meet in the park as usual?”

I nodded. “I’ll be there. I just hope the letter comes soon, though, because I won’t be able to sleep till it does.”

CHAPTER 16

W
e said good-bye at the subway station and I made my way home. I knew that something was wrong as soon as I got there. Esther was sitting on the front steps. She was crying. When saw me, she ran up to me and hugged me.

“Oh, Chanie! Chanie!” she sobbed, resting her head on my shoulder.

“What’s the matter?”

“It’s Moishe! He’s so sick.”

I pushed her away and bounded up the front steps. Total silence greeted me inside.

“Mama! Mama! Where are you?”

Yossi came into the foyer. “Baruch Hashem! You’re finally home. Come quickly!”

I followed him into Moishe’s room. My brother was lying on top of his bed, his face white, his eyes closed and his breathing heavy. He was still dressed,
but somebody had taken off his suit jacket and loosened the collar of his shirt. Mama was sitting by his side, clutching his hand. Papa was on the other side of the bed, stroking his cheek. Baba was next to Papa, wiping her eyes with a white handkerchief. Yossi joined Avrohom Isaac at the foot of the bed. Both of them began to recite the
Vidui
, a prayer of confession and repentance.

“Stop it!” I screamed. “Moishe is not going to die! You don’t have to pray for him! He never sinned! He’s an angel.”

They kept on praying.

I grabbed Mama’s arm. “What’s wrong with him?”

She stared at me as if she couldn’t see or hear me. I crouched down by Moishe’s bed and patted his hair and his downy cheeks. His torturous breathing was loud in my ears.

“What are you doing, Moishele?” I whispered. “Are you sick?”

“He’s having trouble breathing.”

Only then did I notice an older man with a long white beard and a stethoscope draped around his neck.

“Moishe was suddenly taken ill,” Mama finally said. “He fell back in his chair and started gasping for breath. I called Dr. Deutsch and he came right away.”

“The boy has a serious infection in his lungs,” the doctor said.

I ran my fingers down Moishe’s chest. He usually giggled when I tickled him, but this time his eyes remained closed. The silence in the room was broken only by the sound of prayer and Moishe’s gasps for breath.

Then—suddenly—there was only the sound of prayer.

Mama threw herself over Moishe’s body, screaming, “He is gone! My Moishele is gone!”

The doctor held his stethoscope to Moishe’s neck, then nodded solemnly to Papa. All of us ripped parts of our clothing that covered our hearts.

Baba beat her chest with her fists and tore at her hair. Papa and my brothers began to recite the
Shema
, a prayer we said every morning and evening of our lives and at the moment of death: “ ‘Hear, O Israel, the Lord is our G-d, the Lord is one.’ ”