Back to Jerusalem

by Jan Surasky

  The reception was held in the evening under the sunset, the reds and the purples and the magenta had outdone themselves for the occasion. Sparky’s parents, Mary and George, looked ecstatic. Sarah and Anne, now married to Sammy in an elopement to spare their parents the humiliation of an intermarriage, were there as well. Jenny was happy to see them, their well-being so very evident, their pride in their families so apparent, but she never asked about Jake.

  The bubble of Jenny’s daydream burst as Dee interrupted with a request for sugar.

  “I’m not sure myself. Probably in that cupboard up there,” she said, as she pointed to a cherry wood cabinet with exquisitely turned pewter doorknobs.

  Jenny poured the soda into sturdy plastic cups. Rosa took over and put all the children around the heavy oak table Jenny had found in a Village antiques store. Dee and Denny and Jenny took the living room and talked until the toddlers fell asleep among their Legos. Dee put them in pajamas and prepared for the long ride home. Jenny hugged her as they left and promised a visit soon.

  Josh retired to his newly appointed bedroom, complete with posters of Sting and Simon and Garfunkel. Jenny went to the small black and gilt chest she had placed behind the rocker in the living room. From it she pulled the book of Blake poems Jake had given her which had been nearly lost in the back of a closet for all the years she had lived in Brooklyn. She slipped it from its wrapping and opened it. The note he had written, now somewhat yellowed, fell out. “I hope you will read these poems when times are tough.”

  She skipped the poem “Jerusalem” she knew Jake had meant for her and found Auguries of Innocence where his plastic bookmark had been placed so long ago.

  “To see a world in a grain of sand,

  And a heaven in a wildflower,

  Hold infinity in the palm of your hand,

  And eternity in an hour.”

  Jenny stared at the page. Blake’s heavy-winged archangels with swords in their hands chased a multitude of never-ending demons, all with a different shape. Through it all Gabriel blew his horn.

  Long ago Jenny had seen that heaven in a wildflower, but that vision had been replaced by the hustle and bustle of an environment of modern glass and steel.

  Could she resurrect that feeling now that she had more time? Jenny would give it a try. She would turn the new, back bedroom into a studio where sunlight would pour through the large and airy windows like it had at Mallory, Hollander & Wexler and she would paint. The vision of the oils she would choose in the special hues she had always favored raised her excitement.

  She dropped the book as she fell asleep in the easy chair.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Jenny stared at the photo of Jake which stood out at her from the front page of the New York Times. The bold typeface headline under it announced the news. “Lawyer Wins Unprecedented Case.” She read the details. Jake had gone up against Saks Fifth Avenue and won. The suit involved a pair of shoes that had been advertised on sale but when the customer arrived they were gone and the store had refused to give a rain check. The plaintiff was listed as his fiancee.

  Jake’s title was listed as partner in a very large and prestigious New York law firm. The fiancee was cited as a socialite and member of one of New York’s most wealthy families. Jenny sat down at her desk to take the strain off the sudden weakness she felt as her knees began to buckle. She stared out at the street from her window on the thirty-fifth floor in the well-appointed suite of Kusovich Masters.

  “Hey, Jen, it looks like you’ve just seen the ghost of Christmas Past.”

  Cathy had just stuck her head in with a sheaf of papers in her hand outlining the specifics of the client they were supposed to meet that night.

  “Well, not exactly a ghost. Just a long time no see old friend.”

  “If you need time off this afternoon to see someone that’s fine with me and Jeff. We don’t need to meet the Pulaskis until seven.”

  “Oh, I don’t need to see him. It’s just that he seems to have monopolized the entire front page of the The New York Times.”

  “That lawyer who sued Saks and won? Gee, Jenny, that’s unheard of in this town. He must be quite a powerhouse. Jeff was impressed.”

  “He is. But, Jake never meant to defend the rich. He always had his sights on helping the poor.”

  “Well, sometimes, the best laid plans, as they say. I thought I’d be back in Iowa by now.”

  Jenny stared out the large windows that faced the street as Cathy left. Somehow, she could not see the stack of papers on the desk or the map on the wall that signified the big deal that their evening guests the Pulaskis represented. Laslo Pulaski was an agent of the government of the Ukraine and as such could bring a huge windfall to the firm of Kusovich Masters with a trade the firm could broker for the United States.

  All she could see was a young farm boy as earnest in his desire to help the poor as he was to help his father pull crops from a soil that was sometimes unyielding or pummeled by heavy rains or no rain at all or deprived of the very sunlight that would give them life.

  Jenny’s shock at the turn Jake’s ambition had taken turned to industry as she began to look over the papers Cathy had brought on Laslo Pulaski. An eastern European as different from Jenny as anyone could be. An urban background, a repressive government, and a very heavy language difference. According to the reports, he spoke very little English. She searched the graphs and charts, the snippets of reports, for clues to find a common ground. She found none.

  Well, she would try to find a restaurant that would please them. She knew nothing about Ukrainian cooking, so she searched the pages of the books she kept on the cultures of the countries they did business with. Perhaps a travel book with the recommendations of city restaurants for the travel weary. Or, a detailed description of the foods of the Ukraine in the new encyclopedia the firm had just purchased.

  She chose the encyclopedia and turned to the section entitled “Foods of the Ukraine.” “The traditional Ukrainian cooking takes in most of the tastes of the Ukraine’s neighboring countries like Hungary, Poland, and Germany, as well as Russia.”

  Jenny stopped and thought. The Russian Tea Room. She dismissed that as too noisy and celebrity-conscious. She pulled her New York City restaurant guide from its hallowed place in the big, bottom drawer of her large, mahogany desk. Chez Kiev. 102nd Street. That sounded small enough and cozy. She called and booked it for seven.

  Chez Kiev was all that Jenny had thought from the mini-description in her restaurant guide. It was homey, and seemed to draw only Ukrainians seeking a good meal reflective of their homeland, rather than celebrities waiting to be seen. The aroma from the kitchen of the tiny restaurant intrigued Jenny.

  Jenny placed herself next to Raisa Pulaski, Laslo’s very ample but pleasant wife. She ordered vodka for all, the drink she had read was the favored Russian quaff. The Ukrainians offered a toast to their American hosts.

  Cathy waited to broach business until everyone had ordered dinner and the hot plates had been set before them. By then, everyone had been sated by many shots of vodka, especially their guests who seemed more immune to the effects of the alcohol than Jenny, Cathy and Jeff, who found it necessary to watch their intake accordingly.

  The aroma from the family-style plates set in front of them was heavenly. It had been long since Jenny had enjoyed a home-cooked meal. The sausages, the meat and potato-filled dumplings, the sweet and sour red cabbage, and especially the beet borscht, which Jenny had never tasted, brought back memories of Aunt Gert’s pot roast on a Saturday night.

  Cathy began intently outlining the program she had designed to Laslo Pulaski. He was just as intent on presenting the Soviet side. They seemed oblivious of anyone else at the table as they threw out statistics and import export laws almost as fast as they could speak, despite Laslo’s limited English.

  Raisa turned to Jenny. “They are very, how do you say it, intense. Laslo loves his job. He was a professor for many years, and worked hard to get his pr
esent position with the government. He likes making deals that will benefit the agricultural economics for the Soviet Union.”

  “He seems well-suited to the task.”

  “I am an engineer. I love my job. People ask for me.

  My job makes more money than my husband’s. But, his job brings more privileges. We have one son, Dimitriy, who my mother takes care of during the day. Laslo was able to get him a place at a beautiful summer camp in Georgia.”

  “How nice. I have never sent Josh to camp.”

  “Dimitriy loved it. He was with all the sons of the highest members of the party.”

  Raisa’s obvious pride in her husband and her son radiated from her rather plump face. She took her role seriously as a wife and mother in a society Jenny surmised was at least a generation behind the United States for women as homemakers (they did all the cooking and cleaning, as well as canning the very limited fruit rations, Raisa had explained) but were at least a generation ahead as bread winners. Jenny was awed by this very solid woman with no complaints. It was not until several days later that she came across some material that would lead her to believe that they had not been alone with the Pulaskis. It was common for the KGB to send spies along with traveling Soviet government officials.

  As dessert was served, Jenny excused herself to call a cab for both the Pulaskis and herself. The deal was just about closed as she could tell by the look of flushed satisfaction on Cathy’s face. All that would be necessary would be for Laslo Pulaski to show up in the morning and sign the necessary papers.

  As Jenny rode the long way back to her apartment in the dark of the evening, she thought of Jake. Should she call him and be a visible reminder of his early hopes and dreams? She decided to let go of her feelings for Jake for now. He deserved to achieve in his own image. She dozed off, but not for long. The cabbie was shaking her. They had arrived at her brightly lit apartment building and Rinaldo the doorman was standing at full attention ready to let her in.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Jenny laid down her paint brush on the lip of the easel as Josh came into her studio. It was Sunday, and the sun was streaming into the third bedroom she had made over to suit the rush of enthusiasm she had felt returning to her first love of oil painting.

  “Mom, why doesn’t Grandma Anderson want to see me anymore?”

  “The Andersons are busy traveling in the summer and your dad seems to take up all his time running the car agency. Some adults are too busy and too selfish to realize how lucky they are to have something wonderful.”

  “Is it something I did?”

  Jenny felt a rush of sadness as she realized the impact on the psyche of a twelve-year-old from the irresponsible non-caring of selfish adults.

  “Oh Josh, of course not. You have been nothing but a joy to everyone who knows you. You are growing into a young man, one who I’m so proud of. And, I know how proud Grandma and Grandpa Thompson are of you, and Aunt Gert, and Aunt Sparky and Uncle Cliff. And, I know how Shakespeare loves it when you come to play with him. I know he waits all year until you can come see him and throw a ball so he can catch it and play tag.”

  “Mom, could we take Petey Marshall with us when we go to visit in the summer?”

  “Sure, Josh, if his Mom and Dad will let him.”

  Jenny was grateful for the Marshall family’s friendship and caring for Josh, even though Gus Marshall was seen as the black sheep of his family. Born into a well-to-do family, he had always been a dreamer. But, none of his ideas ever seemed to take. Alice Marshall worked long hours at an accounting job she hated to support the family.

  But, Gus had coached basketball for years, and always saw that the boys got ice cream after the games, or got support when they needed it, win or lose.

  “Mom, why do you call me ’Josh’ when my real name is ’Leland’?”

  “Well, when I was in high school, way before I had you, I used to talk to a neighbor when we were finished with our chores. And, we used to think up names we liked, and the one we both liked was Josh.”

  “Who was your neighbor?”

  “His name was Jake. Would you like to see a picture of him?’

  “Sure.”

  Jenny pulled the clipping of Jake’s win against Saks from the small cabinet in the corner.

  Josh read the clipping. “Wow, Mom, he must be smart.”

  “Well, he is. But, I haven’t seen him in a very long time.”

  “Does he ever go back home to Jerusalem?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t think so.”

  “Why not?”

  “Well, sometimes people get lost in time. They forget the things that once meant the most to them in trying to build what they think should be their future.”

  “I don’t want that to happen to me. Petey’s dad says you should always dream but never forget those dreams. He says to lose your dreams is to lose what life is all about.”

  “Well, everybody has different ideas on life. I’m sure Jake is accomplishing the goals he set out for himself.”

  “I suppose. Can I go to the movies with Petey this afternoon. His dad says he will take us.”

  “Why don’t we give Petey’s dad the day off. Would it be alright if I take you?”

  “Oh, gosh, Mom, that would be great. I didn’t want to ask because you never seem to have a lot of time.”

  “Well, maybe that should change. Have you finished your homework?”

  “Almost.”

  “Well, okay then, whoever gets ready last does the dishes tonight.”

  Jenny assessed Josh as he hurried into his room to get dressed for the movie. A tall, lanky twelve-year-old, set with the features and build of his father but not his temperament. Josh was sensitive where Bud was not. Josh was humble as well. He had a strong appreciation of the world around him. Jenny reminded herself that she must help Josh to learn to protect himself from the soul-snatchers of the world. Those who would rather parasitically drain another, than build themselves up. She would at least give him the benefit of her experience. But, for now, he was too young and innocent. He needed room to grow and blossom.

  “Ready, Mom, when you are.”

  “Okay, you got me beat. I guess I do the dishes again tonight.”

  “Well, I’ll make sure I take out the garbage all week.”

  “Deal.”

  “Petey’s dad will drop him off at the movies. That way we don’t have to pick him up.”

  “If it wasn’t for Gus Marshall, I don’t know what we’d do. He’s nothing if not thoughtful.”

  “He said a good coach keeps very good track of his players.”

  “Well, I guess he’s doing that.”

  The movie they had chosen was of course an action-adventure, full of car chases and jumping from roofs of buildings. Jenny assured herself that it wouldn’t affect the boys, since their buildings were pretty well watched. Both of them seemed to take it all fairly lightly, even laughing at the car chases which didn’t seem real.

  Dinner was a hamburger joint just around the corner from the movie theater. French fries and soda topped the burgers off. Not the healthiest, thought Jenny, but at the moment the most popular.

  “Mrs. Anderson, do you think those cars in the movie were real?”

  “Gee, I don’t know, Petey, why don’t you ask your dad? He seems to know about that stuff.”

  “I don’t think they were real. Real cars couldn’t go that fast on curves without crashing.”

  “Well, there are some pretty good stunt drivers around. But, I bet there are some pretty good engineers who can make some cars look real and go really fast.”

  “That’s what I want to be. An engineer. Then, I can help my dad make all the things he wants to make.”

  “I bet he'd like that.”

  Jenny ordered a cab while the boys were chatting. She had given herself the day off from driving in the frenetic traffic of The City.

  After they dropped Petey off, Jenny looked at the skyline. It was humbling, she had to
admit, and looked particularly appealing in the twilight. But, she missed the hills and the trees of home. And, the fields of wildflowers that stretched as far as the eye could see, and the burst of color in autumn that seemed unrivaled by the human architecture about her.

  As they entered the building, Rinaldo, still on duty, messed up Josh’s hair and gave him a high five. Josh headed for his room and the TV as soon as they hit their apartment. Jenny curled up in the living room chair, the book on her lap her graduation gift from Jake. She had hardly opened it in all these years she had kept it with her.

  Blake’s engravings stunned her with their beauty. Their angels and demons, their figures of nature, so full of life. Could she ever duplicate that longing in her paintings?

  She began to read. “I will not cease from mental fight/Nor shall my sword sleep in my hand,/Till we have built Jerusalem/In England’s green and pleasant land.”

  Blake’s Jerusalem was a dream, a dream to save England’s “green and pleasant land” from the devastation of the “dark satanic mills.” But, Jenny’s Jerusalem was free and clear of that. Her home had always been there. It was she who had left it.

  Jenny prepared for bed, scurrying about to relieve the pangs of homesickness and yearning she still felt after all these years. She decided to ask Cathy for a few extra weeks in the summer. She would take Josh back to his roots. She was stronger now, and the Andersons seemed less of a threat. She did need to keep Josh out of their hurtful and overbearing reach, but their pretenses and power-tripping seemed less of an obstacle, and the pull of the land much stronger.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Jenny daubed some cerise on the canvas that stood in front of her propped up on the new walnut easel she had just bought. She was standing on a manicured lawn used occasionally for croquet looking out on the vast and lovely cultivated gardens of the Parkers’ immense estate. Sparky’s parents had continued to invite her and Josh for long weekends, giving her Sparky’s old room with its satin and lace to sleep in.