The Liberated Bride (18 page)

“T
HAT'S THE END
of the first act,” Rivlin said. “Now there's an intermission.”

He leafed through the program, looking for the name of the actress who played Sarah. Putting his arm around his wife, he declared with satisfaction:

“I was on the verge of tears.”

“Do you know why?”

“It touched me. It hit a nerve. Didn't you feel that way too?”

“Yes. I did.”

They headed for an opening in the human wall besieging the buffet. Suddenly Rivlin saw his wife stop short and duck.

“What's the matter?”

“Don't move,” she whispered.

But it was too late. The burly man ahead of them had caught sight of her and was staring at her in astonishment.

“Don't I know you?”

Hagit said nothing.

“You're the judge!”

She was unable to move.

“Don't you remember me?” He reddened, the bills he was holding to give the counterman trembling slightly in his fingers.

Although she shook her head, the shadow of a smile crossed Hagit's face. Rivlin sensed that she knew this handsome, well-dressed man.

“Is this your husband?” The man pointed, staring at Rivlin.

Hagit said nothing. The Orientalist nodded.

“I'm Amnon Peretz.” The man whispered his name dramatically, as though it were a dark secret. “You still don't know who I am?” He grinned. “You gave me twelve years.”

Solemn and pale, Hagit bobbed her head. It wasn't clear what she was confirming—her memory of the trial or the length of the prison term.

“You're out?”

“For the past three years. For good behavior.”

“I'm glad to hear it.”

She bobbed her head again, regaining her composure. Gently she asked:

“Are you enjoying the play?”

Eager to discuss other things, the man was surprised by the question.

“Very much,” he answered with a smile. “And you?”

“Also,” Rivlin replied, heading for a new opening at the buffet.

Back in the dark auditorium, on whose stage silhouettes were slowly moving, Hagit whispered that the man had been a chronic wife- and child-beater until brought to trial. There was no time for further details, for the Children of Israel, having left Egypt with the battered suitcases of European refugees, were now beginning their trek through the desert.

And the children of Israel removed from Rameses, and encamped in Succoth.

And they departed from Succoth, and encamped in Etham, which is on the edge of the wilderness.

And they removed from Etham, and turned again unto Pi-hahiroth, which is before Baal-sephon; and they encamped before Migdol.

And they departed from before Pi-hahiroth and passed through the
midst of the sea into the wilderness, and went three days' journey in the wilderness of Etham, and encamped in Marah.

And they removed from Marah, and came unto Elim; and in Elim were twelve fountains of water, and threescore and ten palm trees; and they encamped there.

And they removed from Elim, and encamped by the Red Sea.

And they removed from the Red Sea, and encamped in the wilderness of Sin.

And they took their journey out of the wilderness of Sin, and encamped in Dophkah.

And they departed from Dophkah, and encamped in Alush.

And they removed from Alush, and encamped at Rephidim, where was no water for the people to drink.

And they departed from Rephidim, and pitched in the wilderness of Sinai.

And they removed from the desert of Sinai, and pitched in Kibroth-hataavah, which meaneth Appetite's Grave.

Once again, with slow movements and crystalline words, the actors held the audience in thrall, pulling after them strips of fabric on journeys that crisscrossed to far places and peoples, conquered cities and smoking ruins, while listing, besides the laws of illnesses, abscesses, lesions, leprosies, offerings, and priests, the numbers of men under arms in each of the twelve Israelite tribes. With a mixture of horror and glee, the astounded Orientalist noted how—transfixed by a zealous and restless God who, unable to leave them alone, promised and threatened, pummeled and soothed, resolved and decreed—the Jews never wearied of their wanderings.

And then, the journeys, wars, lesions, deaths, burials, homicides, and cities of refuge having come to an end, a thin actress with black tresses licking at her face like little snakes strode to the middle of the stage. Kneeling, she told the story of Jephthah's daughter with soft, sinuous gestures.

Then the Spirit of the Lord came upon Jephthah, and he passed over Gilead and Manasseh, and he passed over Mizpeh of Gilead, and from Mizpeh of Gilead he passed over unto the children of Ammon.

And Jephthah vowed a vow unto the Lord, and said, If thou shalt without fail deliver the children of Ammon into mine hands,

Then it shall be, that whatsoever cometh forth of the doors of my house to meet me, when I return in peace from the children of Ammon, shall surely be the Lord's, and I will offer it up for a burnt offering.

A muffled drumming accompanied the maiden as she hurried innocently out to greet her victorious father with a dance, never guessing that she was about to fall victim to his inexorable vow. A tense Rivlin hung on every word as she submitted to her fate.

My father, if thou hast opened thy mouth unto the Lord, do to me according to that which hath proceeded out of thy mouth; forasmuch as the Lord hath taken vengeance for thee of thine enemies, even of the children of Ammon.

And she said unto her father, Let this thing be done for me: let me alone two months, that I may go up and down upon the mountains, and bewail my virginity.

And yet by the end of this wrenching tale, the thin maiden with the snakelike tresses had not exactly submitted, for she now told her story again. The drumming grew faster. Her movements, stylized and measured the first time, were now sweepingly defiant.

Then the Spirit of the Lord came upon Jephthah, and he passed over Gilead and Manasseh, and he passed over Mizpeh of Gilead, and from Mizpeh of Gilead he passed over unto the children of Ammon.

For the second time she came to her cruelly loving father's words as he rent his clothes:
Alas, my daughter! Thou has brought me very low and art my downfall! For I have opened my mouth unto the Lord and cannot go back.
The lump was back in Rivlin's throat. The tears almost shed for the childless Sarah stung his eyes for the senselessly sacrificed maiden.

And yet in her despair, Jephthah's daughter—having gone with her friends to bewail her virginity upon the mountains before being sacrificed by her father because of the vow he had vowed without stopping to think who might run excitedly to greet him—was not content
with telling the story twice. As the drums' frenzy mounted and the music gathered force, she told the tale of her immolation a third time. The staid, obedient child of the first version was now a proud, wounded tigress, snarling ferociously at her father's mad vow and the vile deed about to be done her. Her at first sinuous and then sweeping movements turned out to have been but preliminary sketches for the savage paroxysm of her slender body, now lashing out at the world.

And so, when for the third time she uttered her father's cry as he rent his clothes and blamed not himself but her—
Alas, my daughter! Thou hast brought me very low and art my downfall
—a shudder convulsed Rivlin's being. Quickly, he removed his eyeglasses and hid his face.

D
ESPITE THE PLAY'S
length, it was not yet midnight when the Rivlins' car groped its way along the dirt road strewn with sputtering lanterns in order to bring Ofra and Yo'el back from their corner of nature to the glitter of civilization. Although the parking lot was mostly empty, the savage music still shook the tall eucalypti as if a great multitude were continuing to dance.

Yo'el and Ofra sat off to one side at an empty table. The former youth-movement counselors, eternally young themselves, looked weary, old, and sad. Their clothes damp from the night vapors rising from the stream, they ignored the commotion on the dance floor with its melee of fat aunts capering with small nephews and grandchildren and ecstatic youngsters hoisting on their shoulders not one bridelike figure but three, all in various states of undress.

Loath to let the last gasps of the wedding spoil his high spirits, Rivlin was for making a quick getaway with his exhausted brother-and sister-in-law. Genuinely indignant, however, the bride's father insisted that the two shirkers at least have some dessert.

It didn't take much to persuade the laughing judge to agree, especially as the tray handed to her held not one dessert but many, each more scrumptious-looking than the last.

“How was the play?” Yo'el asked. In twenty-four hours he and his wife would be far away.

“Wonderful. It's a must. If I were you, I'd postpone my flight just to see it.”

But the two émigrés were anxious to leave their muggy native land.

“He actually cried,” Hagit told on him merrily, licking whipped cream from a long golden spoon.

“He did?” Yo'el and Ofra marveled.

“Buckets.” Hagit grinned. “With every word.”

“That isn't true. I only cried in a few places,” Rivlin asserted with an odd pride, helping himself to a piece of chocolate cake. “The story of Jephthah's daughter broke me up especially.”

23.4.98

Galya,

You answered me even though I asked you not to. So much for your right to tell me whether or not to answer you. (As for our lost and entirely imaginary “honor,” let's leave such things for others.)

You should be thankful that I wrote what I did and not worse. If you're so sure of yourself and of your family, both the living and the dead, why violate your “sacred vow of fidelity” to your husband by hiding my letter? If the “truth” is on your side, you should want him to see it, since it's the perfect chance to prove to him how truly mad your first husband is and how right you were to leave him. (Just be careful, though. My insanity is a boomerang. Who falls in love with a madman but a madwoman? And you did love me. Terribly.)

Do you want to know what made my father visit you during the bereavement? It had nothing to do with feeling sorry for you or your family. The man is quite simply still tortured by our separation, because he doesn't understand what happened. He's a historian who has to understand everything. His own self too, because, despite his position, he's consumed by doubt about himself and anyone he suspects of being like him.

It's a good thing my mother, at least, has some faith in me.

If my father is foolish enough to try to make contact with you again, don't let him. I'll try to restrain him, too. Sometimes I wonder why I chose
to spare my parents by not telling them what happened between us. Was I afraid that they, like you, would be unable to believe me and would end up begging you to forgive me? Or did I keep my promise because of the accursed hope you held out to me?

Enough. Too much. Every word is superfluous. You can go back to mourning the man I never could mourn for.

Ofer