Zara had never been in Israel. It was a warm October day, the sky was a radiant blue and the golden cupola of the Dome of the Rock shone in the sun.
A singular magic seemed to hover over the city and after Gregor and Zara had dropped their suitcases at their suite in the King David Hotel, they took a walk through the Old Town, across the Old Market.
Zara was fascinated by the merchants and the arcade at the old market. She stopped at every fabric shop and before the market visit was over, Gregor had a number of shopping bags in his hands. She wouldn’t have been Zara if she hadn’t bought anything.
She found hundreds of things that she wanted to take back to New York. Gregor had never seen her so enthusiastic, other than in a designer boutique.
In keeping with the environment, she was wearing a long, form-fitting tunic with long sleeves, and linen pants, in a radiant blue hue, like the Israeli flag. Her hair was down, and Gregor, amused, thought she looked like a child of the desert. He bought her gold earrings that she immediately put on, and gold bangles that jingled at her wrist. As they were standing on the old city wall, they had almost forgotten the time. The sun was setting over the Mount of Olives. Gregor had put his arm around her and Zara was leaning against him. She sighed audibly. Gregor asked, “What’s wrong?” and gently stroked her cheek.
“It is so incredibly beautiful,” Zara said quietly. She had had a wonderful afternoon and realized that in the last months she had had many such wonderful days, and had to admit it was primarily because of Gregor.
She looked up into his eyes. “What is it?” Her gaze irritated him. She turned around and embraced him. “You may think I’m crazy, but despite my marrying you under protest, I’m pretty happy.” Gregor smiled. Not too bad for a start, he thought; and, at some point, she would most likely realize and admit that she loved him.
He said nothing, however, but kissed her on the nose. “Come, let’s go – my parents are probably waiting.”
Gregor had to admit that he was a little nervous; he had never before brought a woman home to meet his parents, and he studied Zara again, outside his parents’ house. What was she carrying? A huge paper bag that she must have gotten out of the car.
“What are you lugging there?” he asked, somewhat irritated, and looked in the bag. There were two beautifully wrapped gifts. Zara smiled. She hoped that she had chosen the right things. “They’re gifts. You married me for my good manners, among other reasons,” she teased him and gave him a kiss. At that moment, the door opened and Gregor’s mother, Esther, stood on the threshold.
She smiled as she saw the two of them holding hands. “Why didn’t you ring the bell? Did you want to stand out here forever?” she asked, joking. Zara smiled, a little embarrassed, and extended her hand. “Mama, this is Zara . . .,” Gregor introduced her. He spoke German with his mother, knowing that Zara understood the language. He gave his mother a kiss on the cheek. “Lovely to meet you, Mrs. Levy,” Zara said. Gregor’s mother wrinkled her forehead. “Do me a favor; call me Esther.” She embraced the delicate girl in the blue kaftan. No wonder that her son had fallen so in love with her; she was something exceptional. Those enormous eyes and the pout – she looked a little like Audrey Hepburn. Yes, she was beautiful and so delicate, particularly when she stood next to her son.
Zara couldn’t stop looking at Gregor’s mother. Now it was clear where Gregor had gotten his good looks. She had never seen a more beautiful woman at that age. Esther had thick blonde hair just like his, and wore it in a knot at the nape of her neck; she had high cheek bones, and exceptionally blue eyes. Every woman in New York would envy her appearance. Her figure, too, was perfect.
There were lighted candles in the living room, and wine glasses were waiting on the table. Aaron Levy walked over to this daughter-in-law and had thoughts similar to his wife’s. He, of course, knew the whole story, and smiled at his son, who held Zara’s hand.
“So you’re the royal child,” Aaron said, laughing, and extended his hand. Zara laughed. “Well, yes, so to speak . . .” She gave Gregor a questioning look, but he just shrugged his shoulders. Aaron embraced his son and said to him in Hebrew, “She is pretty as a picture; the struggle has been worth it, from what I can see.” Gregor grinned. “Yes, it has been worth it.”
“So, you two, what are you whispering?” Esther chided her husband and son, while Zara brought in her presents. She gave the individual packages to Gregor’s father and mother.
“You didn’t have to do that,” Esther said, somewhat embarrassed, even though she was happy that Zara had brought them. “They’re wrapped so beautifully,” she said appreciatively. “What is in here?” Aaron asked his son in his direct way. Aaron shrugged his shoulders, and said, “I have no idea; Zara got them.” He looked at Zara, and she smiled. She was concerned that she had bought the right things because she hoped a little that his parents would like her. Or was it more than a little hope? Why was all of this now so important to her?
Esther went to get the appetizers, but Aaron couldn’t wait when it came to presents. Zara watched the tall, gaunt man as he ripped open the package like a little boy. His movements reminded her of Gregor.
Gregor had sat down next to Zara and smiled. She really was the perfect wife that he always wanted, he thought happily. His mother had opened her gift more carefully, folded the classic orange wrapping paper, and found a beautiful Hermes scarf inside. She thanked Zara sincerely, “It’s beautiful . . . and the pattern . . . it’s my favorite color, blue.”
Aaron was startled as he opened his package. It was heavy, weighing several pounds. “What is it?” Gregor asked, in anticipation. Aaron held the old book up for them to see. “That is . . .I’m speechless.” Zara smiled; she had found the perfect gift for a rabbi; she knew it. “So tell us what it is, an old book?” Gregor asked impatiently. Esther came back with the platter, and took a look. “It’s an old Talmud,” she said evenly. “Yes, but very old; it’s the second edition of the first printed Talmud from the year 1526. Where did you get this?” He shook his head. He had heard about this treasure, but had never seen it.
“I’d like to know that too,” Gregor said, and pulled a strand of Zara’s hair. “Relatives,” she said. “Relatives?” Esther put the salad on the table. “Some of my forefathers didn’t just murder people – they also collected,” she said ironically. Gregor poked Zara. “That was an unnecessary remark!” he grinned.
“It’s beautiful . . .” Aaron stroked the book’s cover tenderly. And over the course of the evening, he found out that this delicate girl was not only pretty, but also intelligent. Zara was pleased that Gregor’s parents welcomed her into the family although she was Christian. When she excused herself and left the table after dinner, Aaron said, “She’s intelligent and beautiful, so I’ll even accept the fact that she’s a Christian.” He laughed. Esther laughed, too. She agreed with her husband, and had to admit that she hadn’t expected her youngest son to bring home a Jewish wife. He was too obstinate, too different.
“You’re going to have beautiful children,” she said then. She wanted grandchildren from her youngest son, who resembled her late father so very much. Gregor furrowed his brow. “I don’t believe we will. Zara had an abortion at age fourteen, and since then she hasn’t been able to have children.” There was such contempt in his voice that it startled his parents. He hadn’t noticed that Zara had come back into the room during his remarks, and had stopped dead, rigid as a stone.
Gregor blamed her for what had happened when she was just a child, as if she had done it purposely, only to punish him. Naturally he knew that was nonsense; she didn’t know him then. She was fourteen!
Zara bit her lip; how should she react? Did he have to tell his parents that? What would they think of her? She liked his parents, above all because they radiated what she never had, family, security, love, peace . . .
She lowered her head and stood there for a moment, and then went outside. Esther looked at her son. “That wasn’t appropriate ju
st now . . .” “Oh God, and I really didn’t mean it like that!” Gregor defended himself.
Esther went after Zara, who was standing on the balcony and looked out into the darkness. “I’m sorry, Zara.” She reached for her hand. “It’s true, he’s only telling the truth,” Zara said, with a hollow voice. “But he really doesn’t have to tell the story everywhere,” Esther said, with understanding. She had probably been young and dumb, a child from a wealthy home, but without supervision, who knows what her parents were doing. “It wasn’t the way it sounds, anyway,” Zara said then, and it felt as if it were yesterday. “It happened a long time ago,” Zara said, but she asked herself why she thought about it so often lately – and she thought about Coralie, her half-sister.
Esther returned to the living room and said to her son emphatically, “Go now and apologize to your wife, and I never again want to hear you speak about her in that tone.” Her eyes were ice-cold and Gregor knew that when his mother spoke like that, she was not in the mood for jokes. “Okay, if I can do that as a favor to you . . .” He sighed, and got up. Not only could he never say no to his mother’s wishes, he was truly sorry for his hurtful words.
He found Zara still on the terrace. She sat on a chair and was looking up at the dark sky. “One can see all the stars here,” she said, as she heard Gregor approach. He put his hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry about earlier,” he said softly. “It’s true, though. You don’t have to be sorry . . . it was my own stupidity.” What did everyone expect of her? She was fourteen years old . . . Gregor sighed, he could hardly blame her, it was so long ago – and he had known about it for some time. In her contract, there was something about a child, but she couldn’t bring about miracles just as he couldn’t. “He was a colleague of my father’s and I seduced him,” she said softly. “Damn it, Zara.” “I thought, my father has these young girls, maybe someone would love me too. I was so dumb and then I was pregnant . . .” “Stop! Don’t go on, you were just a child, please, Zara. Let’s talk about something else, okay?!” “How often do I have to say that it’s all the same to me whether we have a child nor not.” “It’s not all the same to you, Gregor . . .” “I love you, with all your faults . . .” She nodded and wiped her tears away with the back of her hand.
“You seem to have impressed my mother, and my father too.” He kissed her on the mouth. “If I could, I would undo many of the things that I’ve done!” He would have loved to be able to magically fulfill all her wishes, even those that couldn’t be bought. Zara leaned on his shoulder. “You’re not Moses,” she whispered and stroked his cheek. “Yes, but who knows; they say that one should never lose hope.” And he kissed her again.
Epilogue
Years later he still often thought about that evening, about that vacation on the Red Sea, about the radiant blue sky. They didn’t do anything other than love each other – everywhere -- in the villa, at the pool, on the sand, on the sailboat; they could simply not keep their hands off each other. And after that, they told everyone they were married.
He had to smile and he asked her if perhaps there really were a God, since sitting before him was Zara, with their son, who, if the physician had figured correctly, was conceived during that vacation, and could be described as a miracle if one knew of her background.
“What’s the matter?” Zara asked and looked up from the floor. He smiled as if he were dreaming. She kissed Alexander, her son, on his blond head. She never thought that she could love such a small being as much as his father. Yes, she loved him so much that she could hardly stand it. He had given her the gift of this child and she would never leave him, as long as he loved her too.
She looked at Gregor, smiling. It had now been five years and in all those years he had never asked if she loved him. He probably feared she would deny it, since the word love did not appear in her contract. That contract, what nonsense! She stood up and went over to him. Gregor took her hand and kissed her fingertips.
He always wondered how she could become more and more beautiful over the years, and still felt a pang in his heart that she never told him that she loved him.
She was so perfect, just as he had always wished his wife to be. She was also as crazy as she was beautiful – out the whole night, and he couldn’t get her to go home because she wanted to party through the night – but she was also the most elegant hostess, the perfect career woman, and she loved their son more than anything. When she looked at the little boy, her eyes shone and she beamed.
Zara sat down on his lap and put her arms around Gregor. She stroked his cheek and kissed him lightly on the mouth. “Are you happy?” she asked him suddenly. Did he actually have anything to complain about? He smiled and said nothing. Something had been troubling him the last few days; she knew him too well. Something that he didn’t want to talk about lay heavily on his heart.
“Are you upset because Alex isn’t being brought up Jewish?” she asked him, while standing in the door of her dressing room. Gregor laughed. “Zara, you should know me well enough by now that I don’t place any stock in that.” She smiled, relieved, and called out to her son, “Go be with Papa; Eve will be here shortly.” She spoke only French with her son. Eve was an English nanny, so that her son could also learn English.
The little one stood up and ran to Gregor with his arms wide open. He picked him up and put him on his lap. “The nanny will be here any minute; I have to change my clothes for this evening,” Zara added.
Gregor wrinkled his forehead. “I hope the child will be able to speak at least one language correctly,” he said. The nanny spoke English with him; the housekeeper, Spanish; Zara spoke French; and he, because Zara wanted it so, German. Sometimes he didn’t understand his own son at all, when he told him a story in all of the languages at once.
“Oh, don’t worry.” Zara laughed and went into her dressing room. She had grown up multi-lingual too – and Gregor as well.
Gregor noticed the cover of the American Vogue lying on the coffee table in front of him; there he was, with his wife and son. They looked so perfect.
Some time ago they had discovered Zara and the child as a favorite subject; he didn’t have any problem with that as long as it didn’t go too far.
He brushed a strand of blond hair out of his son’s face. The child looked so much like him that he had never doubted his paternity, even when Zara stayed out all night long and flirted with other men; but it never went further, he was sure, since whenever he awakened, she was there. She always returned to him.
He thought about the moment when Zara had slipped a large envelope, marked “Urgent” into his daily business mail, and he opened it in a meeting. Within was a page of her contract with the pertinent paragraphs referring to a child, and an ultrasound image, on which was written: “Your son – contract fulfilled.” She had waited five months to tell him because she was afraid that she might miscarry or that he might not believe her. He wondered during that period why she seemed to be gaining a little weight, but said nothing, since he knew women were sensitive about their size. When he saw the ultrasound image he almost fell out of his chair and had to leave the room so that he could privately weep -- for joy.
“Papa, is that me?” Alexander asked and pointed to the magazine. Gregor grinned, amused. He hoped that the son wouldn’t become as vain as the father.
“Yes, and Mama . . .” “We look pretty good!” the little one said. Well, definitely as vain. He was his son, no doubt.
Zara stood in front of the mirror in her new dress and put on her long diamond earrings, as Gregor came to the door, and leaned against its frame. “That dress is very sexy,” he said, with a grin. Zara looked at him, smiling, and put her arms around him. She mussed his thick blond hair. “We still have a little time,” she breathed and pressed herself against him. That, too, hadn’t changed in the last few years. Sex with her was incredible.
Her hands crept under his shirt. She sighed and kissed him. “Doctor Levy, actually I’ve never told you how happy I am,”
she whispered into his ear. He laughed, no she hadn’t very often; very rarely, to be sure: in Israel several times; sometimes at night, yes . . .
“I am too, my beautiful one.” He pushed her dress up and stroked her legs.
“I also have never told you that I love you,” she said then, softly, and looked into his eyes. He smiled quietly, and it was as if his breathing would cease and his heart would stop. “It took you five years,” he finally said. She kissed him and murmured, “Love wasn’t a part of our contract, Doctor Levy.”
Many thanks to my translator Dagmar Grimm and my German editor Stephanie Bergold. Special thanks to my husband, without whom this book would never have been published.
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Love under contract Page 25
