The Enemy of the Good (18 page)

Susannah slipped away at midnight, giving what she described as her
familiar
Cinderella impersonation. As Zvi escorted her to her car, the streetlamps lending his face an ethereal glow, her one regret was that the carnival licence did not extend to matters of the heart.

The long drive to Notting Hill served to accentuate her separation from the community. By the time she reached home, she had made up her mind to rent a room in Hendon within walking distance of the Rabbi’s, where she would be able to observe the Sabbath. Rather than ring an estate agent, she scanned the advertisements in the
Jewish Chronicle
, spotting three distinct possibilities, which she set out to investigate the following Sunday afternoon. After rejecting both the elderly widow who identified a ‘good listener’ and the retired wigmaker whose poodle took an unwholesome interest in her leg, she began to lose hope. Her final call was on a tart middle-aged translator, whose determination to preserve her privacy came as a huge relief. Helen showed no curiosity about her weekly visits, concerned only that she should supply two reliable references and pay three months’ rent in advance. After agreeing that, all else being equal, the room would be free from the following Friday, she declared a strict ban on overnight visitors. Susannah assured her that she had nothing to fear.

Although her plans for a weekend retreat had never included a rented room in north London, Susannah could not have been happier had she been handed the keys to a Cotswold cottage. With the Rabbi and Layah offering to act as referees, she set about effecting the other necessary changes to her life. Like Zvi, whose first step to conversion had been to wear
tefillin
under his shirt, she would demonstrate her commitment in her dress. She began by resolving to banish trousers forever. To guard against backsliding, she gave all seven pairs from her wardrobe, plus the two wasp-waisted ones from the loft, to Oxfam. Far from feeling their loss, she was filled with a sense of liberation, her gesture all the more meaningful for being secret. Having never seen her in trousers, the Lubavitch would have no idea how much it had cost her, while her old friends would simply assume that she had put on weight.

The trousers were just a start. On Thursday afternoon, telling Alison that she was meeting a client, she made her way to Peter Jones and Jaeger, modesty not age prompting her to pick stores long associated with her mother. She needed sleeves that would cover her arms and skirts that reached to her calves and, although a reluctance to confide in a friend left her with no one to endorse her choices, she came away with a suitably demure wardrobe. She took a selection with her the following evening when she drove up to Hendon. Helen had gone out without leaving a word of welcome, but she refused to feel aggrieved and put on her new dress with all the excitement of her first mini-skirt. Twenty minutes before sundown, she spread a white cloth on the dressing table and lit two candles, the first to remember the Sabbath, the second to observe it. Then, imitating Rivka, she waved her hands over the flames, covered her eyes and recited a prayer.

‘Blessed are you, O Lord our God, king of the universe, who has
commanded
us to light the Sabbath candles.’

As she repeated the words, time and space dissolved and her heart was filled with God.

For all the joys of what she had privately dubbed her ‘faith-nest’, Susannah was relieved to wake up on Sunday morning in Notting Hill. The widow’s
garrulousness
and wigmaker’s dog had acquired a new appeal after three weeks of Helen’s ill-concealed hostility. Resentful of the need to let the room, she took pleasure in chipping away at her lodger’s convictions. Despite the
mezuzah
on the doorpost, she despised any outward expression of Judaism, saving her strictest censure for the Orthodox women who shaved their heads only to wear luxuriant wigs supplied by destitute Ukrainians. Nothing Susannah said could persuade her that their poverty was precisely why they welcomed the trade, preferring to crop their hair than sell their bodies. She even suspected Helen of deliberately removing the box of tissues from the bathroom, forcing her to tear off loo paper on the Sabbath as reluctantly as she would once have torn ten-pound notes. Nevertheless, she was prepared to face any number of obstacles for the chance to practise her beliefs.

Her reordered calendar had little use for Sundays. She shied away from old friends whom she had yet to admit to her new life, along with films and
exhibitions
that were reductively secular. Varying her staple diet of newsprint, she studied Lubavitch texts, making up for the forty years of Jewish education she had been denied. Her current reading was a collection of the Rebbe’s
homilies
, chosen by Zvi from the Rabbi’s library. She had been deeply moved to see him kiss the book when he took it off the shelf, realising as she rubbed her finger down the spine that it was the closest she had come to his lips. Eager to warrant his confidence, she spent the evening struggling with the knotty prose. Exhausted by the unequal effort, she went to bed at an hour that would once have depressed her, fell into a pill-less and dreamless sleep, waking refreshed to obey the Rebbe’s instruction to praise God with the first breath of the day.

Entering the conference room at ten o’clock on Monday morning, she wondered how much longer she could hide the truth of her Friday nights from her staff. Having judged her absences too frequent for pleasure jaunts, they had ascribed them to medical treatment. So far no one had challenged her, but she had heard whispers of both radiation and dialysis. Matt had even replaced his
Barbarella
screensaver and taken to wearing a pink breast cancer ribbon. She checked a guilty smile as she deflected their sympathetic glances and, with a cheerfulness that she knew would be read as courage, hoped that they had all enjoyed their weekends.

In a bid to lighten the atmosphere, she brought forward the announcement that, after extensive appraisal, Granville’s had been placed on the PR roster at the Central Office of Information. The whoops of joy that greeted the news bore witness to the achievement. Yet, while the others were thrilled to learn that, in Robin’s words, ‘they were up there with the big boys,’ she remained ambivalent. She had often laughed at the industry joke that the government campaigns for
NHS
Direct had been spearheaded by a PR with private health insurance, for road safety by a PR who had lost his licence, and for cancer awareness by a PR who popped out in the middle of the launch for a cigarette. It was equally ironic that her pitch for an anti-drugs campaign had succeeded despite the habits of half the people around the table. Nevertheless, she was keen to reward their loyalty, inviting them to a celebration lunch with the proviso that, until then, it was business as usual.

This was a maxim she failed to observe herself. After dismissing out of hand a request for Hiroshige to open a new club in what was to them March but to her Passover, she snapped at Wilson Tierney who rang to protest about a tabloid story which claimed that he spent several hours a day on eBay,
monitoring
the market in his own memorabilia, intervening should the bids be too low. With uncharacteristic harshness, she suggested that, if he wished to
preserve
his anonymity, he would do well to use a different credit card.

After three tough days at work, she faced the further strain of throwing a dinner party to introduce Zvi to Clement, Mike and Carla. ‘I’m breaking all the rules by coming,’ Zvi said. ‘You’ll land me in hot water with the Rabbi.’

‘I’m not going to eat you.’

‘Don’t worry, I’m kosher.’

She realised with delight that it was the first time he had cracked a joke. Moreover it was a sure sign of his serious intentions towards her that he had agreed not just to meet her family but to visit her flat. Carla had offered to host the meal but she preferred to keep it on home ground, a decision she came to regret when, no sooner had he entered the sitting room than Clement, who
professed
to deplore television, questioned her about her missing set, maintaining that Lubavitch laws would make it impossible for her to do her job.

Carla, ever the conciliator, stepped in with a breathless account of having fallen for a fellow Buddhist on a retreat. Although piqued at the
competition
, Susannah welcomed the reprieve, which she trusted would last until Zvi’s arrival.

‘What’s he like?’ she asked.

‘You’ll think him very New Agey. Yesterday he clasped my shoulders and, after gazing into my eyes for a good five minutes, said – promise you won’t laugh – “I think you and I are really present together.”’

‘Who’s laughing?’ Mike asked with a smirk.

‘What does he do?’ As Clement made his standard inquiry, Susannah trusted that it would be less exotic than
travel agent to the stars
.

‘He’s given up long-term goals in order to live in the here and now.’

‘In other words, nada,’ Mike said.

‘On Sunday we went walking on the Heath, past a clump of early bluebells. He heard them saying “Thank you, Curtis, for being the sort of person who doesn’t want to pick us.”’

‘They spoke to him?’ Mike asked, accentuating his incredulity.

‘On an energetic plane.’

‘That explains it.’

‘He’s such a gentle man, but the one thing calculated to make him see red is the arrogance of thinking that the world has only a physical dimension.’

‘Then you’d better keep him away from Mike,’ Clement said, cheering Susannah with the thought that Zvi wouldn’t be the only outsider.

‘When did you meet him?’ Mike asked.

‘Ten days ago.’

‘A whirlwind romance?’ Susannah asked.

‘Yes and no,’ Carla said.

‘The plot thickens!’ Clement said.

‘You’ll mock… I know you will,’ Carla insisted to the trio of shaking heads. ‘He says that we’ve met many times before over the years.’

‘Has he been stalking you?’ Mike asked.

‘No. Over the centuries. In former lives.’

‘I despair,’ Mike said.

Susannah longed to champion Carla’s cause and atone for her past
scepticism
, but the doorbell intervened. Deliberately dragging her feet, she cast a final glance over the sitting room, which had been purged of far more than the television. Gone was the ancient Assyrian goddess, whose fecundity had filled one corner of her windowsill. Gone was the Rankin photograph of her sitting among a leap of shirtless Snow Leopards. Gone were any titles from her
bookshelves
that might cause confusion (
The Naked Chef
and
Vile Bodies
had been sent
The Way of All Flesh
). Only Clement’s painting of David and Jonathan had been spared the spare room, as she weighed old loyalties against new.

She greeted Zvi in the hall, which suddenly seemed very cramped. Unsure whether she was allowed to take his hat and too shy to adopt her usual ‘Just chuck it in the bedroom’ formula, she pointed dumbly to the tabouret. As he handed her a plastic bag containing his food, plates and cutlery, she felt a twinge of disappointment at the lack of flowers. Reminding herself that their relationship rose above such trifles, she led him into the sitting room and introduced him to ‘my brother, Clement’, ‘his partner, Mike’, praying that the phrase would satisfy all sensibilities, and ‘my sister-in-law, Carla.’

‘Please don’t take this personally,’ Zvi said, retreating from Carla, ‘but I can’t shake your hand.’

‘Don’t worry,’ she replied. ‘I’m not menstruating.’

Forcing a smile, Susannah poured Zvi a whisky while he chatted stiffly about the difficulties of parking to Clement, who didn’t drive, and of
commuting
to Carla, who worked at home. He was more forthcoming about his job, although his blunt rejection of Mike’s proposal that he should divulge the whereabouts of his clients so they could tip off the paparazzi and split the proceeds showed that his flawless grasp of English did not extend to irony. Feeling the conversation flag, Susannah sought to establish a link between the kibbutz on which Zvi was brought up and the one on which Mark worked before he went to Sussex.

‘He used to say he had the best time,’ Carla said, ‘swimming in the Sea of Galilee.’

‘And hitching to Tiberias to buy dope.’

‘Yes,’ Zvi said, staring sharply at Clement. ‘We also had our share of
volunteers
bringing hedonism to the
meshek
in their cheesecloth shirts and beaded necklaces. In my experience, all they really wanted was go to bed with one another.’

‘And with a lot of the kibbutzniks,’ Clement said, ‘if my brother was to be believed.’

‘What else could we do? We felt nothing for our own girls. They were like sisters. Worse. Ever since the nursery, we’d slept together, showered together, run naked together, even sat next to each other on the toilet. I grew up without any sense of shame.’

‘We should all be so lucky!’ Mike said.

‘That’s no way to raise a child.’

‘Surely it’s the best? Not without guilt, I grant, but without shame.’

‘Now you’re splitting hairs.’

‘Not at all. Take the example I gave to some of my Year Eights.’

‘Watch out!’ Clement said. ‘He’s a stickler for discipline.’

Susannah wondered whether Zvi had deciphered the banter.

‘If I were to piss myself in front of you, I’d feel ashamed but not guilty. On the other hand, if I were to laugh at the fact that you’d pissed yourself, I’d feel guilty but not ashamed.’

‘Do all your examples come from the toilet?’

‘Please help yourself to cashews… olives,’ Susannah said, appalled that the battle-lines had been drawn up so soon.

‘The confusions, as ever, arise with sex,’ Mike went on, ignoring the dish that she waved under his nose. ‘If I were to leave here and go to the
Coleherne
… a pub,’ he explained.

‘A dive,’ Clement interjected.

‘Whatever. And pick somebody up, I wouldn’t feel either guilty or ashamed.’

‘Not even at the thought of Clement?’ Carla asked.

‘I’d only feel guilt if I were betraying the terms of our relationship.’
Susannah
was sure that she saw her brother flinch. ‘And I’d feel no shame of any sort – unless the guy were drop-dead gorgeous and I’d bought into all the media prejudice against my middle-aged body.’

‘What if he was cheating on his partner?’ Susannah asked, keen to
discredit
his argument.

‘I can’t take responsibility for anyone else’s behaviour.’

‘That’s the difference between us,’ Zvi said.

‘Exactly. And the problem, if I may say so, is the way you go about it. Not by reason or evidence but by claiming to speak on behalf of the ultimate authority figure, by imposing a cruelly repressive code and insisting that we beat ourselves up if we break it. We’ve only just met, and I don’t want to make assumptions, but aren’t you in danger of making guilt and shame – the
internal
and the external – the same thing?’

Susannah was loath to leave them to themselves, but she could no longer delay her retreat to the kitchen. She dismissed Carla’s offer of help, issuing her with strict and only half-playful instructions to keep the peace. Rushing through her preparations, she took the roasted fennel out of the oven and heated Zvi’s chicken soup in the microwave. In contrast to the ‘what the eye doesn’t see’ principle she had applied to spillages and even sell-by dates in the heat of previous dinner parties, she was meticulous in ensuring that neither Zvi’s containers nor his cutlery came into contact with any other food.

Returning to summon her guests to table, she was relieved to find that the men appeared to have settled their differences. No sooner had they sat down, however, than she was disabused.

‘I didn’t realise it was Bring Your Own,’ Clement said as she served Zvi’s soup.

‘You know very well that Zvi’s kosher.’

‘But you said we were eating vegetarian.’

‘There’s still cheese, Clem!’ Susannah turned to Zvi. ‘I promise you that when you come again – if you can ever bear to come again – the cheese will be kosher.’

‘Don’t worry. It’s a pleasure for me to be with your family. Besides, we use extra-kosher milk. It’s harder to find.’

‘Extra-kosher?’ Clement asked.

‘Boiled at a higher temperature.’

‘You really do want to sort out the sheep from the goats!’

‘No, just the cows.’

Buoyed by how well Zvi was holding his ground, Susannah declared her own resolve to keep kosher. ‘What about the kitchen?’ Carla asked. ‘Don’t you have to have two of everything?’

‘I’ll have it remodelled,’ she said, unwilling to discuss her future in the
presence
of the man on whom it depended. ‘For now I’ll use separate bowls.’

‘Twice as much work,’ Clement said. ‘No wonder Ma called it a plot to oppress women.’

‘But when she grew up, women were oppressed. It was seventy years ago.’

‘I think your brother’s teasing you,’ Zvi said. ‘No other religion respects women as much as Judaism.’

‘Really?’ Clement asked. ‘But I understood that your first prayer every morning was to thank God for not making you one.’

‘Yes, because it allows us to do the
mitzvahs
that aren’t binding on women,’ Zvi replied with a composure that Susannah envied. ‘They don’t have the time to put on
tefillin
or go to prayers when they’re busy looking after children.’