The Enemy of the Good (47 page)

‘I went to see him last weekend,’ she said eventually.

‘Where?’

‘The hospital wing in Albany. His face is a mass of bandages. The hot sugar they… they poured over him has burnt through several layers of skin. He’ll have to have reconstructive surgery. Even so, the doctors warned me he’ll be permanently disfigured. What’s it to do with me? Why should I care?’

‘But you do.’

‘Yes.’

‘Albany on the Isle of Wight?’

‘Yes.’

‘It’s a long way.’

‘The entire prison is for… for men like him. I think he feels happier there.’

‘What about you?’

‘I’m not the one who was hurt; at least…’ Clement watched as her
expression
clouded. ‘But I’m glad I went. I felt we reached a kind of understanding. Not that it changes anything. Not remotely. It isn’t just that he’s no longer the man I married. I find it hard to think of him as a man at all.’

‘What is he then?’

‘I won’t use words that will make you laugh at me.’

‘I wouldn’t dream of it.’

‘Not to my face, no… He was so calm in court. So calm and cold and cruel. He put his lies before Daniel’s truth. Which made it doubly unforgivable. He betrayed him a second time. But seeing him in the hospital, I felt he’d finally got what he deserved. Now he’ll be scarred for life just like Daniel. Strange that it should have been sugar! He always had a sweet tooth.’

‘I’m so sorry.’

‘I told him I’d be coming here today,’ she said, composing herself. ‘Your sister’s been a good friend to me. He made me promise to thank you.’

‘Me? Whatever for? If I hadn’t insisted he take that shower… if I’d been more sensitive to tensions on the Unit…’

‘He said that the things you’d talked about with him – the things you’d done for him – had changed his life.’

‘Really?’ Clement asked apprehensively.

‘He also wanted me to tell you how important it is that Zaiman’s
B’rit
is taking place on the eighth day.’

‘To fulfil the Torah?’

‘Of course. But, according to Shlomo, doctors have discovered it’s the day a baby’s blood-clotting abilities are at their highest. He said it proved once again how Torah anticipates science.’

‘I’m sorry to interrupt!’ Clement spun round to see Reuben. ‘But you must come back inside. The
mohel
has arrived.’

As they walked through the kitchen, Clement gave him an encouraging smile, receiving in return a nod of thanks. Sorah joined the crowd of women assembled at the sitting room door while the men went in. A chubby,
bespectacled
boy moved towards Reuben. Clement recognised him even before they were introduced.

‘This is my grandson. My Daniel,’ Reuben said. ‘This is Mr Granville, who drew those pictures for you.’

‘Oh!’ Daniel said, shifting his feet.

‘It was your father’s idea,’ Clement said, wondering if he were allowed to mention him.

‘Did you meet him in Israel?’ Daniel asked.

‘No, in…’

‘Don’t tell me,’ Daniel said quickly. ‘
Tateh’s
on a top-secret mission for Mossad. That’s why he’s changed his identity. That’s why he can’t come home, in case he puts us all in danger. Do you understand?’

‘I understand,’ Clement said softly.

‘It’s for our own good!’

Daniel broke away and, avoiding a trio of teenage boys, stood alone by a silver cabinet. Clement moved to Mike, who looked fraught.

‘Where were you?’ Mike hissed.

‘Somewhere quite unexpected but rather cheering,’ he replied, grateful that the start of the ceremony removed any need to elaborate. He watched the sea of men parting before a plump, middle-aged woman who entered with Zaimen, whom she handed to a red-haired man, who handed him to Zvi, who handed him in turn to a third man, whose luxuriant beard and richly
embroidered
prayer shawl exuded authority.

‘It’s like pass the parcel,’ Mike whispered, within earshot of Reuben who, far from taking offence, began to explain.

‘That’s the
mohel
, who’ll perform the cut.’

Clement was both amused by Mike’s discomfiture and reassured by the rare sign of weakness. ‘Why is he putting Zaimen on that chair?’ he asked.

‘It’s Elijah’s chair. To show that he’s mystically present. A kind of guardian angel.’

‘Like pouring him a cup of wine at Passover?’

‘Not exactly. When Elijah was escaping from Ahab and Jezebel, he
castigated
his fellow Jews for breaking the Covenant. He himself was rebuked by God, who declared that, from then on, he had to be present every time the Covenant was sealed. In other words every
B’rit
.’

‘So it’s a sort of punishment?’ Mike asked, betraying his continuing unease.

‘If so, it’s a very pleasant one, since it’s a sign that the Jews are keeping faith with God… Oh, now it’s my turn.’ With the
mohel’s
blessing concluded, Reuben sat down in the second chair, arranging the folds of his prayer shawl, while the
mohel
picked up Zaimen and laid him in his lap.

Clement found himself with an unimpeded view, as the
mohel
severed the baby’s foreskin before making a second incision, sucking up the blood through a small pipette. Zaimen let out a howl, more of outrage than of pain, which intensified as first the
mohel
and then Zvi spoke a prayer. The Rabbi blessed a cup of wine and passed it to the
mohel
, who put a teaspoonful on Zaimen’s lips, to no discernible effect. He bandaged the baby’s wound and handed him to Zvi, who cradled him proudly in the crook of his arm, while his friends clapped and cheered and chanted to welcome the latest member of their
community
. Suddenly, three young men linked arms and gyrated through the crowd. Clement watched in amazement as the sedate sitting room turned into a heaving dance floor. Seizing his chance, he grabbed Mike and pulled him into the throng.

‘This is to make up for the engagement dance they banned us from two years ago,’ he whispered. ‘This is to make up for every dance they’ve banned us from for thousands of years.’

With his arm draped casually around Mike’s waist, he kept just the right side of discretion. As he gazed towards the women huddled in the doorway, he spotted his mother, Carla and Shoana at the front. He gave them a sweeping bow, to be rewarded by a wave from his mother, a thumbs up from Carla and a cryptic smile from Shoana, which he resolved to see as a sign of acceptance. Whatever differences they might have had in the past, whatever differences they might have in the future, this was a day of celebration. Zaimen Edwin Latsky, starting out on a glorious adventure, had entered into a covenant with his God.

The Arts Council England provided me with generous financial assistance towards the writing of the novel and the Hawthornden Trust with an idyllic setting in which to start work.

I am deeply indebted to the following individuals and institutions for their help with my research: Anna Arthur, Rev Peter Baker, Mark Borkowski, the Governor and staff of Brixton prison, Beverley Bryon, Martin Carr and the Royal Society, Mark Cazalet, Phil Chapman, William Coley, Rev Tom Devonshire-Jones, Glen Donovan, Susie Dowdall, Julia Dunn, Katy Gardner, Patrick Gibb QC, Nicholas Granger-Taylor, Wesley Gryk, Naomi Gryn, Professor J F La Fontaine, Charles Leigh, The London Library Trust, Dr Tali Lowenthal, Reva Mann, Dr Edward Norman, Dr Tudor Parfitt,
Professor
John Peel, Ruth Posner, Gary Richards, Rabbi Mark Solomon, Dr Penny Thexton, Catherine Walston, Dr David Watt.

Rupert Christiansen, Marika Cobbold, Emmanuel Cooper, Harriet Cobbold Hielte, Liz Jensen, Julia Pascal, Ann Pennington, Mark Simpson and Timberlake Wertenbaker offered judicious advice on early drafts of the novel and Hilary Sage saved me from my most egregious solecisms.

MICHAEL ARDITTI
was born in Cheshire and lives in London. He is the author of five highly acclaimed novels,
The Celibate, Pagan and her Parents, Easter, Unity
and
A Sea Change
, and a collection of short stories,
Good Clean Fun
.