“Oh. Is that what you call this?”
Michael was stunned and embarrassed, but then he detected the smallest smile on Leah’s face. Oh, she’s teasing.
He started to chuckle. “I’m really sorry. You have done so much I just wanted to help you, too.”
“Help like this I cannot use.” She began to giggle, surprising herself.
Michael was even more shocked by her laughter, spurring him to laugh harder.
Between laughs, Leah gasped, “What a mess!”
“I can help you with that.”
Leah laughed even louder. “No, no, please!”
Surprised by Leah’s sense of humor, he decided to egg her on, just as her fits of laughter were slowing. “You sit, I will cook and clean, and then you can clean up after me,” he said, straight-faced.
Leah’s smile widened, and once again she erupted into uncontrolled giggles. She pushed back her hair again. “Ooh, that’s enough for me!”
Embarrassed, she looked down at her feet, but when she did so, she noticed the burned hole in his robe. “Oh, what happened there?”
“I was cooking?”
“Hmm, of course. I have more robes upstairs. Stay here. I will be right back.”
Leah climbed up the ladder, and Michael could hear her rustling through some baskets. When she came down, she handed him a clean garment.
“You need to clean yourself up. Taking you to the baths is not advisable at this hour with so many soldiers in Jerusalem right now. Instead, go behind the house where there is water. I will take care of breakfast.”
Michael walked around the ladder and through the door at the back of the house. The area outside was about fourteen feet long and five feet wide. It was walled off so he was unable to see any of the other houses nearby. In the far corner was the door leading to the crude latrine that they had been using.
They’ve got an amazing drainage system back here, Michael thought, better than any of those facilities we use when we go camping.
He had definitely used worse.
Michael ducked through a side door into Alumni Hall. It had been almost three days since Michael had left the apartment he and his friend Steve had shared until they lost their jobs. He kept his hood up to cover his unwashed hair. Worried that someone in the St. John’s athletic office would recognize him, he raced down the steps to grab a shower in the locker room.
As he turned the corner in the basement, he found sinks and shower rods outside the entryway. Oh, no. What’s going on?
He peered in where the showers were. A construction worker in a yellow plastic hard hat spun around as he was dismantling a shower stall. “You need something?”
“Yeah, a shower. I just worked out.”
“Not today.”
Michael sighed. “What about tomorrow?”
The heavyset man laughed. “We’re just starting. Come back when school starts again.”
The St. John’s students were on holiday break. It would be another two weeks before classes would begin. Michael looked at the mirror on the wall. Just great. Look at me: a college graduate only six months ago. Lot of good it did me.
The sight of his unshaven face reflected in the mirror only made his self-pity grow. He rubbed his torn gloves across his face, but they, too, were filthy from wear.
He walked down the adjacent hallway toward the job board hanging in one of the unused display cases, but grew ashamed. Why am I even looking? I can’t even find a way to get a shower.
His despondency slowly turned to anger, both at himself and those who ever doubted him. I’ll show them. I’ll get a shower and then go door-to-door looking for a job. He decided to go clean up in one of the upstairs bathrooms.
Quietly, he navigated inconspicuously through the hallways and back up the stairs near the basketball office. The bathroom was located directly across from where many of his friends worked, the same people with whom he had shared road trips while watching some of the greatest St. John’s basketball teams play. His heart was skipping as his mind raced for a plausible excuse for his appearance should he be spotted. He opened the hallway door slightly, peeking through to see if anyone was around. The hall was clear.
Michael dashed up the five steps to the bathroom door, which he struck with such force that it slammed against the concrete wall, sending a big echo through the six-thousand-seat arena. Darn, I hope no one comes out and looks.
Inside he remained silent for a few seconds, listening for any movement. When he heard none, his body relaxed slightly as he pulled off his hood. What a mess. He removed his tattered gloves and stuffed them into his pockets, squishing a piece of stale pretzel and a package of soup crackers he had picked up in the subway two nights ago.
The crunching sound frustrated him. “Can anything else happen?” he muttered.
He rammed the soap dispenser a few times, eking out a few miserable drops. He pressed the faucet down, but only a brief spurt of water trickled through. Oh, great, one of these.
The idea of shoving the faucet and then quickly cupping his hands underneath it to capture a pitiful amount of water irritated him. He snickered to himself: funny how in all these years it had never before bothered him.
He was splashing the first handful of water on his face when the door opened behind him. He spun away from the sink as St. John’s wildly popular basketball coach walked in.
“Stewy! How the heck are you?” He met Michael with a huge smile on his face.
Every time until this exact moment, a smile from the coach would make Michael feel like gold. Today, he felt like dirt.
“Um, fine, how are you?” Michael replied, tugging up his hood.
“How’s life after college? You still writing? I always said you had a good pen.”
Michael sighed. “Everything’s fine, Coach.”
“What are you doing?” the coach asked, glancing at the dirty collar of Michael’s coat before looking back at him. “Where are you working?”
Michael put his gloves back on and tucked them inside his faded jeans pockets. “Doing a few things, got some job interviews. Everything is really going well, Coach.”
The coach finished up his business and washed his hands. Grabbing a paper towel, he flashed another huge grin. “Well, don’t be a stranger. Stop by the office anytime.”
He gave Michael a hearty slap on the back and walked out. Michael walked quietly behind him, let the door close, and looked around. Please, don’t let anyone else come in.
He returned to the sink and removed his hood and gloves again. I’ve got to wash my hair quickly. It was flat and greasy. His light brown hair looked nearly black. Disgusting. How do I go for a job interview looking like this?
He heard some footsteps outside the door. He walked quickly to the far-end stall and opened it. He locked the door and kept silent.
Another man walked in. Oh, boy. Now I’m going to have to wait even longer. Terrific.
He sat on top of the toilet and waited. Moments later the bathroom was empty again. Michael opened the stall door slightly to see if the area was clear. He closed and locked the door again.
This is embarrassing. He looked at the toilet. It’s clean. He turned back toward the door before refocusing his thoughts on the task at hand. I can be at any job interview in two hours if I just get cleaned up.
Michael started pulling several yards of toilet paper from the roll. He began wiping the outer and inner edges of the toilet. He flushed, watching the paper twirl down and thinking it was an appropriate metaphor for his life.
He stared for several seconds, gazing at the still water in the white, round ceramic bowl. It’s clean, it’s clean, he tried to convince himself. He listened intently to hear if anyone was coming. Just go ahead and do it. Yeah, no one will know.
He got down on his knees, pulled back the toilet seat, and removed a plastic bag from his coat filled with some soap he had lifted from a train-station dispenser. Michael let the pink soap slowly drip out from the bag into his right hand. W
hen the bag was almost empty, he leaned his head into the toilet, moistening the top of his head. Yuck.
He quickly soaped up his scalp before plunging the top of his head back into the toilet, cleaning most of the soap away. He furiously pawed at the toilet paper, sending bits and pieces to the ground while drying his hair with gobs of it.
With his hair nearly dry, he leaned back on the toilet and stared at the blue-painted door. He took a deep breath before standing up. Michael opened the door, his eyes catching his reflection in the mirror. Head slumped, he watched the sink catch some of his tears. He quickly looked up and wiped the remaining moisture off his face with his hands.
Michael walked back inside the house, placing his burnt robe in an empty basket just inside the door. He noticed Elizabeth standing on the last rung of the ladder.
“Dad,” Elizabeth said, running over to him, “you showering?”
“Yes,” he said, adding with a laugh, “you got anything to make me smell better?”
“I think I have something like that for you,” Leah interjected from where she stood in the kitchen.
“You have what?”
Leah reached toward a small shelf containing an assortment of bottles. She scanned it briefly, her hand lingering over the one gap in the line before selecting a small, light blue jar. She handed it to Michael.
“This?” he asked. “Didn’t you use this on my feet?”
“This is different. Try it.”
Michael uncorked the bottle and poured the oil into his cupped hand. It was musky but still pleasant smelling. He winked at Elizabeth before rubbing it onto his chest and under his arms.
Then they went upstairs to eat breakfast. The feast included goat cheese, bread, and water. When they were nearly done eating and had already begun cleaning up, Elizabeth smiled at Michael.
“Dad, let’s go see Cassie.”
Michael nodded, looking up at Leah.
“In all the rush this morning I didn’t have time to say my prayers and bathe,” Leah said, taking the last bowls from the floor. “Please excuse me.”
“Okay,” Michael replied. “We’ll be fine.”
Leah went to the back of the house while Elizabeth led Cassie out from behind the gate.
“Say good morning to her, Dad,” she said over the braying of the lamb.
“Ah, hello, Cassie,” he said with a laugh, “can you help us get home?”
“Dad!” Elizabeth said when she noticed his feet were no longer bleeding.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong”—she pointed to his feet—“it looks like everything is right!”
“Yeah, they don’t hurt so much. Leah’s medicine really worked wonders!”
“Okay,” Elizabeth said with reservation. She looked at him for a brief moment. “We can go now then, right?”
“Well, I guess we can.”
Leah walked in with her hair wet, wiping her forehead dry. In the morning sunlight, her light brown hair glistened around her. Michael was enchanted by her and couldn’t help but watch Leah as he continued speaking with Elizabeth.
“Um, we can’t run out right now though . . . we must figure out a plan, you know, the best time to leave.”
While Elizabeth looked at her father suspiciously, Leah selected a bottle of oil from the shelf and started rubbing some on her hands. When she realized Michael was watching her, Leah blushed and retreated upstairs.
“Dad? When are we going to talk? I think we should leave now.”
“We can’t, not right now. We have to make sure that we’re safe, and then we can make an attempt.”
Leah returned downstairs with her hair beautifully plaited down her back. She looked at Michael briefly before heading to the kitchen.
Calling out to her from the courtyard, Michael inquired, “Leah, how’s the ankle? Do you need us to do anything?”
“My ankle is fine,” she said with slight amazement, “but I should get water.”
“I’ll do that,” said Elizabeth, rationalizing that by pitching in with the chores, they would be able to leave sooner.
“No. Let me. It’s too heavy for you.”
“Dad, I’m not a child. I can help.”
Michael’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh, really?”
“She’s very strong and hardworking,” Leah interjected.
Michael was silent for a moment. “I guess I’m outvoted. But what about other villagers seeing her and wondering who she is? What about all the soldiers around? Elizabeth, what if that soldier sees you . . . and I’m not there?”
Leah was quiet at first, but then said, “There are so many soldiers, but the soldier you speak of is likely waiting to find you by your tunnel. What are the chances that that soldier will be by the well?”
Leah left them to think about this while she went upstairs, returning with two veils: one white, one black.
“Put this on, no one will notice you.” She handed Elizabeth the white one.
“Okay, Dad?”
“Hmm . . . okay.”
With a jug in each hand, Leah and Elizabeth headed outside into the courtyard and through the gate onto the road. Michael went back upstairs and leaned against the wall, laying his head gently down on Elizabeth’s bedroll.
Leah has such beautiful green eyes. It had been so long since he had had such thoughts of a woman.
Responding to Miss Voet’s call, Michael entered the school, ex-pertly acquiring his visitor pass from the front office. Embarrassed that the ladies knew him by first name, Michael shyly said hello.
“Oh, Michael, is your daughter sick again?” asked Virginia, one of the school secretaries, winking at him.
“Hmm, yes,” he said sheepishly. “Thanks again for your help.”
Waiting in the hallway for the first-grade teacher while Elizabeth sat inside the nurse’s office, Michael wondered if this was the fourth or fifth time he had been summoned to the school. At the beginning of the school year, he would rush up to Woodside Elementary to take Elizabeth to the doctor every time she called home sick. Miraculously, she would get a clean bill of health from the pediatrician and would develop an appetite for cookies and candy by the time they got home. It was obvious to him now that his daughter had become quite calculating: for some reason, he was the carrot and she was holding the string to which it was attached.
“Mr. Stewart,” Miss Voet said, extending her hand. “It’s so nice to meet you.”
He stood up. “Miss Voet.”
“Please call me Melissa.”
She had black hair and brown eyes and wore a pretty black dress with dark brown high-heeled shoes and small hoop earrings. He noticed she wasn’t wearing any rings.
“We have a problem, Mr. Stewart,” she murmured to him.
“Call me Mike.”
She smiled. “Mike, we have an issue with Elizabeth: she’s sick.”
“Really?”
“Not sick the way we normally think about it. She’s homesick. We have to do something about this because she is distracting the class with her groans.”
“Groans?”
“Yes,” Melissa said through a smile. “Your daughter is dramatic. She really wants me to know that she’s unhappy. She grabs her stomach and groans. Some kids laugh, some kids are scared. Either way, it’s a distraction.”
Michael couldn’t help but laugh. He saw Melissa roll her eyes and sigh.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I really am. I didn’t know this, though I thought she might be faking this stuff. I’ll talk to her about it and try to make her understand she can’t do this anymore.”
Melissa smiled again.
What a beautiful smile, Michael thought before he could catch himself.
“Do you want to schedule our parent/teacher meeting now?”
“Um, ah . . . I don’t know. Can’t this count as the meeting?” Michael saw Elizabeth through the hallway window into the nurse’s office. He waved to her to come out.
Melissa frowned slightly. “Well, it c
an, if you want,” she said as Elizabeth opened the door, “but I was looking forward to talking to you more.” She smiled at him again.
Is she interested in me? Michael wondered as he took Elizabeth’s backpack.
“Hi, Daddy!”
“Ah, hi.”
He was flustered. “Okay,” he said to the teacher as he grabbed Elizabeth’s hand and started to walk away.
Melissa stood there in the hallway, wondering whether that was a yes or a no. Little did she know then that Michael would never schedule that appointment or any other for the rest of the year.
“Leah! We haven’t seen much of you. How are you?” the woman called to them when Elizabeth and Leah were nearly finished filling the first jug of water.
Leah straightened up before slowly turning to greet the woman. “Rachel! Good to see you. I’ve been very busy.”
Rachel looked at Elizabeth quizzically.
“Oh, this is my cousin’s daughter, Elizabeth. They are here to celebrate the Passover festivities with me.”
Elizabeth slowly turned and nodded meekly to Rachel from behind the veil.
A commotion erupted nearby as soldiers descended upon the area. Leah tried to focus on the faces of the ones on horses nearing the well. She thought there was one with a piece of cloth in his helmet, but she couldn’t be sure.
“Oh, dear!”
“What’s wrong?” asked Rachel.
“I’ve got to go,” Leah said, grabbing Elizabeth’s hand and squeezing it hard.
“What’s going on?” Elizabeth asked as Leah handed her an empty jug.
“I think it’s that soldier,” Leah whispered, directing them toward the house.
Elizabeth quickened her pace and felt her insides go numb. She dropped her head low so her face would be better covered by the veil.
“Not too fast,” said Leah. “They will be suspicious if we walk too quickly in this hot sun.”
They safely made it through the gate into the courtyard, although they felt little peace until they were back in the kitchen. Leah’s face was flushed as she put the water jugs away. Elizabeth carried one over to her but then slumped back against the wall in the kitchen.
Necessary Heartbreak Page 14