The Sisters Weiss (27 page)

“Yes, I am married and even have a child,” she said with a shy smile, shocked at how easily the words came to her. “But I am newly religious.”

“A ben niddah,” the woman gasped, shaking her head. “A child born in impurity! But at least now you are trying to do the right thing. And your husband, is he supportive of your efforts to serve God?”

“Not very,” she said sadly.

“Never mind,” the woman comforted, patting her shoulder. “You must be determined, and then the man will follow. It is the woman who builds her house or destroys it, maideleh. Come, follow me.”

The attendant opened the room’s back door, which led down a long, narrow corridor ending in the mikveh itself. It was a small pool of deep, clear water. Under the woman’s watchful eye, Rivka took off her robe and hurried naked down the steps into the water, anxious to hide her body. It was pleasantly warm and came up to her neck.

“How many times do you toivel?”

Rivka, pretending to be secular, couldn’t very well admit she knew the word toivel meant “dunk.” She shrugged helplessly.

“It means to immerse in the water. Girls usually follow the custom of their mothers in the number of times they immerse. Some do it seven times, and some only once.”

While she was sure her family had a custom, it was one she had not yet been privy to. She felt saddened by this knowledge, knowing she was the loose loop that had broken the chain of tradition. “How many times do you think?”

“Twice for good measure.”

“Twice then.” Rivka nodded, wanting to get this over with. She waited, confused.

“Bend your knees, then plunge into the water until it covers your head completely,” the woman instructed her patiently. “The water must cover the top of your head. Don’t clench your eyes or mouth or hands. Keep them gently closed. When you come up, cross your hands over your breasts, and I’ll hang down a towel to cover your hair. Then, say the blessing.”

Rivka closed her eyes, taking the first plunge.

“Not deep enough! Try again!”

Choking back the water she had breathed in, she did as she was told. Drowning, she thought. She felt her chest clench in anger, holding her breath even as she emerged.

“Kosher!” the woman exclaimed, hanging the towel over the side until it touched her head. “Now repeat after me.”

Rivka crossed her arms across her bare breasts: “Blessed art Thou, O King of the universe, on this immersion,” she repeated in Hebrew after the attendant, ashamed to be evoking God’s name in this sorry enterprise. Far from purifying her spirit, she felt soiled and damned, as if she had deliberately dropped a prayer book into the mud.

Since the Holy Temple in Jerusalem had been destroyed, everyone in the world was impure, she knew, profaned by death and sin with no way to purify themselves. Immersing in the ritual bath was one of the few things left to Jews that provided such purification. And she had now sullied that experience for herself forever.

She felt like crying.

She immersed twice more, then walked up the steps. The mikveh attendant held out the robe, averting her eyes in modesty. Rivka slipped it on, feeling like nothing could cover her nakedness. She had been exposed, now and forever.

She hurried back to her room, showering off the mikveh water, feeling she had stolen every drop. Anxious to leave, she quickly pulled her clothes on over her still-damp body, dropping the wet towels into a laundry basket. She paid the attendant her small fee, adding a generous tip. Securing her scarf over her damp hair, she escaped into the night.

Around the corner, Simon stood waiting, a broad smile spreading over his face when he saw her. He reached out to take her hand, but she pulled away.

“What’s wrong now?” he asked, annoyed.

“Nothing. I’m still wet. It’s cold.”

“Well, let’s get you home and warm you up.” He grinned.

His levity made her feel sick to her stomach. She couldn’t bear to even look at him.

The subway platform was outdoors, and the air was freezing cold. She shivered, wondering if she would get pneumonia and die. It didn’t seem too harsh a punishment to her. In fact, if she had been God, that’s exactly what she would have done to a sinner like herself. Midah keneged midah. Measure for measure.

Finally, the train rolled in and they got on.

“I was thinking maybe next weekend we could go up to my parents’ cabin in the Adirondacks, get in a little skiing. Have you ever skied? It’s not difficult to learn. I could take you to a little slope I know that’s perfect for beginners. I’m starting a new course next semester about Hassidism. I expect you to help me with all my homework…” He went on and on, as if trying to deny her steady, morose silence. But all she heard was the rapid beating of her guilty heart and the rumble of the train moving relentlessly forward.

It was hours before they finally got home. She was thoroughly chilled and coughing. Simon seemed oblivious, unbuttoning her coat and tearing off her head covering the moment they walked through the door.

She didn’t resist. He put his hands beneath her sweater, pulling it up over her head urgently as she obediently raised her arms. But when he touched the buttons of her blouse, something about his cold hands at her neck reminded her of the mikveh attendant. A flood of disgust and violation washed over her. She couldn’t breathe.

“Don’t!” she whispered, pulling away.

“C’mon!” He smiled. “Just relax, honey.”

He got the first button undone, then started on the second.

“Don’t!” she screamed, loud enough for the neighbors to hear, wrenching herself away from him.

He dropped his hands, flustered, angry, bewildered.

“Just leave me alone!”

He put his hands into his pockets and backed away, furious. “Okay, Rivka. Whatever you say…” He turned his back.

“Simon. Please…”

Mollified, he turned back, holding out his arms. “Tell me what’s wrong, babe.”

“I…” But the words dammed up in her throat. She grabbed her coat and put it on, then made for the door, slamming it behind her as she rushed down the steps to the street.

Outside, it was very dark and beastly cold. She looked around her, terrified of the strange men who picked up their heads as she walked by. Too late, she realized she had left her purse behind. She didn’t even have money for a subway token or to make a phone call. What difference did it make? Where would I go? she asked herself. Who would I call? Hannah? My mother? How could she explain to either of them her lies, her disappearances, her actions, all the things she had been desiring and pursuing? And what would they say to her? Both would talk her out of going back to Simon, of doing what her whole body and heart longed to do.

I am in hell, she thought, more frightened than she had ever been. She wanted to pray, but didn’t feel worthy. Every choice she had made was wrong. Every independent idea she had formed, mistaken. She had made her choices, and now, when the time had come to pay for them, she was trying to back out. But the universe would not allow it. She must go back. She must bear it. She must allow herself the joy of it.

She turned around. And there he was, walking toward her. She ran into his arms. He held her tightly. “Rivka, Rivka.”

She lifted her chin and looked into his eyes. No one had ever said her name that way. In his voice, she was another person, that Rivka. He had come after her, afraid for her, she told herself. He cared about her. He loved her.

He held out his hand, and she slipped hers inside. It was warm against her icy skin. They walked slowly back to the house, all the while a current of fire flashing through that place she had so recently discovered.

In the elevator, she stood with her back against the wall, her hands held tightly behind her, the fingers squeezing together with punishing fierceness. He stood apart, looking at the floor. And then, suddenly, he looked up, taking one step toward her, reaching out and holding her chin, his thumb making a soft, circular motion on her cheek. She closed her eyes, counting the number of times it moved up and back over her face, feeling the movement intensely. She moaned.

He held her head between his hands, his fingers soft as they met in back of her neck, pulling her mouth to his. He pressed his lips against hers, and she felt her entire body flow toward him, electrified, almost drunk with abandon.

They staggered, kissing, to the door. She waited as he detached himself from her, fumbling for the keys, all the while keeping one hand at the back of her neck with an insistent pressure. Inside at last, he quickly closed and locked the door.

They stood facing each other for a moment, as his hand slid around slowly to her throat, his thumb caressing the beating pulse that led to her heart. Slowly, he unbuttoned her coat, pushing it off her shoulders. She watched passively, letting it slip to the floor.

He leaned in, his breath in her ear. “Help me, Rivka,” he whispered, a suggestion, a command, a plea.

Obediently, she found her fingers undoing the buttons of her blouse, then pushing it down off her arms.

“Turn around.”

She stood with her back to him, feeling his hands pull down the zipper of her skirt, his fingers slipping now and then, touching her back, each touch a small, almost painful, electric jolt. She closed her eyes. The garment barely grazed her body as it tumbled to the floor.

His hands pressed her naked shoulders as he turned her around to face him once more. “You are so beautiful, Rivka. So very young and beautiful,” he whispered in awe. “Will you…? Or shall I…?”

“You,” she answered, as if in a dream, lifting her arms above her head.

She felt the silky brush of her new slip as he pulled it over her face, blinding her for a moment, the straps tickling her arms. His hands were behind her back now, undoing the hooks of her pretty new bra, letting her breasts spring free. He rolled down her dark panty hose, her legs white and smooth beneath them. She stepped out of her shoes, trampling down the last shreds of her stockings, freeing herself.

Standing there, almost naked, she had her first rush of shame. She crossed her arms over her breasts. “No!” she pleaded, ready to kill him if he touched her.

He did nothing, said nothing, waiting patiently, his hands at his sides, as the silence grew. Finally, he whispered, “Do you want me, Rivka?”

She could not answer, her voice strangled by her education, upbringing, and beliefs. But then the vision of her body in the mirror at the mikveh returned to her. A song without words overwhelmed her heart, bursting through the man-made bands of social conventions, a force of nature contained in her blood that could not be held back. Its time had come, the rushing flow of her primitive blood instincts, which no man-made dam of rules and regulations could hold back. She dropped her arms to her sides and took a step toward him.

He lifted her as he would a tired child, and she flung her arms around his neck, burying her mouth and nose in the soft material of his shirt, inhaling the clean, manly scent that made her blood surge, her cheek pressed against his stubble. He laid her gently on top of the bedcovers, leaning over her. And then, as she held her breath, terrified, she felt his hands slide up her thighs, finding their way beneath the last separation between their bodies, a flimsy bit of white cotton lace

“Are you cold?”

She was shaking now, with desire, a fear of the unknown, and an acknowledged fear of sin. She shook her head no, her arms rising once more to cover her breasts. He reached out and stopped her.

“No, no Rivka. There is nothing to be ashamed of. Nothing to hide.”

“You are still dressed,” she said accusingly.

He smiled, swiftly tearing off his clothes.

The room, lit only by the street lamps below, filled with the sound of their breathing, the far-off whine of traffic, the soft murmur of the bed springs, and the whispered answers of the bedcovers moving beneath them.

She pulled up her legs, foraging beneath the covers for shelter, to restore her sense of decency.

He crawled in beside her.

“Are you sure, Rivka?” he whispered.

She put her mouth over his, desperate to stop him from speaking. No more questions! she wanted to shout. I have no answers! Leave me alone! she cried out silently to some accuser who hovered nearby, waiting to rob her of joy.

She felt him caressing her, just as he thrust his tongue inside her mouth. And it was sweet, and shocking. An explosion like fireworks went off inside her. He grasped her hard, and in his hands she felt how young and smooth and desirable her hips were, how they bloomed from her tiny waist. She tried to imagine herself as him experiencing her, and the idea filled her with almost unbearable passion. And then she stopped thinking altogether, the shock of new experiences building each upon the other at a frenzied pace. It was impossible to absorb them all.

He nudged her legs apart, and it was a shock to feel herself handled this way by hands other than her own, a will other than her own. She resisted. But he was stronger, his desire out of control now as he pushed inside her. She wrapped her legs around his back, horrified, and then all at once the horror was over, the pain was over. A new feeling, like circles of infinite light, wound around each other, lifting her higher and higher until she felt she would burst if she didn’t have release.

And then it came, like nothing she had ever felt before, a joyous pain, a feeling of ecstasy that overwhelmed all her senses. She wanted to tear his flesh apart with her teeth, to grind into him like an incubus, possessing him. She wanted it to go on forever.

28

So, this was love, Rivka thought as she sat waiting every day for him to come home; waiting for the moment when his key would turn in the lock and his body would fill the room, bringing with it the whiff of cold leather and the chilled fibers of his jeans; waiting for the moment when she could slip her hand beneath his clothes to reach the smooth, hard bones of his shoulders. She wanted him to hold her, to feel his body surround her and enfold her, taking away all separateness. She didn’t want to feel like herself anymore, but like a new creature with two heads, two hearts, and one enrapturing desire.