The Marrying of Chani Kaufman (19 page)

The Rebbetzin sighed. Her tea had gone cold. She had missed the final score. The screen flickered and spoke to her but she could not focus. She was for it now. Mrs Gottleib was the most reliable form of communication the community had. Her secret would reach Chaim before suppertime, she was sure of it.

 

She had been in the midst of scraping the remains of supper into the pedal bin, when Chaim approached her. Michal stood next to her, loading the dishwasher whilst Avromi chased Moishe around the table with a damp dishcloth.

‘Rivka, can I have a word next door please?'

She played for time. ‘Can't it wait? I'm clearing up!'

‘Now, please.' His voice was insistent and stern. She dropped the dirty cutlery into the sink and let the plates slide in with a clatter. She followed her husband into the lounge. He shut the door and turned to face her, his face a grim expression of biblical doom.

‘Please sit down.' He indicated the sofa but remained standing.

‘No, I'm not one of your Torah pupils, Chaim. Tell me what's going on.' She stood where she was, a tea towel dangling limply from her right hand.

‘I had a phone call today from Mrs Gottleib. She said she happened to be walking past the station when she saw you in the café, watching television.'

He stopped to glare at her.

‘So? So what? You took the telly away, I'm a grown up, I make my own decisions what I do with the small amount of spare time that I have. Besides, you never said don't watch television. You just removed ours from the house. That doesn't mean I can't watch it elsewhere.'

She knew that it did. She wanted to provoke him, this holy husband of hers. The Rebbetzin watched as his face went through several distortions as he attempted to master his anger.

‘You know
full
well you shouldn't be watching TV anywhere! How could you do this to me? To us? Don't you care about our reputation? Your reputation? This is so irresponsible of you, so selfish.'

‘SELFISH? I'll give you selfish! You're the selfish one. I've followed you blindly into Yiddishkeit, doing as you asked, forsaking many things that give me pleasure. I'm
sick
of being controlled like this. This was not what I bargained for.'

She spat out the words, not thinking of what she was saying. They welled up from deep inside her and she was borne away by her resentment.

Chaim's face crumpled. His shoulders slumped. ‘I thought we had made a pact to go into this life together. Why are you turning against it now? After all these years.'

‘I'm not turning against it.! It's just not like it was, at the start – in Jerusalem – where everything felt so alive, so meaningful. Here it's all about the surface – we have to be seen to be doing the right thing. I hate it. I feel like Big Brother's watching me all the time. Why can't I enjoy a bit of telly now and then? I'm a grown woman, for God's sake!'

‘Rivka!'

‘Sorry, Chaim – no, I'm not sorry! I don't believe HaShem would be offended by a bit of Blockbusters, would He? Come on, this is all so trivial! I do what really matters. I am a good person, a good Jew! I do my mitzvot, I daven. I go to the mikveh, to shul – what more do I need to do?'

They heard a creak outside the door. Chaim crept towards it and flung it open. The children hurled themselves up the stairs, falling over each other and giggling.

‘Kids! You should be in your rooms, doing your homework already!' he called up after them. He shut the door and turned back to her.

‘Great example you're setting our children. Say one thing, but do another. You need to be more careful. Go to another café, if you have to, go to one further away on the Finchley Road.'

‘No. I'm sick and tired of all this hiding and pretending. I'm not saying anything or doing anything. I'm just trying to live a little. Why can't we just be ourselves again? Like we were in Jerusalem before – before, everything else . . .'

Chaim sighed. He turned away, his hands in his pockets. ‘I know it's been hard for you, but we've made our choice and we have to stick with it.'

‘Well that's easy enough for you to say now that, you're the rabbinical flavour of the month.'

He winced. She felt cheap stooping so low, but the bitterness still seethed.

‘Well, I am sorry you feel like that. I've always counted on your support and love. I've tried to do my best by you and our children. I am sorry if the life I have provided is not to your liking.'

He turned towards the door and left the room. The Rebbetzin sank into the sofa and rubbed her eyes hard with the heel of her palms. She felt spiteful and petty, but the truth was hard. They had tiptoed around it for so long.

June 2008 – London

Chani hovered by the reception desk feeling foolish. The hotel clerk had offered his assistance in a neutral voice but his eyes had scanned her plain, shapeless outfit in a way that suggested he had come across her ilk before. Her restless manner and nervous glance had given away her purpose. He had left her in peace after that. And she had continued standing by the desk, clutching her handbag, starting at every hiss of the sliding doors.

The hotel foyer hummed with the force of the motorway just beyond the parking lot. Thick glass windows deadened the roar, but she could still feel a gentle vibration through the soles of her shoes. The floor shone reflecting the glare of the halogen spotlights above. She was on an island of gleaming chrome and white Formica, a combination so cold and clinical that she felt like she was in a hospital.

He was late. Chani checked her watch every few seconds. Out of the corner of her eye she saw movement at the bar. A man was standing at the dark wooden counter speaking to the barman. Her heart lurched. She sidled closer and hid behind a giant cheese plant. To her horror, she realised that she knew this man – he had been the dreary widower from her last shidduch. He was twenty years older than her and had rejected her on the premise that she had been too young and flighty, although he had seemed very keen on her youthful appeal before they had met.

A girl sat on a barstool facing a small circular table. She was short and rotund, her fat little legs dangling in mid-air. Her hair was a mass of auburn ringlets. Dinah Kahn, one of Chani's old classmates. Dinah turned sensing Chani's stare. Chani fled to the ladies. Where was Baruch? She knew she would have to re-emerge but the safety of solitude was a balm. She scrutinised her reflection and decided she was wearing too much lip-gloss. She wiped off the excess with tissue. Then feeling a little naked, she applied a fresh layer. Her eyes seemed brighter than ever but her face appeared flushed so she ran a tissue under the cold tap, and balling it up, used the soggy fibres to blot her skin. She glanced at her watch and panicked. She had to get back to the foyer.

She forced herself to exit the toilets calmly and blinked as her eyes adjusted to the grey light. He was there. A tall, thin young man dressed in a uniform black suit and white shirt leant against the reception desk. He pulled back his cuff to glance at his watch. Chani could not see his face. It was hidden by the brim of his hat.

She moved towards him. Baruch swivelled, alerted by the clip of her modest heels. He tried to smile but his facial muscles had frozen into a rictus grin. Chani approached and stopped at a respectful distance. She glanced up at him and then looked down at the floor. Baruch became horribly aware of his enormous feet. His brogues covered half the floor space between them.

‘Hi, I'm Baruch – '

‘Hello, are you Baruch?' Their voices collided, Baruch's emerging as a squeaky falsetto. Chani dug her nails into the palm of her hand to suppress the urge to shriek with laughter.

‘I'm sorry I'm late – I was just – ' he continued.

‘Oh no, not at all, it's fine – I was just,' rattled Chani.

‘ – stuck in traffic – '

‘ – in the ladies – ' She flushed scarlet. Talking about bodily functions was frowned upon and alluding to them on a shidduch was very bad form indeed. She was mortified.

Baruch beamed. ‘Oh never mind,' he said, ‘We're both here now.'

‘Yes, Baruch HaShem – ' said Chani hurriedly.

They stared at one another for a few seconds. With a rush of relief, Baruch recognised her as the girl from the wedding. He had agonised over what he would have done had it been the wrong girl. His fears allayed; he studied her as closely as manners would allow. He wanted to stare at places other than her face but disciplined himself. Her shape was hidden under layers of loose fabric. She was very pretty. Baruch admired Chani's translucent skin and full, pink mouth. But what was that stuck to her left cheek? It looked like a shred of tissue.

Very tall, thought Chani. Perhaps a little too tall. It was like standing under the shade of a thin, shaggy palm tree. She eyed the trio of pimples that clung to his jaw-line like limpets on a mossy rock. Perhaps if he grew his beard it may provide camouflage.

She smiled up at him, her neck cricked at an unnatural angle, revealing the small gap between her front teeth. The defect disconcerted Baruch, for he had dreamt of her as perfect, blemish-free, aware that his own imperfections were alarmingly obvious. She was real after all. He decided that her wonky teeth were charming.

‘Shall we go and sit down?' he suggested.

Chani nodded, suddenly mute. Her back prickled with the awareness that their entrance had been noted. Turning, she bestowed a regal nod upon Dina and her date and with her head held high she pattered after Baruch, delighting in the fact that the other couple had looked glummer than a plateful of cold Shabbes leftovers.

 

By the end of the date Baruch knew he wanted to see her again. There was a delightful pertness, a brightness about her that hovered behind her quiet smile. There were moments when it broke free and he saw a flash of mischief in her eyes before it vanished, hidden behind a veil of modesty. They covered all the usual topics: family, levels of observance, yeshiva, school and even their closest friendships. The conversation pattered back and forth, hesitant at first but with time the awkwardness eased. He sensed that Chani was holding herself back for there were instances when she had been about to elaborate but had let the subject drop.

He wanted to know everything about her. Riding home in a cab he stared unseeing at the flickering neon lights and the billboards that seemed to promise the world. Lulled by the drone of the North Circular he examined every nuance, every thread in order to glean another morsel. He tried to decipher every look and smile. Did she like him? She had given nothing away at their leave-taking. He agonised over whether he should have asked her out again then and there but that was not the form. But she had agreed to him calling her. That was indeed something.

Before he knew it the cab had deposited him outside his house. Light streamed onto the gravelled drive as he crunched up to the front door. He had forgotten about the security lights. His parents would be alerted to his return now. He would have to face them. He let himself in.

‘Baruch, is that you?' called his mother from the lounge.

‘Yes, Mum.'

‘Nu, how was it?'

He entered the lounge to find them seated closely on the sofa, gazing at him apprehensively.

‘It was great,' he beamed. Better leave it at that.

His parents exchanged a look. His mother had started to twitch. His father placed a steadying hand on her arm, which she swiftly removed. She began to vibrate.

‘So does that mean that you will see her again?' she enquired.

‘If she wants to see me, yes, I'd like to.' Baruch shifted from foot to foot. He had braced himself for the usual barrage but he wasn't ready to have his memory of the evening intruded upon or spoilt.

His father grunted. ‘What's she like then? Is she a nice girl?'

His mother eyed him like a hawk. He let his features fall into a bland, neutral expression.

‘Yes, she is a very nice girl. Very nice indeed.' That was all they were getting. He turned towards the door. ‘Night then.'

‘But are you going to – ' spluttered his mother behind him.

‘Enough, Berenice, let him go to bed. The boy needs his rest. Tomorrow we'll talk. Yes, Baruch?'

‘Yes Dad.' The lie slid out easily. He had no intention of discussing Chani in detail with them. She was his, or at least his choice and he had no desire to contaminate his impression of her.

Shutting the door quietly behind him, hearing the uneasy mutter of their voices, he sprang up the stairs and finding himself in the welcome privacy of his room, flung himself onto the bed where he laid hands behind his head, grinning up at the ceiling.

 

Chani was not so sure. Baruch appeared perfectly pleasant, courteous and keen. But was she attracted to him? The pimples and the nerdy glasses still bothered her, as did the alarming difference in height. In his favour, he had pulled out her chair for her, listened intently and smiled warmly at her feeble jokes. It had become easier and easier to talk. She had felt comfortable with him. If only he were better looking.

She entered the kitchen where her parents were seated. The remains of dinner lay strewn across the plastic tablecloth. Her father was craned over a book and did not notice her come in. Her mother had Yona in her lap and was flicking through a recipe book. Yona blinked sleepily at her.

‘How was it?' her mother asked.

‘Um, it was good. I think. I'm not sure.'

‘Not sure? Yankel, Chani went on a shidduch and she's not sure.' Her mother elbowed her father in the ribs. He lifted his head from his book and stared mistily at her.

‘Oh yes, any luck? Nice boy? Do we know him?'

‘The shadchan knows the family,' replied Mrs Kaufman.

‘Good, good, the unstoppable Mrs Gelb­mann, eh? What would we do without her?' Having made the right noises he turned back to his book.

‘Why aren't you sure, Chani-leh? Does he like you?'

‘I think so. He asked if he could ring me.' It
was
a little thrilling to have a boy chasing her.

‘So give the poor boy a chance. Is he a mensch?'

‘How can I tell, Mum? I've only known him for five minutes.'

‘I knew your father was a mensch the minute I laid eyes on him.'

Rabbi Kaufman leant closer towards his book. His nose was almost touching the page. She knew he was pretending not to hear to avoid being dragged into the conversation.

‘Yankel!' Mrs Kaufman employed her elbow again.

Her husband looked up dazedly.

‘Yankel, she's not sure, your daughter. Tell her something.'

‘About what?'

‘The boy she has just met! Oy Yankel! Why don't you listen a little? Your daughter has been on a shidduch and the boy wants to call her but she isn't sure.' Yona squirmed in her mother's lap so she let her down. She pattered towards Chani, hauling on her skirt to be picked up.

Her father stroked his beard thoughtfully.

‘Mum, leave Dad alone.'

‘What is it you're not sure about?' he asked.

‘What he looks like. He's very tall; much taller than me. I feel silly next to him and . . .'

She felt embarrassed to go on.

‘Nu?' cried Mrs Kaufman.

‘He has spots.'

‘Spots! What are a few spots in a husband? You silly girl!' Her mother's jowls quivered with indignation.

‘Mum! It was my shidduch and it's my decision!' snapped Chani.

‘Leah-leh, if she's not sure, she's not sure. She's right. Let her decide for herself.'

‘But she's nineteen already,' whined Mrs Kaufman.

‘Mum, please don't – not tonight – '

‘What is nineteen? A number that's all. Let her live a little,' advised Rabbi Kaufman.

‘And so she will be on my head all my life. Unmarried. Has Veh Sholem! Now let me tell you something, Chani-leh. You are going to give this boy a chance.'

Chani rolled her eyes.

‘He likes you. And he's an Or Yerushaliyim student. So don't look a gift pony – '

‘Horse,' corrected her father.

‘ – in the mouth,' finished her mother, giving him a grateful nod.

‘Ok, ok, I will think about it. Now if you don't mind, I'll go to bed.'

Chani turned to escape when her father murmured, ‘Or Yerushaliyim, did you say?'

‘Yes, Dad, he's got a place there starting next year.'

‘Most impressive,' her father ruminated. ‘The place did not exist when I went to Jerusalem to study but I would have loved the chance to study there. He must be very talented, your young man.'

‘He's not my young man!'

Rabbi Kaufman grinned. ‘Give him a chance, Chani. These young men have not been so kind to you, remember.'

‘You should listen to your father!' sang Mrs Kaufman.

Chani sighed. She was too tired to react. ‘I know, Dad. Night, everyone.'

Detaching herself from Yona, she dragged herself up the stairs wondering whether Baruch's skin would improve with time. Admonishing herself for being so superficial, she determined to give him another chance if he called her.

 

In truth, he would have been happier to carry on simply getting to know her. He knew that he could not date her ad infinitum. He had to make a decision or she would feel slighted. Three dates, possibly four, was the limit. Some couples got engaged after merely two – a terrifying concept but perfectly acceptable in the community's eyes.

It did not bother him that she had not attended sem. She had given her reasons and he had accepted them; he had not probed, not wishing to appear impolite. She was very bright and he sensed that she was hiding her light under a bushel. On no occasion had he sensed an intellectual gap between them, but there were moments when he had caught her looking at him strangely. He had even gone so far as to ask her if anything was wrong and she had hurriedly looked down, brushing aside his enquiry. He sensed that she was assessing him and he had squirmed under her scrutiny, feeling horribly self-conscious about his physical flaws. Silently he had pleaded with HaShem to make Chani like him even if he liked her more. He sought comfort in the fact that she had agreed to go on three dates with him.

There was only one way to find out. First he needed to inform his parents of his intentions, a task he was dreading. However there was no law that prohibited him marrying Chani. If she accepted and the rabbis agreed, nothing could deter them from entering wedlock. Not even his parents. However much he loved and revered them, he was prepared to sacrifice their desires to his own. He was confident that they would come round to Chani once they had met her.