Washing the Dead (29 page)

“You’re here now.”

“My rage is leaking out of me like a poisonous gas.”

“Who are you angry with?”

“Lili’s friend Taylor, for starters.” I folded my arms over my chest. “She’s bad news.”

“Who else?”

“Neil’s wife, Jenny.”

“Jenny?” She looked amused and curious at the same time.

“Yes, the nicest person I’ve ever met.” I almost laughed at the absurdity of my fury, particularly given the weight of everything else that loomed.

“I want to forgive my mother for the Shabbos goy and everything else, but I don’t know how.”

“You’ve opened old wounds. You’re raw.” The rebbetzin was smoothing out her skirt with quick motions.

I stared up at the chandelier, its crystals hanging like icicles, and imagined it casting light on my mother and her brother as they played hide-and-seek or greeted company in matching sailor suits.

“Why was she so secretive about growing up here?” I asked.

“She gave us this gift anonymously, the highest form of a mitzvah. Nobody is supposed to know that you performed this holy deed. It’s a bit like the tahara.”

“But at the cost of denying her children the knowledge of their heritage?”

I didn’t push further. Revealing my scandalous mother as the one who’d donated the mansion would have damaged the Schines’ reputation, I knew that.

“I want to ask you something else.” I reached into my purse for the copy of the photo I’d been carrying around and showed it to her.

She held it at a distance so she could see it without her reading glasses. “Hmm … your uncle Norman?”

“Yes.”

She examined the photo more carefully. “How young they were.”

“The Shabbos goy had this picture when he lived here. I saw it when I went to yell at him about hurting my mom.”

The rebbetzin ran her fingers over my mother’s image. “We barely spoke of him.”

“Barely?”

“Your mother only revealed what she wanted to.”

How true. “Can you tell me what you know?”

“I wish there were more I could tell you.” The rebbetzin wasn’t going to say anything else about the Shabbos goy.

My leg started jiggling like Lili’s had in Felix’s office. I folded the photo and put it back in my purse. “I’m a mess.”

“Remember what God told Abraham to do before he could lead a great and blessed nation?” The confidence was returning to the rebbetzin’s voice.

My brain directed me back to fifth-grade Judaics class, in which Rabbi Lichtenberg doled out stale lemon drops to those of us who could parse Genesis. “Go forth for yourself, by yourself, into yourself,” I said.

“Give this girl a piece of candy.” She smiled and looked deep into my eyes.

Her acknowledgment of this intimate piece of our past made me feel less broken. I wanted her to know about all the pieces. If I handed them to her, chipped and misshapen, maybe she could put them together in a way that made sense. She put her hand on mine and listened intently as I went forth into myself and recounted the story of Simone and Daniel.

15

January 1975

W
hen I left for San Diego the second time, I walked through the airport alone, smarter and steelier and wearing my sledding jeans. My heart had opened during my few weeks back home, and now it was tightening back up like a fist.

The plane took off, and I watched Milwaukee disappear, proud that I’d paid for my ticket by myself. I stuck my hand into my bag and pulled out a pen and a piece of paper.

Dear Tzippy,

I’m sorry I left town before your wedding. I was going to come; I’d even bought a new dress. I thought that everything with my mom had changed while I was working for the Levensteins, but it hadn’t. My mom is still with the Shabbos goy, and your mom is still acting like it doesn’t matter. Your mom was right; I’m not safe in Milwaukee.

I don’t expect you to forgive me for breaking my promise to you. I won’t write you any more letters. You should start your new life without carrying the shame of my family with you. I will simply drift from your life, and soon you will be so busy making a new home and then babies that you won’t think of me.

My heart is aching as I write this. My planets and constellations
are so out of place that I couldn’t find the Big Dipper if I wanted to. You were always my Big Dipper, by the way.

Love,

Barbara

I swallowed the lump in my throat, crumpled the letter, and gave it to the flight attendant when she came around to take our drink orders. The man sitting next to me took the opportunity to introduce himself. “Hi, I’m Chip,” he said. He was clean-shaven, with brown eyes and thinning blond hair. We ate peanuts and sipped Cokes from clear plastic cups while we chatted about life in Milwaukee. He described his small apartment on the east side, just a mile or two south of my father’s office, a few blocks and a whole world away from my life. He spoke of cookouts and learning to sail from a “buddy” who belonged to the Milwaukee Yacht Club. He used the word buddy often and tapped my forearm to punctuate his thoughts

“How about you?” Chip asked when he finally came up for air.

“Oh, I’m taking some time off before college. I’m going to be a nanny for the cutest four-year-old ever, and then I’m going to college to study early childhood development. I’m going to be a teacher. I love kids.” I’d just mapped out the next five years of my life.

“To you, Miss Teacher.” Chip smiled.

“And to you, Mr. Yachtsman.”

When the plane landed, Simone and Ollie were waiting at the gate holding a big cardboard sign with “Welcome Barbara!” in block letters and squiggly blue and green lines Ollie had drawn in the corners.

“My savior! I’m so glad you’re here.” Simone squeezed me hard as Ollie encircled my legs with his tanned little arms.

“Hi, Ollie.” I picked him up and held him, grateful for the chance to take care of him and to regain my footing.

“Look at you, Barbara. I’ve never seen you in anything but
those long skirts.” Simone unabashedly appraised me.

On the way to her car, I almost felt like a native, not the nunnish girl who had stepped off the plane to meet Rabbi Levenstein seven months earlier. The sun warmed my forearms and biceps, skin that I couldn’t expose the last time I was here, and the warm wind tousled my hair. This time I had no desire to fly back home.

“I’ll sit in the back with Ollie,” I said.

He climbed on my lap. “When are you going home?”

Simone started the car. “That’s not a nice question, Ollie.”

I understood his question. Mrs. Kessler once told me that four-year-olds have no sense of time, so he was just trying to orient himself. “I’m not sure, Ollie, but I’m really happy to be here.”

“Ditto on that,” Simone said.

We talked all the way to what Simone had described as her modernized dreamy Spanish bungalow, tucked into the hills overlooking La Jolla Shores. The Coxes were renting it from a sociology professor on sabbatical in Bolivia, one of Daniel’s steady customers at the bookstore he managed. The Levensteins only lived a few miles away, but the dull sameness of their condo complex contrasted sharply with this winding-road neighborhood where every house looked unique.

The outer walls of the bungalow were mainly glass, and the kitchen, dining area, and living room opened into a large airy space. Wooden plates with drawings of oranges, eggplants, and melons hung on rust-colored stucco walls. The house smelled like something was frying, but I couldn’t pinpoint what. A tall, lean man, barefoot in a faded blue T-shirt and shorts, stood over the stove with a spatula in his hand.

“Daniel, come meet Barbara,” Simone called out, and when he didn’t come instantly, she went to the kitchen and led him to the hallway. “Here she is,” she said as if she’d done nothing but talk about me for months.

“Hello, Barbara.” He smiled at me, and I recognized Ollie’s dimple in his cheek and the Robert Redford jaw. He was more handsome than his photo by far. Mira would have called him a
fox. “Kind of a critical moment here with the tortillas, or I’d shake your hand!”

Simone smiled. “I wanted to invite you for dinner after all the naps I bummed off you at the beach, but I didn’t think it would fly with the Levensteins.” She gave me a spontaneous hug. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

Daniel fried the tortillas until they were gold and crispy. “Hope you’re hungry, Barbara,” he said with a wink as he stacked them on a paper towel.

Simone guided me to a nice-size room on the side of the house. “I wish you had your own entrance, but don’t worry about using the front door if you have a late night.”

I’d never had a late night in my life. Maybe I’d whoop it up with Sari, whom I could picture neither nausea-free nor unpregnant. I washed my face with pink soap that smelled like strawberries and ran a comb through my hair.

Simone had set the table with two fat candles in the center. Ollie patted a chair next to his, and I sat down.

“Daddy made toasted does,” he announced.

“That’s tostados, sweetie,” Simone corrected him. “I hope you like Mexican food, Barbara.”

“I’m sure I will.” I’d never tasted Mexican food. One of Daniel’s fried tortillas sat on my plate, and I followed Simone’s lead by loading it up with refried beans, chicken, shredded lettuce, tomatoes, and a chunky green dip. I passed on the cheese, already feeling guilty about the non-kosher meat I was about to eat.

“Daniel cooks on Sundays,” Simone explained.

“That’s when we eat tostados,” Ollie piped up.

Simone clapped her hands. “That’s right, Ollie. Tostados. You said it perfectly.”

Daniel smiled mischievously. “Now let’s try ‘quesadilla’.”

“Kissed a lily,” Ollie said earnestly.

Daniel chuckled and patted his head. “You’ll get it.”

Tostados, I said to myself. Tostados. Quesadilla. I’d only ever heard of tacos.

“Rosa, one of our old babysitters, used to speak Spanish to Ollie all the time, and I think he understood a great deal.” Simone rolled her R when she pronounced Rosa’s name.

“What happened to her?” I asked.

“She got pregnant and had a hard time with her morning sickness, like Sari,” Simone said.

“And yours was bad too.” Daniel touched Simone’s wrist. “You were a real trouper.”

“Maybe next time will be different.” A shadow of wistfulness passed over Simone’s face.

Daniel bolted to the fridge. “Forgot to offer our guest a beverage.”

Before I could say anything, he opened two long, skinny bottles of beer and handed one to Simone and the other to me. I held it for a minute, wondering what the rebbetzin would think of me drinking alcohol and eating traif, non-kosher food, and then I put it to my lips and without ceremony sipped my first beer. It tasted like yeasty carbonation, not altogether unpleasant. I took another sip and then another.

Oil and corn melted on my tongue, and the copper-colored beans tasted better than any cholent I’d ever had. The crisp iceberg lettuce added a refreshing texture to the dish. I hadn’t eaten all day, and I was starving. I wanted a third toasted doe, but I stopped after two, content drinking the rest of my beer.

I instinctively wiped Ollie’s hands as he wiggled from his seat and ran off to play with his blocks. “I can put him down so you two can be together,” I offered.

“You’ve had a long trip,” Daniel said. “We won’t put you to work just yet.”

I marveled that I felt so at ease with Daniel and Simone. The candles burned, and a man with a high voice sang of tin soldiers and Nixon and four dead in Ohio. The beer relaxed me, and I could have sat with them forever. We lingered around the table until a few minutes after ten o’clock. It was after midnight in Milwaukee, and I had officially turned nineteen.

16

O
n a damp February morning, I was combing my hair in the bathroom when I heard a knock on my bedroom door.

“I have a shirt for you,” Simone called.

“Thanks!” I replied, too shy to come out of the bathroom in my towel.

Simone had left a soft lime-green shirt on my bed. I slipped it over my head. My crew-neck T-shirts hid everything but my arms, but this one dipped below my collarbone, and the air felt cool against my exposed skin like it did against my teeth did after I got my braces off.

Ollie was sitting at the breakfast table drinking orange juice when I finally mustered the nerve to leave my bedroom. “You look like Mommy,” he said.

I wanted to look like Simone. Heck, I wanted to be Simone.

“It looks way better on you,” she said. “That shade of green is putrid on me. Now turn around.”

I obeyed.

“See, it pulled around my shoulders. You’re much smaller than me.” Simone looked pleased with herself.

Daniel came in, and I felt red splotches blooming on my chest.

“You look pretty, Barbara,” he said.