The Beauty Queen of Jerusalem (11 page)

“‘Hijo querido,' she told him, ‘it's time we made a wedding for you.'

“He didn't resist and didn't argue. He knew his time had come, but of all the girls he knew, there wasn't one he liked. While friends and relatives his own age had married one after the other, and Moshe, his friend who was like a brother, had married in America, and Clara and I, who were both younger than him, were also married, Gabriel remained a bachelor. He gave his consent to our mother, and right away she started on the task of finding his bride.

“‘In two months we'll have a wedding,' she told her husband. ‘All the girls in Jerusalem are standing in line for your son.' She knew her son was a desirable groom. He came from a respected family whose financial situation was far better than that of most families in Ohel Moshe, Mazkeret Moshe, Nahalat Shiva, Sukkat Shalom, and the Old City together. He was good-looking, educated, and he'd lived in America. She took her time and visited the homes of many young girls. Girls of sixteen and seventeen from wealthy and respectable homes were first on the list, and afterward she narrowed them down based on their appearance. A girl who was too thin was immediately disqualified; one who dared to raise her head and look her straight in the eye was considered too forward; an educated girl was also frowned upon. They, she told herself, are not sufficiently obedient and certainly won't submit to my authority. She also judged the prospective brides by the refreshments served in their homes. Those who served tea and bizcocho were disqualified, but if they set a full table for her and the prospective bride's mother kept on filling it with delicacies, and both mother and daughter urged her to taste this and taste that until she was sated, the candidate would immediately be advanced on the list.

“‘I'll find the best bride, the most beautiful of all the Jerusalem girls,' she told Raphael when she came home exhausted from another round of visits. ‘I shall choose the girl who is to be the mother of my grandchildren, and I'll scrutinize her until I deem her worthy of joining the Ermosa family.'”

*   *   *

“Raphael was sitting in his usual place in the shop doorway. After many days of rain the sun had finally come out and its warm rays caressed his face. The strong fragrance of freshly picked oranges from the coastal groves mixed with the aroma of spices and the smell of fresh vegetables, fish, and meat. The familiar scent of the market filled his nostrils, and as Raphael drank them in, he felt happiness spread through him.

“Then he saw them approaching: an older woman dressed in black from head to toe, limping and clasping the hand of a younger one, whose blond hair was twisted in two braids around her head. Something about them drew his attention, and his eyes followed them until they stopped in front of the shop. When the older woman's eyes caught his, his heart skipped a beat.
Dio que me mate
, may God strike me dead. He felt the blood pounding in his temples and gripped the arms of his chair. He recognized her with certainty. The woman's body was slightly hunched and thin, her face wrinkled, but her eyes, even though they were somewhat dulled, were the same blue eyes that had first bewitched him twenty years earlier. He inhaled deeply. Upon meeting his stare, the woman had immediately looked away, grabbing the girl's hand and urging her to quicken her pace, but by the time Raphael was back to breathing normally, the two women were again in front of the shop, arguing in Yiddish. The young girl wanted to go in, but the older woman was hesitant. Suddenly the girl raised her eyes and stood as if transfixed. Raphael followed her gaze to see what had caught her attention, and then, fearful, he saw that it was Gabriel.

“From behind the counter, Gabriel's eyes locked onto the girl's and his jaw dropped. The knife that he had been using a moment earlier to slice cheese seemed suspended in midair. Raphael looked back at the girl, and to his amazement she didn't avert her eyes from Gabriel's gaze as she should have. Dio santo, she's bewitching him, the awful thought flashed through his mind. The way her mother bewitched me. It all happened in a second. Soon enough the mother was dragging her daughter out of the shop, but the girl turned her head as she was pulled away, not taking her eyes off Gabriel, who was standing as if paralyzed. Gabriel immediately regained his composure and started after them, but he was stopped by Raphael's thunderous voice. ‘
Donde vas?
Where are you going?' Gabriel didn't answer and went back to his place behind the counter. They didn't speak about what had transpired, about the woman and her daughter. And for the first time since he had married her, Raphael didn't share what had happened in the shop that day with Mercada.

“That night Raphael was beside himself and didn't sleep a wink. The image of the dybbuk from Safed remained before his eyes. Despite the oaths he had sworn, he found himself thinking about her again and again. She had come here with her daughter, hija de una putana, to haunt him and his son. He would not let that happen. He'd drive her out of the market if he had to. Anyway, maybe it was all just in his head. Maybe he was only suspicious of his son because of what he himself had felt all those years ago. He sighed and asked himself what he would tell Mercada if his restlessness woke her up. But she was sound asleep, never imagining that this was the last night she would sleep peacefully.”

*   *   *

“That hadn't been the first time Rochel had spotted Gabriel in the market. But since they never went into Raphael Ermosa & Sons, Delicatessen—they could only afford the basics—Rochel had otherwise only seen him from a distance. If her father found out she'd been looking at a man, and a Sephardi one at that, he'd cut off her braids and lock her up in the house until she died.

“Rochel was considered to be a strange girl. Unlike her sisters, she disobeyed her mother and refused to help with the housework or look after her little brothers. For most of the day she'd sit on the steps and stare dazedly at the children playing in the yard or at the women hanging their washing on the line.

“‘Rochel,
kim aher,
' her mother would call, but she'd pretend not to hear, and her mother's words would be lost to the sounds of the students' praying in the nearby yeshiva and the hubbub of the yard.

“‘Rochel,
kim aher,
' the children would mimic her mother and pull her braids. What hadn't her parents done to drive out the evil spirit that possessed her! Her father brought a Kabbalist from Safed to exorcise the dybbuk, but she'd resisted, stomping her foot and screaming like a lunatic until they were forced to tie her to her bed. With her parents' consent, her big brother beat her, but that hadn't helped either. In the end, Rochel realized that she would do well to cooperate with her parents and agreed to go to the strange old Spaniol woman in the Old City for livianos treatment.

“Rochel hadn't been able to stop thinking about the man in the market, his broad, white smile, the dimples creasing his cheeks. She could feel her heart pounding when she thought about him, the blood climbing through her veins and flushing her face. And she, who always preferred sitting on the steps and staring at the sky, she, who refused to help her mother with the washing, cleaning, and taking care of her little brothers, now she jumped to carry her mother's basket to the market for the Shabbat shopping each week.

“One day, when her mother stopped at the Arab woman who sold oranges, she sneaked away and stood outside the shop as if examining the sacks of dried fruit, every now and then glancing at the handsome man behind the counter. She blushed when she saw him smile at customers and the two dimples on his cheeks deepen. Before she even heard her mother calling, she moved to slip away so he wouldn't notice her. But he
did
notice her, and their eyes met. She saw how his brow furrowed as he unashamedly studied her. And she, instead of averting her eyes, stared back at him! If her father or brothers had seen her, they would have beaten her half to death. If her mother had understood what was happening in her wildly beating heart, she would have sheared off her braids, shaved her head, and sent her to the Ratisbonne Monastery to live with the nuns, as she'd threatened so many times in the past.

“And now that Rochel had caught his eye, she was determined to go back. The following day, while her mother was busy in the kitchen and her sisters were looking after their little brothers, she crossed Mea Shearim Street, hugging the walls and praying she wouldn't run into her father or big brother or, God forbid, a relative or friend, and walked to the Mahane Yehuda Market.

“The shop was full of customers, so nobody noticed Rochel standing by the counter waiting her turn. Not even Gabriel, who was busy attending to shoppers. And then, when her turn came, he looked at her and almost fainted at the sight of those blue eyes boring straight into his. He was beside himself. He was dumbstruck.

“‘How may I help you?' he asked nervously.

“She didn't reply but continued staring at him, not taking her eyes from his for a second.

“‘Olives, cheese, pickled herring?'

She shook her head to decline.

“‘Heideh, girl, I don't have all day,' said the woman behind her.

“Gabriel took a handful of pink sugared almonds and put them into her hand, and his touch sent a shiver down her spine. She quickly closed her fist around the sweets, and without a word of thanks and without paying, she left the shop.

“She sat for a long time on the steps of the nearby Alliance School. She wasn't tired, hungry, or thirsty. She wasn't thinking about her parents, who were probably going out of their mind with worry and searching for her all over Mea Shearim, or about the beating she'd get from her brother when she got home. In the afternoon she witnessed the old man arrive and sit in the wooden chair in the shop doorway, rolling amber worry beads between finger and thumb the way the Arabs did. A few hours later she saw how, after drinking several cups of tea and chatting with passersby and his son, who came to the door every now and then, the old man got up and, leaning on his cane, went on his way. She waited as toward evening the other workers took the sacks and barrels inside, removed their aprons, and then left.

“The market emptied of shoppers, the stallholders and shopkeepers locked up their merchandise, the Arab peddlers went back to their villages, and then, when the red ball of the sun lingered in the west, he finally came out of the shop, bolted the heavy wooden doors, and headed away. She emerged from her hiding place and followed him.

“When Gabriel heard footsteps behind him, he turned his head, and their eyes met. The last of the sun's rays kissed her face, and he recalled how, long ago, he'd had asked his mother what God looked like, and she replied, ‘Like golden light.'

“She quickly turned around and started walking away. He didn't know what roused him from his daze, but he followed the blue-eyed girl until they reached the Alliance School yard, his feet moving of their own volition. His heart thumped as she sat down on the steps and looked up at him. Gabriel was a man who controlled his urges, but what he felt at that moment was unlike anything he had felt in his life.

“On more than one occasion he'd had sinful thoughts, but he had never been carried away by them. He remembered how, as he and Moshe were strolling down Fifth Avenue on a spring Shabbat in New York, his eyes had fixed on the slim ankles of a young woman in a light, airy dress and sheer silk stockings. He felt such a rush of desire it gave him goose bumps, and he was unable to take his eyes off the ankles until his friend nudged him and said, ‘Try not to trample the young lady.' He noticed the beauty of women and wondered more than once about what their dresses concealed, imagining their curvaceous bodies under the flowing fabric, lightly grazing their intimate parts. But he held back.

“Moshe, on the other hand, had the courage to speak directly to women. One evening, when each of them came back from work to their miserable room, Moshe suggested they go to the public bathhouse.

“‘What's the occasion?' Gabriel asked him. ‘It's not Shabbat eve.'

“‘It's a special night,' Moshe replied. ‘Tonight we're going to the bathhouse and then to the bordello.'

“Gabriel stopped what he was doing and looked at Moshe in astonishment. Not that he hadn't toyed with the idea of visiting the bordello, the single-story building in the Bowery whose heavy drapes hid what went on inside, allowing only the sound of voices and music to escape. Sometimes when they passed it on their way to the bathhouse he'd see inebriated men leaving, accompanied by full-bosomed, heavily made-up women with plunging necklines. But the distance between thought and action was great.

“‘Go and enjoy yourself,' he told Moshe. ‘I'm going to bed.'

“Moshe laughed. He loved his friend like a brother. When would the troncho notice that women wanted him even more than he desired them? When would he realize that it was time to free his lust and that it was not a sin, despite what their teachers at the Talmud Torah school had told them over and over again? But he knew Gabriel wouldn't be tempted, so he didn't try to persuade him.

“Moshe became a regular customer of the bordello. Gabriel, despite his curiosity and Moshe's repeated urging, chose to hold his lust in check. Even nowadays, when he stood behind the counter in the market and women made eyes at him, he would avert his own. Not that he didn't notice them. He saw them enter the shop, some thickly fleshed and clumsy, some thin, others with thighs as round as the hills that adorned Jerusalem. The girl now seated on the Alliance School steps was unlike any of them. Her body was slim with not an ounce of surplus flesh, her hands were long and slender, and her small breasts were like a child's. She was wearing a long-sleeved black dress and black stockings that hid her legs. Only her slender neck, her angelic face, and her golden braids were exposed, but he could imagine the pure white skin beneath her clothing. As he sat there in the dark with this blue-eyed girl, he knew his mother, father, and brothers were surely worried and that he must say good-bye and go home right away. But it was as if someone had nailed his feet to the ground, and he stood there, drowning in her eyes. The sun had long since set, and the Jerusalem sky was sown with stars. He would not be saying the evening prayer in the synagogue this night. Time seemed to stand still until she suddenly started, her whole body trembling.