by Beth Miller
14 July
I can’t believe my parents would send him away. How could they? He will hate it.
From: myfriendmarriedagoy
To: elizasymons
14 July
Yes, well, sorry dear, but your parents AREN’T EXACTLY AT THEIR BEST RIGHT NOW, remember?
I apologised, and so did Deborah, and she promised to visit Mum and find out how Zaida was, and hand over my letters. I spent the next couple of days fretting about Zaida and wondering which home he might be in (I phoned a few to try to find out if he was there, before realising how many care homes there were in London). Deb must have acted quickly, because only a few days after I spoke to her, a letter arrived. From Dov. I almost snatched it out of Alex’s hand as he gave it to me.
‘Deborah again?’ Alex asked. He knew she and I were back in touch, of course, as he had set up the email address for me to contact her.
‘Yes.’
This was the first deliberate lie I’d told Alex since we met. But it was a white lie, to protect him. He’d feel pretty uncomfortable if he knew I was trying to renew contact with my family. He was very aware that they all blamed him for me leaving. Not long after we’d got together, he said, ‘I guess your brothers would kill me if they could.’
‘Well, Dov wouldn’t,’ I’d replied, which I guess wasn’t entirely reassuring, as my three other brothers were all much scarier than Dov. Uri squaring up to him the day we ran away, was something Alex said still gave him nightmares.
‘My family abide by the Ten Commandments, you know,’ I said, trying to be more positive. ‘Thou Shalt Not Kill.’
‘I expect the Talmud has a host of sub-clauses on that one,’ Alex said. ‘Thou Shalt Not Kill Unless Thy Sister Has Been Taken Away By An Uncircumcised Stranger.’
I ripped open the envelope to Dov’s letter. ‘How come Deborah’s gone back to old-fashioned letter writing?’ Alex said. ‘What happened to the emails?’
‘There’s something wrong with her computer,’ I said. The second lie. I wanted him to go away so I could read my letter, but he hung around like washing on a line. ‘I’ll look at it later,’ I said, putting it in my bag, and went upstairs, but he followed me, under cover of chatting about which film I wanted to watch tonight. Finally I said I was going to work. When he pointed out that it was one of my non-working days, I told him that a teaching assistant’s work was never done, and that I’d promised to help with preparations for Sports Day. That at least was true, though I hadn’t promised to help with it today. I walked briskly to the tube, and finally, when I was sitting on a train, I was able to open my letter in peace.
And if you asked me then, as Kim asked me months later, whether I felt as restricted by my marriage to Alex as I would have done in my marriage to Nathan? I might just have said yes.
Oh, the joy of seeing Dov’s scruffy handwriting again. His letter was short and to the point.
18 July
Dear Aliza,
Can you visit Zaida? He’s at Beis Israel care home in Hendon. I can go there on Tuesday 25 July. Meet me there at 10am.
Dov
PS Can you look like your old self?
No mention of our seven-month separation, but then Dov always was a laid-back chap. I analysed the letter as passengers came and went around me. Dov would have chosen a time for us to meet when he knew my parents wouldn’t be there. The most intriguing thing was the request to ‘look like my old self’. I wondered what he thought I looked like now. An assimilated secular woman, perhaps, with short hair and red lipstick, high-heeled shoes and a skirt barely covering my bottom, like Vicky.
I looked up and discovered we were pulling into Finsbury Park, meaning I was only one stop away from Seven Sisters. Too close for comfort. I jumped out and got on a train going back to Brixton. There were a couple of frum men in furry shtreimel hats standing on the platform but thankfully I didn’t recognise them. Back at Brixton I bought a notepad and pack of envelopes in WH Smiths. I went into the post office, stood at the desk with the leaflets, and wrote Dov a quick reply, care of Deborah. On the way back to the flat I passed a mobile phone shop, and on impulse I went in and bought Dov a phone.
Alex was a morning person. While I struggled to get going, hating to leave the warmth of my bed, he would be up and bounding about. On Tuesday morning though, the day I was to visit Zaida, our roles were infuriatingly reversed. When I started to get out of bed, Alex tried to pull me back down, proposed that we make love. I said no, I wanted to get moving. He clearly couldn’t believe it – his eyes actually widened in cartoonish surprise – and actually nor could I. I had never said no before, other than at bleeding times. And lately, not always then. But today, for the first time since we met, I did not find him completely irresistible.
He believed it all right when I shook him off and got up. When I got back from the shower he was still in bed, sitting up, his mouth a sulky pout.
‘Do you not want just a little cuddle?’ he said in his most winning tone.
‘I don’t want to make you late for work,’ I said. I knew he was only being clingy because he sensed something was up. I don’t know how he knew that, nor how I knew that he knew that. It was stalemate. It was layers of lies. In the blink of an eye, I was in the lying marriage I thought I had escaped. Maybe all marriages were like this, regardless of who you chose. Maybe all Hus Bands ended up the same.
I began to dress, my back to him. I couldn’t put on my old frum clothes or he would really start to wonder what was up. I slipped them into a bag and put on Real World clothes. Alex finally got up, and I caught a glimpse of his face as he went out of the room. He looked sad, his expression reminding me of the way he looked when we used to meet secretly in the café, and he was never sure if he would see me again. Why didn’t I just tell him about Zaida being in a home? About Dov writing to me? I couldn’t explain why I didn’t tell him; I just knew I didn’t want to. I was painfully aware that it was the first crack in our marriage.
I went into the kitchen, where Alex was morosely eating toast.
‘We’ve not been married a year, yet,’ he said, ‘and already you find me unattractive.’
Underneath the petulance I could see he was genuinely hurt. I had a choice, which was to try and make things better, or walk out and leave a mess. I thought of all the times my father had done that – yelled at Mum, or smashed something, or hit one or other of us, and then left, leaving us shell-shocked and miserable all day.
‘I have to get to work soon,’ I said. School had actually finished on Friday but I’d told Alex I had to help the teacher with some prepping for the September term. ‘So why don’t I give you a quick, er, you know’ – I made a lascivious gesture with my tongue that felt stagily unnatural – ‘and I can still make it in on time?’
Lust scudded across his face. This was the first time I had ever spontaneously offered to do this thing that he liked. I’d tried it once (it was on the ‘sexy things’ list), but seeing the look on my face afterwards, he hadn’t mentioned it again.
We did it right there, in the kitchen. If I didn’t have a lot on my mind I’d have felt pretty strange about pleasing him like that, me fully-dressed, the floor hard beneath my knees, him half-naked with his pants round his ankles. He clearly loved it and made wild noises, which excited me, though I knew it was wrong, that I was doing it for the wrong reasons. It was easier than the first time, but I still couldn’t swallow the mess. I spat it into a tissue. He cracked the same joke he’d made the first time – ‘Must get some of that kosher spunk, so you can swallow’ – and then he hugged me tight and told me how gorgeous I was.
We were both slightly stunned by my behaviour, but I managed to push it to one side of my mind and focused on getting out of the house. At the Brixton tube loos I changed into my long skirt, long-sleeved blouse and old sensible shoes. They looked like familiar friends, but once on, they felt more restrictive than I remembered. It was going to be another hot day. I tied my hair up neatly and put a scarf over i
t. Then I got the tube to Hendon.
I’d learned from the internet that Beis Israel was a small care home for religious Jews. It was a smart-looking building, set back from the road, with a pretty garden in front. I hoped Zaida was happy here, but even more, I hoped it was a temporary thing, until the annex was repaired.
As I walked up the path I saw a man sitting on a bench by a honeysuckle bush. As he stood up and moved towards me, I realised it was Dov. When did he become an adult? We threw our arms round each other and I began to sob, the pent-up strain of the last few months pouring out. He whispered comforting words until at last I spluttered to a stop.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said.
‘What for?’
‘Everything.’
‘Oh, just everything?’ I felt him shake his head against my shoulder. ‘Don’t worry about it if that’s all it is.’
We broke apart, and sat on the bench. I looked at his face, that dear face. He had a few worry lines on his forehead that I didn’t remember being there before.
‘God, Dov, I have missed you.’
He looked shocked. ‘You never used to say “god” like that.’
‘I guess I’m a bit changed.’
‘You look the same,’ he said.
‘I don’t always. I have modern clothes now. A skirt up to here,’ I pointed at my knees, ‘and tops with short sleeves.’
‘I’m glad you look the same to see Zaida.’
He told me some things I already knew from Deborah – that Zaida caused a fire in the annex by letting a pan boil dry. But what I didn’t know till now was that this was the third time he’d done something like that. The other times someone in the house heard the smoke alarm and got to him before there was any damage. But this time everyone was out, except for Mum, of course; but she was asleep on the far side of the house.
‘It took her a long time to wake up and hear the alarm,’ Dov said.
I didn’t know what to do with the thought of my always-busy mother sleeping during the day. Dov said gently, ‘She’s not quite herself at the moment.’
My eyes filled up again. It was my fault my mum wasn’t herself, so it was my fault she’d been asleep, and it was my fault Zaida was here.
‘The kitchen was a big mess,’ Dov said, ‘but Zaida was fine. He was a bit muddled about why the fire brigade were there. He kept trying to give them bagels. Mum and Dad had a massive argument. Mum wanted to move Zaida into the main house, but Dad put his foot down.’
There were no spare bedrooms in our house (me moving out only meant one less bed in the room I’d shared with Becca and Gila), but it would surely have been possible to move everyone around and free up a room. But Dad wouldn’t consider it. He told Mum that her father needed to be somewhere he’d be properly looked after.
‘Dad yelled,’ and Dov coloured slightly, ‘“I will not have another meshuggener in the house.”’
‘Another?’
He nodded.
‘That’s a reference to me, I suppose.’ I could easily picture the scene with my father, hear his voice in my head, see my mother shrink into a corner, letting him take control. When he was in a rage, no one could stand up to him, not even Uri.
My father must have pulled some strings to get Zaida to the top of the waiting lists. There was a room free at Beis Israel, and in Zaida went, that same day.
‘That was two weeks ago,’ Dov said, ‘and Zaida’s very confused. He was starting to lose his memory even before you, er, before you left.’
Zaida was forever mislaying things, or giving you three cups of tea in fifteen minutes because he’d forgotten you’d just had one. But I’d put those things down to his essential Zaida-ness. It never occurred to me it was something that could get worse.
‘The whole two weeks,’ Dov said, ‘he’s been in a state.’
My heart ached. ‘He can’t understand why he’s here! He’s miles away from anywhere and everyone that he knows.’
‘Yes, but also…’ Dov hesitated.
‘What?’ I said, though I guessed what he was going to say.
‘He can’t understand why he hasn’t seen you.’
I closed my eyes for a moment, and he went on, ‘He doesn’t remember you left. That’s why I’m so glad you’ve come today. He needs to see you, put his mind at rest. He thinks you’ve died.’
‘Well, that’s Dad’s fault!’ I burst out. ‘He’s the one who told everyone I was dead to him. Poor Zaida.’
Dov politely didn’t point out that actually it was my fault to start with.
We rang the bell at the front entrance and were buzzed in. Dov led the way down a long corridor to a sitting room, rather nice, with a high ceiling and slow-moving fans that made the place airy. And there was my Zaida, sitting in the corner fast asleep, his head lolling on his chest. He looked so old, so small. How could I have left him? How could I have thought he would be all right without me?
I knelt in front of him, brushing away a trace memory of this morning’s very different kneeling. Dov put a gentle hand on his shoulder to wake him. Zaida’s eyes opened, and as he blinked – Where am I? – I put my hands on his.
‘Hello, Zaida.’
His face registered astonishment as he saw me, then joy. ‘My Aliza.’ He broke into his gorgeous smile. ‘My angel. My choochie-face.’
My tears dropped on to his trousers with such vigour, I hoped no one would mistake the damp patch for him wetting himself. A care worker came over, beaming, and said to Dov, ‘You clever boy.’ She put her hand on my arm and said, ‘This is the first time Moshe has smiled since he came in, you know. He hasn’t stopped asking for you.’
‘I’m here now,’ I said. ‘And I’m not going away again.’
Eliza’s Family
Mum. Miriam. She’s kind, she’ll help anyone, and she’s a great cook. She can be quite funny and chatty, and has strong opinions, but only when Dad’s not there. She fades into the background when he’s around, lets him decide everything.
Dad. Kap, short for Kapel, which is a nickname for Jacob. What is there to say? Well, you saw him that time we went round there. ‘There’s no one here.’ If Dad were a colour, he’d be black. If he were a type of weather, he’d be stormy with outbreaks of thunder.
Uri. He’s the oldest of my siblings. Well, you’ve met him too. He’s a bit scary. Takes after my dad. He’s married to Esther, who’s also a bit scary. Uri’s the big scholar of the family.
Joel. He’s the one nearest to me in age, just eighteen months older, and we used to be very close, back when it was just him, Uri and me. He’s a gentle soul. Still not married. Like me, he’s turned down lots of matches.
Me. I come next. You know all about me.
Jonny. He’s the funny one, makes us all laugh. Always trying to get out of going to class. He is definitely not a scholar. He’s twenty now, but he still seems like a kid.
Becca. The older of my two sisters. She’s the sibling I spent the most time with, doing the housework together. She knows me well, nearly as well as Dov does.
Dov. I miss him the most.
Gila. Baby of the family. Fourteen years old, a whirlwind, never sits still. She has such a sweet nature. I really miss her too. I miss them all. Except maybe Uri.
Zaida. The most gentle, loving person in the world. The person who always used to make everything all right.
Sixteen
August 2000
Zaida and I were sitting on our usual bench under a copper beech tree. The garden at Beis Israel was a lovely place to sit, full of dappled shade and scented plants. He raised his cup to his lips, spilled half the tea into the saucer, and said, ‘Where’s that lovely fellow of yours?’
I took the saucer from his unsteady hands and tipped it into the flower bed.
‘Which fellow’s that, Zaydee?’ His memory was getting worse, and I wondered if he meant Dov. He hadn’t been immediately sure last time who Dov was, though he retrieved his name after a few moments.
‘Your lovely fellow, your h
usband, of course,’ Zaida said. ‘Why doesn’t he come with you? Busy, busy, I suppose. But it would be nice to see him again.’
Clearly he couldn’t mean Alex. He might only have seen him once, the day I left, and in fact, I don’t think Zaida was even outside the house at the time. It was all so confused and chaotic. Anyway, even if Zaida had seen him, and even though he was the kindest man in the world, I hardly thought he would refer to Alex as ‘your lovely fellow’.
‘They don’t give you much tea in these places, do they?’ he said, staring thoughtfully into his cup. Then: ‘His grandfather was my dear friend, you know, when we were at school,’ and I realised he was talking about Nathan. He thought I’d gone through with the marriage to Nathan!
Zaida and Monty, Nathan’s grandfather, were boyhood friends. Monty died sadly young, in his forties, and after that Zaida always took an interest in Nathan’s father, and then in Nathan himself. We didn’t see Nathan’s family very often when I was growing up – they lived in Edgware, not far from where we were now, and mixed in different circles – but Zaida had known Nathan since he was born, long before he was a twinkle in my father’s matchmaking eye. Nathan, unlike Alex, was in Zaida’s long-term memory.
Dov arrived then, saving me from having to think of an answer. ‘Trains,’ he spluttered, red-faced from rushing. Now he had the phone I’d bought him, it was easy for us to liaise about visiting Zaida together, out of sight of the rest of our family. He kissed me sweatily, hugged Zaida, then flung himself into a chair, his impossibly long teenage legs sprawled out in front of him.
‘Here he is,’ Zaida smiled delightedly, ‘My boy. My, er, my boy!’
‘It’s Dov,’ I prompted.
‘Yes, of course, Dov. Now, Dov, what do you think?’ Zaida sat up straight. ‘Why doesn’t Aliza bring her husband next time? I haven’t seen him for a while, have I?’