by Naomi Ragen
“Aunt Rose, can I have something to eat first?”
“Right,” Rose said quickly, hurrying into the privacy of her kitchen. She leaned forward heavily, gripping the counter with trembling hands; then, she took out the kosher food she had purchased early that morning: corned beef on rye, coleslaw, potato salad, and a Dr. Brown cherry cola.
Rivka took an eager bite, then stopped, picking out the meat with her fingers, then ravenously digging into the rest of the meal.
“It’s glatt kosher,” Rose murmured, holding out the packaging she had brought along from the kitchen, having expected to be cross-examined before the waif would agree to touch a bite. But she didn’t even glance up.
“Oy, it’s not that. It’s any meat…” Rivka said, finishing off the potato salad and coleslaw.
“Are you a vegetarian now?”
“No, I…” She tried to speak, but her mouth was full of food.
Rose watched her, appalled. Her hunger was ravenous and pitiful. “I bought you a piece of chocolate cake, too, from the kosher bakery on Broadway,” Rose suddenly remembered, hurrying to get it and placing it in front of her. “Would you like a cup of tea to have with it…?”
But before she could finish, Rivka had already polished off the cake, not even asking if it was parve and thus permitted to be eaten along with meat, something any observant Jew would have surely asked. Had she lost her faith? I won’t ask, Rose thought. I don’t want to know. “Well, if you want anything else to eat, just go into the kitchen,” Rose said, barely able to speak. “Your bedroom is the second door from the left down the hall. There’s a private shower, towels. Make yourself at home. We’ll talk later.”
Rose went directly to her own bedroom. Closing the door and stretching out on the bed, she parted her lips swallowing huge gulps of air as she tried to clear the enormous lump in her throat. But it was no use. Silent tears rolled down her cheeks as she remembered those first terrible, hungry days after she’d run away from home, riding the empty subways downtown and uptown all night long, the rancid smell of the cars screeching along the filthy subterranean tracks, the gnawing sense of doubt about where her next meal would be coming from when the little money she had ran out. She’d survived that way barely two days, the end coming with frightening intensity at 2:00 A.M.
She hadn’t thought about that in years and years. What was the point? It was over. She’d survived. And so would her niece. They had both made their choices, and there was no turning back the clock, no way to integrate your new life with your old. Their parents and society would not allow it. Once you left, they wanted you to know you could never return except entirely on their terms. For her, that would have meant transforming into the docile seventeen-year-old she had never been, willing and able to marry a weak and foolish man she didn’t even particularly like just to please her parents and the rabbis.
But perhaps for Rivka that might still be a realistic option. Rose didn’t know her well enough to judge. It would certainly save her a great deal of heartache. Chagrined at this rare and sudden show of weakness, Rose wiped her eyes, heading back into the living room.
Rivka was curled up fast asleep on the sofa in the fluffy long bathrobe Rose had left for her. She looked like a tired child, her face rosy and well-scrubbed, her hair loose and wet. Rose took a light crocheted afghan from the bedroom, covering her gently. Then, she sat down across from her, waiting.
*
“How are you feeling, Rivka?”
She smiled, still half-asleep, stretching.
“Why didn’t you lay down in your bed?”
“I don’t know. It looked so clean … Anyhow, I thought I’d just sit here a minute. I guess I must have conked out.” She looked out the window, surprised to see that the street lamps had already come on. “I didn’t know I was so tired,” she said with a sheepish grin.
“Here, I brought you some tea and cookies. All kosher, don’t worry.”
“A treife cookie should be my biggest sin, Aunt Rose,” she said, her lower lip trembling. “My life is ruined. I’ve ruined it. I’m going to Gehenna!”
“From the looks of you when you arrived, I’d say you’ve just come back. I’ve been there myself,” Rose added gently.
“No one has sinned more than me! I’m so ashamed!” She hid her face in her hands.
Gently, Rose pried them loose. “Here, have something to eat and drink. In the meantime, I’ll tell you why you’re wrong. My story is way worse than yours, kid.”
“I heard a little bit here and there, mostly from Bubbee Weiss. Mameh didn’t talk about you.”
“And what did Bubbee Weiss say?”
“That … that you’d disgraced the family,” Rivka said softly.
“Bubbee Weiss was absolutely right. I did. I ran away, leaving my poor parents to deal with furious in-laws, an embarrassed (if not exactly heartbroken) groom, unpaid caterers, and hundreds of disgruntled wedding guests making their way to Brooklyn, who were cheated out of their million-calorie Viennese table…”
“You did the right thing.”
“Don’t be so forgiving, child. Everyone paid a terrible price.”
“Sometimes, a person has no choice.”
Rose stared at her, startled by her answer. She wasn’t the cliché she’d imagined, the flighty teenager throwing a short-lived fit. She’d thought this all out. “What else have you heard about me?”
“My mameh said that you always wanted to be the center of attention, even when you were little. You even insisted on saying kiddush in front of all the men Friday night…”
“Your mother has that a little confused. It was she who wanted to make kiddush and wound up spilling wine all over herself and Tateh … Never mind. We were both little kids, and it was a long time ago. What else?”
“They said that, just like Pharaoh, you’d reached the forty-ninth level of degradation, a place where—”
“No explanation necessary,” Rose cut her short, feeling surprisingly hurt. “I don’t suppose they ever mentioned that for the first sixteen years of my life, I was the perfect Bais Yaakov girl…” Then, suddenly, she laughed. “Well, not exactly. I did a few things behind my parents’ and teachers’ backs.”
“Like what?” Rivka asked eagerly.
Misery loves company, and sinners want to weigh their transgressions against those of others, hoping theirs weigh less, Rose thought, smiling to herself. “I took a course in photography when I was supposed to be cheering up sick, old people. That’s when my parents thought they needed to find me a husband who would do a better job of reining me in. I thought dating would be fun. We were both wrong. I remember how one boy looked at the carpet the entire time we were together, trying to prove he was too pious to look at women! How these guys have ten kids I’ll never know.”
“Eyes are not involved, Aunt Rose,” Rivka said demurely.
A slow smile spread across Rose’s face. She was beginning to like this kid. “Was that also your experience?”
“The boy they picked for me was really very nice.” She blushed. “He told me about how exciting it was to him to learn all day. How he loved it. We even talked about medicine, about being a doctor, and how difficult that was, but what a great mitzvah it was to heal the sick. He was not so bad. To tell you the truth, Aunt Rose. I … I even liked him. It wasn’t his fault. I just didn’t want to be a wife and a mother. That is, just yet. I wanted a more interesting life. What’s going to happen to me now?” She wept.
“Well, you are certainly having an interesting life,” Rose murmured, handing her a tissue.
Rivka laughed through her tears.
“Look, kid, you can become anything you want…”
“No, no! You don’t understand. It’s all over. It’s horrible.”
“You’ll get through the horrible. Trust me.”
“Aunt Rose, how did you survive?”
“It wasn’t easy.” She paused, weighing the pluses and minuses of reliving her story for the edification of her young niece. The girl need
ed a reality check. It had to be done.
“The night I left, it was really dark, and the streets were deserted. I’d never been outside at such a time of night, let alone all by myself. I remember shivering, wishing I’d worn something practical and ugly and warm under my winter coat, instead of dressing in my Shabbos best. I was relieved when I finally got to the subway. I remember listening to the clacking of my shoes against the hard concrete as I ran up the steps, thinking it sounded so loud that even at such a distance, it was sure to wake my parents! I kept looking over my shoulder expecting them to catch me at any moment and drag me back to that borrowed bridal gown and those white shoes that didn’t fit me any better than the life that would come along with them.”
Her throat was suddenly parched. “I’m going to get a drink. Do you want something?”
Rivka, her eyes wide, shook her head.
Rose poured herself a half glass of whiskey, gulping it down. She ran her tongue over her parched lips. “The subway car was almost deserted except for a half-asleep elderly black man and a young couple who were all over each other. Station after station passed, and the rhythm of the car felt almost like the rocking of a boat that was lulling me to sleep. I was exhausted. The humiliation of standing naked in front of the attendant at the mikveh murmuring blessings, all the while planning my escape…”
“Oh!” Rivka exclaimed, holding her face.
Her reaction puzzled Rose. “Well, at least you were spared that…”
Rivka said nothing.
“But I’m sure you too must have felt the tension between making plans and having to keep them secret, the fear of discovery. Then, there was the guilt of betraying everyone I loved. Even though in the past I’d done things they wouldn’t have approved of, they were nothing like this; this was on such a grand scale!
“I was drained. Dozing on the subway all night was as good a plan as any for the moment. In fact, that first night, it worked out just fine. But the next night, about two in the morning, something woke me up. Laughter.” She tipped the glass into her mouth greedily, swallowing the last remaining drops.
“There were five of them, all dressed in leather jackets and tight jeans.”
Sleeping beauty, one of them said, and the others laughed. Hey, honey, are you rested now? Yeah, we wouldn’t want to bother you if you’re tired. No, for what we’ve got in mind, you’ll need plenty of energy, won’t she, guys? Squeezing back into her seat, her eyes darting desperately around the deserted car. It was only her and them.
“I told them to go away,” she said. “And they looked at each other as if they were surprised.”
Now, that ain’t polite, is it, guys? Especially when we was trying to be so friendly? Yeah, it was downright unfriendly. Now, I think we need to teach her a lesson, don’t you? Yeah, a lesson in being nice …
“One of them tugged on my coat, pulling it off, while another reached out, snapping open my blouse.”
One by one, the buttons fell to the floor.
“Oh, Aunt Rose!”
“I screamed.”
The fist pressed brutally into her mouth. The fingers tickling their way up her thigh like roaches. The vicious tugging at her panties. The prayer: Please God help me!
“But then, out of nowhere, a policeman showed up.”
Like a miracle. HEY! It was another voice, older deeper. The hands retreated. WHAT’S GOIN’ ON HERE? The boys scattered, running into the next car. HEY, come back here! But she grabbed his arm. Please don’t go after them! Don’t leave me here alone! she begged. How he looked down at her, concerned. Sobbing uncontrollably, she never let go.
“The cop took me to a homeless shelter. But that turned out to be the kind of place where the worst people you meet on subways all lived!”
“How interesting for you,” Rivka said wickedly.
It was Rose’s turn to laugh. “Oh, that’s for sure. Finally, I got so desperate, I called home. My mother answered.”
“What did Bubbee Weiss say?”
“She said if I came home and got married immediately, all would be forgiven. And if not, she never wanted to hear from me again.” Rose felt the vicious, sharp edge of that memory, which even time could not blunt.
“I can guess your answer.”
“They left me no wiggle room.”
“Vus is dus? Wiggle room?”
“It was all or nothing. I’m not good with ultimatums.”
“So, you too … were also out there … homeless, penniless…” Rivka twisted her fingers nervously.
“Is that what you’ve been doing for two months? Riding the subways, eating out of trash cans?”
“I don’t want to talk about it. Not now. Please, finish. What did you do?”
“Look, I’m prepared to tell you, but not because I’m proud of it.” Rose paused, wishing she had a cigarette, or at least something to do with her hands. “I got the phone number from information of one of the photography teachers of the course I’d taken. He’d always been so kind and rather fatherly to me. He said he remembered me and listened to my sad tale. ‘Come over, honey’ were his exact words.
“I was seventeen, and he was a renowned photojournalist and teacher. Now I know you’ll understand me when I explain this to you: maybe I had rebelled, but, deep down, I was still a good, religious girl like you, taught to respect her elders, to be pliant and good and listen to what she was told.” She took a deep breath. “When I got to his apartment, he offered me wine. I didn’t know how to say no. It was the first time in my life I’d drunk a glass of nonkosher wine. He was so experienced. He had been married twice, and was then either divorced or separated. There were pictures of children around the apartment. And that night when he’d tucked me into his spare bed, he was so kind to me, and I felt so lost, I began to cry…”
She cleared her throat, staring deeply with unseeing eyes into her empty glass. “He leaned over and took me in his arms as if I was a little girl. And the warmth of his arms, his body, felt so comforting, like a father’s … until … it … wasn’t.”
“Aunt Rose!”
She got up, pacing nervously. “Now, don’t get me wrong. It wasn’t rape. Not exactly. To have been rape, I should have pushed him away. I should have known what my rights were and insisted on them. As it was, I had never actually been informed by anyone that I had any rights at all in this world. And after days on the street and in the shelter, where my choices were worse, I was ready to pay almost any price for protection and guidance.”
Rivka’s eyes glazed over. “Yes.” She nodded dully.
“We settled into a routine based on his time schedule and needs. I cooked and baked and helped out in the darkroom and did what he wanted in the bedroom. He wasn’t kinky or very demanding. It felt like a business deal. Only later, when I grew older and wiser, did it feel shameful. But I always told myself it was the price I had paid for my freedom. After all, if I’d stayed home and gotten married, I’d have been in bed with someone I liked even less! At least Vincenzo and I had the same interests. For whatever else he was personally, he was a superb professional. What he taught me made the life I wanted possible.”
“Did you … love him?”
She gave it a moment’s thought. “You probably didn’t see that movie The Lover, did you? No, I didn’t think so. Never mind. It’s about a young girl involved with an older man, and she also thinks she’s in some kind of adventure/business deal. And when it’s over, she realizes that there had been love, but it had gotten lost, like water absorbed in sand. Did I love him? He wasn’t young. He wasn’t attractive. But, as I said, he was kind, that is, most of the time. He had a temper, especially when he drank…” She shook her head and was silent for a few moments. “Anyhow, it didn’t last long. One day, the Modesty Patrol showed up at the door wearing black Hassidic garb and carrying metal pipes. They forced the door open and hit him so hard they broke one of his legs. Then, they smashed the entire house to bits, thousands of dollars of furniture and equipment. Luckily, I wasn�
�t home.
“Vincenzo was furious. To his credit, he didn’t immediately throw me to the wolves. He called the police, lawyers, and his insurance company. But we both knew it was over. He handed me over to Milly Gerhardt, a fellow photographer looking for an assistant for a National Geographic shoot in Costa Rica. She became a wonderful friend and mentor. Here, see this?”
She took a framed photo off the wall and handed it to Rivka, pointing to a slim, tall woman—tanned and self-confident—wearing shorts and a wide panama hat, posing against a backdrop of wild jungle growth, a parrot on her shoulder. “That’s her. That had to be one of the best years of my life. Here I was on a tremendous adventure, shooting pictures like a pro … It was a dream come true.” Her thumb fondled the photograph; then, she hung it back up in its place of honor.
“Was she married? An old maid?”
“Such an ultra-Orthodox question! If you want to know something about a woman, that’s the information that will tell you her true worth, no? Rivka, I have no idea about her sexuality. All I can tell you is that she had many friends, both men and women, and she never attempted to climb into bed with me.”
Rivka blushed.
“When we got back to New York to Milly’s apartment, it took only three days before I picked up the phone and found my mother on the other end. Despite the fact that she said she never wanted to hear from me again if I didn’t come running home to get married, I guess she had a change of heart. She begged, cajoled, then threatened and shrieked that I was a whore who was ruining the entire family’s reputation. I packed up my things immediately. Milly was so sorry, but we had no choice. They obviously knew where I was, and I couldn’t risk Milly getting hurt, too. She helped me find and furnish a little studio apartment, loaning me money for the deposit and the first few months’ rent. I continued to work as her assistant, and then she helped me land a few lucrative freelance jobs at various publications. Eventually, I set up my own studio.
“But my parents weren’t finished with me yet. They soon found out where I lived. Various relatives showed up at the door at intervals to threaten me. At a certain point, I had had enough. I filed a police complaint and took out a restraining order. My parents were hauled down to the Williamsburg police station. And there, among the dope pushers and prostitutes, I imagine they were fingerprinted and photographed, an experience for which they never, ever forgave me. After that, they left me alone.”
