The Enemy of the Good (20 page)

‘Thank you,’ her father said, ‘that was most generous.’

‘
Bon appétit
,’ her mother said, staring dolefully at the unadorned melon on her plate.

‘Zvi goes to synagogue three times a day,’ Susannah boasted to her father.

‘Indeed?’ he replied. ‘Even as a young man, I found prayer to be something of a paradox: asking God to subvert the natural order on behalf of someone who claims to be unworthy.’

‘The worth is God’s for answering the prayer,’ Zvi said, ‘not ours for making it.’

‘I envy you your conviction. Mine died many years ago. What had once been a blinding truth came to seem an absurdity. Yet I remain convinced that there’s a place for religion even in a God-less universe. As I told my son, Clement – I gather you’ve met him – ’

‘I certainly have.’

‘We create God in the beauty of our depiction of Him.’

‘That’s like saying a lie is valid if it’s elegantly enough phrased,’ Susannah said, saddened that all she brought to the table was her discontent.

‘Not a lie, my dear, a hypothesis.’

Her mother rang the bell and Mrs Shepherd came in to clear away the melon, her usual deftness thwarted by the sagging plates. ‘Are they for
recycling
or is that forbidden too?’

‘Recycling will be fine, Mrs Shepherd,’ her mother said, ‘thank you so much.’

Snorting her disapproval, Mrs Shepherd went out, returning with the salmon. ‘Hospital food. There’s sauce for those that want.’

‘It looks delicious,’ Susannah said brightly.

‘I can’t answer for the taste.’ Her lingering exit left everyone in limbo. Susannah was relieved when her mother moved swiftly to the rescue, serving the fish and exhorting them to eat. She asked Zvi if he wanted his salad ‘with or after’, but the answer was ‘neither’, since no sooner had he spooned the rocket on to his plate than he pushed it to one side.

‘Is something wrong?’ her mother asked. ‘It isn’t dressed.’

‘It’s nothing… just. No, nothing. If you’ll excuse me… I’m not hungry.’

‘What’s the matter?’ Susannah asked.

‘It’s nothing really. Just there’s a maggot in the leaves.’

‘I’m so sorry,’ her mother said. ‘Mrs Shepherd’s eyes aren’t what they were.’ She turned to Susannah. ‘Do you remember, darling, when we found that cork in the Adam and Eve pudding?’ Susannah gazed in horror at Zvi, who stood up quivering, a vein protruding on his forehead.

‘Oh dear,’ her father said. ‘Are you phobic?’

‘It’s only a grub,’ her mother said, pulling Zvi’s plate towards her. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll ring for Mrs Shepherd. She’ll bring you a clean plate.’

‘Please stop it!’ Susannah cried. ‘I’m so sorry, Zvi.’

‘I can’t believe… I might have eaten it if I hadn’t looked.’

‘No pesticides, you see,’ her father said. ‘We grow them ourselves under glass.’

‘The Rabbis have said that it’s six times more sinful to eat an insect than to eat pork,’ Zvi said, struggling to articulate his anguish. ‘I’m sorry… I just need… Please excuse me.’ He hurried out of the room, leaving Susannah feeling as though there had been a power cut.

‘Did I miss something?’ her father asked.

‘I offered to get him a clean plate,’ her mother said.

‘You don’t understand!’ Susannah said. ‘This is why he stays within the community. Don’t worry. It’s not your fault; it’s mine. I should never have pressed him to come. Oh why must everything be so hard?’

She sprang up, pushing back her chair, and left the room in search of Zvi. Failing to find him downstairs, she hurried up to his bedroom, knocking
furiously
at the door. The echoing silence plunged her into a panic and she rushed outside, scouring the shadowy park in a vain attempt to distinguish men from trees. Just as she was giving up hope, she caught sight of him silhouetted against the shimmering blackness of the lake. Regardless of any offence, she approached and apologised for the maggot.

‘There’s no need,’ he said, ‘I’m the one who should apologise. You ask me down to this magnificent house, to meet your parents who welcome me so warmly.’

‘They’re old. They do their best.’

‘I know. And I’m very grateful. What must they think of me? Contrary to popular belief, I don’t set out to create difficulties. I know how it looks to your parents – and mine too for that matter – but I’m not some cartoon character complaining about the fly in his soup. I live the way I do because it’s been ordained by God.’

Susannah had never felt so conscious of the clarity of his faith. Resolving to be more diligent than ever, she kept three steps ahead as they followed the rutted, overgrown paths back to the house. Glimpsing a reddish glow in the copse, she did her best to distract Zvi who, ignoring her claim that it must be one of her father’s tenants, marched through the trees to investigate. She trailed behind, only to find her worst fears confirmed by the sight of Karen and Frank dancing naked around a steaming pot as though they were in Eden.

‘What the hell are you doing?’ Susannah screamed at Frank, who was sporting a pair of giant horns.

‘Susannah, hi,’ Karen called back. ‘Come and join us.’

‘You’re naked!’

‘We’re sky-clad.’

‘It’s the middle of March!’

‘We missed the spring equinox to go to the Radiohead concert. So we’re making up for it now. Sacrificing rabbits to the Mother Goddess.’

‘You’re insane!’

‘Hiya man, I’m Frank.’ He held out his hand to Zvi, who ignored it despite the blatant evidence of Frank’s gender.

‘And I’m Karen,’ she said, moving to Zvi. ‘I expect Susannah’s told you all about me.’

‘No,’ Zvi said.

‘I’m sorry,’ Susannah said miserably. ‘Zvi Latsky… Karen Mullins.’

‘I don’t think this is the moment for introductions,’ Zvi said, turning on his heels.

‘Zvi, wait!’ As he strode off, Susannah vented her frustration on Karen. ‘What the hell do you think you’re playing at? Put some clothes on at once!’

‘This is our religion… our church. In your church men wear dresses. Pagans wear nothing at all.’

‘What church? Where’s the priest? The congregation? The altar? All I can see are two spaced-out kids who should be old enough to know better! Now put out the fire and go home!’

She hurried after Zvi, catching up with him as he reached the path.

‘I’m so sorry. I ought to explain – ’

‘What’s to explain? It’s your father’s estate. If he’s willing to rent it to
deviants
and dropouts, that’s his business.’

‘But he’s not… they’re not. You remember I told you about Chris?’

‘The arsonist?’

‘Yes.’ She blenched. ‘Well, Karen’s his daughter. She means no harm… Please slow down a little! I’m out of breath.’

‘I’m sorry, Susannah; I’m tired. I was at the mikvah at half-past five this morning. If we must talk about this, can’t it wait until tomorrow?’

As they trudged back through the park, Susannah upbraided herself for trying to exclude Karen from the visit. When she mentioned Chris to Zvi, she had thought it wise to draw a veil over her continuing contact with his children. The result had been to make everything worse, confirming his
prejudices
of a house that served dirty food and hosted orgies. Her one hope was to return to London but, short of breaking the Sabbath, they had no choice but to stay until the following evening. Leaving Zvi to go straight up to bed, she made her way to the drawing room where she found her parents nursing brandy balloons, unnerved by the disruption of dinner.

‘There you are, darling,’ her mother said. ‘We were worried. Is Zvi feeling any better?’

‘No, worse. We bumped into Karen in the woods.’

‘She’s under strict instructions to keep away from the house all weekend.’

‘What good’s that? She’s out there dancing with that scraggy man. Naked! He was wearing some kind of devil’s horns.’

‘Don’t exaggerate, darling; they’re antlers. I gave them the run of the trophy room. They represent the male godhead.’

‘There’s nothing godly about it. They were sacrificing rabbits.’

‘Not real ones.’

‘How do you know?’

‘They invited me to join their coven on Midsummer Eve. They melted chocolate bunnies in a fondue pot and danced round it chanting: “We all come from the Goddess.” There’s an innocence about them that reminds me of the Hadza.’

‘How can anyone so intelligent be so naïve?’

‘Nanna, don’t upset yourself,’ her father said.

‘I am upset! I’m upset for Zvi. And for Karen. And for you. You wonder why people attack your work, Ma. Well try listening to yourself! You think we just have to learn to love one another like some primitive tribe and everything will be fine. Sorry to disillusion you but it won’t! Welcome to the real world, where people aren’t sky-clad, they’re stark naked. If they don’t die of
pneumonia
, they’ll be arrested for offending public decency.’

‘It’s our land,’ her father said. ‘Karen has the right to wear what she likes.’

‘Strange that you of all people should stick up for privilege!’ Seeing his face fall, she relented and moved across to his chair. ‘Don’t get me wrong,’ she said, sitting on the arm and stroking his head. ‘I’ll always be grateful you took in the children. There was no way I could look after them and run the company. Maybe I made the wrong choice? That’s another story. But I don’t think you do Karen any favours by indulging her. Oh ignore me! I’m so shattered, I’ve no idea what I’m saying. I’m off to bed!’

She went up to her room, convinced that the evening’s events would have shown Zvi the folly of marrying outside the community, just as they’d shown her the futility of trying to integrate her old life and her new. Opening the
curtains
at eight the next morning, she had a moment of panic on seeing him set off resolutely down the drive, until she remembered his intention of walking to Oxford. She gave thanks for the nine-mile hike to the Chabad House and the three-hour service that would keep him out of harm’s way until four. She spent the morning rummaging through old chests and cupboards, which felt like a final farewell to the world of her childhood, before joining her parents for lunch. With Mrs Shepherd’s meat loaf as a palliative, she enlightened them on the Lubavitch way of life.

‘If you’ve found something that works for you, then I’m very happy,’ her father said. ‘I just wish it were less extreme.’

‘It’s the truth, Pa. Do you want me to deny it?’

‘No, no, of course not. But maybe question it a little. You know my views on such dangerous certitudes.’

‘I should do. I grew up on them. “Doubt is the most essential ingredient of faith,” isn’t that right?’

‘I’m not sure I ever used the word
most
.’

‘I take it back. But you get the gist. When I first heard it, it sounded so wise… so broadminded. Now it just sounds perverse.’

‘That’s not kind, darling,’ her mother said mildly.

‘I’m sorry. The last thing I want is to hurt you. But I can’t hide what I believe… what I know. For thousands of years the world has persecuted the Jews – you more than anyone should be aware of that. And why? What was it we had that was such a threat? I can tell you in one word: Truth. If they libelled and slandered us… or, better yet, murdered us, they didn’t have to deal with the truth we embodied: the truth God revealed to us. A truth that’s to be found in a book. Yes, Pa, a book. Not in our hearts or the beauty of nature. But in the black-and-white beauty of the Torah.’

‘Oh dear!’ Her father sank his head in his hands.

‘What is it? Are you ill?’

‘I’m frightened… so frightened. I can tell they’re taking you away from us. I’ll never see my Nanna again.’

‘How can you think that?’ she asked, jumping up and wrapping her arms around him. ‘They couldn’t… they wouldn’t try. “Honour thy father and thy mother” stands right at the heart of the faith.’

To her dismay, her words failed to reassure him and, at a nod from her mother, she returned to her seat.

‘It’s a slap in the face for Clement,’ her mother said.

‘Funnily enough, it’s not about Clem, Ma, it’s about me! Your daughter! The girl you taught never to let herself be dictated to by any man.’

Zvi arrived back at half-past four, joining them for tea in the drawing room, making stilted conversation while waiting for sunset to sanction his escape. Any hopes that his spirits would lift on the train were dashed by the desolate face reflected in the window of an otherwise empty compartment. She broke the silence with occasional remarks to which he listened mutely, gazing at his wrist as if transfixed by the pattern of hair. Then, moments before reaching Slough, a town which to her dying day she would hold to be maligned, he looked up and, without ceremony, asked: ‘Will you marry me?’

‘What?’

‘I love you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I want you to be my wife. Do you understand?’

‘Yes.’

‘Yes you do, or yes you will?’

‘Yes, I do. I will. Yes, I mean… yes. Yes. Yes, with all my heart.’

‘God be thanked!’

At a stroke, all the horrors of the weekend vanished, along with all the frustrations of recent weeks. The tears in her eyes mirrored his as she stretched her arm tentatively across the table. He shook his head, smiling. ‘Soon, my dearest, soon. Soon your hand will be mine and my hand will be yours, but we must wait a little longer.’

‘I understand,’ she said. ‘Rivka told me there were three people in a Jewish marriage. We must wait for the third to give us His blessing.’

To avert a clash of festivities, they agreed not to announce their engagement until the end of Passover. Even Helen observed the holiday, although her simple substitution of matza for bread paled beside the stringent
preparations
at the Rabbi’s. Rivka and Rebekkah scrubbed and scoured the kitchen to remove any trace of leaven before covering each surface with foil in case a recalcitrant crumb should slip into a pot. Tali and Yosef brought in a stove from the shed and took down the designated crockery from the loft. The Rabbi, under doctor’s orders to avoid exertion, sold all the leavened goods left in the house, notably a full crate of whisky, to a Bangladeshi neighbour who sold them back eight days later at a small profit. To prevent so much as a grain of matza falling into the wine at the Seder table, Rivka gave every guest a paper bag to hold under the chin. Susannah watched Tali and Yosef taking part in the celebrations with none of the cynicism she saw in her friends’ children and prayed that it would be a portent.

The Lubavitch disapproval of long engagements came as a relief to
Susannah
, who would have been happy with a Jewish Gretna Green. Zvi proposed that they plan the wedding for early June, adding that the precise date was a matter for her to fix with Rivka, which she realised from his coyness was a hint at her monthly cycle. Nervous of her friends’ reactions, she decided to wait to break the news until she could dazzle them with a diamond, only to find that, so as not to tempt fate, Zvi was forbidden to give her a ring before they were married. Instead, the following Friday night the Rabbi called her into his study and handed her an exquisite rose-gold and ruby
Reverso
watch.

‘I’m just the messenger,’ he said. ‘Zvi can’t give it to you himself because, as you know, you’re not allowed to meet in private.’ His mischievous smile made her blush. ‘On the other hand, if there are any witnesses to the gift, it counts as a betrothal and, in the event that it’s called off, you won’t be able to marry a
kohain
.’

‘I couldn’t ask for a better envoy,’ she said, touched by his solicitude. Then she put on the bracelet, which clipped so snugly on her wrist that she
suspected
Rivka’s intervention.

Rivka and Layah greeted the watch with an enthusiasm she feared would not be echoed elsewhere. Far from impressing people with her fiancé’s
largesse
, she was afraid of confirming their belief in his perversity. With nothing to be gained from showing off the watch, she chose to spare herself the trip to Beckley and tell her parents of the engagement by phone. With typical
generosity
, her mother assured her that, for all her reservations about the Lubavitch lifestyle, she had none about the man.

‘I liked him. He has character and integrity. What’s more he obviously dotes on you.’

‘You could tell?’ she asked, eager to hear the words out loud.

‘Even Mrs Shepherd commented on it.’

‘Thank you.’ She paused to savour her elation. ‘There’s a party at the Rabbi’s on Saturday night. Please say you’ll come. You must. It wouldn’t be the same… Pa will be well enough?’

‘He’s fine. Of course we’ll come. But why not at Beckley? It’d be perfect. Your friends can stay.’

‘It’s not that easy,’ she said, trying to conceal her disquiet. ‘Since you’re not a member of the community, Rivka – the Rabbi’s wife – has to act as my sponsor and oversee all the arrangements. It’s just a formality.’

‘Of course,’ her mother said slowly. ‘I suppose you’ll be married in London?’

Susannah nodded, forgetting for a moment that they were on the phone. Her mother took her silence for confirmation.

‘I’d pictured the parish church. Your father performing the ceremony.’

‘He always said he’d marry me. Every little girl’s dream.’

‘And Mark and Clement used to squabble over which of them would give you away.’

‘Yes, the sooner the better, as I recall.’ Their laughter took her back to her childhood. She wondered if it really had been a gentler world or if memory lent it a glow. ‘You’ll still have a role to play at the party. Rivka tells me that you and Zvi’s mother have to break a plate.’

The next name on her telephone pad was Clement’s. They hadn’t spoken since the dinner, but it was the perfect chance to build bridges. She rang him several times over the weekend, but he was always out. Refusing to trust her happiness to a machine, she tried again from the office on Monday morning. Finally catching him at home, she trembled as though confessing to adultery rather than announcing an engagement. Any hopes of a reconciliation were shattered by his response.

‘You’re not serious?’

‘Try me.’

‘I’m afraid you’ll live to regret it.’

‘You really know how to make a girl feel good.’

‘I’m your brother. I’d be letting you down if I didn’t speak out.’

‘Well you’ve spoken. Thanks. Now I’ll try to forget that you ever did. Zvi is the man I want to grow old with. I love him.’

‘You said that about Chris.’

‘I was twenty-one when I met Chris.’

‘And now you’re forty.’

‘Thirty-nine.’

‘Call me a liar for four months.’

‘Not a liar but a shit.’

‘Someone has to say it. Even if you do love Zvi – ’

‘There’s no
if
about it. I’ve already told you.’

‘You’d not just be marrying him but all those beards.’

‘You wouldn’t say that if he were Amish. No, you’d admire his spirit; you’d praise his authenticity; you’d want to paint him!’

‘I spend my life trying to show that religion is a force for the good; now you go and marry a man whose religion is dark and repressive.’

‘Tough! But you know something, Clem? This is my life, not yours. And Zvi is a force for good. He makes me feel good. And not just me: everyone around him. I didn’t ring to ask for your blessing but your support. To invite you to the
Wort
on Saturday week.’

‘
Wort
?’

‘Let’s get the jokes over with now, shall we? It’s the engagement party, for our family and friends to celebrate with us. Fat chance!’

‘Of course we’ll come. We’re always there for you, sis. We were there for Chris and we will be for Zvi.’

‘Will you please stop comparing them!’

‘And there’s the single-sex dancing to look forward to. All the hot young rabbis.’

‘No, there’s not.’

‘You mean the men and women dance together?’

‘No, of course not. But I need you and Mike to play down the
single-sexness
.’ She winced to think of his face at the other end of the line.

‘In what way?’

‘Zvi knows the score. He won’t make an issue of your sexuality. But some of the others have been more sheltered. It’s bad enough that you’re a Christian. I’m not asking you to lie; just be discreet.’

‘Fine. I’ll tell Mike not to wear his
I’m not gay but my boyfriend
is T-shirt and I’ll make sure that my pillbox doesn’t bleep in the middle of the toasts. Oh, I’m sorry. Perhaps you haven’t told them? What is the party line on
HIV
?’

‘It’s one evening, Clem. That’s all I’m asking.’

‘One evening. Then there’s the wedding. And the christening – or
whatever
they have instead. Or aren’t we invited?’

‘No, not if you don’t show some respect to me… to them.’

‘I see.’

‘See what?’

‘You want me to wind the clock back twenty-five years. While you
proclaim
your relationship, I’m to keep mine hidden. No way!’

‘Ma said you were depressed.’

‘I am now.’

‘I don’t want to quarrel with you. Today less than ever. But I won’t let you offend the people I mean to spend the rest of my life with.’

‘You’ve made your choice. Fine! That’s your right. But I won’t deny who I am for you, for Zvi, for anyone. I’m not some tailor’s dummy; I have bits. And if you invite me, you get them along with all the rest.’

‘No, Clement, I’m sorry. I can’t.’

‘Then neither can I. I hope with all my heart you’ll be happy. Just as I hope that one day you’ll understand what you’ve done.’

Susannah put down the phone in tears. The bridges had not merely swayed but snapped. She and Clement stood on either side of an ideological ravine. At best, they would observe an uneasy truce; at worst, seize every chance to snipe at each other’s position.

She immediately rang Zvi but reached Rachel, who told her that he was in meetings all morning. Refusing to disturb him, she sat sunk in misery, only to be caught off guard by Alison.

‘Are you OK? You look terrible. Should I call a doctor?’

‘What? No, of course not. I’m fine. Never better. I’m going to be married.’

‘No?’

Having brought forward her disclosure, she was forced to feign
astonishment
when Alison too began to sniff, explaining that the whole office had supposed her to be seriously ill. Filled with remorse, Susannah asked her to reschedule her
Reveille
lunch, put some champagne on ice and order food for an impromptu party. At one o’clock she gathered everyone in the conference room and, enjoying Alison’s pride as keeper of the secret almost as much as the secret itself, announced that she was engaged to Zvi Latsky, a Chassidic Jew. The kisses and toasts were accompanied by the usual parade of ignorance, headed by Marcus’s remark about making love through a hole in the sheet or, as she saw it, the Bed Libel. She sought both to put them right and to assure them that, while in future she might be more selective about clients (there would, for instance, be no repeat of the Atlases), in all other respects they would carry on as before.

The office party offered a faint foretaste of the revelry of the
Wort
. On Friday morning Zvi’s parents flew in from Tel Aviv, and the following
afternoon
she walked anxiously over to meet them. It was her first visit to the house that would soon be her home. She had imagined that, family
photographs
apart, it would be a replica of the Rabbi’s, the tattered rugs and
threadbare
furniture a mark of contempt for all possessions but books. In the event, the decor of white walls, abstract art and minimalist furniture spoke more of Zvi’s finances than his faith. She was equally surprised by Etta and Chanan, whom she found perched on a Philip Stark sofa. Zvi had depicted them as unrepentant ideologues who quit the kibbutz when it abandoned its socialist ethos. They turned out to be warm and welcoming, their joy in their future daughter-in-law seemingly unalloyed by the loss of their daughter ten years before. While wary of the easy attraction of other peoples’ mothers, not least in view of the stream of intense young women who had adopted her own, she felt an immediate bond with Etta, which she sought to cement with questions about Zvi.

‘I long to hear what he was like as a boy,’ she said.

‘Then you should ask my nurse,’ Zvi interjected. ‘I was put in the
kevutza
at five days old.’

‘We saw you for an hour each evening and all day on Saturday,’ Etta said.

‘This is as much as most parents,’ Chanan said.

‘We wished to build a better world for Zvi, not just a better life.’

‘I’m sure,’ Susannah said, torn between love and compassion.

‘But my son, he chooses to go back to the world of my grandfather.’

‘It’s the world of God, Father,’ Zvi said, cutting him some cheesecake.

At sundown he drove them the few hundred yards to the Rabbi’s. Taking Etta to join the women in the sitting room, Susannah strove to ignore the complaints of sexual segregation which, intentionally or not, implied that her own faith was only Zvi-deep. To underline her place within the community, she introduced Etta to Rivka, Rebekkah, Rachel, Layah and the rest of her friends. Meanwhile she waited for her parents, whose encounter with the Lubavitch would be still more disconcerting. As she gazed around the room, which seemed unusually shabby in the light of their imminent arrival, she dreaded their discretion even more than their disapproval and prayed for a phone call with news of a roadblock or breakdown… but the only ringing was the doorbell and she reluctantly followed Rivka into the hall. She effected introductions, scarcely concealing her surprise when Carla responded by
presenting
Curtis, a tall lean man in his mid-thirties, who was both better looking and better groomed than his description had led her to expect. He held out his hand to Rivka, who shied away.

‘I’m afraid I’m not allowed to shake your hand.’

‘That’s cool. I was an Untouchable in twelfth-century India.’

Sensing Rivka’s confusion, she swiftly pointed the men towards the study, before returning to the sitting room where she introduced her mother and Carla to Etta. As she observed the three women – her mother, Etta and Rivka – she was in no doubt as to which of them was the most contented.
Influence
and acclaim could never compare with the seventeen children and
fifty-four
grandchildren whose photographs graced the hall. She calculated how, with four sets of quads, plus the odd set of quins for good measure, she could exceed Rivka’s total before the age of forty-five. She was smiling at the
prospect
when her mother walked up.

‘You look happy, darling!’

‘I’m ecstatic, Ma. How about you?’

‘I like your friend Rivka immensely. Such a bright, powerful woman. What a tragedy she was never given the chance to achieve her potential!’

Saying nothing, Susannah bent over and planted a kiss on her mother’s flushed cheek.

She felt a fresh wave of panic when the Rabbi called them into the dining room, where he gave her mother and Etta the ritual plate to smash. As they held it gingerly between them, she feared as feeble an effort as her father’s with his eightieth birthday candles, only to be taken aback when it shattered on impact. The room erupted in applause, which the Rabbi cut short by asking for God’s blessing on the happy couple. He quoted an ancient Yiddish formula for a successful marriage: ‘Give your ear to all, your hand to your friends, and your lips only to your wife,’ which he insisted would be no
hardship
for Zvi. Her joy in the compliment was crowned when Zvi replied by citing the Rebbe’s analogy of a Jewish marriage and a human body in which the husband was the head and the wife the heart. Neither ruled over the other. Each was essential to life.