Chageet's Electric Dance

by Ashir, Rebecca

  It wasn’t him. It was some decked out, lowered truck with shiny silver rims so bright the glare hurt her eyes. The wheels rolled over the enchilada and she sat back down at her vanity table, adding another coat of mascara. She wondered if Gavriel would like her new dress. It was a pale blue 1920’s vintage style beaded dress she found at a trendy thrift store in downtown San Diego. She liked that Gavriel usually appreciated her eclectic styles, but she worried that maybe he’d find it too flashy and not tell her.

  They had been dating for several months now and to Barbey’s surprise, she had fallen hard for him. The problem was that she wasn’t quite sure if he loved her as much as she loved him. Since the morning at the club when he first professed his love to her, he had never again opened up so directly about his feelings toward her. Lately, her insecurities had flared in concern that maybe he had changed his mind about her—maybe he too had his own Suzie Albers and maybe she was again just the trophy to make the other woman jealous. She had no real reason to fear his infidelity, but he did often seem to disappear, being unreachable for several hours at a time. When she questioned him, he was his usual playful, vague self, never giving a straight answer.

  Sure, he did treat her adoringly, buying her roses and her favorite dark chocolates. He even bought her a diamond charm bracelet for her birthday with the hand of God, the star of David, ballet slippers, and Hebrew letters soldered together spelling the names Chageet and Gavriel. And he got her the job he promised teaching Tehillim Dance at his uncle’s meditation center across the hall from where he taught spirituality classes.

  When Barbey revealed her insecurities to Sage, she laughed at Barbey, telling her Gavriel obviously loved her and that she was just paranoid after her traumatic experiences with Rave. Barbey wasn’t so sure.

  Barbey looked at the clock—it had stopped. She searched through her dresser drawers for her watch. Not finding it, she went into the bathroom, finding the watch in her medicine cabinet above the sink. Gavriel was already forty minutes late. She was shocked. He had never been late for a date. Her throat tightened. Had she been stood up again? The old feelings of abandonment cut through her body sharp and choppy like a lawnmower plowing over her innards. Her thoughts zigzagged back and forth frantically.

  She saw the light blinking on her answering machine next to her canopy bed. Pressing the play button, she held her breath. It was Gavriel’s voice on the machine: “¡Hola, Bonita! I’ve got…” The message was cut off. He must have called when Barbey was in the shower, getting reading for the date. She wondered why the message was cut short. Had he called to cancel the date? If so, why? She tried to calm herself. At least he probably called to cancel, so he’s not really standing me up like Rave did. Although the logical portion of her mind told her not to obsess, she couldn’t help it—she was obsessed. There was no stopping her as the thoughts swarmed like bees against the hive of her head.

  She lay down on the bed next to Misty, her German Shepherd. The dog stretched and jumped off the bed, trotting over to the corner of the room near the refrigerator to lap up some water in the silver bowl and laid down in the corner.

  Barbey tried to calm herself by doing one of the meditation exercises from the book Gavriel had given her, but the images blurred in her mind. She felt cursed. Would the same patterns of abandonment and pain continuously repeat themselves throughout her entire life? The cook at the restaurant next to where she was hit by a car said Gavriel had miraculously healed her and that if it hadn’t been for him she would likely be dead. It was hard for her to believe, though intuitively she felt it was true. Upon question, Gavriel insisted that only God heals, not him.

  Her mind was a chatter. She thought about reading some Psalms, hoping to defuse her worries through the inspiring words of King David. Maybe she ought to use this time to choreograph a dance routine to one of the Psalms, she thought. She needed a new Tehillim Dance for work. Her students had already learned Psalm 22 last week. She needed to prepare Psalm 23 anyhow. Dancing to King David’s lyrics often comforted her and increased her faith. She imagined herself standing before her students saying, “Place your trust in God—whatever His plan is for you, you must have faith that it is in your best interest, no matter how bleak it may seem at the moment.”

  Oh, how could he stand me up?! Nothing soothed her. She felt spiritually low—like a hypocrite. I can’t even follow my own advice.

  She didn’t want to do the right thing.

  So, she grabbed her binoculars and the old lady costume she had bought for the holiday, Purim, but had changed her mind about wearing. She was out the door in a moment. Driving across town, near the edge of the Mexican border on U.S. side, she drove to the new Spanish-style duplex Gavriel had recently bought. His Cadillac was in the driveway. He was standing by the front door, talking to a man in a long black coat and black Fedora hat. She parked across the street and down a block at the laundry mat.

  Barbey’s nerves rattled as she quickly pulled the patchwork old lady dress over her head and tied the prairie bonnet under her chin, fastening the spectacles over her eyes. She looked at herself in the rearview mirror and rolled her eyes, shaking her head at the absurdity of her costume. She watched Gavriel get in his Cadillac with the man. Who is that man? Are they selling drugs? The man reminded her of a mobster from the film The Godfather with his sharp, dark clothing.

  When Gavriel pulled the car out of the driveway, Barbey moved out, following a couple of cars behind. They crossed over the border into Tijuana, got onto a freeway, and drove over a bridge. The sun was setting. After about fifteen minutes of driving, Barbey began to get nervous that she might get lost in Mexico. They were now driving through a dry, rural landscape, cacti and tumble weed along the road. There were shacks and dilapidated houses scattered deeper off the road in clusters on the dirt plains. She had no idea where she was. They passed an abandoned gas station and then came upon a small city. Gavriel pulled off the road into a parking lot in front of a tall red brick building. He and the man walked around to the back of the car and pulled two large black plastic cases with handles out of the trunk and carried them into the building. Barbey shivered as she considered the possibility of Gavriel and his strange accomplice selling arms to drug dealers or some other sorts of criminals inside the building.

  She held her binoculars up to her eyes. Although the old lady spectacles were slightly in the way, she had a fairly clear view of the scene. The man in black pressed a doorbell on the side of the building. When the door opened, a thin, scantily clad Mexican woman with her cleavage in full view spoke to the man for a minute and then threw herself into his arms, tears streaming from her face. The man backed up startled as if he were trying to get the woman to release herself from his body. She released, still shuddering. Her arms moving in animation to her words, she continued to talk as Gavriel and the man nodded their heads. Barbey began to speculate that maybe they were soliciting a brothel. A roll of nausea settled in her stomach as Gavriel and the man entered the building.

  The woman walked out into the parking lot and simply stood there leaning against a tree as if she were waiting for someone to pick her up. Barbey got out of the car and walked over to her, pulling the bonnet off her head and the spectacles off her eyes. “Hola,” Barbey said to the woman. “Do you speak English?”

  “Sí,” the woman said, folding her arms over her chest.”

  “What is this place?” Barbey asked, pointing to the brick building.

  “Prison—it is for prison. Mí hermano está aquí—my brother should not be inside. He not kill nobody. Police make lies and take him here.” She began to cry again.

  “I’m so sorry.” Barbey patted her on the back. “You were speaking with those men at the door. Why are they here?”

  The woman wiped her eyes. “I sorry I cry. That Mr. Rabbi Mizrahi and Gavriel Mercava. They come often to help Jewish people in the prison. Their people also not should be inside. The police corrupt. Mr. Rabbi Mizrahi and Gavriel good people—they bring food
and medicine for all prisoners. Prison very poor and dirty—not good. Mr. Rabbi Mizrahi also a doctor—he from the states. They find law men for their people and they helping mí hermano also. They so good—I not know what I do without them.”

  Barbey laughed.

  “Why you laughing?” The woman smiled.

  “Oh, I just thought they were… I’ve never seen a rabbi dressed like that. The rabbi’s I’ve seen dress like everybody else.” Tears came to her eyes. “I just thought Gavriel…” Just then Gavriel came out to the parking lot to get something from his car. He spotted Barbey across the lot.

  Barbey ran to him, throwing her arms around his body.

  He laughed, “We’re not married yet, but I like your touch.”

  She looked at him and said, “I know you think we should try to keep the Jewish laws of not touching before marriage, but I just couldn’t help it. I followed you here because I thought maybe you were seeing someone else and I wanted to know. But I just found out that you are so good and I love you!”

  “Of course, I’m not seeing someone else, tonto. There could not be anyone but you. You don’t know but I… Wait a minute.” He reached into the glove compartment of his Cadillac and pulled out a pink jewelry box and handed it to Barbey. I was going to give this to you tonight.”

  Her eyes welled with tears as she opened the box. A little ballerina doll was spinning inside to a Ladino melody that Gavriel often sang to her.

  Gavriel smiled and said, “When I first met you, I felt sorry for you because you reminded me of a plastic doll with a painted smile spinning in one place, but when I got to observing you more closely, I saw you were very much more on the inside. I saw a spark so bright boring through the surface and I understood why I loved you the moment I saw you. Beneath the plastic exterior, you are infinite. He lifted the plastic doll off of its metal platform, revealing a wick protruding from the platform which he lit with a match. “You are light without shape or form. When you walked into the club the first night, I saw the room light up from the fire you held inside. The light of the fire is the true you.” He then lifted the velvet lid set above the base of the jewelry box. Inside was a white gold ring with a diamond carved in the shape of the Star of David. This is like the star in the room you slept in at mí madre y mí padre’s home where you had your first spiritual revelation. The Star of David is a shield of protection for the Israelites and I want you to feel safe.” He knelt down on one knee holding the ring and asked, “Barbey Bardot, Chageet, my love, will you be my wife?”

  Barbey was crying and laughing at the same time. “Of course, I will!”

  He put the ring on her finger and they stood there in the parking lot staring into each other’s eyes, laughing in joy, glowing in God’s presence.

  The woman started clapping from across the parking lot. Gavriel smiled and yelled to her, “Margareet, I want you to meet my wife, Chageet.”

  52

  The sun above, dynamic and brilliant, cast its light over Barbey as she sat stretched out on her parents’ chase lounge chair out by their pool reading the book of Ecclesiastes that Gavriel had given her. This was the third time she had read the writings by King Solomon. She looked up at the sun, the fiery light so powerful it cast a momentary blindness across her violet eyes—but though she was physically blinded for that moment, her mind became as clear and sharp as the endless bliss of the heavens above. In that moment, she saw King Solomon’s words in her mind, “Everything has its season, and there is a time for everything under the heaven:

  A time to be born—and a time to die;

  a time to plant—and a time to uproot the planted.

  A time to kill—and a time to heal;

  a time to wreck—and a time to build.

  A time to weep—and a time to laugh;

  a time to wail—and a time to dance.

  A time to scatter stones—and a time to gather stones.

  a time to embrace—and a time to shun embraces.

  A time to seek—and a time to lose;

  a time to keep—and a time to discard.

  A time to rend—and a time to mend;

  a time to be silent—and a time to speak.

  A time to love—and a time to hate;

  a time for war—and a time for peace.”

  Now was the time to forgive. And that was why Barbey was waiting at her parents’ house for Mama to return home from the feed store.

  Just then Mama drove up with bales of hay in the bed of her truck, circled the driveway around her dolphin water fountain and waved from the truck window. Barbey closed her book and walked out to meet her. “Hi,” Barbey said, hugging Mama cheerily. The two huge Standard Poodles leaped out of the truck and rushed over to them, jumping on their embrace. Barbey laughed, petting the dogs. “I can’t stay, but I just wanted to tell you the good news.”

  Mama was distracted, looking out over toward the stables. “I have to feed the horses now even though it’s early yet cause Juan’s out of town and your father and I are going out with friends tonight.” She and Barbey started unloading hay bales from the truck onto the wheelbarrow. “I’ll get your father to unload the rest. She paused for a moment and looked at Barbey. “My, my, well, I declare—aren’t you just glowin’ bright as a shiny pair of silver spurs!”

  “I’m glad you noticed.” She walked with Mama out toward the stables, following at her side as Mama pushed the barrow. The horses were whinnying and racing to the edge of their corrals as they saw Mama approaching with their food. “It’s a wild story, but I met my birth mother’s parents in Tijuana.”

  “Oh.” Mama stopped and looked at Barbey hesitantly.

  “Don’t worry. I’m not mad at you and Dad anymore. That’s what I want to tell you. I’m just so happy and I decided to put the past behind me.”

  “Well, jump over the tulips and call me happy! Isn’t that great news.”

  “Actually, there’s more news. I’m getting married!”

  Mama’s eyes widened. “My, my! To who?”

  “His name’s Gavriel and he was the manager of the club where I was dancing in Tijuana. Now we work together at the meditation center. He’s the most caring, wonderful man I have ever met and we have the same values.”

  She shook her head in amazement, her hands on her hips. She laughed for a moment as a smile spread across her face. “I’m happy for you, Barbey, dear. I’ll tell your daddy about all the good news and between you and me, I think he’ll be ok with it all. He seems a little more open lately.”

  “Well, I hate to just rush off, but I have to meet with Gavriel’s mother in an hour to pick out wedding invitations. I bet you’ll like her—she has a lot of energy like you. Do you need help feeding the horses before I go?”

  “No, no—I got it. You pick out something nice, but let me help with some of the wedding preps. You know how I love to plan parties!”

  Barbey laughed, picturing “pigs in skirts” and Easter music at her Jewish wedding. “Ok, then. I’ll give you a call and we’ll make plans.”

  53

  A person is a trunk of a tree. Her roots and branches are her soul mates, every person she encounters in this lifetime. Soul mates can be either romantic or non-romantic in nature, as is a husband to his wife is romantic or as is a mother to her daughter is non-romantic. The higher roots are her closer soul mates and the lower roots are her more distant soul mates. The highest soul mate is the zivug which is reserved for husband and wife. The same is so for the branches which reach up to heaven and descend into her soul, connected both farther and closer. Just as a tree does not consciously interact with other trees but lives in its own contained world of trunk, roots, and branches, so too are humans. Every person interacts only with its soul mates of roots and branches. Her reality of interaction is within one tree of roots and branches. The more a person is hurt by another, the closer of a soul mate is that person to the other; consequently, this pain is an instigator for personal correction of human flaws and past mistakes. Though th
ere are also close soul mates that do not hurt each other and those are the highest most evolved soul mates as they are the most alike in goodness and therefore, one and worthy of each other.