“Sit down. Don’t go running away,” Dad requested on that night.
My father had seated himself in his favorite chair facing the television but the set was not on.
“Dad, I am tired. I am going to go to bed. But tomorrow morning I am going to make a run to Schwartz’s just to fill in. David said some of his friends from work are going to stop by so I want to make sure we have something to feed them.”
“That’s it? Nothing else to say?”
“What, Dad?”
“All of a sudden, we are strangers. Roommates talk more to each other.”
“Dad, it is between me and Jacob.”
“No, I am your father. And I raised you to come to me when there is a problem. I did not raise you to run away.”
I sat down on the couch next to him.
“Dad, all I will say is that I had no choice. So let’s leave it there.”
“You had no choice. You couldn’t talk. A husband and wife all of a sudden lose their tongues. Your mother and I talked about everything. She was my best friend. I could…”
I stopped him before he finished.
“Dad. See, that is what I mean. You just assume that we had some difference of opinion but one of us was too lazy to try to work it out. So your daughter took the easy way out and just ran away. Ok, believe what you want.”
“Then tell me how I am wrong.” My dad paused. “Talk to me. Please sweetie. I lost sleep at night first worrying where you are. And then feeling like a failed father because I am not there to help you.”
“I tried to tell you.”
“Well, you didn’t try hard enough. Instead you run off and…”
I started to cry.
“It is something terrible,” I cried, my voice shaking.
“What could it be? So terrible that you leave your job and travel across the country? So terrible that you forget that you have family here? So terrible that…”
Before he could finish, I shouted, “He raped me.”
As I sounded that four letter word, my father picked up his head, looking confused. And I was not sure that he heard what I said or could process what he heard. So I said it again.
“Raped. He raped me.”
My dad took off his glasses and looked suddenly exhausted as he rubbed the bridge of his nose with his fingertips and gave me the sorriest look.
“Raped. Who would do this? And you don’t tell your husband?” As he spoke, I watched my father’s face grow stony and pale.
I started to cry.
“Rape. Danielle, I would never have known. But who is this animal that could do this to my precious angel? I want to murder him. Who is he? Tell me. Who is he? Who? Who? Tell me. Who?”
I was crying and shaking my head, “No, no, I can’t.”
“Danielle, it’s your father asking.”
“I can’t. I can’t,” I pleaded. And then I spit out his name. “It’s Jacob. That’s your animal. He raped me, Dad. He raped me,” I sobbed. “And I couldn’t stay.” I reached for my father and cried in his arms. And I felt a sort of peace come over me.
“Does anyone else know?” he asked.
“Only Nana. I told her. And she was so frightened for me. She gave me $500 and told me to go as far away as I could.”
My dad took my hands and I put them against my cheek. I felt his fingers grow wet with my tears. But I kept his hands tight against me.
“And Jacob. Have you?”
“I am taking care of it, Dad. I am filing for divorce. And please don’t do anything and don’t say anything if he tries to talk to you. Have you talked to him?”
He was silent.
“Dad, talk to me. Have you talked to him?”
“He’s called me. And I told him Nana died. But I promise. I won’t talk to him anymore. If he calls, I will hang up.”
“Please, Dad. You must promise. I need to handle this myself.”
“I promise.”
“I am so sorry I did not hear your pain. Can you ever forgive me?” he asked.
“I already have, Dad,” I said as I kissed him on the forehead. “I am tired. We’ll talk more. I love you,” I said as I walked out of the room, leaving my father staring at his blank television screen.
I felt uncomfortable about going alone to Nana’s apartment and asked my brother to go with me.
“How much chicken soup could they be cooking?” David joked, referring to the distinctive smell of the hallways.
Nana kept her apartment very clean and she would boast that “you could eat off my floors.” But as we entered, it smelled musty and felt drained of air. I went quickly through each room opening the windows. The sounds of the street quickly filtered through, but without Nana the apartment was eerily quiet.
“Are you ok?” David asked.
“Yeah. But I can feel Nana’s presence though she is no longer with us. It is just a little weird.”
“I know what you mean.”
As I walked through the apartment, I saw her favorite cup that she would drink her coffee from sitting on the pie-shaped mahogany table next to the frayed suede arm chair by the window in the living room.
“When she was alone, Nana told me that she would sit in her living room admiring her things,” I said as I sat in her seat and panned the room from right to left the same way my Nana would. “She would sit, drink her coffee, and read her newspaper. This was like her throne,” I said, looking out the window.
“I know,” David replied. “Except it took her forever to answer when the phone rang. And I wanted to get her a cordless phone but she refused. So every time I called, the phone would ring and ring and when she finally picked it up, she would remind me that I am not a young lady. It takes me time to get to the phone.”
“That was Nana.” I moved off the chair and looked at her plants on the window sill.
Wow, these plants are freezing,” I said, touching the limp petals.
“Sure. I am surprised they are not all dead.”
In the kitchen was Nana’s old AM radio that was shaped like a train car. She would listen to the news each morning. Next to it was a basket of bananas that had turned black. I held on to the enamel of the sink and saw a few dirty dishes that were in the sink. The only movement in the room was the anniversary clock covered by a glass dome as the pieces whirled around knowing they too would die if they were not wound soon. As I stood motionless, I thought I heard Nana’s tea kettle boiling. But the sound was coming from the apartment next door.
Returning from the kitchen, I asked, “Who is going to take care of these plants? She gave them life.”
“I’ll knock on Sid’s door. Maybe he’ll take them,” David offered.
“All right,” I replied.
Nana had apparently died in her sleep and was discovered by her neighbor, Sid, after he noticed that she had not taken in her newspaper for two days. Fortunately, Sid and Nana had exchanged apartment keys and he immediately called my brother.
As David left, I walked into Nana’s dining room and admired, like I always did, the tall, silver Shabbos candlestick holders. They were beautiful and so intricate. Each one was as long as my forearm, gleaming silver with a wide claw foot base, two slender stems that swelled into a large blub covered in silver leaves before ending with the candleholder large enough to take a candle that would burn for 24 hours. And Nana kept them well polished.
“Sid said he would take the plants,” David said as he re-entered the room. “He’ll come by later.”
“Ok,” I said, holding one of the candlestick holders. “David, remember how Nana would cover her head with a shawl, and with you and me standing by her side, she lit the white candles and waved her hands over the flames and then covered her eyes and prayed?”
“Of course, how I can forget?”
While I continued to examine the candlestick holders, my brother picked up a few pieces of unopened mail that were sitting on the dining room table.
“She must have sensed something. There is unopened mail h
ere from the last couple of weeks,” said David.
“It’s funny,” I replied. “I spoke to her only a few days ago. She sounded fine but said she was tired. I think she knew.”
“Yeah, it’s sad.”
As my brother continued to go through the mail, one by one I picked up each picture frame that was set on the dining room server.
“Look at Mom. I wish I knew her. She was so pretty,” I said.
“She was,” David agreed.
“And it is so sad. There are no pictures of her parents. All killed by the Nazis.”
“It is amazing she survived. But she said someday we would know.”
As I looked at each picture, I remembered how Nana would pick up each frame, look at the photo, and tell me a story.
“Danielle,” David interrupted my reverie. “I really should be getting on the road. I don’t want to be stuck in traffic.” My brother had finished the mail and was growing impatient.
“Ok, just a few more minutes,” I said as I walked into Nana’s bedroom.
Against the window was the plain slat back rocking chair under a standing lamp so Nana could read. On an end table beside the rocker was a crystal bowl that was always filled with candy. In front of Nana’s bed was a mahogany hope chest covered with a lace shawl. Nana always said that “the chest was filled with a treasure of memories.”
Opening the center dresser drawer, I admired the pearls that she wore to my wedding.
“I found Nana’s pearls,” I shouted.
“Take them.”
“Maybe Denise would like them.”
“You’re the granddaughter. They should go to you.”
“All right. I am just going to look in her closet.”
Sitting on the top shelf along with a few pair of shoes was a box that would fit a man’s shirt.
“How did Nana ever put anything up here?” I wondered aloud. “She was so short.”
“What did you say?” David called.
“There’s this box on the top of the closet.”
“Do you need help?” he asked, entering the room.
I stood on my toes, reaching for the box, but I could not grab it.
“Yes, please,” I admitted.
“What’s in it?” David asked, handing the box to me.
It was fastened with some fancy tooling.
“I think the bow was from Nana’s 80th birthday. She received so many gifts and it looked like she even kept the gift wrapping. She never threw out anything.”
“Maybe Nana had a lover? And she kept all of his love letters,” my brother quipped.
I rolled my eyes. “You’re disgusting. I don’t think so.”
“Ok. It probably contains birthday cards. Nana saved everything. Come on. You can read them later. Anyway, I need to get going. So, if there is anything else you want, take it. Otherwise, let’s go.
“All right,” I said, putting the Shabbos candlestick holders in a grocery bag along with the pearls, some photo frames and the shirt box. But on our way out, I took one more look at the apartment before my brother closed the door on a lifetime.
Chapter Twenty
By tradition, the seven day mourning period of Shivah concludes with walking around a block, symbolically representing the circle of life. But life had not returned to the trees that lined the street as they had long shed their leaves and looked barren against the gray buildings as I took the symbolic walk. Fortunately, it was a glorious, crisp day, with sharp fresh air and a stark blue sky much welcomed after three miserable days of torrid rain.
Walking past the identical rows of apartment buildings that made up my neighborhood, I saw some familiar faces. There was the mailman who waved to me as he walked up the steps to the building next to ours. How ironic that I never knew his name though he has delivered our mail since I was a little girl.
As I turned the corner, I saw Mrs. Fleischman hobbling along with her cane. She was walking her dog Charlie, or vice versa, and I wondered how old Charlie was; Mrs. Fleischman had been walking her adorable collie for as long as our mailman had been delivering our mail.
I waved to Mrs. Fleischman as Charlie visited the fire hydrant and I pondered how fragile our lives were; neither the mailman nor my neighbor knew that Nana passed away. Yet life goes on.
With the steps to our building in sight, I thought I saw Jacob. But was my mind playing tricks? I looked again but the figure was gone. Feeling scared, I quickened my pace. But as I reached the top step of my dad’s building I heard a haunting voice.
“Danielle.”
Rather than turn, I froze.
“Danielle,” the voice said again.
This time, I slowly turned around as the voice approached the first step.
“Stop,” I snapped, raising my hand like a police officer directing traffic.
“I want to talk.”
“I said stop. Do not come near me.”
I backed away as Jacob pleaded. “Please give me five minutes. You owe me that.” Steam from the cold poured from Jacob’s mouth as he stuttered each word.
“I owe you? I don’t owe you anything,” I said, raising my voice. Fortunately, there was no one else in front of the building to hear us.
Jacob lowered his voice. “I am sorry. I did not mean that. But please, hear me out,” he said, taking another step forward.
We were now separated by only two steps.
“Don’t,” I said holding up my hand like a stop sign.
“Five minutes. That is all I ask.”
I looked at my watch. My plane back to Los Angeles was not for several hours.
“All right. I am going up to the apartment but I will be right down.”
“Can I….”
“No, stay here!”
I had to use the bathroom and grew tense as I entered the building. Perhaps if I stayed long enough, Jacob would leave. But what if he found his way into the building?
Upon returning, I found Jacob standing at the base of the steps as rigid as a statue. It looked like he was afraid to move for fear that he might break into a thousand pieces.
“I will talk to you. But not here. Let’s go to the park,” I said.
Victory Park was called a park but was really only a small patch of grass and a few benches that made up the courtyard surrounded by the six identical apartment buildings. And though the area was not big enough to throw a ball, it did offer some escape in the summer from the concrete landscape that made up our city neighborhood.
It was bitter cold as we walked in silence, though I could listen to the winter wind that swept through the narrow alleys that divided the apartment buildings. As I stepped on the frozen pavement that was covered over by snow and frozen rain from the night before, it was difficult to walk. But I took each careful step over the previously undisturbed snowflakes that were now marred by my footsteps, and I rehearsed in my mind what I was going to say.
Jacob walked a few steps ahead of me and his feet made whooshing noises trampling through the snow. His posture, which I had always complained about, had not improved as he walked with his head bent swinging like an elephant from side to side.
As we approached the park, the long and bitterly cold winter left the few trees naked with long skinny branches reaching eagerly toward the fading afternoon sun, which had now turned pale as the end of another day quickly approached. And the ground was littered with dead leaves. I bent down and picked up a lifeless leaf and held it in my hand. It was a sycamore leaf, brown and brittle. With my thumb and forefinger, I tore a piece of it away and ground it into dust between my fingers as Jacob watched like a condemned person about to face his executioner.
“This is what you did to my soul. You broke me open and ground me away,” I said as I took a seat on the concrete bench.
The gray stone of the bench with a brownish moss decorating its sides yielded to no body and soul and its coldness sliced through my clothes and seeped into my bones. But inside, I was radiating heat as I prepared my words for Jacob while h
e looked at me like a young child seeking permission to sit down.
“Sit.”
Jacob obeyed.
“You were at the cemetery yesterday?”
“I was,” he confirmed.
“I knew I wasn’t crazy. Why didn’t you come over?”
“I didn’t want to make a scene.”
“Well, that’s the first smart decision you made.”
“I also stopped smoking,” he offered.
“Good for you,” I said.
“But how did you know I would be at the apartment? Wait, let me guess. My father?”
“Yes, I called him.”
“He lives in a fantasy world.”
“He only wants to see you be happy.”
“I am happy. It’s just taken him a little longer to get the message.”
“I was very worried about you,” Jacob said.
“You said that when you showed up in California,” I reminded him.
“Well, I was.”
“Thank you for your concern but I have been fine. And you look well, so you must be eating. So now that we have established each other’s state of health, is there anything else you want to say?”
Jacob looked up to the sky.
“I have changed.”
I looked at him, confused, and said, “Is that it? Is that your statement? You have changed. Well, let’s call a press conference. Jacob Liebowitz has changed. Alert the media. Did you post it to your friends on Facebook?”
Jacob bowed his head and I continued.
“Changed? What does that mean? No, let me rephrase that. Are you now saying that you’re a different person than the man I married? You no longer….”
“I should not have, well, ah.”
“What, raped me?” I shouted, fearless if anyone would hear me.
“Keep your voice down,” he said. But except for two pigeons who had braved the cold weather and were oblivious to our presence as they searched for food, there was no one else in the park to hear us.
Against My Will Page 14
