The Sisters Weiss (12 page)

“Bubbee, it’s me. Tateh and I want to visit Rose, surprise her. We want to meet her at Beth Abraham, where she goes to volunteer. What time should we go?”

“Tuesday or Thursday?” the old woman asked.

“Bubbee, she only goes once a week, on Tuesday.”

“Oy,” the old woman said. “I forgot.”

“Forgot when she goes?”

“No. Forgot I vasn’t suppose to tell you vhat a tzadakis you have. Vhat a wonderful daughter you have trown out of your house…”

“What are you talking about, Bubbee?”

“She decided to volunteer tvice a veek. On Thursdays also. All her schoolwork she does, and my floors and the chulent pot she scrubs, and also she volunteers, two times a veek. Vus mere vilstah? Vhat more you could vant?”

“I didn’t know. Why didn’t you tell us?”

“She said she vasn’t sure. Maybe it vould be too much. She didn’t vant you to be disappointed if she stopped. But so far, every Thursday she goes, like an angel! Be there at six o’clock.”

“We bought her a beautiful new dress. Don’t tell her anything, Bubbee. We want it should be a surprise.”

“She could use a new dress. Don’t vorry. I say nut’ting.”

Rebbitzin Weiss bit her lip, tears gathering in the corners of her eyes.

“We’ll make it up to her, Bubbee.”

“You owe her,” the old woman remonstrated.

*

“Hurry Tateh, Pearl. We need to catch the subway. It’s already five-thirty.”

“I just need my hat,” he answered, putting on his big, black homburg in front of the hall mirror. As he smoothed down the felt brim, he smiled at his reflection.

“Pearl, stop fussing with your hair already. Enough! How many times have you changed hair bands? And what have you got in that bag?”

“It’s … just some of Rose’s stuffed animals. And her barrettes.”

“She doesn’t need it. Put it away…” she scolded, but Rabbi Weiss raised his hand warningly. “This is very kind of you, Pearl. I’m sure your sister will appreciate your goodness. I’m sure she misses you as much as you miss her.”

“Thank you, Tateh!” the child said happily, clutching the bag of treasures for her sister, into which she had secretly added many of her own new hair bands and barrettes. Not the prettiest ones, but still ones she liked very much that were almost brand-new. Did Rose even think of her at all? she wondered. Did she still hate her? Was she still angry?

“Why is your hand shaking, Mamaleh?” her father asked as they walked through the streets to the subway.

She looked down, surprised. Her whole body was shaking.

They arrived at the entrance to Beth Abraham at a quarter after six and waited.

“Maybe she’s already inside?” Pearl said when they had been there more than half an hour.

“The child is right. Go check, Mameh.”

“All right. And you two go inside; wait in the lobby. Sit down and rest, Tateh.”

They waited patiently another fifteen minutes. The elevator opened, and Rebbitzin Weiss walked out toward them, her face fierce with anger.

“She’s not here. I spoke to the woman in charge of volunteers, a very eidle woman. She says Rose never comes on Thursday nights.”

*

They were waiting for her in the living room, crowding her grandmother’s small apartment, sucking out the oxygen. When she opened the door, her parents jumped up, while her sister Pearl sat up on the couch, where she had been dozing.

“WHERE WERE YOU!” her mother screamed, raising her fists.

“Stop, Mameh.” Her father restrained her. “Think about the child!”

Pearl sobbed hysterically, running into Rose’s arms.

“Rosie! I brought you this!” the child sobbed, trying to put the bag into her sister’s hands. It fell forgotten to the floor.

“Go away from her!” her mother screamed, forcefully separating the two.

“Maybe there is some explanation, Mameh! As it is written, ‘judge each man leniently.’”

“Shoshi, sweetheart, vhere did you go? Your parents vanted to surprise you. They missed you. Your sister missed you. They bought you a present. They vaited at Beth Abraham.”

“YOU TOLD THEM! But Bubbee, you promised!”

“You are complaining to your bubbee? You liar!” Her mother tried to grab hold of her, but her father stopped her. “Sha, Mameh! Think about the neighbors.”

That immediately quieted her down.

“Silence! Everyone. Come into the kitchen, Rose.” Her grandmother and mother started to walk there as well, but he turned to them, holding up his hand. “I am going to speak to my daughter. Alone.”

He closed the door. Rose looked at her father across the table the way she would have looked at a stranger whose photograph she was about to frame. The white, sweating forehead beneath the heavy, old-fashioned black hat; the thick, dark beard flecked with gray, the calflike, pleading eyes. As she put her fists on the table, it wobbled. A fitting metaphor, she thought wryly, for their relationship. Lying to him was amazingly easy.

“Where were you, child?”

“I went to visit a sick friend instead tonight. It’s no big deal,” she said sullenly.

“The woman at Beth Abraham, an eidle woman, told Mameh you only come once a week, on Tuesdays. So where do you go every Thursday, child?” He spoke quietly, reasonably.

She hesitated. The truth was out of the question.

“I don’t know who told Mameh that, but it’s not true. I swear it!”

“It’s forbidden to swear!”

“Bli neder.”

He looked into her eyes, wanting so much to believe her. “Are you telling your tateh the truth?”

She looked down. “Yes, Tateh.”

The door to the kitchen flew open. To her horror, she saw clutched in her mother’s hands her latest photographs and her new camera.

“Enough! You brazen-faced liar! Don’t say another word.”

Her mother took her father back into her bedroom. There on the bed were her library books, her receipt for tuition, and her canceled bank book.

He gave Rose a questioning look, then looked down at the floor. His heart was broken.

“Bubbee, get me a bag,” her mother said fiercely. “A big bag, a shopping bag.”

Rose watched wordlessly as her mother carelessly stuffed her books, her camera, her photos, film, and her receipts into it. “Pearl, go take this downstairs and throw it into the garbage can!” she ordered, handing it to her.

Rose grabbed her sister by the shoulder, shaking her, then turned to her mother, leaning in close. “Mameh,” she whispered without a trace of emotion, “if you do this, I swear, I will kill myself.”

Her mother took a sharp breath, looking at her, frightened, Rose’s calm determination more effective than any tantrum or tears, which would have sailed past her mother like a ship in the night. But this … this composure, it was unnatural. This was no longer a child in front of her, but an adult, she saw, realizing the limits of her power. She felt helpless.

Rose discerned all this in the deep lines that bloomed on her mother’s forehead and the downward pull of her determined lips. I have won this battle at least, if not the war, she told herself, rejoicing as she ripped the bag out of Pearl’s clutch, leaving behind a sharp red welt as painful as a knife cut.

Pearl pressed her lips together, determined not to cry out, determined to do nothing ever again that would call her parents’ negative attention to her sister.

12

Everything had to be done quietly, with the utmost discretion, her parents decided. It was the only way to avoid scandal. The cover story was simple. Rose had come down with pneumonia and would be out of school and back home with her family in Williamsburg for the six weeks needed to recover. By then, the school year would be over anyway.

She was moved back into her old room, while Pearl was given a curtained-off alcove with no window just off the kitchen. There was no choice, as the other bedroom housed the boys: Duvid, Shlomie Yosef, and Mordechai, when he was home from the yeshiva.

The Honored Rav was not consulted about these changes. Indeed, no one—not even Rose’s brothers—was let in on the truth, lest word of her scandalous behavior leak out like dark ink from a faulty pen, indelibly staining the family’s linen-white reputation.

This was not a choice, but a necessity. Anything else would put Mordechai’s and then Shlomie Yosef’s shidduchim at risk, and down the line Pearl’s and even Duvid’s! As for Rose, under the circumstances her shidduch must happen much sooner than they’d planned.

Neither of her parents was happy about that. But what else could be done? Clearly, the Honored Rav’s advice had backfired. They had sent away an erring child and received back a sinning, wayward, and defiant adult. The only way to smooth things over was to hide this information from any future groom and his family and allow him to inherit the problem.

Not that they liked the idea of having to hide things from matchmakers and prospective sons-in-law and their families. Indeed, it went against everything they believed in as well as their innate sense of decency and fairness. But blood was thicker than water. Why should their blameless offspring suffer because of one bad apple in the barrel? God would surely give Rose the husband she deserved, and vice versa. It wasn’t in their hands.

The modern world was a strange, new place, they had to admit. They felt baffled, heartbroken, helpless, betrayed. She had proved herself a wild horse. If she was not reined in by a husband and children, who knew where her incorrigible rebelliousness might lead her? In any case, the sooner she was out from under their roof and no longer their responsibility, the better for everyone.

This being the case, they understood that they had no choice but to negotiate with Rose about beginning the shidduch process. If she cooperated, they agreed to let her keep her camera and—after many furious arguments—even caved in and agreed to allow her to continue her photography classes. She was clearly determined, and, frankly, they were not sure they could stop her. Moreover, she’d already paid an outrageous sum in tuition up front. Why should it go to waste? Besides, whatever bad influences she had encountered there had already done their destructive work on her character. No use trying to nail closed the barn door now. They also agreed she could continue to take out books from the library. Their agreement had two nonnegotiable conditions: number one, in September, she would not be allowed to continue her education in school; and number two, she would have to cooperate fully in the process of finding her a husband.

Rose readily agreed about school: since Bais Ruchel didn’t actually have a senior year, most of the girls getting engaged and married by the end of their junior year, and since Bais Yaakov would never take her back, what big choice did she have? She knew better than to dream about joining Michelle at a coed yeshiva like Flatbush or Ramaz. She might as well have yearned for a trip to the moon. Besides, over the past year she’d become accustomed to teaching herself. As long as her parents allowed her to continue taking books out of the library, her education would continue. The photography class was really what mattered most to her anyway.

As far as shidduchim were concerned, the truth was she was ready to start dating, even if it had to be done through a third-party matchmaker. Her shy conversations with Professor Giglio and some of the male students in her photography class had helped to nurture her blooming womanliness, her sexuality unfolding within her like a gentle bud pulling back its petals for the first time.

And so it began. Her mother took her on shopping trips to clothing stores, where she was introduced as a kallah moide, setting the saleswomen buzzing around her like killer bees. The dresses they urged on her all had high necks, sleeves that reached below her elbows, and skirts that fell modestly past her knees. (They even made her sit down in them so her mother could judge their length exactingly. It was surprising how many dresses looked fine as you stood before the mirror, only to become scandalously revealing the moment you innocently sat down and crossed your legs.) She cooperated, delighted by the promise of new clothes after months in horrible Satmar uniforms, but only up to a point, insisting on exercising her own taste. She chose stylish, pretty dresses in bright colors (except for red, the forbidden color of the harlot) that fit her slim figure flatteringly.

And when it came to shoes, she picked out high heels that made her legs seem longer and more shapely. Only a girl going out on shidduch dates could get away with wearing such attractive shoes. When a girl was about to marry, the rules relaxed. After all, men were men. Even their world recognized that.

Despite the fact that she was clearly aware of her mother’s ulterior motives (i.e., to dump damaged goods before anyone found out and the price went down on everything the factory produced), she still enjoyed the time they spent together, which harked back to a more convivial and comforting part of her childhood. Indeed, in many ways it was better. For the first time, her mother was no longer the all-powerful seat of judgment, but simply a middle-aged woman doing her best to further what in her mind was God’s will. Rose could accept that.

Pearl tried hard to dwell on the joy of having her sister Rose back home, of having her own guilt assuaged. But while she grasped that the decision to move her out of her room had come from her parents and not Rose, still, she felt an irrational sense of personal rejection from her sister. Not only her room had been usurped by Rose but also that special place at the center of her parents’ attention she had comfortably occupied in Rose’s absence. But it was the shopping trips for Rose’s new wardrobe that were the last straw.

“Why can’t I come, too?” she wailed.

“Your time will come, child. Now it’s your sister’s turn,” her mother answered implacably. The less time her youngest daughter spent with her eldest, the better. As for Rose, while she’d forgiven Pearl, she wasn’t about to lobby for her to tag along when she would only get in the way.

By the time Rose had “recovered” from her “illness” and was ready to date, she had a fully stocked wardrobe that presented her in the most favorable light possible. The matchmakers had already compiled their lists of eligible young men, and the phone started ringing. Her mother fielded the calls, writing down the information in a little notebook bought especially for that purpose. In there, she jotted down the name, age, education, family lineage (yichoos), and geographic location of each prospect, as well as their monetary demands on the family of any prospective bride. Usually, the financial demands were in direct proportion to the boy’s desirability as a future son-in-law.