The Enemy of the Good

by Michael Arditti

  ‘I thought it was allowed so long as my flesh was covered,’ she said, when he backed away.

  ‘It makes no difference.’

  ‘Even at my advanced age?’

  ‘Not at any age. It’s a blanket ban to protect us from the consequences of our desires.’

  ‘You flatter me!’

  ‘No, he doesn’t, Ma. He’s simply pointing out the law.’

  Her mother smiled wryly and led the way into the drawing room. Susannah was moved as Zvi looked around with unconcealed admiration, her Granville self-deprecation having failed to prepare him for either the opulence or the scale. He sat on one of the elegantly shabby Sheraton chairs, between a lapis vase and a Sèvres clock, and studied the Batoni portrait of Benjamin Granville dressed as Cicero on his Grand Tour.

  ‘You have a beautiful house,’ he said. ‘It’s very kind of you to invite me.’

  ‘Not at all. We’re delighted. We’ve heard so much about you.’

  ‘Nonsense, Ma,’ Susannah interjected, worried that Zvi would think her indiscreet.

  ‘Susannah tells me you’ve lived here for three hundred years.’

  ‘Not personally,’ her mother said with a laugh. ‘Though I have to admit that it sometimes seems so.’ She poured the tea and trusting that Zvi wouldn’t be shocked, sat cross-legged on the floor, explaining that it was the position in which she felt most comfortable. Susannah feared that she had misjudged her audience and that, if she were waiting for Zvi to applaud her youthful suppleness, she would have to wait a long time. He stared at his knees, clearly unimpressed by conduct more suited to a Hadza encampment than an Oxfordshire drawing room.

  Despite concerted effort on both sides, Susannah held out little hope of their forming a meaningful connection. The truth was that, although she was reclaiming her Jewish heritage, her mother had long since rejected hers. Meanwhile, she herself was rejecting the Christian heritage in which she had been brought up. As she gazed at her father, Rivka’s phrase about not inviting gentiles to her table rang ominously in her ears. He looked so frail. She was noticing changes in him on her monthly visits which she might have expected on an annual homecoming from the tropics. When her mother suggested that he show Zvi the walled garden, he checked the clock like a child, not so much reading the time as picturing the position of the hands.

  Susannah tagged along, anxious to defuse any tension, but they had barely reached the sundial when her father had some sort of dizzy spell and only Zvi’s quick reactions kept him from falling flat. ‘I’ve got you. You can lean on me,’ he said in a voice of such tenderness that for a moment she forgot that its object was her father. She helped Zvi to lift him on to a nearby bench, squatting by his side and gently rubbing his wrists. He quickly recovered, protesting as always that they were making too much fuss. She made an equally stock promise not to mention his ‘silly stumble’ to her mother, which she had every intention of breaking the moment they returned indoors.

  Ignoring his insistence that he was well enough to continue the walk, she linked arms to lead him back, tingling with illicit pleasure when she inadvertently brushed her hand against Zvi’s. Leaving the men in the drawing room to thumb through the family albums, she sought out her mother in the kitchen, where she was trying to soothe the double blow to Mrs Shepherd’s pride of the kosher food and the paper plates. Her own suggestion that there would be less to wash up fell on deaf ears, and she followed her mother out, while their housekeeper remained at the sink, plucking the eyes from potatoes with Shakespearian ferocity.

  Pausing on the stairs to describe her father’s blackout, she was dismayed to learn that it was not an isolated incident.

  ‘I’ve been so worried, but he refuses to take them seriously. He calls them “senior moments”, as if that ridiculous phrase says everything.’

  ‘When does a senior moment become Alzheimer’s?’ Susannah asked, voicing her gravest fear.

  ‘Not now, darling, please!’

  ‘You must make him see a doctor. Apart from anything else, it’s not fair on you.’

  ‘Promise me you won’t say a word. You’ll only upset him. Trust me, I’m watching him like a hawk.’

  Susannah’s unease increased when she entered the drawing room to find her father in deep distress. ‘Marta, Nanna, come quickly!’ he called. ‘I’m in a dreadful muddle. I’m trying to show Zvi some pictures of the children, but I can’t make out which are Mark and Clement and which are William and Piers.’

  ‘Don’t worry, darling,’ her mother said, ‘there’s such a strong family resemblance, you need a magnifying glance to tell them apart.’

  Susannah winced. It was one thing for him to confuse Mark and Clement – although, in more orthodox days, he had claimed that his ability to distinguish them even as newborn babies confirmed his belief in the existence of souls – but their cousins were another matter. For the second time in minutes she was put in mind of King Lear.

  Realising that it would soon be sundown, she hurried into the dining room to light the Sabbath candles, choosing the two plainest from the array of candlesticks that her mother had placed on the sideboard. All her concerns about her father’s health and the success of the weekend vanished in the tranquillity of her prayers, and she was filled with a sense of goodwill towards the world which persisted through drinks to dinner. As they took their seats, her father asked Zvi to say grace, which he did, tactfully extending the traditional Sabbath blessing to include ‘all our families and friends’.

  ‘Thank you,’ her father said, ‘that was most generous.’

  ‘Bon appétit,’ her mother said, staring dolefully at the unadorned melon on her plate.

  ‘Zvi goes to synagogue three times a day,’ Susannah boasted to her father.

  ‘Indeed?’ he replied. ‘Even as a young man, I found prayer to be something of a paradox: asking God to subvert the natural order on behalf of someone who claims to be unworthy.’

  ‘The worth is God’s for answering the prayer,’ Zvi said, ‘not ours for making it.’

  ‘I envy you your conviction. Mine died many years ago. What had once been a blinding truth came to seem an absurdity. Yet I remain convinced that there’s a place for religion even in a God-less universe. As I told my son, Clement – I gather you’ve met him – ’

  ‘I certainly have.’

  ‘We create God in the beauty of our depiction of Him.’

  ‘That’s like saying a lie is valid if it’s elegantly enough phrased,’ Susannah said, saddened that all she brought to the table was her discontent.

  ‘Not a lie, my dear, a hypothesis.’

  Her mother rang the bell and Mrs Shepherd came in to clear away the melon, her usual deftness thwarted by the sagging plates. ‘Are they for recycling or is that forbidden too?’

  ‘Recycling will be fine, Mrs Shepherd,’ her mother said, ‘thank you so much.’

  Snorting her disapproval, Mrs Shepherd went out, returning with the salmon. ‘Hospital food. There’s sauce for those that want.’

  ‘It looks delicious,’ Susannah said brightly.

  ‘I can’t answer for the taste.’ Her lingering exit left everyone in limbo. Susannah was relieved when her mother moved swiftly to the rescue, serving the fish and exhorting them to eat. She asked Zvi if he wanted his salad ‘with or after’, but the answer was ‘neither’, since no sooner had he spooned the rocket on to his plate than he pushed it to one side.

  ‘Is something wrong?’ her mother asked. ‘It isn’t dressed.’

  ‘It’s nothing… just. No, nothing. If you’ll excuse me… I’m not hungry.’

  ‘What’s the matter?’ Susannah asked.

  ‘It’s nothing really. Just there’s a maggot in the leaves.’

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ her mother said. ‘Mrs Shepherd’s eyes aren’t what they were.’ She turned to Susannah. ‘Do you remember, darling, when we found that cork in the Adam and Eve pudding?’ Susannah gazed in horror at Zvi, who stood up quivering, a vein protruding on his forehea
d.

  ‘Oh dear,’ her father said. ‘Are you phobic?’

  ‘It’s only a grub,’ her mother said, pulling Zvi’s plate towards her. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll ring for Mrs Shepherd. She’ll bring you a clean plate.’

  ‘Please stop it!’ Susannah cried. ‘I’m so sorry, Zvi.’

  ‘I can’t believe… I might have eaten it if I hadn’t looked.’

  ‘No pesticides, you see,’ her father said. ‘We grow them ourselves under glass.’

  ‘The Rabbis have said that it’s six times more sinful to eat an insect than to eat pork,’ Zvi said, struggling to articulate his anguish. ‘I’m sorry… I just need… Please excuse me.’ He hurried out of the room, leaving Susannah feeling as though there had been a power cut.

  ‘Did I miss something?’ her father asked.

  ‘I offered to get him a clean plate,’ her mother said.

  ‘You don’t understand!’ Susannah said. ‘This is why he stays within the community. Don’t worry. It’s not your fault; it’s mine. I should never have pressed him to come. Oh why must everything be so hard?’

  She sprang up, pushing back her chair, and left the room in search of Zvi. Failing to find him downstairs, she hurried up to his bedroom, knocking furiously at the door. The echoing silence plunged her into a panic and she rushed outside, scouring the shadowy park in a vain attempt to distinguish men from trees. Just as she was giving up hope, she caught sight of him silhouetted against the shimmering blackness of the lake. Regardless of any offence, she approached and apologised for the maggot.

  ‘There’s no need,’ he said, ‘I’m the one who should apologise. You ask me down to this magnificent house, to meet your parents who welcome me so warmly.’

  ‘They’re old. They do their best.’

  ‘I know. And I’m very grateful. What must they think of me? Contrary to popular belief, I don’t set out to create difficulties. I know how it looks to your parents – and mine too for that matter – but I’m not some cartoon character complaining about the fly in his soup. I live the way I do because it’s been ordained by God.’

  Susannah had never felt so conscious of the clarity of his faith. Resolving to be more diligent than ever, she kept three steps ahead as they followed the rutted, overgrown paths back to the house. Glimpsing a reddish glow in the copse, she did her best to distract Zvi who, ignoring her claim that it must be one of her father’s tenants, marched through the trees to investigate. She trailed behind, only to find her worst fears confirmed by the sight of Karen and Frank dancing naked around a steaming pot as though they were in Eden.

  ‘What the hell are you doing?’ Susannah screamed at Frank, who was sporting a pair of giant horns.

  ‘Susannah, hi,’ Karen called back. ‘Come and join us.’

  ‘You’re naked!’

  ‘We’re sky-clad.’

  ‘It’s the middle of March!’

  ‘We missed the spring equinox to go to the Radiohead concert. So we’re making up for it now. Sacrificing rabbits to the Mother Goddess.’

  ‘You’re insane!’

  ‘Hiya man, I’m Frank.’ He held out his hand to Zvi, who ignored it despite the blatant evidence of Frank’s gender.

  ‘And I’m Karen,’ she said, moving to Zvi. ‘I expect Susannah’s told you all about me.’

  ‘No,’ Zvi said.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Susannah said miserably. ‘Zvi Latsky… Karen Mullins.’

  ‘I don’t think this is the moment for introductions,’ Zvi said, turning on his heels.

  ‘Zvi, wait!’ As he strode off, Susannah vented her frustration on Karen. ‘What the hell do you think you’re playing at? Put some clothes on at once!’

  ‘This is our religion… our church. In your church men wear dresses. Pagans wear nothing at all.’

  ‘What church? Where’s the priest? The congregation? The altar? All I can see are two spaced-out kids who should be old enough to know better! Now put out the fire and go home!’

  She hurried after Zvi, catching up with him as he reached the path.

  ‘I’m so sorry. I ought to explain – ’

  ‘What’s to explain? It’s your father’s estate. If he’s willing to rent it to deviants and dropouts, that’s his business.’

  ‘But he’s not… they’re not. You remember I told you about Chris?’

  ‘The arsonist?’

  ‘Yes.’ She blenched. ‘Well, Karen’s his daughter. She means no harm… Please slow down a little! I’m out of breath.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Susannah; I’m tired. I was at the mikvah at half-past five this morning. If we must talk about this, can’t it wait until tomorrow?’

  As they trudged back through the park, Susannah upbraided herself for trying to exclude Karen from the visit. When she mentioned Chris to Zvi, she had thought it wise to draw a veil over her continuing contact with his children. The result had been to make everything worse, confirming his prejudices of a house that served dirty food and hosted orgies. Her one hope was to return to London but, short of breaking the Sabbath, they had no choice but to stay until the following evening. Leaving Zvi to go straight up to bed, she made her way to the drawing room where she found her parents nursing brandy balloons, unnerved by the disruption of dinner.

  ‘There you are, darling,’ her mother said. ‘We were worried. Is Zvi feeling any better?’

  ‘No, worse. We bumped into Karen in the woods.’

  ‘She’s under strict instructions to keep away from the house all weekend.’

  ‘What good’s that? She’s out there dancing with that scraggy man. Naked! He was wearing some kind of devil’s horns.’

  ‘Don’t exaggerate, darling; they’re antlers. I gave them the run of the trophy room. They represent the male godhead.’

  ‘There’s nothing godly about it. They were sacrificing rabbits.’

  ‘Not real ones.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘They invited me to join their coven on Midsummer Eve. They melted chocolate bunnies in a fondue pot and danced round it chanting: “We all come from the Goddess.” There’s an innocence about them that reminds me of the Hadza.’

  ‘How can anyone so intelligent be so naïve?’

  ‘Nanna, don’t upset yourself,’ her father said.

  ‘I am upset! I’m upset for Zvi. And for Karen. And for you. You wonder why people attack your work, Ma. Well try listening to yourself! You think we just have to learn to love one another like some primitive tribe and everything will be fine. Sorry to disillusion you but it won’t! Welcome to the real world, where people aren’t sky-clad, they’re stark naked. If they don’t die of pneumonia, they’ll be arrested for offending public decency.’

  ‘It’s our land,’ her father said. ‘Karen has the right to wear what she likes.’

  ‘Strange that you of all people should stick up for privilege!’ Seeing his face fall, she relented and moved across to his chair. ‘Don’t get me wrong,’ she said, sitting on the arm and stroking his head. ‘I’ll always be grateful you took in the children. There was no way I could look after them and run the company. Maybe I made the wrong choice? That’s another story. But I don’t think you do Karen any favours by indulging her. Oh ignore me! I’m so shattered, I’ve no idea what I’m saying. I’m off to bed!’

  She went up to her room, convinced that the evening’s events would have shown Zvi the folly of marrying outside the community, just as they’d shown her the futility of trying to integrate her old life and her new. Opening the curtains at eight the next morning, she had a moment of panic on seeing him set off resolutely down the drive, until she remembered his intention of walking to Oxford. She gave thanks for the nine-mile hike to the Chabad House and the three-hour service that would keep him out of harm’s way until four. She spent the morning rummaging through old chests and cupboards, which felt like a final farewell to the world of her childhood, before joining her parents for lunch. With Mrs Shepherd’s meat loaf as a palliative, she enlightened them on the L
ubavitch way of life.

  ‘If you’ve found something that works for you, then I’m very happy,’ her father said. ‘I just wish it were less extreme.’

  ‘It’s the truth, Pa. Do you want me to deny it?’

  ‘No, no, of course not. But maybe question it a little. You know my views on such dangerous certitudes.’

  ‘I should do. I grew up on them. “Doubt is the most essential ingredient of faith,” isn’t that right?’

  ‘I’m not sure I ever used the word most.’

  ‘I take it back. But you get the gist. When I first heard it, it sounded so wise… so broadminded. Now it just sounds perverse.’

  ‘That’s not kind, darling,’ her mother said mildly.

  ‘I’m sorry. The last thing I want is to hurt you. But I can’t hide what I believe… what I know. For thousands of years the world has persecuted the Jews – you more than anyone should be aware of that. And why? What was it we had that was such a threat? I can tell you in one word: Truth. If they libelled and slandered us… or, better yet, murdered us, they didn’t have to deal with the truth we embodied: the truth God revealed to us. A truth that’s to be found in a book. Yes, Pa, a book. Not in our hearts or the beauty of nature. But in the black-and-white beauty of the Torah.’

  ‘Oh dear!’ Her father sank his head in his hands.

  ‘What is it? Are you ill?’

  ‘I’m frightened… so frightened. I can tell they’re taking you away from us. I’ll never see my Nanna again.’

  ‘How can you think that?’ she asked, jumping up and wrapping her arms around him. ‘They couldn’t… they wouldn’t try. “Honour thy father and thy mother” stands right at the heart of the faith.’

  To her dismay, her words failed to reassure him and, at a nod from her mother, she returned to her seat.

  ‘It’s a slap in the face for Clement,’ her mother said.

  ‘Funnily enough, it’s not about Clem, Ma, it’s about me! Your daughter! The girl you taught never to let herself be dictated to by any man.’