by Drew Hunt
After lighting the second candle, his mother covered her eyes with her hands. “Barukh atah Adonai, Elohaynu, melekh ha-olam…”
“Huh?” Joey said out loud.
His mother shot her son a disapproving look, causing Joey to squirm uncomfortably in his seat. Usually the prayers and blessings were spoken in English. Something serious must be going down if she’s going all Hebrew on us, Joey thought.
Despite not having heard the prayer in Hebrew for many a year, it surprised Joey how much he remembered, and how comforting the sound of the words were to his frazzled nerves.
“…l’had’lik neir shel Shabbat. Amein.”
His mother sat down and surveyed her family.
By instinct, Joey immediately reached for the ornately crafted goblet that sat to the right of his place setting. For a reason to which Joey was never privy, his mother had always insisted on Kiddush being said by the whole family. “Vay’hiy erev vay’hiy voqeir yom ha-shishiy. Vay’khulu ha-shamayim v’ha-aretz v’khol tzva’am.”
Joey recalled a phrase his maternal grandmother used to say to him. “Once a Jew, always a Jew.” Despite her formidable reputation, Joey always had a soft spot for the game old bird.
Joey looked round at the other members of his family. His two uncles sat side by side, Kiddush cups held firmly. Fixing his gaze on his sister, Joey couldn’t help a small smile of satisfaction at how the stuck up woman just sat there opening and closing her mouth, unable to remember the Hebrew phrases.
Joey’s eyes then fell upon Simon, who was also struggling with the words, though he seemed to be making a better job of it than his mother. Simon treated Joey to a pensive smile before lowering his eyes to the tablecloth.
“…Barukh atah Adonai, m’qadesh ha-shabat. Amein.” Joey brought the cup to his lips and swallowed the small quantity of wine, grimacing at its cloying sweetness.
From the kitchen, his mother carried in a large pottery bowl of warm water and set it in front of her husband. Once he’d finished washing his hands, she took the bowl to the sideboard, where the other diners had congregated. Joey had been watching Simon, perplexed at his sluggish, even pensive behaviour. Normally his nephew would be bouncing up and down with excitement, chatting away to him, earning sour looks from his mother. The sullen, downcast expression on the boy’s face was so unusual. Wanting to get to the bottom of whatever was upsetting the lad, Joey made sure he was immediately behind Simon as they queued to cleanse their hands.
Simon filled a cup of water, and poured it over the top of his right hand. Turning his wrist, he tipped the remainder of the water over his palm. He then reversed hands and repeated the procedure. Before reaching for the towel, he mumbled, “Blessed are You, Lord, our God, King of the Universe, Who sanctifies us with his commandments, and commands us concerning washing of hands.”
When Simon turned to face the room, Joey could see the boy’s eyes were filled with unshed tears.
“Simon?” Joey put a hand on his nephew’s shoulder.
The eight-year-old flung his arms around Joey’s waist. Burying his head into his uncle’s chest, Simon let out a series of heartrending sobs. Joey held the crying boy, clueless as to the cause of his distress. Looking up at the other members of his family, Joey silently asked them if they knew what was going on. His mother looked sympathetic. Carole wore her usual scowl, while his two uncles shifted uncomfortably.
Leading a highly distressed boy back to the table, Joey sat down and pulled Simon onto his knee.
“Would someone like to tell me what’s going on?” For Simon’s sake, Joey tried to keep a lid on his temper. He got the distinct impression something had happened and he was the only one who wasn’t in on the secret.
“Keith’s going to go live in Israel. Mum said she was going with him.” Simon mumbled into Joey’s wet shirtfront.
“Huh?” Joey was stunned. “But…”
“I don’t wanna go with her, Uncle Joey. I don’t wanna go.” Simon clung ever-tighter to Joey.
“Hush. Come on, Champ.” Joey rubbed the trembling boy’s spine.
Carole spoke up. “We were going to wait until after dinner before bringing this up, But Simon couldn’t wait to go overboard with the waterworks.”
Joey’s temper boiled over. “You fucking heartless cow! How the fuck do you expect an eight-year-old to react when you threaten to make him live half way across the world?”
“Joseph!” Joey’s dad coughed and tried to get out of his chair.
Joey’s mother rushed over to her husband, coaxing him back down. She then shot a murderous look at her son, but Joey refused to be cowed.
“And when was all this decided?” Joey said, scrutinising his relative’s faces. At least his uncles had the decency to look abashed.
“Can’t all this wait till after dinner?” Carole’s sour expression deepened.
“Does it fucking look like it can wait?” Joey hissed through gritted teeth.
“I think we best talk about it now,” Joey’s mother said, coming over to comfort her grandson. Patting his shoulder, she said, “It’ll be all right, bubele.”
“They said,” Simon hiccupped. “Uncle Joey, they said that I could come and live with you if I didn’t want to go with mum.” Simon lifted his head and looked pleadingly at Joey, his green eyes swimming with fear and desperate hope. Cupping Joey’s now colourless face in his small hands, Simon said, “Please, Uncle Joey, please say yes.”
Joey opened and closed his mouth. He was furious. How dare they organise it all behind his back and present him with a done deal like this! How dare they trick him with emotional blackmail, knowing he could never say no to Simon!
Shaking his head to try and clear it, Joey felt he was losing his grip on reality. Things were spiralling out of control. He’d come to dinner to tell his mother he was in love with another man. Though he’d expected things to be turned upside down, he hadn’t expected any of this.
The room had gone quiet; Joey could feel all eyes on him, waiting for his reaction. He wanted to scream at them, call them every name under the sun, but he was too angry, too confused to speak. Of course he wanted Simon, but what of Kevin? He needed time and space to think.
Joey watched in morbid horror as Simon’s expression crumpled, his eyes dimming with disappointment at Joey’s continued silence. Releasing his grip, Simon slid to the floor, rolled himself into a protective ball and began sobbing louder than he’d done previously. The enquiring gazes of his family quickly turned to disapproval. He could feel his anger bubbling very close to the surface. It was their fault, not his, that Simon was hurting. Joey’s sense of being trapped was beginning to overwhelm him. Getting to his feet, his knees wobbling, Joey bolted for the kitchen. Snatching his helmet from the worktop, he wrenched open the back door; in his hurry to escape he tripped over the step and fell to his knees on the concrete. Picking himself up, he sprinted for his bike, mounted the saddle, fired up the engine and roared away.
Pushing the bike to its limits, Joey sped down the dual carriageway, the wind and rain whipping at his clothing. In his desperate rush to escape from his mother’s, he’d left his biking jacket behind. Joey welcomed the numbing cold, hoping it would quench the ball of fire which burned in his chest. No matter how long he lived, he knew he’d never be able to expunge the image of his nephew’s face falling with disappointment at Joey not immediately rushing in to reassure him. Tightening his grip on the handlebars, Joey felt his anger turn inwards. How the fuck could he just sit there and watch his nephew sink to the carpet in an agony of disappointment and rejection? He hadn’t reassured Simon, he hadn’t told him that of course he would take him in. What kind of an uncle was he to allow that to happen?
Joey kept on going, fully aware of what he was running from, but having little clue as to what he was running to. He thought about going to see Kevin, knowing he’d be made welcome, but Kevin was expecting to hear the news that he’d come out and the pair of them could make plans to move in together. But Joey
couldn’t deal with seeing another person disappointed at his actions or rather inactions.
Though he was becoming aware of how cold he was, part of Joey’s brain told him to carry on riding until he dropped. However, the more rational side of his brain impressed on him the need to seek shelter. Much to his surprise, he found he was close to the synagogue. He must have somehow changed direction and headed back into town.
Thinking any port was welcome in a storm, Joey flicked on his indicator, and turned right into the car park in front of the tall, heavily-windowed grey stone building.
Shivering, Joey dismounted from his bike and made for the heavy wooden door.
The temple was quiet and dimly lit. Embracing the warm heavy stillness, Joey hoped it would help to calm his racing thoughts. Choosing a pew in the back corner, veiled by the shadow cast by the ladies’ balcony, Joey sat down, placed his helmet next to him and inhaled a few steadying breaths. It had been years since he’d seen the inside of the temple. As a child he’d been forced to attend, but following his bar mitzvah, he argued the Torah said he was now considered to be a man, responsible for his own actions. Though his mother had grave doubts that the thirteen-year-old headstrong boy could ever be responsible, she couldn’t deny what the Torah said, so she unwillingly agreed to allow Joey not to attend temple as often.
Nothing in the place seemed to have changed. The large arch on the east wall was still there, as was the eternal light, brightening the gloom around it.
“God, if you’re listening,” Joey began softly, “I know I’ve not been a good Jew…I’m sorry. I just…” Joey sniffed. “I thought I had it all sorted out. I’d live with Kevin, make him happy, be a good supportive man for him. But…” Joey swallowed. Why was he here? He wasn’t even sure if he believed in God. “I don’t know what to do. I love Kevin, but I love Simon, too. Please, God,” Joey stared at the light, “please, if you’re there, help me.”
Clasping his hands together between his knees, Joey bent his head, closed his eyes and continued to pray silently. He hoped God was listening, but somehow doubted it.
Hearing the pew next to him creak, Joey looked up to see the rotund figure of the rabbi settling his bulk a couple of feet away. The man’s ever-jovial face peered at him questioningly.
“Young Joseph, isn’t it?”
“Good evening, Rabbi. I…” Joey shifted; he was uncomfortable at being seen at such a low ebb.
“Want to talk about whatever’s troubling you?” The man’s soft deep voice was almost hypnotic in its tone.
Joey shook his head. “I can’t. It’s…” he swallowed, “it’s something I’ve got to work out myself.”
The rabbi nodded.
The room fell silent; Joey felt the need to explain. “I… I’ve got to make a decision, and whatever I choose will end up hurting someone.”
“I see,” the rabbi said slowly. “Do you have to make this decision now?”
“Pretty soon, yes.”
“At the moment, the person who seems to be hurting the most is yourself.”
Sighing, Joey said, “Yeah, you’re not wrong.”
Joey closed his eyes. The rabbi was decent enough; he’d been great when Joey had had a bad reaction to the Anne Frank museum, but all he wanted now was to be left alone to think.
After several minutes of silence, the pew let out another squeak. “You know where I am if you ever want to talk.”
“Thank you, Sir,” Joey said, not looking up.
After sitting with his head bowed for a further ten minutes or so, Joey realised he was no closer to a resolution. His damp clothes were becoming uncomfortable. He also felt the need to take a shower, the hotter the better. Rubbing at his gritty eyes, Joey got to his feet and slowly made his way out of the synagogue. Fortunately the rain had stopped, but the wind was still gusting hard, causing him to start shivering again. After revving the engine, Joey began the short journey home, hoping his bottle of Scotch was still in its hiding place behind the refrigerator. A few stiff whiskies would—he hoped—help to sort his head out.
* * * *
As far as Kevin was concerned, Friday lunchtime was one of the happiest days of his life. Joey took him out for a meal in a local pub, and told Kevin of his decision to come out to his family. Despite himself, Kevin’s head filled with images of him and his sir setting up a home together, living openly, going for walks in the evening, holding hands and….
Joey was summoned to his mother’s house Friday afternoon for the traditional marking of the Sabbath. He told Kevin he would come out to his mother and the rest of his family during the meal. Kevin imagined Joey being in the middle of a shouting match, defending his right to live his life as he saw fit. The image caused Kevin to flush with pride for his indomitable protector.
As the hands on the clock moved on their inexorable journey with no sign of his lover, Kevin’s happiness dimmed.
Kevin reluctantly prepared for bed; his uncertainty combining with the lack of the physical presence of his lover resulted in a restless night.
A knocking on his door woke Kevin on Saturday morning. Opening one eye, he saw to his surprise it was a little after 9 am. Leaping out of bed, Kevin’s heart began to race. His sir had come to take him away from the dingy squalid conditions of his cramped little flat. As he’d kept his boxers on, Kevin made straight for the door, a happy welcoming smile plastered on his face. Once the door was open, however, his expression fell.
“What you doing still not dressed at this time?” Peter asked, scanning Kevin’s body.
“Uh, I uh slept in.”
“So I can see.” Sighing, and with hands on hips, Peter continued, “Have you forgotten we were going to go down town to do some last-minute Christmas shopping?”
Kevin had forgotten all about it. “Sorry. You best come in.”
“And what the bloody hell have you got round your neck?” Peter asked, advancing into the room, a quiet but perpetually smiling Terry following along behind.
Kevin reached up to feel the reassuring presence of his dog collar. “It’s, um…” He blushed. “Joey gave it to me.”
“I know he calls you pup, but that’s going too far don’t you think?”
“Peter,” Terry said, a note of warning in his voice.
“Well, isn’t it?” Peter rounded on Terry. If you tried to put one of them on me, I’d…”
“In your case I think a muzzle would be more appropriate,” Terry observed dryly.
Kevin laughed, but soon stopped when Peter glowered at him.
Determined to change the subject, Kevin asked Terry, “You all ready for Christmas?”
“Almost. I’m really looking forward to it this year. Pete said he’s got me a surprise but he won’t give me any clues.”
“That’s because it wouldn’t be a surprise if you knew what it was, dim-wit.”
Kevin hated how Peter often seemed to be putting his boyfriend down. “Take no notice. I know he loves you.”
Kevin and Terry shared one of their special bear hugs. Peter wasn’t a particularly demonstrative person, but Kevin knew Terry was like him, so he always tried to be as tactile with him as he could.
“You gonna get dressed? It’ll be heaving out there before we know it,” Peter said, tapping his foot.
“Um, actually it’d probably be best if I stay in. I’m waiting to hear from Joey. I thought I’d have heard from him last night, but…” Kevin felt his emotions beginning to well up.
“Oh, mate.” Terry re-engaged their hug.
Kevin looked at the concerned faces of his friends and decided he might as well tell them of Joey’s intention to come out to his family, and how Kevin hadn’t seen anything of the man since the previous afternoon.
“Why don’t you just give him a ring?” Peter asked.
Kevin shook his head. “I can’t. I’m scared.”
“Jesus, it’s Cal all over again.” Peter began pacing the room, wringing his hands.
“No it isn’t. Joey’s really kind
and loving. He’s nothing like Cal.”
“But you’re afraid of him, afraid to ring him up,” Terry said softly.
“I know. I’m such a wimp. I’m scared that he’s changed his mind, that he doesn’t want me, and…”
“That’s silly. You don’t really believe that, I know you don’t,” Terry continued in his low, soothing voice.
“Yeah, you’re right,” Kevin sniffed. “I know he loves me. He’s told me and shown me loads of times.”
“There you are then.” Terry smiled.
“But I still can’t ring him up. I just…” Kevin swallowed, “I just can’t.”
“That’s all right, love. You do what you need to do.”
Peter rolled his eyes. “The best thing for you is some retail therapy. You need to get out and spend some money.”
“I don’t know. What if Joey calls or comes round?”
“Then he’ll just have to call again or come back when you’re in. He doesn’t own you, he can’t keep you on a lead,” Peter said, eyeing Kevin’s collar.
“I don’t know.”
“Peter’s right, love.” Terry laid a huge hand on Kevin’s shoulder. “It won’t do you any good, staying in and staring at the walls. Besides, haven’t you got any more gifts you need to buy for that man of yours?”
For the first time since they’d arrived, Kevin smiled. “I’ve seen this really chunky-knit sweater that’ll look great on him.” Sighing, he continued, “It’s all nice and soft, it’ll be great to cuddle up to him when he wears it.”
“Oh, brother!” Peter said, rolling his eyes again.
* * * *
Kevin stood at his window, looking out at the darkening streets. It was Sunday evening, he hadn’t heard from his sir in over forty-eight hours. It was obvious now something had happened to cause Joey to change his mind about them setting up house together. Kevin, if he were honest, couldn’t blame Joey for his change of heart. He can do much better than me. Hearing an ambulance siren screaming away in the distance, reminded Kevin of one of the other thoughts that had been plaguing him, the one where Joey had been injured…or worse. Staring down at the shiny, rain-drenched rooftops, Kevin tried to see where the ambulance was going, but was unable to locate its whereabouts. Pulling the thin curtain across the window, Kevin turned back to the room and looked at the small Christmas tree that Joey had insisted on buying. He’d told Kevin how he couldn’t have a tree at home because he’d never hear the end of it from his mother.