Sotah (18 page)
So Garfinkel created a plan of action that was two-pronged. First, to keep up the pressure on the Reichs with broad hints about time being ripe and dire predictions about missed opportunities, elaborate compliments, and descriptions of pious, wealthy men pining away for love of Dina. The second, a less interesting and fruitful pursuit, yet one absolutely required in the name of good business practice, was to get the Judah Gutman loose end tied up once and for all.
So early one hot summer day, he went down to the Street of Carpenters. It was very hot, the kind of day that
haredi
men dreaded. For, unlike most people, their wardrobe made no concession to changes in weather. The dress code, established in European villages two hundred years ago, had been transplanted with almost ludicrous accuracy, ignoring geographic and climatic realities. They wore the same heavy hat, the same shirt, the same sun-absorbing dark suit and overcoat, in the sweltering Mideastern summer as they did during the freezing days of winter.
Garfinkel sweated beneath the brim of his large black hat. He sweated under the black suit and overcoat and heavy laced leather shoes. Once, he felt so hot he thought he might faint. He took a detour into a bank and waited on line in air-conditioned comfort until he felt ready to continue his journey. Although
haredi
families often banked with private individuals who kept accounts, gave loans, and generally managed money on their kitchen tables and on the backs of envelopes,
haredi
men nevertheless found reason to stop into real banks often during the hottest days of summer. They read advertisements on the walls, collected deposit slips, and even discussed opening new accounts until the heat beneath the heavy black fabric began to chill sufficiently for them to face the sun again. During the hottest days—the dry, dust-filled scourge known as a
hamsin
—they stopped into every bank on the block.
By the time he got to Judah Gutman’s store, he felt his knees buckling and his throat contracting with the desperate thirst of a desert castaway.
Nevertheless he put on a cheerful smile. “Shalom aleichem, Reb Gutman,” he said weakly.
Judah looked up from the wood beneath his hands, putting down the soldering iron. His face changed colors.
Garfinkel pulled up a chair and sat down. It was boiling in the carpenter’s shop. “Please, Reb Yid, a drink.”
“Of course, of course!” Judah hurried and took a cold bottle of water from his little rusting refrigerator (it had come with the shop; he would never have thought to equip his shop with a refrigerator just for the luxury of cold water in the summer), then took a clean glass and handed it to the older man.
“
Vus machst du?
How goes it?” Garfinkel said, handing him back the swiftly drained cup with a shake of the head and the closing of one eye, which said: Fill her up again, please! Judah filled the cup again, then stood awkwardly against the wall, waiting. Garfinkel sighed. “Mr Gutman, a month ago you went out with a lovely young lady with my help. While I know that people such as yourself are extremely occupied with G-d’s work, still, we expect a little crumb of information now and again. So I’ll ask you again, Reb Yid,
vus machst du?”
Judah suddenly fell onto a seat, his long legs stretched out in front of him, his head hanging down, supported by two fists on either side of his temples. “Rabbi Garfinkel, forgive me, and please don’t hold this against me when Yom Kippur comes. But what can I do? What’s the point of continuing? She doesn’t … can’t … want me.” Then he looked up desperately. “Can she?”
Garfinkel looked him over. This was a different story! He found new energy going through his tired, iron-deficient blood. This was something a professional understood. Not indifference. Not reluctance. Simply romantic desperation masquerading as indifference and reluctance. Judah Gutman was terrified. Judah Gutman was hooked. It was written all over him.
This was worse than anything he could have imagined. What a terrible situation! A real work accident.
No one was supposed to fall in love. Certainly not under his aegis and certainly not until they were safely married and preferably the parents of a few children. That was his whole role, to be the lightning rod in the
haredi
world, deflecting the wanton, dangerous, destructiveness of passion among unmarried men and women, serving as a roadblock to romance, a concrete lead wall sheltering young men and women from foolish attachments based on notions of love and desire. He was a professional. Just his presence, even his voice on the phone, was usually enough to cool down any feelings of warmth between a young man and woman. He was there to remind them that it was a mitzvah and also a business decision they were dealing with, and he did so with remarkable success. Romance had never gotten past Chaim Garfinkel.
Until now.
What was to be done? He looked at the miserable, lovesick carpenter and sighed. What decision was there to make? He’d started all this, and he would have to bring it to a respectable conclusion. That or have Judah Gutman’s mother bad-mouth him all over Meah Shearim. Not to mention watch this poor fellow wallow in misery indefinitely. Who needed that in his book of deeds written in red next Yom Kippur?
“Well, a question,” Garfinkel stalled. “This, I have to investigate. But while I’m here, let me understand your side. You’re willing?”
“Willing?”
This fellow was a real talker, Garfinkel thought, sighing. Well, Dina Reich didn’t like talkers, did she? A small triumph of irony overcame his reluctance. “My dear fellow, do you want to marry Dina Reich?”
“Yes!” the answer exploded.
“And do you have an indication from her of any kind that she might consider this to be a good idea?”
“No,” he whispered miserably.
“Do you have any idea if she would consider going out with you again?”
“I don’t see why she should. I made a total fool of myself. Why, I hardly said two words to her!” He was up and pacing, his big shoes mucking up clouds of sawdust from the floor.
“Well, I happen to know—and this is a fact—that Dina Reich doesn’t like men who talk too much.”
“Really?”
The hope in his voice was so pathetic, even Garfinkel felt moved. “Really. Of course, I have to look into this further. I cannot promise anything. I must speak to her, her parents. We must figure out who pays for what …”
“I don’t want anything. I will pay for everything. I want to give her everything …”
“Wait, not so fast.” Garfinkel held up his hands. “I represent you too in all this. It has to be a good deal for you both, a fair arrangement. After all, she would not like to come into a home as a pauper, an orphan.”
“I only meant … I only thought. It’s her I want. I don’t need anything else. But why would she consider someone like me?”
“And why not?” Wasn’t there even a fan in this place? Garfinkel fanned himself. He was literally melting. “Another drink, please.”
As Garfinkel drank down the cold liquid, Judah watched his Adam’s apple bob. Each swallow seemed to take an eternity. He was burning with impatience. His whole life depended on the next sentence.
Finally, satisfied, Garfinkel continued. “You’re nice looking—when you get dressed up. You have a good store, a good income. A good reputation …”
“Then you don’t know anything at all, do you? You haven’t really spoken to her about me.” It was a statement, a cry of infinite disappointment and sadness.
Chaim Garfinkel hated emotional messes. Scenes. Disappointments. Cries for help. It wasn’t good for his delicate stomach. It wasn’t good for his business. “Calm down, my friend. I’ll talk to her today. I’ll give you an answer today. But I have to tell you, she didn’t like anybody else she went out with better. Complaints she had plenty. She wasn’t shy. But she didn’t say a bad word about you.”
Judah laughed and grabbed the
shadchen
by the shoulders. “Really? Not a bad word? And about the others she did? She didn’t like them at all?”
“And they talked and talked and talked …” Garfinkel allowed himself one small, dry cough of amusement.
Judah laughed again and spun around the room, knocking wood pieces, nails, bottles of glue, and drill bits to the floor.
Garfinkel got up in a hurry, backing out toward the door. He was in the room with a man in love. He was safer in a lion’s cage. “I’ll call you tonight, when I hear.”
Judah nodded wordlessly.
It was noon. The sun was low enough to scorch your forehead, to liquefy the leather of your shoes, to heat the paving stones to the temperature needed to bake a pita bread. Garfinkel hurried. The banks would be closed soon. Then, just as he turned the corner, he heard the pounding of a herd of bulls behind him. Arab terrorists, he thought. Or fanatic hooligans from the Morals Patrol. Garfinkel covered his head for protection and put his back against the wall.
“Reb Chaim, it’s just me! …”
Judah Gutman’s voice reached him. He looked up. The carpenter was covered with a fine sheen of moisture, his eyes were bright. He shoved a package into the
shadchen’s
trembling hands:
“It’s for her. Give it to her.”
“This is not the way it’s done,” Garfinkel protested. “No gifts until everything is settled.”
“Please, just give it to her. Today, before you ask her. And I want her to have it. No matter what she says.” And then he was gone.
“
O
h, please,
Ima!
Not Garfinkel! Not again. I’ve already told you and him that I won’t consider the baker or the accountant. I don’t care how much money the baker makes, on or off the books! Or how much time I’ll save not having to bake challah or cakes for the Sabbath, or holidays. I like baking cakes! And challahs are cheap enough to buy. As for the accountant, I detest him. It won’t do Garfinkel a bit of good to come here and pressure me!” She was feeling out of breath, as if she were running very fast, yet not fast enough.
“Dinaleh. He’s not coming about either of them. He wants to bring you a present, he says.”
“A present. I know. A cake. Or an account ledger.
It won’t help
.” Just the thought of those two buffoons made her want to scream. I’d rather die an old maid. I can teach in Beit Yaakov and be the good aunt, her mind improvised rapidly. I’ll bring expensive presents to my married sisters and brothers and their children. I’ll be the most welcome invited guest every holiday.
“The gift, as I understand it—not that I approve, mind you—is from Judah Gutman.”
She felt herself flush. The carpenter.
She had thought about Judah Gutman a great deal in the last few weeks, her thoughts growing strangely dream-like and not at all to the point. The awkwardness, the almost insulting silence of their time together, had not completely faded yet just enough to make his oddly intimate and passionate words stand out in fine relief: “I would have let them bury me before I would have given you up.” They were words that frightened her and set off a thrill, like the jangling of tiny bells, through her whole body. In her memory he didn’t seem quite so big nor quite so clumsy as she had found him in reality. Her mind had insisted on focusing on his handsome, kind face, his alert, sensitive eyes. Remembered, his silence gained a fine, rich patina of sensitivity, hinting of spiritual depths and special intelligence.
Yet for all that she could not tell herself that she had enjoyed the time she’d spent with him. But she also could not ignore the fact that she had found it strangely moving. All this had been true before she’d gone out with the baker and the accountant. Afterwards, in comparison, her mind had treated the carpenter even more kindly. Yet when she compared him with Abraham, she felt the emptiness, the futility, gnaw at her once again.
Also, she had too little an idea of what he thought of her, despite his oddly passionate words, which she had finally discounted as mere style, a manner of speaking. Politeness, even. And Garfinkel had never even mentioned him again. She had just assumed the worst. What would she say if he wanted to see her again? She didn’t know.
“When is Garfinkel coming?”
“Another hour or so. The boys will be in bed, and Chaya Leah is sleeping over at a friend’s house. She’s certainly become very close friends with Fruma Rabinowitz lately. But it couldn’t be bad. Look at the weight she’s lost, how she dresses now, and her hair. G-d be thanked!”
“You’ll get rid of all of your daughters,
Ima
. Don’t worry.”
“Get rid of you? Why, what a thing to say …”
Dina laughed happily. It was not the baker or the accountant. She would never have to see either of them again. And Judah Gutman, the tall, the handsome, the sensitive, had liked her. Liked her enough to send her a gift. She loved gifts.
Garfinkel’s knock came exactly on time. The thin, tired
shadchen
was breathing heavily from the climb up the stairs. Fourth floor, with no elevator!
“Come in, sit down, Reb Chaim,” Rabbi Reich said, ushering him in.
The table was set with cookies and little candies and tea cups. Garfinkel felt slightly mollified as he sat down and helped himself to tea with three lumps of sugar and two or three pieces of cake. Then he licked his fingertips, shook out his beard, and wiped his lips on the back of his hand. He looked at them expectantly. They looked back at him expectantly. He sighed.
“So where is the
kallah moid
, the bride-to-be?” He thought fast. What was this one’s name? Chana … no, that was the butcher’s daughter. Malka? No, that was the one with the slight limp. This was the little one. The pretty one, he jogged his reluctant memory. Dina. “Dina,” he said casually, feeling the beads of sweat under his hat. He took off the hat.
“Do you want us to tell her to come out? But maybe you wanted to talk to us first? We don’t want her hurt again.”
Garfinkel’s eyes widened. “My dear rebbetzin, I would like to point out to you a very small thing …” His voice grew in indignation. “The first time she got hurt was because things were handled by someone else. Well-meaning, good-hearted, but a schlemiel. For this, I do not deserve suspicion. For this, I do not deserve warnings and reprimands. Your Dina is like my own child. Believe me, I have spent sleepless nights wondering what is going to happen with her. When I pray, I pray for her happiness, and yours.” So he was overdoing it a bit, but it was not a lie. You prayed for the welfare of the Jewish people, didn’t you? And who was the Jewish people if not himself, the Reichs, the Gutmans, and all the Dinas and Malkas and Chanas? …