DISOWNED (4 page)

   "Trouble isn't coming, Dubbie."

   "Don't call me Dubbie! Behave yourself. It isn't proper for a girl of her age to hear you call me Dubbie. Where's the modesty? Where's the self respect?" 

   "She waits for me, Dubbie. Anyone can see it."

   "So, if she waits, whose fault is it?  Who started this?" And Devorah raises both her hands then, as if getting ready to push hard. 

   Moshe acquiesces. He has to acquiesce. After all, she's taller than him, bigger, smarter. She cooks, cleans and runs the family business. Where would he be without his Dubbie? Lost! Anyone can see it in a minute! So he stands there silently and closes his eyes.

   "Moshe, open your eyes!"

   His eyes stay shut. Then he starts to sing a little hasidic tune.

   "Moshe," she interrupts his humming.  "Open your eyes. I demand it."

But how can he? If he opens his eyes, what will he see? Much better to go deep within, far into his beautiful melody that holds him and sustains him even in the face of his enormous Dubbie.

  "Rivkah, come cook with me. Right this minute." Devorah pulls at Rivkah's arm.

   "Go," he agrees his eyes still half closed.

   So Rivkah goes and they cook and cook until everything is ready. Soon the whole world is filled with the smells of Devorah's cooking.  But when Rivkah eats the food it makes her cry. It makes her lonely and ferocious. When Shabbos comes, Rivkah cannot sit at her grandmother's table. It makes such a difference who you eat with on Shabbos. She runs down the block to her Uncle Reb Bershky. Food on Shabbos is an offering to God. Each bite you eat can make you strong, or it can act on you like a poison.

"With every bite of food you eat on Sabbath," Uncle Reb Bershky says, "God draws you closer into his arms. And you draw God closer too. The food we eat on Sabbath gives us strength and pleasure for the whole week long."

   So, when the guests start to arrive for Sabbath, Rivkah runs down the block right away to her place at her Uncle Reb Bershky's table. By the time she gets there the table is filled up with his wife, children, and assorted guests, young and old, rich and poor, who've been invited to eat with him this week.

   They all come in, wash their hands, wash off every impurity, and thank God they are all together. Uncle Reb Bershky will not begin until Rivkah comes and sits down. Why he waits for her, no one really understands.

As soon as Rivkah sits down he picks up his glass of wine, stands up at the head of the table, and begins the prayers for the Kiddush, the Sanctification.

Uncle Reb Bershky goes on a little longer, then all lift their wine glasses together and drink.

"We bless God, and each other!"

   "Amen, amen, amen." 

 One by one they go to the kitchen in silence, wash their hands, pray, return and wait for Uncle Reb Bershky to make blessings over the Challah.

Each receives a small piece, his or her share of the blessings. Then they all sit down at the table and while the food is being passed around begin to sing timeless, beautiful Sabbath songs. Love songs to God, thanking him for everything.

From out of the mouths of everyone, including the tiny children, the ancient, sweet, songs and blessings arise. It is said the angels come too at this special moment to join them, and take

pleasure in the Sabbath. It is really easy to feel them too, especially if Uncle Reb Bershky is singing along.

Rivkah sings along loudly with great joy. She feels sure at this moment that God can hear her, and that her songs and prayers are helping to make not only her, but the whole world fresh and strong. These old melodies and beautiful Sabbaths make Rivkah strong. They give her direction and hold her firmly in their arms.

Uncle Reb Bershky's wife Miriam passes the Chullente, a thick stew with meat, beans, potatoes and eggs down the table on a huge, silver platter, and everyone dips in and takes some. The whole heart of the Shabbos, Rivkah can taste in the Chullente. Then Miriam passes around the potato kugel, a large potato pudding.

At the very same moment, in each house on the block, all the families are eating exactly the same food.  The Chullente at Uncle Bershky's house is sweet and delicious. Rivkah's grandmother's Chullente is too bitter for her to take in. For about three hours the meal goes on - singing, praying and learning teachings of Torah for that week. Then, after the last piece of cake has been eaten, it is time for Rivkah to go home.

She walks home by herself, slowly. When she gets there the house is quiet and empty. The guests are gone. But Devorah is up, waiting for Rivkah in the living room.

Rivkah slips in the side door and hears Devorah breathing in the living room. "You shamed me again, Rivkah," Devorah murmurs, loud enough for her to hear it. She does it the minute Rivkah walks in.

Rivkah starts to climb up the stairs.

   "How does it look to the whole neighborhood that my own granddaughter goes somewhere else to eat for Sabbath? Week after week?"

   Like poison it looks, Rivkah thinks. 

"Don't go upstairs yet."

   Rivkah stops climbing.

   "You pretend you don't hear me, but I know you do."

Rivkah starts climbing again.

"Where are you going? You forgot something important."

Then Devorah's voice turns into a little girl's voice, complaining, lonesome. "Rivkah," it comes calling, "you forgot to tell me Good Shabbos."

"Good Shabbos, grandma," Rivkah calls down the stairs.

   "You forgot to say you loved me." Devorah's voice is tiny now.

Rivkah is barely able to hear. "Rivkah come give me a Shabbos kiss."

   At the top of the staircase, Rivkah says nothing, just hears

Devorah's tiny voice pleading, "there's no one left to give me a Shabbos kiss."

   Rivkah pushes the door open. How can I go and kiss her? Rivkah pleads with herself. I don't love her. She doesn't love me. Then, she closes the door behind her tight.

   "Your grandma was extra upset with you today," Molly says to Rivkah a little later that night while she is reading. "She doesn't know why you never stay home for Shabbos."

Rivkah just plays with the edges of the book's pages.

"Grandma said for now you can still go to your Uncle Reb Bershky, but you'd better get ready. The time is coming."

   "What time?"

  "When you won't be able to go anymore." 

   The warning comes clearly, but Rivkah can barely hear it. How can she hear it? She is still too young. She hasn't grown tall yet, or turned beautiful. She hasn't grown breasts, or long, flowing legs. She's still dressed in old, hand me down, cotton dresses that cover her completely.

  Later that night Rivkah walks over to the narrow window in the alcove of the living room. A little silk curtain covers it. She parts the curtain slowly, looks out onto the street and wonders what time is coming exactly? What did my mother mean?

CHAPTER 4

   But something is starting to happen. Something which does not happen so easily in Borough Park. Something, in fact, that has no real place here at all. 

Amidst the synagogues, Sabbaths, prayers and learning, amidst her grandmother, grandfather, and throngs of relatives who are constantly watching, secretly Rivkah's breasts are starting to grow.

And barely twelve years old! Early! Much too early here!

"Why is this happening to her?" Devorah whispers to Molly out loud in front of everyone, one long, lonely afternoon. In fact, she whispers loud enough so Rivkah can hear her. "It's a terrible thing. Cover her up!"

   Molly, who rarely comes downstairs, quickly gathers herself together, winces, and runs back upstairs without so much as a word. Rivkah races upstairs behind her, rushes into the bathroom and shuts the door.

   Devorah hardly ever comes upstairs to visit but today, Devorah is not finished with the conversation. She comes trudging upstairs to talk to Molly more. It is the end of autumn now, the very edge of winter with cold, stark winds beginning to blow.  Shut in the bathroom, Rivkah hears the front door of their apartment open.  Achill passes through her fast. She knows her grandmother's footsteps well. A wave of danger passes through the apartment.  It’s trouble, Rivkah thinks as she goes and opens the bathroom door, and listens. Molly is standing in the kitchen turning the fire on under a pot of tea. 

   "What are you doing here, mamma?" Molly turns around startled, as Devorah stomps in.

 Set for sudden danger Rivkah slips quickly out of the bathroom, and goes to the kitchen door.

 Without even turning around, Devorah sees her. "Go into your room for a minute," she says throatily. She speaks as if Rivkah were an apparition, a ghost of some kind who didn't belong.

   "Why?" says Rivkah.

"Enough with your WHYS!" Her grandmother turns on her tartly. “Go."

Rivkah goes into her room and presses her body completely against the thin bedroom door. Every pore body listens to the women's voices.  She hears Devorah take Molly into the sitting parlor and tell her to sit down on Henry’s overstuffed chair.

   "I'd rather not, mamma." Molly sounds scared.

"Now." Devorah is impatient. "This is no time for fooling around."

"What happened?" Molly's voice grows smaller.

   "Just sit down."

   Rivkah can feel her mother's trembling as drops of water from the loose bathroom faucet next door, fall and splash inside the basin. They sound like tiny firecrackers.

   "What's wrong, mamma?" Molly's voice is high and whiny.

   Devorah starts without preparation. "She's too young. What's the matter with her?"

"What are you talking about?" 

"It's obvious, isn't it?"

   "What?"

  "To you, Molly, nothing is obvious," Devorah goes on. "That's what happens when you live in dreams."

   "Not dreams. Poetry. Works of art."

   "Ha."

   "I have an artistic soul, mamma. Can't you understand?" Molly wraps the words around herself for protection, like a filmy cloak.

"I'm not talking about your artistic soul. I'm talking about Rivkah. Open your eyes. She's developing. And fast!"

   Molly lets out a sigh of relief. "Oh, it's that. That's all?"

   "Is that all you have to say?"

"Well, what can I do about it?"

   Rivkah peeks through a crack in the door. The two women are squared off, looking at each other like old enemies. Neither can make room for the other. They never have and they never will. And right at this moment their separate souls, bristle with static in the heavy air.

"Of all people this could happen to," Devorah goes on, "Rivkah is the worst."

Why of all people? Rivkah wonders startled. 

   "So, what am I supposed to do?" Molly tries to stand a little taller now, and tosses her loose hair over her shoulders.

   "Is this something I have to tell you?" Devorah stares at Molly with flames in her eyes.

   "When the time is right, she'll understand," Molly is trying to build some kind of wall that can serve as protection between them. "When the time is right, I'll talk to her, and she'll listen to you or to me."

   "Listen to you or me?" Devorah will have none of it. "Rivkah doesn't listen to anyone. She's stubborn. She has her own way of seeing everything. For a child like this, to develop early, it's dangerous! You remember what happened to Chana."

   "Stop it," Molly gives a small scream.

   "Life outside is dangerous. But you wouldn't know it. You don't want to know it."

   "I know plenty."

"You think you do." 

   Rivkah leans harder against the slightly open door, pressing herself against it as if to find some place of support. The world is dangerous. Rivkah's has heard this hundreds of times. But this time her grandmother means something different.

   "You've got to tell her everything, Molly."

"No."

"Right away." 

"I can't tell her now," Molly replies.

"What choice do you have? Do you think those breasts will stop growing, just because we want them to?"

   Rivkah gasps a little.

"Are you stupid or something?" The fury inside Devorah starts to rise, causing the drops of water from the bathroom faucet to splash faster. "This is serious business, Molly. Who knows what will happen to her now?"

   "What's going to happen? Nothing. Stop it!" Molly stamps her foot down. Not hard enough though, not loud enough. Only a tap against her mother's fierce resolve.

   "There's that crazy man Tom, who works down at the synagogue."

   A shiver creeps through Rivkah.

   "And old Fred who cleans the rooftops. He's not in his right mind anyway.  He looks at the girls all the time."

"Not so loud, mamma!!"

   "Rivkah can't hear anything."

   "How do you know?"

   "And what if she does hear? She has to hear. Teach her the truth, Molly."

"Not like this," Molly talks fast. "We're frightening her, mamma."

 "And is there something wrong with being frightened? When there's danger around, to be frightened is good. You know what happened to Rachel Leiber only three years ago. And she was only eleven. Did she recover ever? You tell me!"

 Rivkah whirls back from the door a moment, her head reeling.  What happened to Rachel Leiber?

  "I can't tell her now, in so many words," Molly starts chattering. "I will in the spring though. Then it will be easier."

Rivkah turns slightly and through a crack in the door and sees her grandmother's face like a mask, and the huge wig she is wears on her head seem like a weapon of some kind. 

"How did I get a daughter like you?" Devorah stares at Molly without blinking.

Since Molly was born everyone knew that she was not the kind of daughter Devorah had wanted. No one understood how it happened. From such a strong woman, such a weak girl.

But it skips a generation, it is told. Like sap in the trees, the strength travels through time and lands on the right branch at the very right moment. It carries its secrets and offers it up exactly when it wants to, and exactly to whom.