DISOWNED

by Gabriella Murray

  But this is not yet someday. So, holding the ram's horn close to her heart, Rivkah turns with it and flees. Year and year she vows to carry it with her, wherever she goes.

  After the Shiva, when she returns home, Rivkah stays in her room alone and comes out only once a day to eat. She sits there and blows the Shofar softly to herself.

  "If you don't put the Shofar down and come out of your room," Molly warns her, "you won't be allowed to go away to college. As it is, Dr. Ahren came by and told us you shouldn't go. He said you're not stable. Something terrible could happen to you."

  By now Rivkah can barely hear the words of her mother.

  "If I were you," Molly goes on, "I'd put the Shofar down and start to pack. What choice do you have? Your grandpa is gone. You can't go back to Borough Park."

  "Maybe I can," Rivkah answers dimly.

  "Not ever."

  "Why?"

  "How can you?" Molly whispers, between closed teeth, "It's too late for you Rivkah. No one will have you. How can they? You're soiled."

  CHAPTER 14

  Nothing is soiled in Vermont. As Rivkah arrives at college the trees are filled with late summer and the sky is clear with endless birds that come to nest around the small white cottages that serve as dorms and classrooms for the college she is to attend.

  A little welcome speech is being given to the incoming freshmen in a large barn that smells of grass, old wood and apples.

  "Our College is an entirely unique, small college dedicated especially to the arts, and to developing the fine, creative spirit of each individual student who has been chosen

  very carefully to be in attendance here."

  Rivkah sits on a wooden chair next to her roommate, Marsha, and gazes around slowly. This place is totally unlike any place she has ever been before. She feels as though she has been lifted up and transported to another continent.

  Along both sides of the barn, wooden plank tables have been set up and are filled with mugs of fresh apple cider, homemade brownies, cookies, cheeses, pots of coffee and paper plates and cups. The afternoon sun enters gently through the high, wide, oblique windows that have been carved through the old wood.

  he Dean who is speaking goes on for a little while longer as the odd collection of students sit rather quietly and listen to him.

  "Each of you students has been particularly chosen, each for a separate reason. We have chosen only those who we feel to be the most interesting, vital and individualistic to join us this year. Our mission is to enhance and explore the unique truth of each individual."

  The students clap softly at that.

  Rivkah breathes in the air deeply. It tastes cool, fresh and filled with pine and sweet grasses. Fresher than she has ever tasted before. lowly she lets herself look at the others. An interesting collection of students are sitting on the wooden chairs. There is a beautiful, haunted looking girl, with a carved, sculpted face sitting just directly in front of her and to the side. Her name tag says Clover.A tall, handsome, slim, dark- haired, older student is sitting two rows down, staring with great intensity at the Dean up in front.

  "Who is he?" Rivkah whispers to her roommate who has already met almost everyone.

  "One of the graduate assistants in theater."

  In a minute or two the older student looks up and over at Rivkah and catches her eye for a moment with a fierce, defiant look. Rivkah recoils.

  "He's noticing you," Marsha whispers to her.

  Rivkah is suddenly very afraid. There is no smile on his face, just a long stare.

  The Dean talks for a little bit longer and then all are invited to have the refreshments. Everyone gets up from their chairs and starts to circulate slowly, nodding hello to one another tentatively.

  Rivkah stops for a moment at the long table, takes a paper cup to pour some cider. She notices Clover at her side.

  "It's crazy here, isn't it?" Clover smiles painfully.

  "Nice," Rivkah answers.

  "I'm an artist. From France."

  "Really? Hello."

  "I've had two shows in Paris and one in Amsterdam. You remind me exactly of my older sister Chloe. I mean it's amazing. Exactly!"

  "Really?" Rivkah likes Clover. They are at home with each other right away.

  "You're so damn familiar," Clover goes on then, and starts pouring cider for both of them. "I've lived in Paris my whole life long. Where are you from?"

  "Borough Park, Brooklyn."

  "Where?"

  "Fifty second street."

  "Oh? Never heard of it. Is that some place famous?"

  "Not exactly," Rivkah says, and she and Clover both drink their cups of cider at exactly the very same moment.

  "God, all this apple cider! Are they trying to make us healthy or something? I wish they had a little white wine. How can we survive without our white wine?"

  Rivkah looks more closely at her. Clover has high cheekbones and enormous, slightly sunken green eyes that look as though they had witnessed tremendous devastation. It is easy to picture her in her studio, painting wildly, late into the night.

  "Your paintings must be powerful."

  "Not bad. Still I've got far to go." Then she takes a huge brownie and cuts it exactly in half. "Here, have some."

  Rivkah looks at the brownie, and for a swift moment a sharp pain cuts through her. This isn't kosher, she realizes. None of it is allowed. The words of Uncle Reb Bershky come to her, "when you take something that isn't kosher, that isn't right for a Jew, maybe in the beginning it tastes good to you, but later on there's a price to be paid."

  In the midst of this new and beautiful world he echoes within, like a haunted refrain. "And what's more", he goes on, "this world of flowers and trees is temporary. What looks beautiful, maybe isn't so beautiful. Do not follow your eyes or heart, Rivkah, they will lead you astray."

  Run, Rivkah thinks to herself. This minute, before it's too late.

  "What in the world are you thinking of?" Clover is staring at Rivkah. "You know, you remind me exactly of my sister Chloe. Exactly. She writes strange tracts on philosophy that are printed all over France. She's extremely tortured and thinks no one will understand them. But people adore whatever she writes."

  "Really?"

  "Definitely. Chloe even tried to kill herself once."

  "That's horrible."

  "No. It wasn't a serious attempt. Just a moment of philosophical desperation. We all have them. Don't we?"

  Rivkah turns away and reaches for a hot cup of coffee.

  "I understand what you're going through," Clover continues. "It's hard for everyone to leave home."

  Then they both take their paper cups of coffee and pass through the crowd of smiling students. As Rivkah passes through she notices the tall, dark haired, older male student who refuses to take his eyes off her. A flash of fear rises through her.

  He nods to her as she walks by where he is standing. Without smiling, she nods back in return.

  Rivkah and Clover walk outside together onto the huge front lawn which rolls down to the edge of a steep hill. The lawn outside is filled with students lolling around. Some

  are playing guitars, sitting on blankets or roaming about in dance leotards. Others are sitting in little groups huddled together, gazing at the mountains reflectively.

  "Everyone," Clover comments, "is very preoccupied with their personal destiny here. That's what drew them here. You too, I'm sure."

  As Rivkah walks a little further down towards the edge of the hill, she feels the older male student suddenly walking close behind. Why is he following me? she wants to ask Clover. Who is he? Is it possible that he could be my destiny, following me like a stark shadow across the sun?

  ***

  Classes here are small, intense and beautifully taught. The tall, dark haired student is a graduate assistant in her theater course. He pulls up a chair and sits right behind her the very first day.

  "Hi," he leans over a little too close.

  She does not turn around.
r />   "My name is Matthew."

  Rivkah does not like him.

  "You're very beautiful."

  She does not reply.

  "What's your name?"

  "Rebecca,"

  "Rebecca," he repeats her words strangely, "will you have lunch with me this afternoon?"

  "Not today."

  "I have something important to talk with you about." He pulls his chair forward.

  Rivkah scrapes her chair away.

  "I don't mean to push you."

  "But you are."

  The professor walks into the room and the conversation between them stops immediately.

  ***

  "Our destiny approaches us in odd forms, extended through time, arriving through various avenues."

  Rivkah's philosophy professor is lecturing the small class that is held in the barn. It is her favorite class and she pulls her plaid wool poncho close over her as she takes notes quickly. Destiny, she writes on the margins of her notebook.

  "Actually," the professor continues, "it is quite rare and unusual to recognize it when our destiny first appears. Only the select few can do it." Then he smiles and looks up at them for a moment. "How many of you could recognize your destiny if it sat right there opposite you?"

  Pencils scratch on papers as the students fervently take notes. This is considered one of the most interesting classes and the professor is well known.

  "Related to the question of destiny is the issue of free will. Do we have the free will to stop events that are facing us? Can we hold our destiny at bay? This is a philosophical question that thinkers have grappled with throughout the ages, a treacherous question at its core."

  Pens scratch even more avidly then, sounding like tiny mice scratching on wood.

  "However, treacherous or not, it is a question that must be answered by everyone."

  At that moment the thick, back door of the barn opens and Matthew walks quietly in. Although Rivkah does not look up, an odd pressure seizes her heart.

  "Rebecca, what is your view of this?" The professor catches her unaware.

  Years of Torah learning now revolve inside her head. "There is both free will and the will of God."

  The entire class turns around and stares.

  "A logical impossibility." The professor is slightly put off.

  "Nevertheless, God rules the universe."

  "I have not mentioned God in this discussion. We are not hypothesizing a first principle."

  Matthew walks a little closer to her now.

  "You are not what?" Rivkah is baffled.

  "Hypothesizing a first principle."

  A first principle? Is that how this man speaks of God? Without a name? Without emotion?

  Matthew sits down two seats behind her. Is he registered in this class too?

  "You are negating God?" Rivkah asks clearly. The sounds of the Sabbath songs rise up in her like a not so distant refrain.

  A few scattered students start to laugh.

  "We are studying philosophy here, not theology."

  "But God's will for us is everlasting."

  "Are you certain?"

  "I am."

  The silence in the room deepens and various heads turn to look at her now.

  "We are not always strong enough to know, or to bear God's will for us." Rivkah feels her words enter the wooden barn walls. "It is hard to bear it many times."

  "You are wavering from the main point, Rebecca. The point is can we as intelligent individuals take responsibility for our lives?"

  For a moment Rivkah's attention is distracted as she notices Matthew fixated upon her once again. His face has an odd expression of obsession. Frightened now, she gets out of her seat.

  "Rebecca, where are you going? This discussion is not complete! Where are you walking to, Rebecca? Are you afraid?"

  "Absolutely."

  "You may not walk out in the middle like this!"

  The words of a beautiful poem she has read over and over comes with the force of lightening. Despite herself, she starts reciting it out loud.

  "There is a Reality prior to heaven and earth. Indeed it has no form, much less a name."

  "What is this?"

  "To call it Mind or God violates its nature, for then it becomes like a visionary flower in the air."

  "This class is not poetry. We are studying philosophy! Not theology! Not poetry!"

  The class laughs a little.

  Rivkah stops reciting and the beautiful, wooden barn starts to feel like a prison built up of strange words and ideas. The moment the class is over, she runs outside. Matthew

  follows close behind her.

  "That was incredible," he is talking quickly.

  "Thank you."

  "Meaningful."

  Rivkah walks steadily to the edge of the lawn.

  "It had power, interest."

  "Thank you, Matthew."

  "I majored in philosophy at college myself."

  "Did you?" For the first moment she feels interested.

  "I'm a nihilist, Rebecca. I believe in nothing."

  She shudders. "Matthew, what do you want from me?"

  "I believe each man is entirely alone, and the world is completely absurd."

  She turns and stares in horror at him for a very long time.

  "I believe the opposite, Matthew."

  "I believe we all live a lie."

  She stares harder. "I'm very, very sorry for you."

  "You like me anyway."

  "I can't say that."

  "Convince me that I'm wrong."

  "I have no desire to."

  "Then your beliefs are entirely selfish. You don't truly believe in God."

  Both are silent for a long, long moment.

  Matthew breaks it. "Whether or not you think you like me, you will before long."

  "I don't want to like you."

  "What can we do?" And he smiles sadly. "Things take time. I understand."

  It takes about a week for them to spend hours together discussing whether or not there is a God, whether or not destiny can rule them. Dinners, lunches, classes together and long walks on the beautiful lawn. The fact that they have absolutely nothing in common is absolutely fascinating to both of them. A great relief.

  "Opposites need each other," Matthew says to her often. "We balance the madness in each other's minds."

  "I don't want this balance." At first Rivkah fights it.

  "But you have no choice about it anyway," and his thin lips smile charmingly.

  Over and over they are thrown together and little by little the aloneness in Rivkah touches and joins with the aloneness in him.

  "How can you believe in nothing?" she asks during their long walks over the gorgeous hills.

  "Because this world is a cruel dream."

  Rivkah grows colder. "You're wrong, Matthew."

  "Then prove it to me," he demands.

  ***

  "Are you two in love?" Marsha, her roommate, asks.

  "No. Not for a minute."

  Marsha seems surprised. "What is it then?"

  Like these forests of old trees around them, there is a peculiar strength and comfort Rivkah feels at Matthew's side. At least he doesn't pretend to love me, she thinks. "He is who he is. He doesn't pretend to love me. He doesn't pretend anything. In this way, he is different from anyone I have ever known."

  "Do you believe in love, Rivkah?" Marsha asks painfully then.

  "I used to," Rivkah replies, "but the truth is, I don't really know."

  Matthew is from an old Episcopalian family in New England whom he rarely sees now. For the past few years Matthew has been an actor in New York, living in a cold water flat in Greenwich Village. He has come up to this college for further study in theater.

  “I am seeking freedom," he tells Rivkah.

  Rivkah thinks of her life back in Brooklyn. Matthew's never been to Brooklyn at all. In fact, he's never even met a Jew.

  Marsha keeps pressing Rivkah. "You spend so much time t
ogether now. Why?"

  "There is comfort," Rivkah replies.

  "Only comfort?"

  "What's wrong with that?"

  "Be careful," Marsha says to her then. "Very careful. And remember, comfort is not love."

  But love or not, the passing days up here in the mountains can create a web which binds strangers together all by itself.

  Rivkah and Matthew spend most of their time studying together on long wooden tables, in a building called The Barn. They study in silence mostly. Occasionally Rivkah thinks of telling him about her life in Brooklyn, especially Uncle Reb Bershky. But she stops.

  "We are spending so much time together," Matthew comments one day, as they are working on their mid-term paper. "It seems we need each other. Doesn't it?"

  "In some way, yes."

  He sits there chewing on the end of his pencil. "I know it's hard to understand, but you're exactly what I've been looking for. Even though you're much younger than I am."

  After study hours are over, the two of them go into the main lounge and sit down on a soft, flowered sofa in front of the fire, with a small coffee table in front of it. Matthew gets them both coffee and pie.

  Rivkah sips the home brewed coffee slowly and feels he has something more to say.

  "I've been thinking a lot about it," Matthew proceeds with it promptly. "I think we should get married."

  His words do not shock Rivkah. They do not make her happy. At first there is no fear. Instead it is as if she had been expecting them from the first day they met.

  "I realized when you didn't go home for Long Weekend," Matthew goes on, "that you don't particularly have any place to go."

  "Of course I do."

  "Not any place you want to go. I don't either."

  Rivkah puts down her coffee and her pie.

  "If we let too much time go by, our relationship could disappear in a minute. Things happen like that."

  "Yes, I know."

  "Here for a second and then it's gone."

  Rivkah thinks of the narrow streets she grew up on, the crush of prayers, neighbors, family ties. A world that quickly has gone forever.

  "We can help each other grow."

  Rivkah thinks of the wedding Chuppah, filled with blessings and love. Daughters surrounded by their families. A place she cannot walk to. Not now. For a moment she looks at Matthew with terror.