Israel (28 page)

Sadie took pleasure in bullying her, Leah knew, and had since they were little girls living with their parents in a drab Lithuanian village on the Baltic. Sadie used to take her down to the beach in winter to pin her down and sit on her belly. Sadie would sprinkle sand into her mouth as the cold wind whipped away her childish screams of outrage and chapped her cheeks beneath her streaming salty tears.

Years later Leah brought those childhood incidents up, but Sadie denied that they had ever happened. Leah was incredulous. How could Sadie have forgotten?

“You made it up,” Sadie insisted, and finally, to keep peace in the home, Leah allowed that perhaps she had.

Adulthood had not put an end to the intimidation, but merely turned it to more subtle forms. For instance, not a day went by that Sadie did not find a way to point out
Leah's second-class status in the Montgomery Street household.

“It's not enough I've got our infirm mama and papa to care for,” Sadie would rant. “I also must care for you like a child. Poor Joseph works like a dog in that trayf slaughterhouse to keep a roof over all our heads. Don't you feel ashamed, Leah? Don't you feel grateful to me? Why don't you do more around here, Leah? Why can't you find a man?”

There was nothing Leah could say. She would stand silent, biting her lower lip to keep from crying, absorbing Sadie's abuse. Through it all her parents would be coughing and groaning, lost in senility. Sadie's youngest children would be squalling so loudly that Leah could not think, and her own hands would be raw and her head spinning from the stench of Joseph's bloody slaughterhouse work clothes as she scrubbed them clean in the sink.

At those times Sadie's shrewish attacks were worse than anything she'd inflicted upon her younger sister during their childhood. Leah would feel so ashamed that it would seem to be her fault her parents were senile, her fault Joseph had a disgraceful job.

Then Sadie, abruptly softening, would calm and kiss Leah affectionately, saying, “It's nothing, dear, just me. Sometimes my feet swell up and my legs ache so much I don't know what I'm saying. It must be because I'm so fat. God willing, a skinny thing like you will never know such agony.”

Sadie's explanations only made it worse, for Leah could no longer assuage her misery by hating her bully of a sister.

Now all that was changed. Abe had rescued her. It was just like a prince rescuing a damsel in the storybooks she'd pored over in the settlement house reading classes. Never mind what he looked like; to her Abe was a prince.

There came a light knock on the door, and Joseph, resplendent in his finest pin-striped suit, came in.

“Ready?” he asked, looking exceedingly nervous. For the hundredth time that day he reached up to assure himself that his yarmulke was in place upon his curly mane. “Come, Leah, they're waiting for us.”

She nodded, straightening her white gown, and arranged her veil. Joseph looked pale. It fell to him to take her ailing father's place in escorting her halfway across the parlor. Abe would take over at that point, leading her the rest of the way to the canopy beneath which they would make their marriage vows. Then after it was over Abe would take her to their home.

“Leah . . .” Joseph was looking down at her, his eyes full of concern above his glossy black beard. “If you ever need anything—if things don't go right with you and Abe . . . Well, we want you to know, Sadie and I, that you are still our family. Do you understand?”

She stood on tiptoe, lifting her veil to kiss his cheek. “Thank you, sweet Joseph, for everything.”

“Sha,” he commanded gruffly. “No crying. A bride is not supposed to cry.” Then he took her arm and led her out of the kitchen and across the hallway into his own apartment.

Sadie's kitchen was deserted. The oven was on, keeping the food warm for after the ceremony, but everyone was in the parlor. Leah caught a glimpse of their expectant faces through the partly drawn curtain that divided the apartment.

“Ready now,” Joseph breathed. “Here we go.”

At once Leah was racked with a spasm of nerves. Sadie's kitchen with its pink floral wallpaper and worn floorboards covered by area rugs had never seemed so inviting.

It's just that it's all so familiar, Leah thought. It's safe, even if it is unpleasant, but God sent Abe to me; a
prayer has been answered. So what if I'm nervous; I shouldn't be nervous on my wedding day?

Joseph gently pulled her through the curtain, and with shining eyes and God's hand on the small of her back, she was presented to her husband.

The days after the wedding seemed like a dream to the new Mrs. Abe Herodetzky. There was the Cherry Street apartment to get used to, furnishings to purchase, and of course the store. During the first week of married life, in which Leah learned how to work the cash register, make change and keep the accounts book straight, it seemed that her new home was not upstairs but amidst the potatoes, onions and barrels of smoked meat.

She was not disturbed by the hard work. It was all going to lead to something grand, Abe promised, and his dreams stirred her. She was impressed by the uncharacteristic passion he showed when confiding them to her. Besides, she was of a generation that looked upon hard work as due, even a blessing, as long as a free soul could reap the benefits of his own labor.

The customers were warm to her, and she found herself enjoying her dealings with them. Like Abe, she was very shy but also fond of people in general and eager to please. Serving the customers, making them smile and seeing them return was extremely satisfying after the drudgery of piecework sewing. The fragrance of each morning's delivery of freshly baked bread, the pungent aromas of the smoked fish and meats, the head-spinning variety of canned goods and abundance of produce combined to make the market an exciting place.

It wasn't long before Leah decided that owning a grocery store was the finest business in the world. As a housewife takes pride in her well-stocked larder, Leah took pride in seeing to it that the shelves were well stocked
and clean. She and Abe were closest when they were working together.

“At least,” Abe once told her, “come good times or bad, with a grocery store we'll never starve.” It became their private joke and could lighten any day-to-day frustration, any upset, conflict or problem.

No, work was not at all the problem for Leah. She welcomed the start of each day, for it meant the end of the previous night's agonizing.

They had been married a month, and Abe had yet to make love to her. At first she accepted his coolness as normal. Truth to tell, she'd even been relieved. She was a virgin, of course, and beyond the basic facts entirely ignorant. Sadie had told her certain stories guaranteed to make her petrified of being “split open” by a man.

So on their wedding night, when Abe mumbled something about being tired from all the excitement and the drinking, Leah thought it was just as well. Her own head was spinning with nervous exhaustion and too much schnapps. She undressed and put on her nightgown in private—Abe suddenly found something to do in another room—and fell asleep at once. When she awoke the next morning, Abe was downstairs and the store was open for business.

The next night he explained that he had to stay up late working on the accounts. Around three in the morning Leah tiptoed downstairs to find him sound asleep, sprawled across some hastily assembled sacks of potatoes and onions.

Angry and afraid, she confronted him. Her own insecurity made her cry. Abe swore that he'd only decided to nap for a moment, that he was going back to work. Finally he came upstairs, but only after she pretended to have fallen asleep.

It went on like that. Only by feigning sleep could she coax him to lie beside her. In their month of marriage he
had yet to touch her. In that month neither had seen the other naked.

Leah didn't know what to do, and she couldn't discuss it with Abe. She sensed that speaking of the problem would only worsen it, just as she sensed that Abe was equally miserable. She could tell he loved her. That love was far more important to Leah than the physical passion Abe was afraid to express; no, afraid to release.

All the same, a marriage without its physical aspect was like a painting with no color. What she could do about it was the question. She had to find a way to build her husband's confidence, to bridge the yawning chasm.

It was not a bad marriage. They were certainly companionable during the day. It was only at night that they became estranged.

Big deal. So my man and I are good business partners, she fumed. What good is that? I've got to shake things up. The ice has to be broken. Something very good or very bad has to happen to make him see me differently. Maybe if someone attacked me and Abe had to rush to my defense—

God forbid! She shuddered. How could she even briefly imagine such a catastrophe? Poor Abe could never stand against that sort of scoundrel.

As the days wore on Leah helped in the store, cooked and cleaned upstairs and thought hard about how to solve the problem. For the first time in her life she had no one to turn to for help. It was all up to her, simple as that. Her future happiness, not to mention Abe's, depended on her ingenuity.

Whatever was to be done, it had to happen soon. Like slow-acting poison, their nightly estrangements were gradually coloring their relationship in the store. If Leah didn't act, there would be no marriage left to save. She settled down to think of a solution.

*     *     *

Leah was at the back of the store cutting bread for a customer when the bell above the door jingled and Joseph walked in. It was a late summer's evening, just a few minutes before the store was to close for the day.

Listening as Abe welcomed his brother-in-law, Leah totaled up a housewife's bill, wrapped her purchases and showed her out.

“All finished for today?” Leah asked Abe.

“Yes, time to lock up.” He winked at Joseph. “Especially since we have a guest.”

Leah turned the key in the door and put the “CLOSED” sign in the window. Behind her she heard Abe inviting Joseph upstairs for a drink and some supper.

“No, let's stay here,” Joseph said. He had come directly from his job at the slaughterhouse, so he was still dressed in his summer workclothes. His cotton shirt with the sleeves rolled up showed off his powerful physique. He had always been a large man, but years shouldering heavy carcasses added inches to his already broad chest and wrapped thick layers of ropy muscle around his arms. Joseph's thighs looked as thick as Abe's waist, Leah noted. Standing before them in his blood-spattered clothing, sporting his long tangled beard and his wild mane of curls, he reminded Leah more of an old-time frontier pioneer in Texas than a Jewish immigrant on the Lower East Side of New York.

“Yes, we'll stay downstairs.” Joseph was grinning, looking around. “This way I can get used to things.”

Abe glanced quizzically at Leah, who shrugged. “Get used to what?” he asked Joseph pleasantly.

Joseph's rough, sinewy hands spread wide. “Your store, of course.” His teeth gleamed against his black beard. “I'm going to be your partner.”

“Joseph,” Leah gasped, “what are you talking about?”

“Leah,” Abe said firmly, “please, I will handle
this.” He turned back toward Joseph. “Now then, please tell me what you have in mind.”

Joseph shrugged. “Well, now that you've married Leah, we're all one big family, yes?”

“We are related by marriage,” Abe acknowledged.

“All right, then.” Joseph helped himself to an apple and began to chomp. “Sadie has been after me to get out of my job,” he remarked between mouthfuls. “This business would be perfect. I have decided to come in as your partner.”

“Now just a minute, Joseph,” Leah fiercely cut in.

“Leah, please go upstairs,” Abe said calmly.

“But—”

“Please do as I ask.”

Sulking, she trudged past the two men to the rear of the store. Halfway up the staircase, out of the line of sight, she settled down on a step to listen.

Abe stood with his hands on his hips regarding Joseph. He was a little afraid of the huge fellow. His virile, confident brother-in-law seemed to be Abe's better in every way. He's got no problems siring sons, Abe taunted himself, for his lack of intimacy with his wife gnawed at him constantly.

“Of course there will be some changes,” Joseph announced before he ate the core in two quick bites.

“Really? What will they be?” As Abe spoke he undid his apron and tossed it onto the counter. Normally he liked his shopkeeper's attire, but right now it was making him feel self-conscious.

“First of all, Sadie will not allow the sale of trayf foods,” Joseph explained, “and she will want to keep the books—”

“Get out of here,” Abe said. His voice was steady, but he could feel himself trembling with fury. “Get out of my store.”

Joseph's eyes narrowed. “You don't talk to me like that,” he growled. “Soon I'll be the one giving the orders, little man. You may as well accept your new partner and let that be the end of it.”

“Never,” Abe shouted. “I won't have it.” He was so angry he slid into English. “Go on, get out from here before I call the cops on you.”

Muttering an oath, Joseph took a menacing step toward Abe, who darted away, swinging around his counter. There was a hickory club stashed away on the shelf beneath the cash register. Abe had put it there when he first opened, vaguely figuring that it might be a line of defense against a robbery.

Now he took up his club and stood his ground with the counter between him and his opponent. “Stay away, Joseph.”

Joseph eyed the little shopkeeper warily. “You going to hit me with that, Abe?” he asked softly. He took another step closer to rest the tips of his blunt fingers on the scarred countertop.

Abe wanted to retreat a step, but he stood his ground. He tightly gripped the club and rested it on his shoulder the way the boys held their broom handles when playing stickball on the street.