“Not particularly convincing,” I remark.
Helen turns back and with an impressive demonstration of a lack of dramatic talent, says, “Oh, so you’re here.” The disgust in her voice is convincing.
“Do you always eavesdrop on other people’s conversations?” I ask.
“This is my house, and I have the right to roam around it as I wish,” Helen replies angrily, and I prefer not to get into the issue of ownership of the house that Oved has mentioned several times already.
“So, I suppose you heard what Leah said.”
Helen let out her breath in contempt. “This was not the first time I have been forced to hear this story.”
I want to point out that no one is forcing her to stand behind a closed door and eavesdrop, but Helen is not the kind of person who is interested in hearing the voice of logic.
“She has been harassing me with this version ever since the evening she came back here.”
If I am reading correctly between the lines, that evening was the night of Leah’s death. Helen did not show even a little compassion for this detail.
“And what is wrong with this version?” I ask as I feel anger surging up in me anew.
“Oh, nothing,” Helen yells angrily, “just like all the other versions I have been compelled to hear. They thought I couldn’t listen to them anymore, once I died. I have heard all the theories. The only thing common to all of those more, or less-refuted, was that the cause of my death was not a mysterious illness, as Jacob tried to persuade them it was. At least that was understood by everyone. Some believed Jacob’s false show of mourning and accused Sophie of my murder. Lies. Sophie would never come up with an idea like that by herself; she was not shrewd enough, though she succeeded in fooling everyone. Oh, she certainly managed to do that. ‘Kind and gentle Sophie couldn’t kill a fly,’ they said, claiming she was a victim of Jacobs machinations. Ha! A victim! That little cheat. Others claimed that Ottoman functionaries sent the poisoned cup, which was intended for Jacob. Only the negligence of an erring servant brought the cup to my lips and not his. Others blamed the peasant farmers, who wanted to send Jacob away from the settlement or simply take out their revenge on him, using the maid and the cook to carry out their plan. If I had not been living in the house, I would also have believed it. Those ignorant peasants certainly disliked him.”
“So, you know that Leah is not to blame,” I say.
Helen’s eyes flash sparks at me, and her voice rises several octaves. “Not to blame? Who served me the poison with her own two hands? Made sure that I would drink it to the last drop?”
“But she didn’t know what was in it,” I insist.
“Leah may not have been an active participant in the plot, but she certainly bears some of the responsibility. She, herself, says that she should have known something was wrong. Even if she was ignorant and uneducated, like most of the people on the settlement, she should have used her sense. Even a primitive, innocent girl like her should have been able to understand what was happening.”
I don’t know what makes me angrier, the illogical laying of blame on Leah, or the condescending way Helen talks about her. Even though Leah ended her life as an adult woman, Helen addresses her as if she is still a frightened fourteen-year-old.
“I’ll tell you why she gave me the tea,” Helen retorts. “Because she, just like the others, was not sorry to be rid of me. They were all happy to cooperate, even if they hadn’t conceived the idea and planned it. Of course, this was the role played by Jacob and Sophie. I may have been sick and frail, but I was not stupid. They thought I was closed away in my room and didn’t see or hear anything, but I knew, and had already known in France. From the first moment Jacob set eyes on Sophie, he realized that he had bet on the wrong sister. The only problem was that sixteen-year-old Sophie was too young, and Jacob was impatient. That was why he continued courting me obstinately. Although the two of them plotted to get rid of me as soon as they could, everyone was relieved when I died. They are all guilty. All of them.”
***
Helen first met Jacob at a concert at the home of her father’s friend. The Jewish-Hungarian violinist, Leopold Auer, was touring, and a private concert was arranged for the wealthy aristocratic Jewry of Paris. In return for bolstering their sense of aristocratic supremacy, they were prepared to condone the famous violinist’s conversion to Christianity. Helen’s mother was unwell that evening and her father invited his older daughter to accompany him in her stead.
During the reception, their host asked to present an intelligent and energetic young man, as he described him, to Moshe Leon Mendes. He worked under his aegis in one of the departments at the Rothschild bank. The young man was tall and slim, well dressed, though not fancily, and had a tastefully fashionable mustache. In Helen’s opinion, he was too old to be called young, but that was not necessarily a disadvantage. He shook her father’s hand and then kissed her hand politely. When he looked at her, his black eyes shone like glass beads, and something restless flickered in them that Helen could not yet fathom. She felt like a rabbit looking into the eyes of a tiger. He continued staring at her sharply throughout the concert, causing her equal measures of discomfort and pleasure. On the following day, a messenger came to their home with a letter addressed to the honorable Monsieur Moshe Leon Mendes, requesting permission to call on Mademoiselle Helen. The letter, written in a neat and clear handwriting, was signed by Jacob Disraeli.
All that morning, Helen was a bundle of nerves. She changed her dress five times and repeatedly scolded her maidservant for not fixing her hair well enough. She was a girl of nineteen, and no suitor had ever asked to call on her. And no man had ever stared at her as Jacob had the previous evening. Certainly, no man as handsome as him. The fact that he directed his request through her father and had not approached her directly did not escape her notice, and when he arrived, she let him wait for twenty minutes before she joined him and her parents in the spacious drawing-room. Although Jacob had requested permission to call on Helen, most of the conversation was with Moshe Leon, and that suited Helen. She was not familiar with discussions such as these that focused principally on economic and political issues, and she feared sounding stupid and childish. Jacob responded calmly and articulately to all the questions of the Mendes couple like someone who had prepared himself for a job interview. He voiced his opinions on France’s position in the international arena, the status of the Jews in France, as well his future plans and goals that included advancing in the banking, credit and investment world. He politely avoided any probing questions about his family or their origin. Without doubt, he tried to impress Helen, and also succeeded in doing so, in spite of her lack of understanding or interest in the things he spoke of, and perhaps, just because of that. He was a handsome, intelligent man of twenty-eight and he was interested in her. That was enough for her.
The first call heralded in further visits, invitations to walks in the parks of Paris, bouquets, well-phrased, though short and restrained letters; it was all enough to stir her feelings. Jacob was a diligent and polite suitor, and only in retrospect did Helen understand that what he was inundating her with at the time was not love but carefully conceived attention. If he noticed faults in Helen’s personality, he showed no sign of doing so and was ultimately not bothered by them. What he saw when he looked at her was the daughter of a wealthy diamond merchant who was well ensconced in high society.
After a four-month courtship, Jacob asked for her hand. This was also done indirectly through her father, although he took care to inform her in advance of his intention. Moshe Leon Mendes had all the best reasons to turn him down. The intended groom had no financial means, his family background was modest, and he was nine years older than Helen. Though, his charm, which he generously showered on her family for four months, together with the warm recommendations from his superiors at the bank, paved his way to the legal heir to Mendes’ assets.
> Helen met Jacob’s mother only once. When her parents wanted to invite her to visit them to become acquainted, Jacob claimed that his mother was not in good health, and the journey to Paris from her home in Marseilles was beyond her strength. His father had passed away four years earlier. When asked about the remainder of his family, Jacob mumbled something about five older brothers and sisters, and only two of the wedding guests came at the groom’s invitation. Although Jacob did not want them present at his wedding, he wrote the family a letter, telling them his news, and without prior warning, two weeks after the wedding, Helen opened the door to their apartment to a strange woman of small stature and dark hair, who was simply attired.
“Is this Jacob’s home?” The woman inquired.
Helen replied that it was.
“And you must be his wife,” she said with a hesitant smile.
Still thrilled with her new status, Helen replied that she was, and that was how she first made her mother-in-law’s acquaintance. She hurriedly sent her servant to notify Jacob of the visit, principally because she did not know how to behave, and felt embarrassed to be alone with her. The newly acquainted mother-in-law, on her part, seemed as embarrassed as Helen was and apologized repeatedly for disturbing her.
Jacob was not happy about the surprise, just the opposite. Helen was shocked by the blatant disapproval he displayed and his coolness toward his mother. If, at that moment, he would have said that she was not his mother, but someone he had never met, she would have believed him. It was impossible to imagine two people so different from one another. Jacob was tall, upright and sure of himself, while his mother was of small stature, spoke quietly and self-demeaningly, and with each movement, tried to disappear into the background. Only her black eyes hinted at her blood relationship to Jacob, though, in her case, the light in them had gone out.
Jacob’s salary was sufficient to pay for the rent of the spacious apartment, but no more than that. Helen’s father supported the employment of a servant and cook that would relieve Helen of the necessity of having to do the work that her social standing had not taught her. When Helen asked the servant to prepare the guestroom for the visitor, Jacob stated categorically that the apartment was too small and ordered a room for his mother at one of the simple inns in the city, a place where Helen thought that he, himself, would not pass even one night. (Later, she discovered that it was the boarding house where he had spent his first year as an impoverished student in Paris.) He did not even take the trouble to accompany her there. but called for a messenger to escort her.
“Why not take the day off tomorrow to show your mother around Paris? She told me that she has never been here,” Helen suggested to Jacob when they went to bed.
“I cannot take the day off just because she decided to appear without letting us know,” Jacob replied angrily. “If you wish. you can take tour with her.” But, from the tone of his voice, it was clear that he wasn’t pleased with the idea, and Helen was in no rush to spend the day alone with her mother-in-law. Their dinner together had been embarrassing enough. Jacob’s mother had attempted to update him on the state of his former home and the news of the other members of the family, but Jacob did not cooperate or show any interest in her stories. He replied to her questions about his life with brief, impatient responses.
“Should I inform my parents of the visit? They would be happy to meet your mother,” Helen said, even though she was uncertain whether Jacob would reject the offer out of hand or not. He had no interest in his honored and educated in-laws meeting his humble and unassuming mother. The following morning, his mother went back home to Marseilles. Her words of farewell included only a repetitive apology for having disturbed the daily routine of the young couple. Helen could not understand how that same man, who had showered her with gifts, praise, and words of flattery, could behave in such a cold, impenetrable manner toward his mother. It would not be many months before she would get the same treatment.
Jacob spoke little of his past and grew angry when Helen questioned him on the subject. He always preferred to talk about the future, for which he had many plans. These plans included a successful banking career, a beautiful large home, and membership in influential circles. Helen played only a rather marginal role in his path to achieving these goals. She contributed her part just by being his wife and paving his way to the social events that the Mendes family participated in. The only detail in Jacob’s plans that depended directly on her was his ambition to sire a male heir, and in this, of all things, Helen failed. Even after two years of marriage, they still had no children. Helen had already conceived three times, and each time the pregnancy lasted only a few weeks before being washed out of her body in a flood of blood and pain.
Helen’s frustration mounted with the passing time. She was unaccustomed to not getting what she wanted, even if Helen had to admit to herself that her disappointment after each miscarriage did not arise from her longing to be a mother, but more from her wish to satisfy Jacob, whose distance and apathy toward her attributed to her failure to bear him the son he desired.
And then came the offer to travel to the Holy Land on a mission for Baron Rothschild. Jacob spoke of opportunity, advancing his career, and other possibilities. Helen only saw that he was trying to run away from her. And she did not blame him. Their life together was a tense and miserable farce. On the outside, they were an honorable and handsome couple, but at home, their life was affected by the tension between Helen’s loud outbursts and Jacob’s cold and bad-tempered silences. And, in spite of her misery, she did not want him to travel to the Holy Land. Deep in her heart, she wanted things to work out, to succeed in bearing a child and discover again the loving suitor hidden away inside her alienated husband.
The state of their relationship did not improve on the pioneer settlement. The opposite was true. Helen faithfully fulfilled her role as the wife of the Baron’s representative, was a perfect hostess to all the families of the notables and Turkish administrators who would visit their home. She entertained them with her piano performances, and also ran her home confidently. But, in the area of creating an heir, she continued to disappoint and, unfortunately, the very person from whom she expected to draw encouragement and consolation, turned his back on her. Her bitterness increased, and Jacob grew evermore distant.
Now, she knew how to interpret his various expressions. When he looked at the peasant farmers who came to present their requests to him, he displayed his disdain for them. But when he had to deal with officials who blocked his way, what stood out in his expression was his determination, and what she saw in his eyes on regarding her was mostly revulsion. Only when Sophie arrived, she saw once more the sparkle in his eyes that had not appeared in them for a long time, that same flickering brightness that had been there when he looked at her for the first time at that concert. When Jacob looked at Sophie, his eyes revealed that he had discovered a new opportunity.
***
I spend the second worst night of my ‘life after life’ failing at attempts to get myself out of the house. Still, the memory of my experience in the morning is sufficiently traumatic to overcome the possibility that Leah is right about the issue of blurred borders at night. I stand in front of the door for hours like a girl standing on the edge of a diving board, afraid to jump, until I conclude that I am a weak and pathetic coward.
By morning, my disgust with myself is so powerful that if suicide were an option, I would seriously consider it. Although I have to admit that that is also an act I am reluctant to perform when push comes to shove.
I found Oved in the living room, sitting cross-legged on the floor with his eyes closed, quietly mumbling words that aren’t quite audible.
“Is that some kind of ritual?”
Oved opens one eye.
“It’s a Swedish exercise. I have to practice to avoid getting rusty. The problem is that I don’t have anyone to practice with, so I can’t be sure I’m not making
mistakes.”
I don’t know for sure whether he is joking or speaking in earnest. With Oved, it’s hard to tell. The probability of him speaking Swedish seems so unlikely. His dark skin and thick black hair don’t suggest any Swedish connections. On the other hand, I know barely anything about him.
“Where did you learn Swedish?”
“From the spirit of a nun from St. Clair. I would visit her occasionally. After six straight years of keeping her oath of silence, she had a tremendous need to talk. The problem was that she also had a very big need to sermonize, and that was rather annoying.”
“So, why don’t you continue practicing with her?” I ask.
“The first reason is that the St. Clair convent is in Jerusalem, and that’s far away. The second reason is that the last time I went to look for her, she wasn’t there.”
“Where did she go?”
“Who knows? Perhaps she was fed up with the company of nuns. They’re not a particularly cheerful group.”
It’s not as if the current bunch of spirits Oved finds himself with could be considered all that blissful. The group consists of a depressed has-been actor, a capricious forsaken woman who suffers from temper tantrums, a somber guilt-ridden servant, a very old woman, and me.
“Did you waste all that time learning Swedish so that you could talk to her and have her stand you up in the end?”
Now, Oved opened both his eyes.
“Firstly—you’re gravely mistaken, young lady, about what the reason is and who is making the decisions. I didn’t learn Swedish to talk to her; I spoke to her to learn Swedish. Secondly—please explain, what does standing someone up mean?”
“Standing someone up means not arriving as planned without notifying him in advance. If you make an appointment with someone at a particular place or time, and he doesn’t turn up, that means he stood you up,” I explain. Oved slowly nods as he concentrates on the expression “stand up.”
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