Jerusalem Stone

by Susan Sofayov

  “Fine, but there are other places I’d rather be,” he said, pulling me onto his lap and kissing my neck.

  “Nope, for the next fifteen minutes, you’re sentenced to this couch.” I jumped from his lap and headed toward the stairs. “By the way, I adore The Clash.”

  ***

  He was still on the couch, but instead of watching Thai television, he was engrossed in a conversation with Lek. Avi held Lek’s Game Boy, and, of course, they spoke Thai.

  “Ready,” I said, interrupting them. “Before we go anywhere, I have to drop these off at the laundry.” I held up my plastic bag stuffed with dirty clothes.

  He scanned my body, making no attempt to hide his interest. His eyes lingered in a few spots. “No problem.”

  Avi handed back the toy, and I gave Lek the small bag of M&Ms I had bought for him during my morning run. Avi taught me how to say “see you later” in Thai. Lek smiled and shifted his attention back to the small screen.

  We passed a tailor shop where the tailor ran outside and offered to make Avi a suit and three shirts for the US dollar equivalent of fifty bucks, guaranteeing it would be ready in twenty-four hours. “I make for your wedding,” the tailor announced.

  I felt the blood rush to my face, but Avi didn’t miss a beat. “Once the wedding date is set, I’ll be back.” He grabbed my hand, laughing, and pulled me forward.

  “I see you soon!” the tailor shouted at our backs.

  The Thai people were masters at combining businesses--restaurants with built in travel agencies, souvenir shops with grocery stores, but the most popular combination was massage parlors with laundries. We stopped at the first laundry we saw, which of course was attached to a message parlor. Two signs hung from the door. The first one read “laundry fifty Baht a kilo” and the second sign read, “no sex.”

  “Damn,” he said. “Let’s find a laundry with sex.”

  “At least the sheets would be clean.” I pulled him inside and handed my bag to the laundress.

  She weighed it. “Three kilo--hundred and fifty Baht.”

  Her price equaled roughly four dollars and twenty cents. She promised to have my clothes ready in twenty-four hours. I looked at the dark, heavy clouds spread across the normally blue sky. If it rained, nothing would be dry by tomorrow. I learned after the first week that clothes dryers weren’t a popular appliance in a place where the average daily temperature was approximately eighty-five all year round.

  “Hey, Julie, how about we get foot massages?”

  “You promised me a cup of coffee.” I looked at the sky. “And I may have to stop somewhere to buy clean underwear and possibly a clean shirt.” I thought for a moment. “And while I’m shopping, I’m buying you a new bathing suit.”

  He clasped the frayed hem. “I’ve grown attached to these.”

  I kissed his cheek. “Think about how much cargo shorts weigh when they're soaking wet. Now, imagine how much faster you’ll move through the water in light-weight trunks.”

  He looked down at his still damp cargos. “I like these.” The face gazing back at me resembled a little boy clutching a safety blanket, refusing to give it up.”

  I reached for his hand. “Let’s drink coffee. I’ll drop the trunk issue if giving those up is too difficult for you.”

  The Starbucks was empty. The hangover crowd had moved to the beach. We took our cups and settled into a somewhat secluded spot in the back of the store. “So, what are these ‘important’ questions you forgot to ask?”

  “First,” he said. “How long are you here for?”

  “Here, as in Patong or here, as in Thailand?”

  “Both.”

  “I’m in Thailand for four weeks and two days. I already spent three days in Bangkok and a week in Chiang Mai. On Sunday, I’m booked on an overnight tour to a national park I can’t pronounce.”

  “Oh, you met Shai in Bangkok.”

  I stared at him for a moment. Shai was the travel agent who sat with me for two hours mapping out my entire month. “Who’s Shai?”

  “Don’t play games. Every Jewish tourist who arrives in Thailand without an itinerary finds the Bangkok Chabad House, walks in, and eats. Then they walk out the front door, turn left, and walk into the first travel agency they see. Hence, they all end up on the other side of Shai’s desk. Your schedule has his name written all over it.”

  “Fine, you’re right. He planned my whole trip.” I rolled my eyes. His smile was too smug.

  “The national park trip is a really good one. There’s a lake in the mountains that is breath taking. Are you sleeping in the floating cottages or in the jungle?”

  “Jungle, I think.”

  “You’re not sure?”

  “No, I have to check.”

  “Then you come back here for how many days until you go to Koh Sumui?”

  “How do you know I’m going to Koh Sumui?”

  “Shai.”

  “Fine, I’m coming back here for two nights then flying to Koh Samui. I’m there for eight days. Then it’s back to Bangkok for three days, and I fly home on August fourteenth. I’m scheduled to start a new job on September first.”

  “Got it.” His expression changed, as if he withdrew to a place deep inside his head.

  “How much longer are you staying in Thailand?” I asked.

  “I go back to work on October first. I’m planning on spending a week in Singapore and maybe a week over in Hanoi before I fly home on September sixth. I spend the High Holidays with my sisters.”

  We sipped our coffee quietly for a few minutes. It felt awkward, for no other reason than so far in my experience, Avi never ran out of things to talk about.

  “Before we shop for clothes, I have to stop at the Chabad House for a few minutes.”

  “Returning the corkscrew?”

  “Yeah. Let’s go.” He pulled me from my chair.

  “Wait, I still have coffee in this cup.”

  “Bring it with you.”

  Inside the Chabad House, he disappeared upstairs for about a half hour. The Chabad House also doubled as an internet café for Jewish travelers. I found an open computer and read my email. The first one was from my cousin, Danielle, asking for pictures of Thailand. Thailand was Jack’s dream. He swore that someday he would marry this girl he met in Israel and spend his honeymoon in Thailand.

  The second email was from my father. Jack’s death just reaffirmed his belief that life only existed to screw you over. His reaction to my moving back home was exactly as I predicted, “I told you New York wouldn’t work out.” My father was the catalyst for my current adventure. Every time I looked at him, I could read his thoughts. Thoughts that blamed me for Jack’s death. If I hadn’t called Jack after I lost my job, he wouldn’t have changed his flight. He wouldn’t have been on that road, and of course, he wouldn’t have died. If I had controlled my emotions, both my father and I knew that Jack would still be alive. I inhaled deeply before opening the email. It was only a few sentences that basically said nothing, other than the weather in Pittsburgh sucked, raining as usual; the Pirates won three games in a row; and our neighbor, Mrs. Minsky, adopted a rescue dog that barked all night. Nowhere in the note did he say, “I miss you” or “love, Dad.” There was no signature at all.

  I typed my reply:

  Hi, Dad,

  Great news about the Pirates’ winning streak. I hope they can keep it going. The poor dog is probably stressed out by Mrs. Minsky’s blaring television. Just because she needs hearing aids doesn’t mean the dog does too. -:) I’ve made a new friend. He’s from Jerusalem, and his name is Avi. He knows more about Southeast Asia than Google. He loves to talk, and I love to listen. Phuket is beautiful. More later. Love, Julie.

  After I hit the send button, I read the front page of the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette and scanned the CNN website. Avi returned, wearing a distinctly self-satisfied look.

  He leaned over, kissed my cheek, and once again pulled me from my seat. “Let’s go shopping.”

  “He
y, what’s the hurry?”

  He stopped moving for a moment. “I could profess a love of shopping, but you’d see right through that.” He leaned in and nuzzled my neck before putting his lips to my ear. “I want to get to the beach, so I can look at you in nothing but that little bikini.”

  The blood in my feet and knees sprinted to my face as he kissed that spot behind my ear. “You’re right. I can’t wait to see you in a real bathing suit and not those damn cargo shorts.”

  He threw his head back, laughing. All I wanted was to grab his face and kiss every centimeter of it.

  “Let’s get out of here.” He clasped my hand, and we walked out to the street.

  He refused to let me pay for his new swimming trunks but insisted on buying me a very cute dress, swearing that it was made for me. As the clerk scanned my purchases, a sarong, tank top, and new underwear, he suggested I model them before paying. That got him a playful punch on the arm. By two o’clock, we were lying side by side on my mat under our new favorite tree.

  “Come, on let’s go try out those new trunks. I’ll race you to the water.” Before he could answer, I sprinted toward the surf.

  Swimming with him today was different than the day before. Yesterday, he kept a respectable distance from me. Today, he picked me up, wrapped my legs around his waist, and kissed me. It was a slow sensual kiss that erased everything and everyone around us. We floated in our own private ocean, on our own private planet. His kisses left me wanting so much more of him. My hands took on a life of their own, moving over his shoulders and down the muscles in his back. When we broke from the kiss, I inhaled deeply and exhaled, grateful he was holding me because I was already drowning in him. I didn’t want to drown in the water.

  As we walked hand and hand out of the surf, I remained silent, waiting for my heart to stop pounding. When we reached the mat, I pulled two towels from my bag.

  “Did anyone ever tell you that you look amazing in dripping sea water?” He reached over and slid his finger under a drip of water running down my hip

  “Not recently.” I handed him the towel. “Please don’t do that hair-flip thing again.”

  We sat side by side. He wrapped his arm around my back and burrowed his face into my neck. “Your smell mixed with sea water, yum. You’re so sexy, it’s almost painful. Rita Hayworth hair on a super model body.” He removed his arm from its spot along my lower back. “I need some space. I don’t know how much more of this I can take. Maybe you should wrap that sarong around you for a while.” He flopped onto his stomach and closed his eyes.

  I pulled my book from my bag and stared at the cover. I wasn’t in the mood to read. Instead, I stroked my hand up and down his spine. “Are you trying to sleep?”

  “No, just enjoying being, but I think it’s getting close to five o’clock.”

  The sun had begun its descent in the sky. “My guess is four o’clock. Does it matter?”

  “Kabbalat Shabbat services start at six-thirty.”

  “Oh.” I didn’t really know what to say. It never occurred to me that he would be going to synagogue services, but since the rabbi was his friend, it made sense.

  “Do you want to come with me?” He looked into my eyes, expectantly.

  I bit down on my lower lip. I wanted to spend every minute of this day with him, but... “I’m not really religious.”

  “Let me guess. You’re spiritual, but not religious.”

  “No,” I replied, shaking my head. “I’m neither.”

  “Is this because of your brother?”

  Good question, but I knew the answer was no. “Jack’s death pushed me further away from a belief in God, but I stopped believing as a teenager.”

  “Would you be willing to give it a try with me tonight? We can stay for Kiddush and Shabbat dinner. Afterwards, we can walk the beach or find a place to sit and talk.”

  “I don’t have anything modest to wear.”

  “You have the dress I bought you.” He reached over and stroked my hand. His desire for me to join him emanated from his face. I wanted to say yes, but I just couldn’t.

  “Avi, I can’t. Maybe we could meet for a walk after you finish?”

  “Okay, let’s compromise. I’ll attend service alone, and you can meet me afterward for the kiddush and dinner. After all, you need to eat. And then we can spend the rest of the evening together.”

  “Give me a few minutes to think about it, okay?”

  He sat silently holding my hand as I stared at the sea, searching my soul for a flicker of a higher deity. My mom was religious and my dad, not so much. We attended a synagogue that never really felt like anything more than a social gathering. It wasn’t a place conducive to finding God. Jack regularly attended services at the Chabad House in our Manhattan neighborhood. I’d humor him and go along on Yom Kippur and Rosh Hashanah. I guess this wouldn’t be much different than that. I inhaled deeply. “I’ll meet you at the Kiddush.”

  He leaned in and kissed my cheek. “Excellent. Let’s pack up. I’ll walk you back, but we’ve got to move fast. I need time to get home, shower, and get there on time.”

  “By the way, you’ve never told me where you’re staying.”

  “No place interesting.”

  Chapter 5

  Avi said that the service would run about forty minutes, and I should get there at seven o’clock. I tried to focus my thoughts on getting ready and seeing him. Unfortunately, the whole situation just reminded me of Jack. He never missed the Kabbalat Shabbat service at our neighborhood Chabad House. No matter what plans he had for a Friday night, they never began until the synagogue service ended. How many times he begged me to join him. Thinking back, all he was asking for was an hour out of my week. One stinking hour and I was too selfish to give him that. Jack and I avoided talking about God. He knew that I was agnostic at best. Now, I regret never learning how deep his feelings ran toward religion and God.

  I sat at the end of the bed, my hair twisted in a towel, my body still damp from the shower, and cried. There’s no way to apologize for all the nights I refused to go with him. It’s impossible to apologize to the dead. You’re just stuck, every single day, with the guilt and the regret.

  I reached down to my feet and picked up the bag containing my new dress. Nothing can change the past, but maybe that’s not what life is about. Maybe it’s about not making the same mistakes again. I knew what I needed to do.

  ***

  The services were conducted in a sparsely furnished room at the back of the center. I peeked inside the door. Avi stood near the bimah engrossed in his prayer book. I pulled my head out of the doorway and walked over to the decrepit wooden bookshelf that leaned against the wall. My hands quivered as I reached for the siddur, glad to see they had one with an English translation. I entered through the rear door of the room and made my way to the women’s section, grateful that the mehitza separated me from Avi. I needed to do this alone.

  Avi’s voice rose strong and clear, from the other side of the screen, as he and the other men chanted the ancient words. Reading the translation in siddur didn’t resonate with me at all. I set the prayer book on the folding chair next to mine and closed my eyes. The Hebrew words and the ancient melody melted away my anxiety and carried me back in time to another place...

  ***

  “Come with me, Jules,” Jack asked while staring down, fumbling with the knot in his tie.

  “No, why would I want to waste a Friday night in a synagogue?”

  My mind felt fried from a crazy week at work. Tonight, I arrived home earlier than I had in weeks, with a plan to stretch out on the sofa and watch the movie I picked up at a box near my subway stop. With a bottle of Chardonnay chilling in the refrigerator, the pizza shop number programmed into my cell phone, and my fuzzy bedroom slippers on my feet, I didn’t plan to go anywhere.

  “If you come with me, maybe you’ll meet someone. There are a lot of guys our age that come every week. In fact, I consider a few of them friends,” he said, walking
from his bedroom threshold toward me.

  His demeanor made me feel uncomfortable. I wasn’t used to serious Jack, but I didn’t want him to muscle me into going. “That’s why. We’ll get there, and you’ll bounce around, trying to introduce me to all these ‘friends.’ The last thing on Earth I want is to date or marry a religious guy. No thanks, I prefer being alone.”

  “You act like they’re all wearing long, curly payot and black hats. These guys are just regular people like us, except they happen to believe in God.” He loomed over me.

  He didn’t have to say it, I knew what he was thinking--they believe in God, unlike you.

  “Good for them.” I stood up and headed for the kitchen, but he blocked my exit from the room.

  “Jules, we’re twenty-three years old. Don’t you think it’s time to start looking?”

  “Not in a synagogue and definitely not with a religious zealot. The world just exists. There’s no meaning to it. It simply is, Jack. And, furthermore, there’s no loving grandfather in the sky, pulling strings and waiting to send us to our happily-ever-eternity or, worse, fry us for eternity. And if he does exist, would he really care that I watch TV on Shabbat and have only one set of dishes?”

  “So why don’t you eat pork or shellfish? And you never mix meat with milk.”

  “That’s not religion. That’s called childhood conditioning. Drop it and let me call the pizza guy for my dinner.”

  Jack shook his head, his signature wide grin absent from his face. “You’ll regret this attitude someday.”

  ***

  After the last prayer finished, I walked out from behind the mehitza and returned the siddur to the shelf. Earlier in the evening, when I entered the building, the community room was empty except for the staff setting rows of banquet tables, which appeared to be seating for more than a hundred people. Now, I understood why they needed so many tables. People from every age group filled the chairs. At least thirty more people milled about the room, waiting as the staff set up more tables. It only took a moment to spot Avi’s dreadlocks. Even with his back to me, I could tell by the way he moved his head that he was scanning the room, searching for me.