Jacob's Folly (22 page)

“And how is our little naïf? Sleeping?” She asked, cramming herself into the space between me and the back of the sofa and cradling me like an infant. She then exposed her vast wobbling tit for me to nurse, clamping it between her fingers and causing the sausage brunette and Le Jumeau to melt into helpless laughter. The more I craned my neck to avoid her plate-sized nipple, the more hysterical they became. Finally I freed myself, vexed and humiliated, my wig askew, and stood panting in the middle of the room. Le Jumeau patted me hard on the side of the face with his palm, in a manner both brotherly and threatening.

“That's what you get for desertion,” he said, swinging himself into a chair, one leg over the arm. He winked at the bug-eyed blonde, who rolled off the couch and glided over to him on her knees. The brunette plonked herself on the other sofa and lay down, sighing, her arm over her eyes.

“Where is the count?” I asked.

“Upstairs, Le Naïf. You get to clean him up,” said Le Jumeau. He rested his head back, and his dark lips curled into a lazy smile as he looked at me through half-closed lids, his hand open on the blond one's bobbing head. “You'll find everything you need in the box on the chest of drawers. Go on,” he said. “We need to get him home.”

I found the count alone, naked, on a chair. His droopy brown eyes were unfocused, his back slick with blood. The floor was smeared with it. I gagged, and had to open the window, sticking my head into the air and taking long, desperate breaths. I would get used to it soon enough.

I
n the weeks that followed, when Masha was alone, or on a break in the nursing home, she would sometimes reach inside her purse and take out Derbhan Nevsky's cream-colored card. The black lettering was embossed:

PERFORMING ARTISTS MANAGEMENT
DERBHAN NEVSKY

She ran her thumb over it again and again, until it was floppy and worn. It didn't do any harm to keep the card.

Eli asked her out three more times. One night, as Masha was sitting on her bed brushing her hair, Yehudis skipped in and bounced onto her own bed, beaming across the room at her.

“Guess what?” she asked.

“What?” asked Masha.

“Mrs. Cohen just called Mommy and they talked for a long time. She told her Eli's mother is
sure
Eli's gonna propose to you. She didn't say when or anything, but she said there was no question that was his intention.”

“Oh, wow,” breathed Masha.

“Oh, Mashie, I'm so happy for you! You're so lucky,” said Yehudis, who had leapt onto Masha's bed and was hugging her, tears in her eyes.

“He hasn't asked me yet,” said Masha.

“He will, though. Mrs. Cohen said there was no question! Don't tell Mommy I told you, she doesn't think I know, I listened to her tell Daddy.”

“When is Mommy planning on telling me?” asked Masha.

“In a minute. I'm going back downstairs. Oh, this is so exciting, Masha, he's so cute!” Yehudis disappeared. Happiness stole into Masha's heart and settled in, a surprise visitor.

The next day, Eli came for her. She walked out of the house in a long yellow dress. At the restaurant, she ordered fries, but she couldn't eat them. Eli sat with his black hat tipped back from his forehead, his relaxed, open face bathed in warm light from the window.

“Let's get married, Masha Edelman,” he said.

“I'm worried I would maybe disappoint you,” Masha said.

“I know you're delicate. I know you went to New York that time. I know all that.”

“Why would you want someone like that?”

“Your health doesn't worry me. Whatever comes up … we'll deal with. And … people do crazy stuff. It doesn't mean you're a bad person. I mean, you're not gonna stop performing the mitzvahs, you're gonna honor Shabbat, you'll raise our kids Jewish, right? I'm not so by-the-book either,” he said. “I'm on the Internet, I read, I know what's goin' on out there … it's okay, I figure, as long as you do what you need to do.”

“Okay, let's do it,” she said. “But it has to be soon.”

“How soon?”

“As soon as possible.”

When Masha came home and dropped the news, Pearl burst into tears. Then she spent an hour and a half calling family and close friends to invite them for the
l'chaim
that evening. Miriam was in charge of buying wine, Yehudis and Alyshaya made the salads. Suri and the little kids helped Trina, the housekeeper, clean the kitchen and set the table under Miriam's nervy supervision. Dovid and Simchee arrived with Mordecai at six, already armed with the news. Mordecai had moist eyes when he hugged his daughter. His beard felt silky against her cheek. That evening, bride and groom were both frozen in endless flash-whitened images, their happy smiles sweetening the memory sticks of all present. Masha was almost blinded from all the flashes going off. Her belly was filled with glad fear. She and Eli didn't touch, but their not-touching felt like something palpable; the space between them was a pillow of energy. All the girls crowded in on Masha to tell her, breathless, how cute Eli was. Which he was.

The next day, she called Hugh up and told him he would have to find another scene partner.

“I'm getting married,” she said. He was quiet for a long moment.

“Well, you made a choice. That's the main thing,” he said. He sounded sad.

“Yeah, 'bye, good luck,” she said, snapping her phone shut. This was the way it had to be. This was good and clean and right. This way and no other. She prayed to Hashem to keep her safe from her own selfishness. I tried to talk to her, but she wouldn't listen. She executed all dissident thoughts, regardless of their origin.

Eli presented Masha with a diamond ring, a bracelet. The ring had a simple, pretty setting. The diamond was bigger than any of her sisters' rings. Eli's parents were well off. The diamond bracelet shone on her wrist, a thread of light.

Eli came to the Edelman house for Shabbos. He sang with the other men. Masha didn't think of joining in. I did what I could to make her want to, but she swatted the thoughts away. After dinner, Eli had to leave. He was staying at the Weingotts' next door. He
couldn't sleep in the house; too much temptation. The family gave them a moment alone at the door as they said goodbye.

“See you tomorrow,” he said to her, his voice low. There were inches between them. She felt desire flush through her body.

“Okay,” she whispered.

The next morning, I rested on Mordecai's fur hat as the whole family walked to the synagogue: Pearl, holding Estie by the hand; Mordecai, pushing Leah in her stroller; Dovid and Simchee, looking at the ground; Ezra and Suri, bickering; Miriam with her teeming brood of four lively children; the still-visiting, infuriatingly handsome Eli; and, finally, Masha and Yehudis, walking behind the procession, giggling to each other. Alyshaya and her baby had stayed home, but Yitzak, her husband, ran to catch up with Eli. It was an impressive phalanx of people, I can tell you. Once inside the building, men and women of the family parted; the women and girls walked into the back room reserved for females, the men and young Ezra to the front of the shul. As the two sexes beat a path to their requisite doors, I hovered in the air, torn. Though we did not have a synagogue in Paris in my time, I had gone to services in Metz, when we went to visit my cousins. I remember feeling so important as a boy, walking to the main body of the synagogue with my brother and father, as my mother crammed herself onto the balcony with the other women, where they were corralled like wild animals. Today, though, I decided to stick with the girls. I didn't want to leave Masha. It was the end of our time together. Once she was married, I might as well croak.

The women's section in the back of the synagogue was a little cramped, but pleasant, with freshly upholstered benches and an ingenious barrier constructed of mirrored louvers the shape of venetian blinds. In this way, the women could see slivers of men in black hats and hear the service, yet the men could not see into the female enclave at all. Here, Masha was free to sing. Her eerie, low, soulful voice blended with that of Yehudis and Pearl, Miriam and Suri and Estie,
and all the other women standing with their prayer books in their hands. The raw power of their voices was stunning. I could see why it would be distracting to the men, who were, after all, trying to pray with total attention, thinking only of the Creator. I flew onto one of the mirrored slats, resting for a moment between the two worlds. Then I took off to join the men for a while. Floating over the field of black, swaying hats, I lowered myself gradually, scanning faces, until I found our menfolk toward the front, near the cantor. Dovid was davening furiously, rocking back and forth like he had a spring in his waist. The others were subtler in their movements, but they were all swept up in prayer. I swung down, taking the chance to get a real close-up of my competition. Eli's eyes were closed; he didn't notice me buzzing around his face. This was the villain who was taking my girl away. Him and his dimpled chin. What would come of this union? How would Masha forget what she wanted, be reabsorbed into this world? Could she be happy with him? I had to admit, Eli was appealing. They would have laughs, sensual delight. I wanted him to die. Yet that seemed beyond my meager powers. What could one little demon do against the power of destiny? I traveled back to the women's section, landed on Pearl's handbag, and glowered.

A few weeks later, at the engagement party held in the basement of the shul, Eli was break-dancing with some of the other young men. The women danced with one another on their side of the room. Watching Eli, for the first time since she was a little child Masha thought it would be nice to have a baby.

Pearl drove her to the best wig salon in Brooklyn, the one the Hasidic ladies used, and had her fitted. Alyshaya, the hair expert, came along. Pearl made Masha come outside five times to check the color of various lustrous dark wigs against her own hair. Each time Masha lowered her head to pull another one on and flipped the hair over, she
looked like a different person. The first wig had bangs; this girl was funky and independent. The next had a bob. She seemed serious and cute. She even got Pearl to let her try on a long blond one. Masha found herself shockingly pretty in it, but she didn't dare say anything.

Pearl laughed. “Honey. This is an everyday sheitel you're buying.”

Alyshaya, who was busy trying on a half wig, her own splendid one flung over a chair, her fine frizzy mop in a careless ponytail, walked up to Masha's chair.

“You got the best coloring in the family, don't change it. Plus she got the best hair,” she said ruefully, turning to her mother. “It doesn't even frizz up.”

“Blond is more for the older women,” added the wig maker, an Israeli woman with a generous, elastic mouth.

“Good idea,” Pearl said with a laugh, “go blond when you're my age, you'll need to by then.” Two very young women in jeans were combing out wigs in the corner. At this statement they both tittered, and one of them said something in rapid Spanish. The Edelman women looked over at them with good-natured surprise, then returned to their conversation.

“You should get a new wig, Mommy!” said Alyshaya.

“Yeah,” said Masha. “Try one on.”

Pearl shook her head, filled with pleasure to be with her girls. “I don't need one!”

“Are you kidding?” said Alyshaya. “This is—how old is this thing?” she asked, touching her mother's auburn head.

“I don't know, maybe … maybe eight? Eight years?”

“The color has totally faded! You need a new wig!” exclaimed Alyshaya.

“First we get Masha set up with everything. Then we take a look at the bank account,” said Pearl firmly. “I personally loved the second one you tried on.”

In the end, they decided. The hair on the wig was black, unnaturally plentiful, glossy, of unknown origin. Shorter than Masha's own
hair, it was layered, stylish, and curled over her shoulders. Wearing the wig was exciting; she seemed to be another woman—someone organized, together. She couldn't wait to wear this wig.

One day Bridget called her.

“Are you all right?”

“Yeah,” said Masha.

“You sure?”

“I'm just—I'm getting married.”

“I know. If that's what you want, Masha, congratulations. You seem young to be getting married to me, though it's none of my business. I'll be sorry to lose you.”

“I can't do both things,” said Masha.

“I know,” said Bridget. “I realize it's hard and I respect your choice. I just want you to know that … if you ever need anything, I'm here.

Okay?”

“Okay,” said Masha. “'Bye.” She hung up. Bridget thought she was being brainwashed! Masha was pissed off. Why should her stupid, childish desire to pretend to be other people be more important than her God?

I was extremely depressed in this period. I even lost interest in sex. I just crawled around very slowly, like a dying fly, which was what I felt like. The Old Bastard was winning. My beloved was going to end up as a good Jewess, after all. Married and muzzled. I tried to get into her thoughts day after day, I pleaded with her not to waste her talent, but she derided me.

At last I was able to wring a single concession from my newly chastened queen. I told her she needed to go to the class one more time, to give Bridget the money she owed her, and to say goodbye. Why should she slink into the night as if ashamed? These people had been
kind to her, they had believed in her; she owed them a final visit. It was a last-ditch effort, but it worked. Masha put on her jacket at five-fifteen and said goodbye to the nurse on duty at the nursing home. She walked the ten blocks to Bridget's school, looking up at the sky. The days were long again. Summer. She felt happy and light.

She got to the school half an hour before class and walked back to Bridget's office, the envelope of money in her pocket. Bridget was at her desk, scanning the newspaper. She looked up over her reading glasses and smiled.

“Masha,” she said. “It's good to see you. Sit down.”

“I came to bring you the money, what I have, it's not everything, but I'll pay you back when I can,” Masha said, placing the envelope on the desk.

“That's fine,” said Bridget. “Thank you. Sit down. Are you all right?”

“I'm good,” said Masha, sitting and standing in one motion. “I should probably go.”

“Why not stay for the scenes?” asked Bridget. “It should be fun. Hugh and Shelley are doing
Sexual Perversity in Chicago
. Ellie and Mike are doing
Summer and Smoke
, which if I never see that play again it will be too soon, but don't tell
them
that.” Masha smiled, embarrassed to be confided in this way. Bridget was treating her like an equal.

“Come on,” said Bridget. “You can sit with me. For old times' sake.”

This was a big deal. Nobody sat next to Bridget, except for occasional guest teachers. Once, a former student, Jeff Huff, now a working actor and even a bit of a TV star, sat beside her and gave his critique of the scenes. The fact of his fame was nothing compared to being allowed to sit beside Bridget, to be sanctified by her. Now it was Masha. She felt elect. Hugh and Shelley finished setting up their scene. Hugh gave Masha a surprised thumbs-up when he saw her. Now she could hear the yawnlike sounds of his relaxation exercises, and imagined him stretching backstage, in his own world. As he and Shelley played the scene, Masha had to fight off an acute feeling of possessiveness. Hugh was
her
scene partner. He and Shelley were
funny, slick; their timing was excellent. Masha's cheeks were going hot. She wanted to be up there so bad.