The Marrying of Chani Kaufman (21 page)

July 2008 – London

Chani plodded along, the fierce afternoon sun beating down. It had been a long, monotonous day in the classroom, cleaning paintbrushes and tables. She lingered in the shadows and thought about Baruch. He had called her to arrange another date and it was just a few days since they had last met. This could only mean one thing. She liked him but did she really want him? The answer continued to elude her. She wished she had more time but the pressure was mounting and she sensed a decision was imminent. Her life seemed to condense. This past month had been the most significant ever and if she made a false move, all would be lost. She had never been on three consecutive dates before.

A large black car was parked at the kerb outside her house. Suddenly the door swung open and an elegant stockinged foot encased in a beige patent stiletto reached for the pavement. A glossy copper sheitel emerged as its owner slid gracefully out of the car and blocked Chani's path. The woman wore huge sunglasses, which she lifted a fraction to peer under.

‘Chani?' said the woman.

‘Yes?'

‘I am Mrs Levy, Baruch's mother.'

Startled, Chani dropped her bag and its contents scattered over the pavement. She fell to her knees and made a grab for her possessions. Mrs Levy looked coolly on.

Perhaps this was just a bad dream. She blinked, but no, Mrs Levy was all too solid.

Mustering the last remnants of her dignity, Chani straightened up and forced her lips into a smile. She looked Mrs Levy in the eye.

‘How nice to meet you, Mrs Levy. This is rather a surprise.'

‘As I knew it would be, Chani. But I think it's high time we met, don't you?'

Chani was not entirely convinced but managed to conceal her misgivings through some eager nodding.

‘Would you like to come in, Mrs Levy? I'm sure my mother would be very pleased to meet you,' she replied.

‘No, not this time, Chani, if you don't mind, I was hoping we could have a little chat on our own first. How about going for coffee somewhere?' Mrs Levy added.

All Chani wanted to do was go home and jump in the shower but she dared not refuse Mrs Levy's invitation. Something was obviously up. Curiosity and good manners compelled her to accept.

 

Cream and red wicker chairs and matching tables spilled over onto the crowded pavement cafe. A matching awning provided ample shade. Although the café was deserted, Mrs Levy ducked inside and chose a private nook at the back.

‘So what would you like to drink?'

Chani glanced at the menu and noted the cheese and ham toastie.

‘A Diet Coke please.'

The waiter came and took their order. Alone again they faced each other. Mrs Levy fiddled with her pearls. Chani stared at the condiments. To her chagrin, Mrs Levy found her very attractive, though a little on the skinny side. Her son had good taste, she would grant him that.

‘Why are we here?' ventured Chani.

‘Well, I was hoping you would ask. Chani, this is not easy for me and I realise it won't be easy for you but I feel what needs to be said must be said.'

Chani's heart began to pound.

‘I realise Baruch is rather keen on you,' continued Mrs Levy, feeling her way.

Chani did not react. She stared at Mrs Levy, barely breathing, waiting for the death knell to toll.

‘What I am trying to say is that I think Baruch would like to marry you.'

A small smile hovered at the edges of Chani's mouth. She knew it! The waiter arrived with their drinks providing a moment's respite.

‘And I imagine you are going to accept.' This was a statement not a question but faced with the reality of the situation, confusion hit Chani once more.

‘I think I will accept. I mean I do like him a lot – at least I think I do. I just wish there was more time to decide. To get to know each other.' She could not lie.

Mrs Levy looked visibly relieved. She suddenly realised how thirsty she was. She took a gulp of her soda water. ‘Ah, so you're not sure. Well, maybe that's a good thing.' Mrs Levy's smile reminded Chani of a barracuda.

‘Why's that?' she asked. Beneath the table her slippery fingers pulled at her tights. She had forgotten all about her Diet Coke.

‘How shall I put this? You and Baruch are very different. You come from very different families, both frum and proper – but different. And different is not necessarily a good thing.'

The girl was staring at her again and Mrs Levy sensed the challenge in Chani's light brown eyes.

‘What do you mean by different exactly, Mrs Levy? I don't sense that difference. We get on well enough.'

‘Yes, but Baruch is not necessarily the best judge of what is right for him. You come from a respectable, traditional Hasiddisher family, your father is a local rabbi of a small shul. All this is well and good but there are things missing that I would like present in a daughter-in-law – '

‘Such as money?' It wasn't hard to guess.

Mrs Levy looked thoroughly uncomfortable. ‘Yes. But not only money – '

‘What else then?' snapped Chani.

‘You haven't been to sem. The right sort of girl for Baruch would be one that has attended. He needs someone on his level to assist him in his rabbinical duties, for as you know we have plans for him to become a rabbi.'

‘I am well aware of those plans, Mrs Levy and so is he. Unfortunately.'

Mrs Levy frowned. This was not going the way she had planned.

‘For your information, Mrs Levy, I didn't go to sem because I didn't want to. Not because I couldn't get in. I went and had an interview and was accepted on the spot. My grades are excellent – '

‘Yes, I know but – '

‘Excuse me, Mrs Levy, I was talking.'

Mrs Levy opened her mouth and then closed it.

‘As I was saying, I chose not to go because I realised it was not for me. I wanted the real world. I believe you can be frum and still live in it. Well, as close to it as I can get it at any rate. I wanted a small job – maybe in child-care or as a secretary – and some independence whilst I waited to get married. But jobs are hard to come by if you don't have any training, so I'm stuck helping out at Queen Esther. So I have come to a decision. If I don't get married soon, I will take my savings and use them to fund my studies at a local college where I will learn art and eventually become a proper art teacher.'

The speech may have been entirely improvised, but it had tripped as lightly off her tongue as if it had been fermenting in her mind for months. She was rather proud of it and indeed the idea seemed possible should things with Baruch fall through. It was at this moment that she knew she didn't want things to fall through. She would not let Mrs Levy get in the way. This was her chance of escape and suddenly Baruch – even with his spots – had become precious. She would fight.

Mrs Levy was looking at her with a queer mixture of distaste and admiration. ‘Isn't that rather a modern path to be treading?' she queried.

Chani shrugged. ‘Probably. But I would rather be fulfilled doing something worthwhile than become a burden to my parents if I don't get married.' She looked at Mrs Levy. ‘Does Baruch know you are here?'

Mrs Levy had not expected this. She tugged at her pearls. ‘No. Not quite.'

‘I see,' said Chani. ‘And Mr Levy, does he know?'

‘That's none of your business!' My, the girl was impudent!

‘Really? Well then it's none of your business to be prying about my family or finding out where I live. Snooping on one's future daughter-in-law is not exactly admirable behaviour is it?'

‘Look here young lady, I don't wish to fall out with you over this matter but you are not for my son and he is not for you and that is that.'

‘Because my family is poor and yours is rich?'

‘Yes – no – not only that – ' Mrs Levy was floundering. This conversation was most disconcerting. The quicker it ended the better. She prayed for a speedy and agreeable resolution.

‘Let me tell you something,' said Chani echoing her mother. ‘My father may not earn a lot but he is a good man. He lives his life according to the Torah. There is kindness, respect and honour in my home. There may be a lot of us but we have never gone hungry or cold. My parents always try to do their best even if at times things are not perfect.'

‘Chani, I appreciate what you're saying and I respect your family. But Baruch needs a wife who can support him financially too when he is studying or the financial burden will fall on us. Don't you see?'

‘I thought you had enough money to spare,' taunted Chani, hackles rising. She didn't care any more. Did the woman think she was the only one permitted to cause offence?

Mrs Levy blushed, cheeks merging with raspberry lipstick. ‘We do, Chani. But that is not the point. For a marriage to work the families need to be equal in every sense. And you are not what we are looking for, I'm afraid.'

A dangerous light gleamed in Chani's eye. ‘I understand,' she said lightly. ‘Maybe it is for the best – '

Mrs Levy looked supremely grateful.

‘ – that we leave this for Baruch to decide. For after all, it seems that I'm what he's been looking for. Or you wouldn't be here, would you, Mrs Levy? So let's leave it up to him, shall we?'

Mrs Levy's face fell. ‘No, that's not what I meant. Rabbi Zilberman is going to speak to him. He agrees that you're not the right sort of girl – ' The dishonesty spurred her on. ‘And my husband agrees with the rabbi, so we will put a stop to this.'

Chani did not believe her for a moment. A rabbi would not do such a thing. There was no holy impediment to the match. She and Baruch were not close kin. Nor was she waiting for a divorce. She stood up.

‘Very well, Mrs Levy. We shall see. I have to go now. It was a pleasure meeting you.' Chani reached for her bag. Mrs Levy was hastily gathering her things.

‘Wait, Chani!'

But Chani had marched up to the counter and was paying the bill.

‘Don't worry, Mrs Levy, I've paid already,' she called out sweetly and left the café.

Mrs Levy tottered after her, heels skidding on the waxed parquet.

‘Wait Chani!' shouted Mrs Levy. Chani did not wait. She left the café and ran to the station where she stopped to fumble for her pass. By the time she had located it, Mrs Levy had caught up.

‘Goodbye, Mrs Levy.' Chani stepped through the barrier. Mrs Levy moved to follow her but the barrier closed, forcing her backward.

‘Chani, please – '

Chani turned to face her opponent. Mrs Levy was gasping; curls of her sheitel were sticking to her foundation.

‘Don't worry, Mrs Levy. Whatever happens, I won't breathe a word about this to anyone. I promise.'

The lift doors opened and she hopped inside. She gave Mrs Levy a little wave and then the doors closed.

Battle-weary and forlorn, Mrs Levy walked back to her car alone.

 

Mrs Levy was seething with anxiety. She veered between regret and the vain hope that perhaps the girl's boldness was a front and she had succeeded in scaring her off. Eventually regret triumphed. It had all been a terrible mistake. Baruch had asked her to invite Chani and her parents round for dinner; he had made it perfectly obvious that he planned to propose once both parties had met. She was trapped. The girl would be in her house. She would be made a mockery of. She didn't even know whether Chani could really be trusted to secrecy. The whole kehilla probably knew about her bullying tactics. She would be branded a snob. However, she had an inkling that her reputation for elitism was already widely broadcast.

Life was hard. Mrs Levy stared at her wall-to-wall cream carpet and noticed a large muddy footprint. Baruch. How many times had she told him to wipe his feet before entering the house? Nothing was going as planned today. She had even broken a nail.

And now her dreams of a fitting daughter-in-law for Baruch lay in tatters. All that remained was the dismal prospect of surrender. She lifted the phone and dialled the Kaufmans' number.

August 2008 – London

The summer months saw Avromi become a practised liar. He no longer had the excuse of leaving home for lectures so he turned to cunning and at times, outright deceit. His desire to see Shola overrode the guilt, which he attemped to assuage by praying more fervently, giving more to charity and performing further mitzvot. He also continued to attend community events, ensuring word got back to his father that he was participating as fully as expected. He laid the blame for his regular absences at the door of public transport, casual coffees that became long discourses on the Torah and, simply, the warm weather and his desire to be outside, in parks, playing football or frisbee with his friends, unspecified acquaintances who could not be traced.

His family appeared to swallow these untruths; the summer had cast a torpor over them all. His mother's advancing pregnancy caused her to become forgetful and lethargic, his sister lingered at her friends' houses swapping gossip at sleepovers, and Moishe went to a summer camp. His father continued to pray and work, the rhythm of his days as predictable as a metronome.

Once afternoon prayers had been completed, Avromi would slink off to laze away humid afternoons with Shola, hidden in the long, swaying meadow grass of the Heath or Kensington Gardens, his trousered legs entwined with hers, bare and brown, talking and kissing until the sun became a fiery ball and the shadows had disappeared.

London was their playground and Avromi became an eager tourist at Shola's side. Her enthusiasm for all the splendours the city had to offer was contagious. They explored the South Bank, cultural festivals, museums and pubs. Often they simply walked, discovering historical lanes or bold new architecture as they wandered. Avromi fell in love with his own city that until then had been a stranger to him. The narrowness of life in Golders Green was hard to return to.

He took pains not to fall asleep in her bed – loath though he was to leave her – making sure he was home well before the last bus. But as it swung into Golders Green depot, the familiar angst would return. He would pull out the strings of his prayer shawl, straighten his kippah and don his black jacket, which had been slung over his shoulder for most of the day.

As he turned into his road, his heart would beat a fearful tattoo, the excitement of the day quickly draining away. His mind would be racing with ready excuses for his late home coming. If all was dark and quiet within, he would whisper a grateful prayer to HaShem and creep upstairs to his room.

 

The Rebbetzin lay in a tangled heap of bedclothes. The close night air had robbed her of sleep. Chaim slept soundly. All the windows were open but their bedroom remained stuffy. She heard the crunch of feet on the garden path and then the click of the front door opening. Avromi was home. She glanced at the alarm clock and saw that, yet again, it was almost midnight. This was the second time in a week she had heard him creep in.

She wondered where he had been. She sensed she would not like the answer. Her son was an adult and she did not wish to pry, but uneasiness filled her heart. She listened to her son moving quietly about his room, opening and closing his cupboard, and, finally, the squeak of bed springs as he lay down. Then silence.

The Rebbetzin turned onto her side and closed her eyes. Her hand rested on her stomach. Whatever he was up to, it was his business. He had probably been at a friend's house and had walked home. Nevertheless, she was glad that Chaim had slept through it. Her son was changing, becoming his own person, and as long as his nocturnal activities did not disturb the domestic peace, she would let him be. After all, he was a good boy and she had no reason to doubt him. Something still rankled at the edge of her consciousness, but she brushed it aside as her eyelids began to droop and she succumbed to sleep's pull.