Miriam's Well (26 page)

“Miss Pelham, off the record, to what do you attribute your astonishing cure?”

I felt the eyes of Brother James at the back of my head. “The Lord,” I said meekly.

“Hogwash,” replied the judge.

“Well, sir, you asked me.”

“I did indeed. Counsel, is it true that Miss Pelham has received aggressive therapy for her tumor?”

“Yes, Your Honor, a full cycle of the drug Cytocel and ten radiation treatments.”

I felt Brother James stir behind me and was afraid he would rise to confront the judge.

“Did you receive any other forms of therapy, Miss Pelham?”

“A nurse practiced Therapeutic Touch, but I'm not sure—”

“Well, for the record I want it made clear that the young woman received a variety of conventional and alternative forms of treatment, and at this time there is no sign of disease. I will ask that Miss Pelham undergo a full battery of diagnostic tests at six-month intervals for the next four years, at which time she becomes twenty-one. If nothing turns up, the case will be dismissed. If there's evidence that the disease has recurred, I want the principals back in court immediately. Miss Pelham's to be returned to her family. Any questions?”

Brother James stood up. “One question, Your Honor. Might you concede that Miriam Pelham has been healed by the hand of God?”

“You are?”

“Brother James Davies, sir, preacher of Sword and the Spirit Church.”

“Well, Reverend Davies, I would say to you that it is not up to this court to make that judgment. I will leave that to a higher court, and I do not mean the Supreme Court, sir, I mean the Highest Court, and that's all I can say if I intend to uphold the First Amendment of the United States Constitution. Next case.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Told by Adam

They'd gone together since high school and had been engaged for a year, but now that Eric and Karen were getting married, my mother couldn't stop crying.

“Is this the thanks I get for marking all his clothes when he went to camp? He goes off with another woman?”

My dad said, “It just isn't kosher for a person to marry her own son, Abby.” I think he was losing patience with my mother and with his tux that didn't button the way it had when we were all fitted after Thanksgiving. Yanking at his cuffs, he said, “Please, Abby, pull yourself together.”

“I'll be all right. I'll be fine.” My mother blew a juicy one into a tissue. “I promise you won't have to carry me out of the synagogue on a stretcher.” She tugged at the buckle on the back of my cummerbund. “You're not ever going to get married, are you Adam?”

“Not so tight, Mom. I can't breathe.”

“Tell me you'll never get married, and I'll loosen it. Oh God. I'll be all right. I'll get it out of my system now, so I won't make a fool of myself during the ceremony.” She went off to her dressing table to soak up a few more tears.

I have to admit, I was impressed with the image of the guy in my parents' full-length mirror. There he stood, long and lean, in a gray tux with a purple bow tie and a purple cummerbund, and a pleated shirt that didn't have buttons but fastened with fake diamond studs. I was transformed. I was Tom Selleck, Tom Cruise, all the great Toms of Hollywood.

“These blasted studs,” muttered Dad. “Abby, help.”

I pulled away from the mirror and took a few stiff steps in the black patent leather shoes. Not comfortable. Already my big toes were rubbing against the shoe leather. But how the total package looked was all that counted.

“Gorgeous,” my mother said.

“I'm going to go pick up Miriam.”

“Don't be late for the pictures. You know how Karen's family lives by the clock.”

“That's because Karen's a dairy farmer,” Dad said. “You've got to milk the cows at a certain time or they explode.”

“I just never dreamed I'd raise a son to live with pigs and goats,” Mom said, her voice going up a couple of octaves.

“Oh-oh, there she goes again. Adam, get out of here. I've got to shake some sense into your mother.”

I glanced back as I left their room. My father held my mother in his arms, and they were both crying. I thought then that Eric and Karen would be lucky if they could be as close as my mom and dad, twenty-six years after their wedding.

I couldn't believe how beautiful Miriam looked. She still wasn't wearing any make-up, but her face glowed with color, and her eyes were as lively as they'd been that day she gave testimony at her church. She wore her hair pulled back and held at her neck with a big black bow. Little wispy curls fell in front of her ears. And the dress—it was a sort of ivory color with a high lace collar and long sleeves with lacey cuffs. Diana, of course, would never have been caught dead in anything like it, but it was perfect for Miriam, and it didn't make me sneeze.

“You look dashing, Adam. I'm used to you in jeans.”

“Jeans are a lot more comfortable,” I said, helping her into the car. She was very careful not to wrinkle her dress. She wore black patent leather shoes, sort of like mine, but hers had small heels and were probably a lot more comfortable.

She sat close to me in the car, using the middle seat belt instead of the one by her window. “It's been a long time since that day with Vincent van Gogh's ear,” she said in a kind of faraway voice. Then reality struck. “Where are we going? Are you sure you can find this place? I remember your incredible sense of direction the day we went to the Indian Center.”

“Of course I can find the synagogue. I had my bar mitzvah there, and the wedding rehearsal last night, and was over to see the rabbi for my essay.” I watched the streets carefully, so I wouldn't make a wrong turn.

“I've never been in a synagogue, Adam. Do I have to do anything in particular, like kneel or anything?”

“No, that's the Catholics, not us.”

“Do I have to bow or kiss the ground?”

“No, that's the Buddhists and the Muslims. Just act natural.”

“And who will I sit with while you're up there being Eric's best man?”

I thought about that one a minute, and then it came to me. “With Eric's favorite teacher from Eisenhower, Mrs. Loomis.”

“Oh, no, she's going to be there? Did I tell you I met a table that looked like her, out at the farmhouse?”

We posed for as many family pictures as possible without the bride and groom, while Miriam watched from the back of the sanctuary. During some of the shots of Karen's family, Miriam asked me, “Where are Eric and Karen?”

“It's supposed to be bad luck if they see each other before the ceremony. Isn't it the same in your church?”

“No, I don't think so. Your synagogue is lovely, Adam. It looks a lot like a church, but different. What's that lamp that hangs over the altar?”

“It's called the
ner tamid
, which means eternal light. It's kind of like the light in the refrigerator, only it doesn't go out when you close the door.”

“This way, smile, smile, lady in the back, shift a little to the side. Bee-yoo-tee-ful!” bellowed the photographer.

“And what's behind those tapestry doors?” asked Miriam.

“That's where we keep the Torahs. Each one has the Five Books of Moses in it.”

“Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers, and Deuteronomy.” Miriam rattled them off like a nursery rhyme.

“Right, I guess. But they're in Hebrew, and they're rolled up on two wooden poles, like scrolls, and they're all hand-painted and hand-sewn. Some little man in New York doesn't do anything else in his whole life but write Torahs. You could spend half your life doing just one.”

“I'd like to see a Torah. Can I?”

I wasn't sure what Rabbi Fein would say about that, but at least I didn't have to answer, because my dad whistled for me. “The groom needs you, Adam. He's having an identity crisis.”

“I've got to find Eric. Will you be okay?”

“Oh, sure. I'll just watch for the Great Wall of China.”

We marched down the aisle to some slow music played by the
klezmer
musicians from Kansas City. Karen's sister Janet was the maid of honor, and we had to walk in together. She was at least four inches taller than me and took bigger steps. My feet were already killing me, but I had to look like I was having a good time and also count beats so I wouldn't screw up the whole wedding procession. When we passed Miriam's row, I rolled my eyes, and she smiled back.

It's hard to believe that it took a year to plan the wedding and fifteen minutes for it to be done with. At least it had something for everybody. To please my parents, they were allowed to walk Eric down the aisle. The bride and groom stood under the same
chupah
, or wedding canopy, that Karen's parents had stood under at their own wedding. To satisfy the great-grandmothers on both sides, Karen circled Eric seven times, according to the Jewish Orthodox tradition. And to please Eric and Karen, they wrote the whole ceremony themselves, so it wasn't as sappy as it might have been.

Rabbi Fein said, “This bride and this bridegroom who stand before us to proclaim their devotion to one another …”

I tried to focus in on the words, but I was concentrating really hard on details, like where I was supposed to stand, when I was supposed to come forward, and which pocket I'd hidden the ring in. Every so often I looked down at the congregation, especially at my mother, who maintained a bright little smile and never got hysterical, and at Miriam. I wished I could have been next to her, to explain what was going on.

A college friend of Karen's sang some song about fig trees and vines and fruit. It didn't make much sense to me, but it was supposed to be very romantic and sexy, from the Song of Songs. Then she sang an Israeli song, “
Erev Shel Shoshanim
,” which means night of roses. In other words, she sang about a lot of plants.

“… According to the Mosaic Law and laws of the State of Kansas, in the presence of your families and friends, and with God as our witness, I now pronounce you …”

They kissed; you could hear it all over the sanctuary. Everyone laughed when they came out of the clinch. Then Eric stomped on a glass wrapped in a white napkin, signaling the end of the ceremony. Instead of the usual wedding march back down the aisle, the
klezmer
musicians played a bouncy Hasidic tune, and it was all over. My brother was a married man.

I broke out of the receiving line after about fifteen minutes, because I saw Miriam and Mrs. Loomis off in a corner, and they looked like they'd run out of things to talk about. I went to rescue Miriam. Rescue Miriam—it was getting to be a habit.

Waiters kept offering her champagne, but Brother James would have been proud to see how she stuck with the pink foaming punch. Mrs. Loomis drained a few champagne glasses, though. The band had set up their little combo in a corner of the social hall, and already, even before dinner, the old ladies were dancing with each other. The unrelenting beat of the music was hard to resist. Even Miriam's toe was tapping.

“Do you want to dance?” I asked, half-teasing.

“I'll pass,” Miriam said, pulling her foot back. But before long, it was keeping time with the music again. “What happens next?”

“Well, we'll have dinner and some toasts and speeches and then the real dancing begins.”

She tried to look stern and disapproving.

“It has been very interesting, Adam,” Mrs. Loomis said. “I have never had occasion to attend a Jewish wedding before.”

“I was wondering, Mrs. Loomis, I mean, since you have so many students, do you actually remember Eric from five years ago?”

“Oh, yes, yes. One does not forget a Bergen. I am frankly amazed that Eric has graduated from college and survived half a year of law school. I recall him being a student much like you.”

“Lazy?”

“I wouldn't have said lazy. I would have said—casual. Charming, but definitely casual about academic matters. But looking at him standing so straight and purposeful under the wedding canopy gives me hope for you, Adam.”

After dinner, I took Miriam around to meet people. “This is Aunt Ruth and Uncle Seymour, from New Haven.” Miriam smiled while Aunt Ruth looked her over. I could see the question in Aunt Ruth's eyes:
This is a Jewish girl?

Next came the two great-grandmothers. The first couple of years Eric and Karen went together, the great-grandmothers had a big rivalry going. But gradually they became the oldest people either of them knew, and so they were friends. Both hard of hearing, they were having a shouting match as we came up to them.

Karen's Great-grandma Sophie said, “So, Reba, be honest, did you ever think they'd stand under the
chupah
together?”

My Great-grandma Reba replied, “To tell the truth, Sophie, I never dreamed both of us would live long enough to see it happen. But, it was God's will.”

“Grandma Reba, Grandma Sophie, this is Miriam.” I knew that would throw them, because, while Miriam looked as WASP-y as girls come, she had a nice Torah name.

“Miriam?” The two grandmas exchanged looks, and we moved on.

“I want you to meet the rabbi.”

Rabbi Fein put down his champagne glass to shake Miriam's hand. “Hello. It's good to see you doing so well.”

“I'm just fine now.” Miriam did a little twirl to demonstrate her state of health. It seemed so light-hearted that it took me by surprise. I thought then that she was more relaxed around my rabbi than I was.

Rabbi Fein laughed. “Come back when there aren't so many people around. We'll talk some more.” He waved and went off to charm the grandmas.

“I like him,” Miriam said. “He seems so young for a rabbi.”

“Well, he's probably about the same age as Brother James.”

The musicians were really getting into the spirit of the occasion. My mother, past crying, was dancing and flopping around like a puppet. Now the men were lifting Eric on one chair and Karen on another. With only a handkerchief connecting them, they swayed and bobbed on the shoulders of the men, as the
klezmer
fiddle sped up.