The Body

by Richard Ben Sapir

  “Say it,” said Jim.

  “You mean you’re counting on the fact that we are in the Reb’s house and they won’t kill us,” said Mendel. “People die by accident, you know. Things get out of hand, you know.”

  “They don’t speak English, I don’t speak Yiddish, they won’t speak Hebrew, Mendel, say it.”

  “And what do I tell His Eminence if something happens to you?”

  “You’re assuming it’s going to be me who’s hurt, not you.”

  Mendel appreciated that. He smiled. Zalman was making more jokes, to continued laughter.

  “What is he saying?”

  “He is saying we are trying to figure out whether ham is supposed to be eaten before or after prayers,” said Mendel. “Give me again what you want.”

  “That the Talmud is subjective, not absolute. That is what they teach. The Talmud needs man as much as man needs the Talmud.”

  “You didn’t say that before. That’s more,” said Mendel.

  “I’m saying it.”

  Mendel began. Zalman was still bubbling with his newfound humor. Mendel spoke slowly. The mirth left the pale face of Zalman, the brows narrowed and the eyes became dark.

  Up on the balcony the little buzzing sounds of side conversations stopped. The room became deathly quiet.

  And when Mendel had finished, the room could hear him swallow. Then Zalman began, the voice rising to a shrill pitch, the face becoming red, the finger pointing at Mendel and Jim. One of the men on the balcony banged something and then there were many bangings and the room shook, and Jim saw one young man climb over the balcony in a frenzy.

  Mendel tried desperately to keep up with the translating, but Jim knew what was being said. Blasphemy in the house of the Reb Nechtal, blasphemy against the Talmud, blasphemy against the one whose name dared not be mentioned. Blasphemy with the whore of Haneviim Street, whom Jim wanted to bring in here.

  And then an old hand reached out to the wildly waving arm of Zalman. And when Zalman, in his own frenzy, did not see that hand, another man banged him harshly. For it was the hand of the Reb Nechtal.

  The Reb Nechtal spoke. It was one word.

  “What did he say?” asked Jim. “What did he say?”

  Mendel wasn’t translating. Finally, Mendel turned to Jim:

  “He says you’re right. You’re absolutely correct.”

  And then the Reb Nechtal spoke again. And Mendel translated:

  “He says Zalman is wrong.”

  How Zalman was wrong and the Gentile was right would be spoken of in Mea Shearim long after that day. It would be remembered how well the Gentile knew the Talmud, even though he sometimes did not know specifically which rabbi supported which interpretation. It would be repeated often in the quarter of Mea Shearim how the Reb Nechtal himself helped the Gentile with quotations even as the good rabbi argued with him.

  How that day of argument went would become a lesson in learning for all.

  The Gentile contended, and was correct, that the woman exposing her breasts to save someone’s life was not a sin, because the purpose was not sexual but merciful. And so the woman was brought in, but she was indeed dressed immodestly, with arms exposed and wearing the pants of men. And everyone knew, even if that act was not a sin, that this was the sort of woman who would do those sins, and end up, it was sure to everyone, a prostitute dead in the gutter.

  Because even when her arms were covered, her mouth was not. She was one of those who dug up graves to look at bones, who treated the dead with shame.

  The Gentile, on the other hand, understood that it was an impurity to look upon the dead, and that it was a commandment and a good deed, a mitzvah, that Jews should see the Jewish dead were properly treated. He understood that the Reb’s followers used as their authority the teachings of the Talmud.

  His authorities were other books, which included some of the philosophy of the Talmud. He also came by authority from his spiritual leader. He too was bound by law.

  Wisely, the Gentile established exactly what a body was, therefore also establishing what rights it had, and what obligations Jews had toward it.

  A body, according to the law, was any portion of a human bone larger than an olive.

  Then, the Gentile openly admitted, a body had been found in the cave on Haneviim Street. But he pointed out there was no indication it had been buried properly.

  There was no cloth around it, as was custom. Moreover, there was indication the man had died violently, so the man might not be buried at all, but abandoned waiting to be buried. And when he was asked if there were any other bodies around, he said no. But when he said it was older than centuries, one could not assume it had not been properly buried in a cemetery at that time, because the cemetery might have disappeared. Therefore, one could not assume it was not a body in a proper grave, instead of an accident, waiting to be transported to one and buried.

  The body had to stay in the grave. It could not be moved.

  What, asked the Gentile, if it had already been moved? And the Reb Nechtal answered that the Gentile would know that, and could answer that. And should answer it.

  And the Gentile answered, in truth, that it had not been moved from the tomb, and this was accepted, because the Gentile had no obligation to admit there was a body there in the first place. He could have lied as easily as scientists found they could lie.

  But he didn’t. And he made this promise, that he, himself, wanted to find out the identity of this body, that he might find out if the man was a Gentile and not a Jew, in which case the Reb Nechtal and his followers would be freed from any obligation toward the body.

  But Zalman said any investigation was a desecration, and then the Gentile brought up the crucial point!

  What happened to all the Jewish bodies in lands of the Gentiles, where sometimes no respect was given the living Jews, let alone dead ones?

  Therefore they were not obliged to give a proper burial, Jim said, but only to try to give the bodies a proper burial. And on this the Reb Nechtal smiled, for everyone later would know that the Gentile had surmised what was in the Talmud, when he didn’t really know for sure.

  And an agreement was made that the body would get a proper burial, and this would fulfill the Reb Nechtal’s obligations. But it would be after the Gentile’s investigation, which would fulfill his obligations. At all times the body would be treated with respect. But the Reb Nechtal said the body could not be moved around, for it might fall into untrustworthy hands. So, it was agreed that one of the followers of Reb Nechtal would be the one to sit on the chair above the hole and make sure the body never left.

  The Gentile agreed, saying he too was bound by what was possible. But the Reb Nechtal insisted that it be the Gentile who was responsible for it all, not the woman who used the sacred language for common talk, or the government official. If the Gentile was the one who was responsible, then they all had done what they could do. And what the Gentile wanted, that the suitcase be returned that day, would be done. And there were apologies for any physical hurts, because that should not have been, said the Reb Nechtal.

  And then he proclaimed his reasoning by his Talmudic authority, why the Gentile should be trusted above Jews.

  For Jim it was the first word he understood of the Reb Nechtal, and they had been discussing the Talmud for almost three full hours. And he was mentally numb with exhaustion.

  These words were in Hebrew because they were holy writ:

  “The righteous Gentile is as blessed as the high priest himself.”

  And Jim knew the Reb Nechtal was talking of the only man in the Hebrew race allowed to utter the name of the holiest of holies, and this only once a year, and this when the Temple was once again standing. A man who could not exist for the Jews again until the Third Temple was built, when the Messiah came.

  Outside, Sharon commented on the fact that the body could not be removed from the cave. She said, “Well, he really stuck it to us, didn’t he?”

  “What are you go
ing to do, Father?” said Mendel.

  But Jim was not listening. He did not know it, but the crowds that were now surrounding their slow-moving car leaving the quarter of Mea Shearim had come to see the Gentile who had successfully argued law with the Reb Nechtal himself, the righteous one.

  16

  Christmas

  The problems were enormous, and Jim returned with Sharon to her apartment to discuss them, unless, of course, as Sharon pointed out, it was “still an occasion of sin, or larger than an olive,” whichever Jim and his new friend in Mea Shearim would decide.

  “Where does the olive come in?”

  “You agreed that a bone became a body at the scientifically established size of an olive. Ah, but Reb Folan, are we talking about a ripe olive, a new olive, olive oil, does that constitute olive? And what about the Spanish olive, or is that Gentile olive, and only for special occasions, is it righteous?”

  Sharon went into her bathroom to change. She was still wearing Jim’s shirt from the afternoon. Jim waited in her bedroom-living room combination, looking at the lights of Jerusalem at night.

  In the distance was the Knesset on the left, and up above the valley which housed Hebrew University was the white, ice-cream cone mosaic top of the Dome of the Book, where the Dead Sea Scrolls were housed.

  Sharon’s bed was unmade, and quite broad with a brown bedspread rumpled at its feet. Books on archaeology crowded the walls, just like in the Reb Nechtal’s study.

  Jim’s hand throbbed. There was a bottle of brandy and a glass that Sharon had set out for him. She had also put some fruit before him, a bowl of strawberries and orange pieces. He was tired.

  He was mentally exhausted from the intellectual combat in the Reb Nechtal’s home. He didn’t want to fight with Sharon. He had a problem, now that the body had to stay within the cave. He needed her to solve it. The case with the disk rested between his feet. He would put it in the safe in their lab at Hebrew University tomorrow.

  He poured himself a quarter glass of the pink-red brandy and sipped it. It was good. It warmed him and took the cold out, and made the exhaustion comfortable.

  Sharon returned with her hair pulled back, her face freshened, and wearing a pink bathrobe and sandals.

  “Why is it, now, that my apartment is not an occasion of sin, in other words, a sin by even being here? Why not now?”

  “Because I have overriding problems about the investigation, and I need you for them, and there is probably something I forgot that has to be solved tonight.”

  “Smaller than an olive, right?”

  “Right,” said Jim.

  Sharon went into her small kitchen and brought back a bottle of antiseptic, cotton swabs, and some gauze. She pulled a chair up to Jim and then carefully began ministering to his palm. He remembered her tears and he remembered what her breasts looked like, and he could see the same outlines in her bathrobe.

  “First thing we have to do,” said Sharon, “is get a dehumidifier into that cave, and that means an electrical outlet down there. Mendel can get wires run down there. And it would be nice to have them run underground so there isn’t that big directional signal to the entire world, screaming for everyone to look at what is going on. Right?”

  “Right,” said Jim, wincing.

  “I’m sorry,” said Sharon.

  “That’s all right, keep going. It feels good,” said Jim. Her touch on his palm was sensual as well as healing.

  “Okay, now that we stabilize the bones by lowering the humidity, we have to take care of your other requirements. We can put the body under some kind of cover when the geologist comes in to prove there were no other entrances into that cave. And you can tell him that you are looking for a way out because you want to tunnel, and ask if there is any original tunnel.”

  “Won’t he know it’s a dig?”

  “It had been, but now the basement for Mr. Hamid is going in, and you want to expand, and you don’t know if there had been tunneling here before, and if there had been, you won’t have to cut through bedrock.”

  “Better,” said Jim. “Now what about the pathologist, who will have to look at that crucified body in a rich man’s cave? And why are we making such a fuss over that one body?”

  “Can’t be a Christian. That’s out. Can’t be a Westerner, Christian or not. Although you have problems right there, because anyone with the level of scientific expertise we need has got to be Western-educated, and that means Christian-exposed.”

  “I’ve been checking on that. Have you ever heard of William Sproul?”

  “Sproul. Dr. William Sproul of the Hotchkiss Institute in Indianapolis, Indiana. He lectures here. He is Methodist. That’s a Protestant sect.”

  “I know. How do you know he is a Methodist?”

  “He’s quite religious. He’ll come here usually for Easter and Christmas, and that’s when the university can grab him for lectures. He is absolutely a perfect choice. From the bones he can tell what a person did for a living, what ethnic group, et cetera, incredible things. He is a perfect choice,” said Sharon.

  “And the one soonest to recognize what I am here to disprove.”

  “Correct,” said Sharon. The wound was clean, and she wrapped gauze around it, and then taped the gauze to Jim’s hand. She peeled an orange for him, and cleaned the wound on his head, which was not severe. As she did so, her thighs rubbed between Jim’s thighs.

  There was a pleasant tingle to it, and he told himself he should tell her to step back. As she worked on his forehead, her breasts touched his cheek. He really should stop this, he told himself. He really should. It was already going too far.

  “So what can we do about it?” said Jim.

  “We are going to have to flat out lie, successfully,” said Sharon.

  “Wonderful, you help the Church, and you learn to lie. I learn archaeology, and I end up punching people in the back.”

  “Welcome to Jerusalem,” said Sharon.

  “What is it about this place that intentions spit in your face?”

  “Do you want a bandage for your head?”

  “Sure,” said Jim. He felt his body was tingly warm. Sharon went into the kitchen to get a smaller bandage for the forehead, and Jim was going to tell her not to stand so close when she came back. Of course, perhaps it meant nothing, and he certainly didn’t want to insult her, what with all she was doing for the Church and everything.

  She didn’t have to do all this for the Church. Not at all. So when she came back, and took the same position, with the breasts touching his cheek again, and her smooth thighs inside his, and his face becoming hot, he knew he should say something. He was only lying to himself about the Church service being so important that he could be here. He had to tell her. He had to tell her now this had gone too far.

  “What do you do when you find other bodies?” he asked. “I mean, this whole area is highly intensive with graves, you know. What do you do? What does anyone do when they find bodies, like when digging a road or something? Is there always a religious dispute because the body is assumed to be Jewish?”

  “We find a lot of Crusader bodies,” said Sharon.

  Jim smelled her body, which was without perfume but a stronger perfume, of clean womanliness.

  “Uh huh. You do. You do find them. Bodies?”

  “Uh huh,” she said, and he felt her hands fall down behind his neck, and she was lowering her lips to his, and he wasn’t telling himself anything at this point. His right hand was on her perfect breast, fondling the hard nipple, and she was kissing him and he was kissing back, and then his tongue was in her mouth, and he didn’t even know where he had learned that.

  His shirt was coming off, and she was leading him to the bed.

  “I shouldn’t,” said Jim, and she had his pants off and he had her bathrobe off and he saw her flesh was golden smooth, first to his hand, then his lips and tongue.

  He felt between her thighs, wanting her, wondering when to enter, until she pulled his penis toward her and int
o her.

  He felt the delicious wet warmth around his organ, and on the first thrusting movement of her hips, he spent. It had happened again.

  He started to pull away but she held him there.

  “Hey. Shh. Kiss me. Kiss me,” she said.

  He kissed her lips, he kissed her nipples, he kissed her neck, and kissed her lips again, and kept doing it while stroking her smooth belly, and then he felt her moving under him, and he was strong again inside, hard inside the walls of her vagina, a man thrusting again, and again, and her eyes narrowed as he drove her to completion, not stopping but triumphing in her, again and again, and her banging his back, and sobbing her relief. And he was still strong, hard as Lebanon cedars, and again he gave her relief.

  He remembered reading where women were aroused by playing with the clitoris, and he did that, too, until she said she was already too sensitive there.

  They lay together for a while, with Jim kissing her cheeks. After all, he told himself, now was not the time not to do something. It was done and then some.

  He was still erect when she pulled from him, and went into the bathroom and came back with a wet cloth. She wiped clean his penis and its head felt raw. Even gentle touches were harsh.

  And when it was clean, she lowered her head and he felt her very soft sucking mouth around his organ, and he was going to say stop, but he had already sinned. He had already violated chastity.

  And since he had already done it, it certainly wasn’t going to change anything now, especially when he wanted release so much and he felt it coming, with a groan, a glorious, explosive groan.

  And when he was spent this time, it was, of course, absolutely clear. He had only been lying to himself.

  Sharon crawled up his body, kissing him.

  “Oh, shit,” he said. “Damn.”

  “It wasn’t good?” she asked.

  “It was wonderful,” said Jim. And then he sighed. “Dammit. It was wonderful. Dammit, I thought I was stronger than that.”

  “You know what you are unhappy about? You are unhappy that you are a man. And you are a man, a magnificent man, if I must say so.”