DISOWNED (11 page)

Then one day a history teacher Rivkah likes very much hands her a small book wrapped in a paper bag. They are standing together in the hallway, right after the class has finished for the day.

"Read this. It will help you," he says to her gently. "And don't tell anyone about it."

   Rivkah looks at the bag surprised.

  "It's a special book. A few months ago someone gave it to me. It has meant a lot. Now I'm giving it to you."

"Thank you very much."

"You'll understand it better than I do."

She starts to open the bag slowly.

   "Don't open it here. Read it at home. I can see that you need it. Good luck too."

   This history teacher is a tall, lean man who lives alone a few blocks away.  He teaches his classes with great sweetness and spends a lot of time in his office talking to all students who come to see him. Though she is in his class Rivkah herself has never said much to him directly.

  "If you like it, keep it," he continues. "Otherwise, please give it back." And he looks at her keenly.

 What is this book about? Rivkah wonders and puts it in her book bag. After all her homework is done for the evening, she reaches deep in and pulls it out.

   It's a small, thin, almost tattered little book, entitled
On Zen.
What is this? She has no idea at all.  Rivkah opens it up and ruffles through the pages. There are only a few words on each page. At the bottom of each page is a little poem. Quickly she reads one.

Sitting quietly, doing nothing

Spring comes,

And the grass grows,

All by itself.

Tears unexpectedly sting her eyes. She reads it again. And then again. The tears fall harder. Why am I crying?

She goes back to the pages to read them again.

  
Sitting quietly, doing nothing

She does and does not understand. In the mute distance of her memory, she hears Uncle Reb Bershky's voice chiming in. God is everywhere, sweet Rivkah. Only sit and wait for him.

Then, holding the book very tightly, for a brief, thunderous second, her heart and mind come to a stop. A total stop.  Inside her there is the end of thinking, dreaming, or needing anything. The end of time and memories. The end of turmoil. The beginning of love.

   For a precious moment, she sits there whole, perfect and complete.

Then her mind comes tumbling back. She is entirely startled. What's this? What just happened?  Very quickly everything returns to normal. Or almost normal. But a little window has opened right through the middle of her mind. Fresh air drifting in.

All night Rivkah lies awake wondering. What's in this book? What happened to me?

This thin, tattered book becomes her constant companion. Although she has no idea why, she cannot put it down.

   "Do you like it?" the teacher says to her in the hallway after class, a few days later.

   The two of them are standing together outside of the classroom and the book is lying lightly on top of her pile of books.

   "I don't know."

He smiles a little. 

.  "I don't understand it."

"You don't have to."

"I can't put it down."

"I thought so. Don't put it down," he says, firmly suddenly. 

   "Why not?"

"You need it."

"I know."

"And more than that," he goes. "It needs you too."

"Me?"

   "Pick it up, Bekkie. Pick it up with both hands," his eyes are clear and direct. Then he moves away quickly, down the corridor to his next class.

   After that, each night after school work she sits up straight in her bed and reads the book until she falls to sleep.

   Along with poems, there are little stories of questions and answers between Zen students of old and their Masters. She reads them over and over, understanding nothing. Not even why she likes it so much.

   In the morning, after reading the book, she awakes more refreshed than usual and goes off to school, a little light hearted even. Some of the others at school have noticed a change.

 "What's happened to you?" some of the kids ask.

Rivkah smiles cheerily. "I don't really know."

   Soon after Rivkah stops returning directly home from school. Instead, she gets on the subway each day and takes the ten minute ride to Brighton Beach, where she does her homework on the sand. As she rides along on the subway, she looks out the small windows at the different neighborhoods she passes through. They are all bustling in the middle of the afternoon, with cars, trucks and people scurrying this way and that.

   The train does not pass by Borough Park though. It does not pass any synagogues, men in black coats, or women with scarves and shoulders like mountains that can hold up the entire world. That she has left a long way behind.

   Slowly the train winds itself out across a narrow bridge, through the dumps, to the seashore. As you get closer you can smell the salt water in the air. Rivkah breathes it in slowly. The smell of the ocean greeting her makes the entire day feel worthwhile. That and the little book
On Zen
she carries with her everywhere.

   It is very early spring now, still too cool for the summer bathers, so mostly she is there alone. She takes her shoes off as she reaches the sand, and crosses the sand to the jetties, climbs to the top of a long jetty, takes her books out of her knapsack and spreads them along the top of the rocks.

As the waves splash beneath her, she does her homework and doesn't look up until she is finished for the day. Then she stops, leans back, and greets the ocean. Thank you, thank you so much for always being here, day after day.

Now she packs everything away, takes her little book out of her knapsack, and reads another wonderful story to herself.  This one is between a monk and his Master.

 “
Where have you come from?" the Master questions.

   The monk cannot reply.

   The Master laughs loudly.

End of the story.
 
Rivkah laughs too. She has no idea why. Wonderful. Wonderful.

  She laughs, embraces the entire ocean, jumps down from the jetty, picks up a stick, and with tiny motions, draws little pictures on the moist sand.They are odd little sketches of sandpipers who come quickly and depart.

   Each day she does this after reading. Soon her strokes become larger and stronger. Instead of pictures they turn into letters. Words finally. Today she notices she is writing a sentence on the sand.

Dear Grandpa,
  Rivkah finds herself carving in the cold sand.  She looks at what she has written, startled. Where are you grandpa? she calls then inside her mind.

Then she runs to her knapsack, pulls out a pen and paper and continues writing line after line.

Dear Grandpa Moshe,

Where are you? Sometimes I feel you're dead.

That will never do, Rivkah realizes. She crumples the paper and starts again.

Grandpa, it was so good to hear from you last time you called. Mamma gave me the phone right away. She knows how much I look forward to speaking to you, or getting a letter in the mail.

It is about six weeks now since I've heard from you. That seems like a long time to me. Does it seem like a long time to you?

   I am glad you and Helen are still very happy. When my mother reads your letters she cries. I do not cry. I am glad you have Helen, and that you have found just what you want. As all the Rabbis say, it is hard for a man to be alone.

Of course, according to Uncle Reb Bershky, it is enough to love only God.  It is strange in our new house in Flatbush. Here the days of the week are all like each other and nobody makes blessings, or prayers. Needless to say, this hurts me very much.

Grandpa, once again I am asking if there could be a place for me with you and Helen in California? I don't really need a lot of room. And who would it bother? No one knows me there. Or my mother and father. True, I do not want to leave my little brother, but my father has made a new rule in the house that I am not allowed to sing to him in Hebrew. He insists that David grow up to be just like everyone else.

Please answer my letter as soon as you can. I wait each day to hear from you.

About three weeks later, Rivkah writes again:

Dear Grandpa and Helen,

 Three weeks have gone by and I still haven't heard a word. No phone calls either. Are you well? Has something happened? Have you received my letters? Please, just answer and tell me what's going on.

   I see very little of my parents now. After school I go to the beach. I've found a wonderful spot on the jetties where I can think things over. I have new things to think about too. There's a book someone gave me that I want to discuss with you. I'm probably not allowed to read it, but it is making me happy and strong. I never read anything like it. It even makes me feel kind.

Grandpa, I try to hold onto Torah as much as I am able, but little by little these days, it starts to seem only like a dream.  Please answer immediately.

Two weeks pass, and there is no answer. But the little book On Zen stays at Rivkah's side.

Every afternoon she reads another story that strikes upon the surface of her mind. Sometimes it is the same story. Over and over. No beginning or end.

The entire book talks to Rivkah directly. Deep inside she hears it saying, Rivkah, wake up. Everything is possible. All you really have to do is learn how to hold the entire world in the palm of your hand.

Two more weeks pass by and Rivkah writes once again.

Grandpa, the days are warmer now and more people come to the beach. Some come to walk, some to lie in the sun.  There is this boy I notice every day now. He is about nineteen, very nice looking, and different from everyone here. I can tell by the way he looks out at the ocean.

Maybe you think it is awful for me to notice something like this, but I am noticing! And I like him very much.Every day I see him looking up at the jetties. One day, he even walked close to where I was sitting, and called up, "hello".

Of course, at first I didn't answer. Not at all. But then I felt like I hurt him, so I called back, "hello." Hello, to a stranger. He stopped in his tracks and we stared at each other a very long time.

 I was very, very scared then, grandpa. Can you hear me?

   Please, I beg, answer this letter! The days are getting warmer and warmer. This boy comes to the beach every afternoon, and even though I don't want to, I'm starting to wait to see him every day.

Early spring turns into summer. School is out and no letter comes. The only reply to Rivkah is the endless lapping of the waves upon the sand. And this dark haired boy, who comes day after day, walks closer and closer to where Rivkah is sitting, looks at her too deeply, and lingers too long at her side.

This afternoon, it is mid-July, about six o'clock in the evening. Most of the bathers are gone by now leaving him and Rivkah alone together on the jetties, looking out at the waves. Although they speak little and do not touch, Rivkah has grown more comfortable besides him.

This afternoon he stretches out completely besides her on the rocks. "You're really pretty," he says softly.

Rivkah's heart stops. 

   "I was afraid to say that to you."

   "It's okay." 

   "It's okay?" He is excited. "What's your name? I want to know."

"Rivkah."

   His eyes open wide. "I knew it would be different."

   They look at each other from two different worlds. He sits up fast and moves even closer. By now Rivkah feels close to this sun tanned boy who has come day after day, with his limber body and beautiful smile to sit beside her with no yarmulke on, and no prayer book at his side.

   "My name is Marty. Marty Vogel. From Bensonhurst. I go to Brooklyn College."

   "I'm pleased to meet you."

   "You are?"

   "Sure."

   Marty seems very relieved. "Did any other guy ever tell you that you were pretty?"

"No."

   "Well, you are.  Not only pretty, but actually beautiful."

Rivkah's hand flutters to her face.

   "And different too. There's something about you. I never saw another girl like you."

   Rivkah knows he isn't supposed to be saying things like this, and she isn't supposed to be listening. But the heat of the summer, mixed with the waves. . . .

   "Did I frighten you?" 

"Yes."

"I thought so. I'm sorry. But that was a compliment."

Suddenly Rivkah turns to him and smiles.

"My God," he says, "you have a beautiful smile.  Really beautiful."

   Rivkah knows she should stop at that moment. Get up. Run away. She can't though. She doesn't want to. She just wants to take his suntanned hand and hold it in both of hers. Very strongly.

Neither of them move though. Not even a hairs breath.

"You know what, Rivkah?"

  "What?"

   "I'm very glad you're here."

"You know what Marty," there is a warm glow all over her, "I'm very glad you're here too."

Grandpa,

This is the last letter I'm writing. If you don't answer fast, then what will I do?

One thing is happening after another. Marty and I are becoming closer and closer. He tells me things are going slowly, but he is patient. Patient for what? I'm afraid to imagine. I haven't told this to anyone. There's no one to tell. 

 Answer me fast! I feel I am falling down. These hot summer days and nights are making me feel things I've never felt before.  Grandpa, I am drifting far, far away from home.

Throughout all the hot summer no letter comes.

Rivkah holds onto her book and reads it more feverishly. One student asks the Master, What is the great principle of life and death?

The teacher shouts.

   The student bows.

   The student understands something.

What?

Rivkah cannot say exactly, but she laughs with delight. Uncle Reb Bershky would laugh at this too, she thinks.