IN AWKWARD SILENCE KATIE stood at the boat rail and listened to the gentle sound of the waves as the boat seemed to glide along without effort. In the distance Manhattan looked majestic, the lights just beginning to go on.
“What are you thinking of?” David asked.
“How magnificent the different colors are between dusk and evening, and how beautiful New York looks from here.”
So far as he was concerned it looked beautiful neither from here nor from anywhere. “Really? Do you like it here?”
He expected her to say no, not really. “I adore it; I’ve never been so happy in all my life.”
“Happy?”
“Yes, very.”
They strolled around the deck. There was an Italian family en masse having a Sunday excursion.
“Hey, Tony, play Sorrento again,” the grandfather shouted. The young boy took up his concertina and the concert began.
“Oh, David, this is such fun, more than I’ve ever had.”
The more she spoke the more intrigued he became. Solly didn’t understand her, he thought she spoke with an accent? Never had he heard his name until she said it; she made it sound soft, and gentle. David, he repeated to himself slowly. Nobody called him David; his family called him by his Jewish name, Duvid, and his friends, Dave.
They found a bench and sat down.
“How do you happen to be living with the Greenbergs?”
“My mother and Mrs. Greenberg had known each other all their lives, and when my mother died I came here to live with them.”
“Tell me about yourself.” He was so curious about her—a rare thing for him.
“There’s nothing to tell, I’ve really had a very uninteresting life.”
“Tell me just the same.”
Uncertainly she said, “I was born in Poland but I lived in London all of my life until I came here.”
“How did you happen to be in London?”
“It’s really all so boring, David.”
“I don’t mind. If it gets too boring I’ll tell you all about mine, which is very exciting!” They both laughed.
“Are you sure you want to hear all this?”
“Yes.”
She thought for a while; where did he want her to begin? At the beginning.
Hannah’s oldest brother Max had escaped the Polish army by fleeing to England. In London there was a benevolent society that secured jobs for these men, and among them was Max. Naturally, none of them could speak English, so the problem was they had to wait until they could be employed, mostly by Jewish firms. One such firm that absorbed many of these men was the Felix Block Company, manufacturers of leather goods from fine luggage and ladies’ handbags to gloves, and this is where Max Iscoff found work. He was a man of many qualities. One of the qualities that endeared him to Felix Block was his giving more than just a day’s work. He worked long after the others left, he was the first one waiting for the factory to open in the morning, and Mr. Block watched with a canny eye. Large as the factory was, he knew the prowess of every one of his workers. Within a year he promoted Max to superintendent and eventually to sales manager, while all the time Mr. Block had even bigger plans for Max. His English had become so good that after two years he spoke with only a slight trace of a Polish accent, having applied the same verve and tenacity to learning English that he did to his work. So the time had come for Mr. Felix Block to invite Max to dinner. The mistress of his home was his daughter, his wife having passed away four years ago. His life revolved around her; she was the reason for his whole existence, and it was her future which mainly concerned him now that Rosalind Block had just turned thirty-one with no prospects of marriage on the horizon.
Felix looked painfully at his one and only child and secretly had to admit that she looked just like him. On a man the large features didn’t seem too terribly out of place, but unfortunately she had inherited the worst of his looks as well as the worst that was in his nature, and none of her mother’s charm and beauty. Had it been the other way around, Felix would not now be unhappy over the fact that perhaps there might never be an heir to carry on the firm of Block, a firm whose lineage went back five generations. Felix Block wanted grandchildren. If fate had designed it differently there would be no need to have someone like Max to dinner, a mere peasant to sit at the table of Mr. Felix Block. But c’est la vie, and Mr. Felix Block, being a very practical man, began to evaluate the potential of Max, figuring that in him he just might be able to have his life-long ambition come true. This was not the man he would have chosen if the gods had been kinder to Rosalind; but Max had charm, and above all, obedience. He worked hard and diligently, and with him there would be no risk of the business falling out of Felix’ hands. After his demise it would still be Rosalind’s, because Felix realized that where Max was extremely bright, he was also soft and pliable. Felix knew that his daughter could never be married to a strong, dominating man such as, for example, himself. They were too much alike. So with all things considered, without his knowing it, Max had been chosen.
And they were married. Felix waited impatiently for that one year but there were no children. When Rosalind told her father there would likely be none because she had been unable to conceive, Felix laughed bitterly to himself at the games life played with him. He had accepted a man he felt was beneath him to live in his house, to sleep with his daughter and eat at his table—and all for nothing.
And then seeming miracle of miracles happened: Felix Block was told that his dream was going to be fulfilled—Rosalind was going to have a child. Max immediately was moved out of Rosalind’s bed chamber and given a small room down the hall. His task was completed, his function was done.
The nine months passed miserably for Rosalind. In the beginning she was terribly ill with morning sickness, which persisted for hours, adding to her irritability. Her enormous bulk toward the end became so cumbersome that she spent most of the time in bed, was unbearably moody, and promised herself that never again would she submit to anything as undignified as pregnancy.
When the moment of birth arrived she lay prostrate in her bed, hating Max for having subjected her to the tyrannies of childbirth. After forty-eight hours, Julian Iscoff was born. Almost immediately after being separated from the placenta of his mother he found himself in the arms of his doting grandfather, who looked upon the child from the moment of birth as the product of his own self-will and determination.
As Julian began to grow, so did Rosalind’s disdain for Max. He was never permitted to take the child out alone; Julian was either in the care of a nanny, his mother, or grandfather. Primarily Felix Block would direct Julian’s destiny.
One day out of desperation Max took the three-year-old from his nanny’s arms, disregarding her wild objections, took Julian out, sat him alongside him in the car, having decided to spend the day alone with the child in spite of them all. He bought him a ball, then took him to Hyde Park and frolicked with him in the grass, threw the ball back and forth. To Max’s great delight the child responded to him.
After several hours three-year-old Julian became tired, lay down on the grass and fell asleep while Max hovered over him. When the child awoke refreshed, Max picked him up in his arms, hugged and held him, and walked back to where the car was. For one moment Max looked into the window of the toy store, thinking perhaps he should have bought Julian another toy. As he did so the ball that Julian was holding dropped from his hand and rolled into the street; the child ran after it. In all the confusion after the screech of brakes a crowd gathered and Julian lay lifeless.
Rosalind was inconsolable. She beat Max with her fists until the blood ran from his mouth, screaming that he was a monster and had killed her child.
For the rest of his life Max was enslaved, beholden to her out of his guilt. Rosalind could now do with him absolutely what she would. From then on he was never to know another moment of tranquility. Rosalind never let him forget that it was he who was responsible for Julian’s death; she never let him forget that he lived on her bounty, that he was a nobody, a nothing without the Block name. Disregarding that he contributed to what she now regarded as his charity, no matter how much he produced he still received a relatively small salary despite being responsible for making thousands and thousands of pounds for the firm each year.
Max accepted all the indignities, until matters became so unbearable he felt he had to escape. But how? He could not divorce her, the laws forbade that, and so he stayed. He built an unbreachable wall between himself and her—the only way he could have gone on living with Rosalind without eventually killing her, which is what he would like to have done many times. He became deaf to her rantings and mute to her caprices. Only once did he really oppose her, when he received the letter from his sister.
Hannah had become widowed and was left penniless with a five-year-old child. There was no one left, now that Mama and Papa were gone and all the rest had scattered. So she wrote to Max. It was her dream to be near her brother, the person she loved the most from childhood. She had to get away from the ghosts of the past and the tragic memories that haunted her. She begged Max to rescue her.
Max, badly shaken by the news, sent two tickets and sufficient money to bring her to London. He would worry about Rosalind later….
As he waited at Victoria station for the train to arrive he looked back to a day so long ago and remembered that rosy-cheeked young girl with the long heavy silken braids, standing at the roadside dressed in a peasant blouse his mother had made, waving good-bye to him as he left on his life’s journey. Now when Hannah and her child stepped off the train he hardly recognized her; she was only in her late twenties but looked ten years older than himself.
“Hannah!” he called out as he ran to her. They went into each other’s arms. He kissed her cheeks, her eyes and her forehead; he stroked her hair, which was still shining and beautiful, placed her head on his shoulder as they swayed gently back and forth. For one fleeting moment as he held her in his arms he recalled another day in an orchard, when they lay on their backs under a tree eating sweet summer pears and gazing up at a so blue sky, watching white foamy clouds float by and in childish fantasy dreamed about wondrous things they would do when they grew up. A bittersweet memory now as he held the fragile body against him.
“Hannah,” he whispered, “Hannah, what have they done to you … Hannah, my Hannah …” They stood in silence now, each with their own thoughts. Finally Hannah separated herself from Max and held him at arm’s length.
“Max, dearest brother, let me look at you. Am I really seeing you? Is this a dream? Will I wake up?”
“It’s me, Hannala. It is real and you are here.”
Katie waited patiently with the rag doll in her hand. Max looked down at her; swooping her up in his arms, he kissed and hugged her.
“Katie, this is little Katie! Hannah, this could have been you when you were five. My precious child,” he said, and hugged her to him.
Max drove them through the cold London night to Rosalind’s house. Hannah looked around in awe as they entered the oak-paneled hall with its original paintings, the vibrant antique Persian rug which she was reluctant to walk on, and thought that in her wildest dreams never would she see such a house, much less her brother’s.
“Max,” she said, “Max, you never mentioned once in your letters you lived in such a palace. Oh, Max, I’m so proud of you, but I’m not surprised; you were always the smartest one of all. If only mama and papa could have seen this.”
Max could not meet the gaze of those lovely eyes full with admiration, love, and innocence. He just nodded his thanks and changed the subject.
“My wife would like to have been here to meet you,”—he listened to himself as he continued to lie—“but she’s not been too well lately and wishes to be forgiven for tonight; you’ll meet in the morning.” At least he had spared her the morbid details for this one evening, hoping through some divine intervention Rosalind might relent, though never really believing it for a moment. “Let me take you to your room; you must be exhausted, and the poor child is half asleep. Come to Uncle Max, my schöen kind.” He carried her up the stairs to the servants’ quarters on the third floor. Looking over his shoulder, he said, “Leave your suitcase, I’ll come down and get it later.” Hannah had started to pick it up and follow him.
“Now you’ll rest. I’ve had a little supper prepared.”
They reminisced about their childhood and their youth, about papa, such a scholar, the challehs, the strudel and the mandelbrot which mama made. They laughed when they thought about her, that she was the envy of every woman in the village. They tried to speak about the good things and the happy things and then, as happens with shared memories, they could not avoid the bad things. But for Hannah this was all behind them now. It would be a better life, a new life, and above all for her, no longer the loneliness. Now she had Max.
After supper he said, “It’s getting late, my dearest, get some rest; we’ll talk tomorrow.” He kissed her on the forehead. “Sleep well, Hannah, my little sister, sleep well.”
He left, walked down the stairs, then along the hall. Opening the door to his room, he found Rosalind waiting for him, silhouetted against the fireplace. “How dare you defy me?” She raged, and rushed over to Max, standing so close to him that when she spoke he felt the fine spray of saliva on his face. “I told you not to bring them into my house.”
Backing away from her—not out of fear but because he found her nearness repulsive—he said calmly, “I had no other choice but to bring them here. Besides, this is my house too. I believe I make my contribution toward bed and board.”
“Your house indeed, I want them out of here in the morning, do you hear me, in the morning! I have no intention of supporting three peasants!”
For the first time he laid hands on her, grabbed her arm and twisted it behind her back. He wanted to kill her. He wished he had the courage to match his anger. “Now you listen to me and listen very carefully. I will not send my sister and her child out into the streets. She will go when I find a suitable place for her.” He released her arm, sickened by her and by his own violence. “I don’t know how long that will take. She will go to work, so take heart, she won’t be in your debt. However, Katie will remain in this house until such a time as my sister can provide a decent home for herself and the child. Do you understand what I say? Or if not, the three of us will leave, and you, my dear, and Mr. Felix Block, my benefactor, and the Felix Block Company can drop dead with my best wishes.” Opening the door and waiting for her to exit, he added, “Do I make myself clear?”
She stood looking at him. This was a new Max, not the mild lamb she had led to the altar. Still—she wasn’t Felix Block’s daughter for nothing—she quickly pulled herself together. Her father was getting older and soon he would have to go into complete retirement. In fact, he had never recovered from the loss of Julian. She needed Max to run that business. He knew it now as well as Felix did. So she said to herself that this was not too much to negotiate for an employee as valuable as Max.
“All right, she can stay, on one condition: that she keep out of my sight and that I have no responsibilities toward her.” Not wanting to linger in her moment of relative defeat, she turned smartly and like a proud general momentarily unhorsed, strode from the room, slamming the door behind her.
Who better than Max understood the problems that confronted Hannah? She spoke not a word of English, only Yiddish. What was she qualified for? Nothing, really, except to be a servant, and for Max this was simply unacceptable. He wanted to support her, but she refused, grateful enough that Katie could remain. Max regretfully agreed there seemed to be no other answer. Hannah got a job as a cook for a lovely family in Kensington by the name of Goldsmith with four growing children who maintained a kosher kitchen and spoke Yiddish in a most delightful way, with traces of a cockney accent.
Katie lived from one Saturday to the other; being the sabbath, that was the only day her mother did not work. Impatiently she would wait downstairs at the side entrance. When Hannah approached, Katie would run to her, kissing and hugging her around the legs. Proud of the way she had dressed herself, she would look up and ask, “Do you like the way I look, Mama?”
“Yes, like the most beautiful Shabbas queen,” and off the two of them would go to synagogue.
Hannah was a very religious woman, but she realized how impossible it would be to adhere to the old ways. If she didn’t ride or spend money on the sabbath it would mean depriving Katie of the one, all too short day they spent together. She decided that the Lord would have to forgive her this one transgression.
After synagogue she would take Katie to lunch. On some Saturdays they would go to Hyde Park for a picnic, which Hannah brought with the compliments of the Goldsmiths; or to the cinema, which neither of them understood, but Katie loved the movies and she began to learn from them. When the day was over and Hannah brought her home, Katie would run up the back stairs to her room, take out the present she brought home each week—a lovely hair ribbon, a box of biscuits, a small doll, a coloring book—and then cry inconsolably.
Max spent an hour every evening with Katie, trying to teach her English. He would love to have indulged her, to have done great and wonderful things for her, but he was grateful that if this were not really a home, it was at least a roof over her head. From time to time he protested, but not too insistently, when she was not permitted to take her meals in the dining room with them, instead eating with the servants. It crushed Max, but this after all was Rosalind’s house. He despised the room on the third floor in the servants’ quarters where Katie slept when there were five bedrooms that were unused. The room had a large, round dormer window where the roof sloped and when the moon shone brightly it terrified Katie so that she slept with the covers over her head. In winter the rain pounded on the pane making sounds that frightened her so that she would lie shivering, holding tight to her doll.
With the purse strings held fast by Rosalind, what could Max really do for Katie? Knowing that he would not be able to endow her with anything, he decided the most he could do was provide her with a fine education. He enrolled her at Greycoats School for Girls, where eventually she learned not only impeccable English but French as well. Katie had expressed a great desire to play the piano, and Max found a teacher at whose home she could practice every day. When she played at her first recital he bought her a lovely dress appropriate for just such an occasion, a white starched organdy with a wide pink satin sash tied in the back with an enormous bow, long white cotton stockings, and black patent leather party pumps.
She sat at the piano playing a simple Chopin waltz, her black curls bouncing up and down as she arpeggioed back and forth. When Katie finished and curtsied, Hannah took Max’s hand in hers and looked at him. Her quiet eyes spoke what no lips could have said; no words were needed to speak of the pride and the gratitude she felt toward Max for making all this possible.
Ironically, Katie’s love of music was really due to Rosalind, without Rosalind’s realizing it. She had become a patron of the arts, introducing and encouraging young musicians. To fill the void in her life since her son’s death, she pursued this with as much fervor as she indulged her loathing for Max and now for Katie, who lived in her home that should have been for Julian.
On Sunday evenings she presided over soirées to which she would invite important people in the music world to listen to her newest protégé. The music and excitement would find its way to Katie’s room and she would listen, enchanted.
One evening, barefooted, she tip-toed down to the second floor and peeked between the banister railing, listening for a long time, then crept down the stairs, careful not to be noticed. When she got to the bottom she saw the beautifully gowned women and distinguished gentlemen sitting in their gilt chairs facing the pianist. Impulsively Katie walked quietly into the dining room. The sight enthralled her. The table was set with the gleaming Sheffield silver service which had belonged to Rosalind’s great-grandmother; there were deep red roses in a silver and crystal epergne that had belonged to her grandmother. The table was laden with small canapés, tiny petits-fours, and exquisitely frosted French pastries in different colors. She stood in wonder at the beauty of all she saw, and without thinking of the consequences, she reached for one. As she did so, one of Rosalind’s finest Minton plates came crashing to the floor, breaking into a dozen pieces. Terrified, she bent down to pick up the fragments. As she got up, Rosalind was standing there, the doors closed behind her so that no one could hear.
She pulled Katie to her feet and slapped her so hard across the face that Katie staggered. Rosalind’s face was fury itself, but Katie was too stunned to cry. Rosalind’s anger still not exhausted; she shook her again, this time harder. “I’ve told you never to come, into this room, you bad, bad girl! Now go upstairs. I’ll deal with you and your uncle about this in the morning.”
Katie ran hysterically from the room, through the kitchen, and out into the street in her bare feet. She had to find her mother or Aunt Rosalind would do something dreadful to her in the morning—she had said so. She ran for blocks, tears streaming down her face, her nose running, her feet bleeding, not knowing where she was going. Finally she went back to Rosalind’s house, crouched under the door stoop, cried until there were no more tears, and finally fell asleep.
The next morning Ellen, the cook, going out to gather up the morning paper and milk, found Katie feverish and half-conscious. Picking up the frozen girl in her arms, she carried her to her room, put her under the covers, and then went to summon Max. Frantic with grief, Max couldn’t understand what had happened. He had looked in at her last night when she had gone to bed at her regular bedtime, which was eight in the evening. Bewildered he called the doctor, who after he had examined Katie, told Max, “We have a very sick little girl on our hands. I’m afraid it’s pneumonia. I’ll make all the arrangements to have her put in the hospital.”
The next forty-eight hours were a nightmare. Unshaven, exhausted from lack of sleep. Max remained with his sister, consoling her, begging her to rest in the small room next to Katie’s that he had arranged for. He ordered meals to be brought to them, which neither of them touched, and they prayed as never before. It was four o’clock in the afternoon on Tuesday when the doctor said, “We have a great deal to be grateful for; our little lady has passed the crisis.”
The next two weeks were the happiest Katie had ever known. She was showered with loving attention from both her mother and uncle. Each day Uncle Max brought her a new toy, a box of chocolates, a coloring book; but best of all he brought her a bunch of pink baby roses in a pink-and-white container that looked like a precious lamb. She adored it and was sure she would keep it forever.
The Goldsmiths were very understanding when they learned about Hannah’s girl being ill. They insisted that she not work for the time that Katie was in the hospital. Mrs. Goldsmith sent a large tin of Danish cookies and some toys her children no longer played with.
When Katie finally was released from the hospital, Max spent as much time as he could with her, which of course brought on an outbreak of Rosalind’s hostility; but by now it mattered not at all to Max. When Hannah would have her holiday for one week away from the Goldsmiths, he would take Katie and her to Brighton.
On Katie’s sixteenth birthday they went to Rules in Maiden Lane near Covent Garden. It was a restaurant frequented by theatrical people; he had taken Katie there once before to see a Noël Coward play. Now he ordered a very special dinner and a birthday cake.
As he sat across from his niece he looked at her face, radiant and young, her voice full of the excitement of youth. The contrast with his sister was shocking—the dim candlelight made Hannah appear even more sallow; her cheeks were sunken, there were dark rings around her eyes, she was thinner than he had ever seen her. “How are you feeling, Hannala?”
“I’m fine, really.”
Max knew this was not so; she looked too ill. “You’re working too hard?” he demanded.
“No, Max, I don’t work hard at all. The Goldsmiths are such nice people, and besides, there really isn’t all that much to do.”
As he ate his dinner, he thought, if she were ill would she tell? Probably not, knowing Hannah. He promised himself one thing, that although he had to go abroad for a few days, when he came home he would insist that she either change her job and allow him to care for her, which up to now she had vehemently refused, or find a situation where she would not work so many days. The problem, of course, was the same; she had learned to speak very little English through all the years, even now knowing just enough to get by.
After dinner Max turned to Katie and said, “I’m going to Paris for a few days on business. If it’s all right with your mother, would you like to go?”
“Oh, Uncle, could I really? I would love nothing quite so much!”
“Then it’s settled. We go on Wednesday and we’ll be back on Monday.”
She clapped her hands in excitement and said, “I love you. Uncle, I love you.”
“I’m delighted that you do, but I’m really only taking you because I need an interpreter. Why else do you think I spent all that money on those French lessons?”
They laughed.
She wasn’t sure how someone felt when they’d had too much champagne, but knew it had to be very much the same kind of sensation she was feeling now, reeling with happy intoxication. Four glorious, exciting days of visiting the Louvre, of dining in some marvelous French restaurant where she ordered in French. She adored her room with the small gray marble fireplace, the entire room done in rough toile, the bedspread, draperies and the pair of petite chairs on either side of the mantel. But best of all was the diminutive balcony that looked out over the Seine. What girl had ever been so lucky? If nothing else ever happened in her life this memory would be sufficient to last her forever.
When they returned there was a message for Max from Mrs. Goldsmith to phone her immediately. He was told that his sister had become very ill on Friday evening and not knowing what to do since he was away, she had taken it upon herself to call her own doctor, who had advised that Hannah be put in a hospital as quickly as possible. She was now at St. Thomas’s. Mrs. Goldsmith gave Max the doctor’s name and telephone number. He called right away and Max was asked to come to the doctor’s office to discuss his sister’s case.
“I know this is very difficult for you, but you must know how seriously ill your sister is,” the doctor told him. “The kind of cancer she has …” He shrugged his shoulders. “Perhaps a year, we can never be sure.”
Hannah died almost a year later to the day.
After the funeral they drove home in silence, Katie and Max. She went to her room and packed her belongings in the same suitcase her mother had brought from Poland. In the evening, Max had Ellen take her a tray.
Rosalind did not come to offer one word of condolence; Katie never really expected she would. She looked at the tray but could not touch it. Max knocked on the door. Opening it, her uncle stood before her. He had aged so much in the last few weeks; his eyes were sunken and red, he looked like an empty vessel. The lapel of his coat had been cut in the traditional gesture of mourning.
They sat looking at each other for a long while and then quietly she said, “I must leave now that my mother is gone.” She took his hand in hers and said, “Painful as it is to leave you I cannot remain in this house any longer. I’ve caused you enough grief with your wife, I feel very responsible for that—”
“No, no, Katie. You and I are all that is left of our family. Please stay and I’ll try to work something out, just the two of us. Please stay.”
“Dearest uncle, some things are too late. My mother wanted me to go to America to be with Malka Greenberg. Truly, I must, for your sake as well as mine. I cannot stay and sit shivah for my mother. I’d like to leave as quickly as possible.” She swallowed hard, holding back tears. “I love you, uncle, and never in my life will I be able to tell you how dear you are to me. Thank you, thank you for everything.”
She was right, Max thought. If anything happened to him, if he died, she would be completely alone, then there would not even be Malka. Life’s commands—when to stay, when to go … He had never learned, he never would. What was left for him now? Only the prospect of death. Soon, he hoped, soon.
Now, across an ocean, David and Katie remained strangely silent. She looked down at her hands folded in her lap. How many things, she thought, had happened to her. How many lives had been spent and how many events had taken place through all the years so that she could be sitting here next to a young man she did not even know existed until a few short hours ago, revealing things to him that she had not even told Birdie, things she had not wanted to remember. But once started, she found herself unable to stop, and here she had said it all to him, a stranger. When she thought about how casually they had met this afternoon she had the strange feeling of being caught up in something inevitable. Could she call it her destiny …?
“David, forgive me, I hadn’t meant to go on and on.”
Deeply touched, he said, “I’m glad you told me.”
“I’ve done all the talking. Now, David, what about you?”
He looked at her. “What’s there to tell? I’ve used up twenty-three years of my life doing nothing, and the only thing I know for certain is that someday I’m going to grow old and die.”
His hopelessness was like a sharp pain cutting through her. She did not press him, but silently wondered.
The benches they were seated on were back-to-back, and a small boy of about four climbed up behind Katie, examined her hair ribbon, then in one quick gesture untied it, jumped off the bench and ran away, with David chasing quickly after him. After David caught the child and retrieved the ribbon, he returned to where they were sitting and handed it to Katie.
As she pulled her hair back to retie the ribbon David said, “No, please don’t, I think your hair looks so, well, so nice that way.” He looked at her—her hair falling softly about her shoulders, her lovely eyes the color of blue hyacinths as she sat so near him in her white dress, she reminded him of a Goya painting he’d seen once at the Metropolitan Museum.
The ferry had come into port and now was docking. They sat and waited for the others to get off, wanting to be the last to leave.
After David had taken her home and said good night, he waited for her to disappear inside the doorway. Leaning against the lamp post, he lit a cigarette, drawing the smoke deep into his lungs. He looked up, hoping she would come to the window, before finally flipping the cigarette away and walking toward home.
It was twelve o’clock before Katie slid past Sammy’s narrow bed in the hall. Quietly she opened the bedroom door, but Birdie was sitting up in bed in the dark, waiting. All evening she had been a nervous wreck anticipating the most horrendous things. She knew that she could handle men—look how she handled Solly—but Katie was something else again; she was green and David knew his way around plenty. All evening she’d been apprehensive over letting her go alone on a boat ride. After all, what did Birdie really know about David? What if she had gone to school with him, what did that mean? She didn’t know him as a date, and what girl could resist that gorgeous hunk of flesh? For a minute she wondered if she would have used the same tactics with David that she had used with Solly, confessing that she doubted it very much. With her arms folded across her chest, she demanded, “All right, so tell me, where have you been since four-thirty today?”
Katie threw her arms around Birdie’s neck. “Birdie, I’ve met the most wonderful boy!” She hesitated, drew in her breath, and said, “You won’t laugh if I tell you something?”
“No, I won’t laugh, I hope. So what is it?”
“I think I’m in love.”
“Oh that’s great, one time you go out and you’re already in love. Congratulations. Now tell me, what did you do?”
“We went on the boat ride and then David took me to dinner. And after dinner we went for a long walk and just talked about everything …”
“What kind of everything?”
“Oh, about books, and paintings, and music.”
“Well, that sounds just lovely,” Birdie said sarcastically, as though she believed for one minute that anybody could talk for eight hours about books, music and paintings. She knew better than that, knowing all too well these east side Romeos. Sure she’d wanted Katie to meet David, but not this way. There should have been a chaperone along and who better than Birdie since she had been the shadchen, the matchmaker, especially with an innocent like Katie on her first date with a boy, and someone like David Rezinetsky, no less! “O.K., now be honest with me, I’ll understand. What did he do? Did he get fresh, did he try to do something like … Oh, you know what I mean. Did he?” Birdie was so serious that Katie started to laugh when she became irritated and repeated, “Well, did he?”
“Oh, Birdie, you darling goose. He didn’t even kiss me good night.”
All her careful planning down the drain … hadn’t even kissed her good night. She should have known that someone like David wouldn’t go for Katie. Sweet and lovable as she was, she was so plain; Birdie should have insisted that she at least use some lipstick. After all, David had turned down the best-looking girls on Hester Street—her, for example. She kept her thoughts to herself and finally fell asleep, to dream of new and bolder stratagems….
David stood outside his flat now. Looking at the closed door, he realized how impossible it would be for him after the evening he had just spent with this lovely girl to go to bed and lie alongside his brother Ben’s sweating body, to go to sleep smelling freshly fermenting garbage in the alley below. He turned and went up the stairs to the roof, then over to the parapet and looked over. It was not quite the same sight he had seen earlier today. All he had come back to was the ghetto’s imprisonment that he felt deep inside himself. For him there was no beauty here, and no love. He turned around and saw the wash drying on the clothes line, walked over and took down a towel, rolled it up into a ball to use as a pillow and lay down with his hands behind his head, looking up at the stars. Close enough to reach out and touch.
He thought about Katie. Certainly he’d never imagined meeting anyone like her, or that someone like her existed. She had been to Paris, she played the piano, she had attended a private school. How strange that she was happy here with the Greenbergs in the ghetto when she had known that other life, that she was happy in a place that he found so oppressive. How could she settle for this? Of course her life had been lonely and he could understand why she’d needed to leave; but to be happy and content here, this was something he found impossible to understand.
He could sense her now, sitting alongside him. He had wanted to run his fingers through her hair earlier, but he had resisted then. Suddenly he became warm from desire for her, wishing she could be next to him at this very moment. He’d felt this way when they said good night, yet he hadn’t even kissed her. Why? He shrugged it off, telling himself he had only been fascinated by her, she was so different…. That’s all it was, really, but … the question still persisted. If he found her all that fascinating and desirable, why hadn’t he kissed her good night. Was it because he thought she was so naïve and untouched? No, it had nothing to do with her naïveté. And then the thought rushed at him: it was quite simple—he had fallen in love with her. Yes, unbelievably, impossibly, it apparently had happened to him the way the oldest stories said it did, and the way he had long since promised himself it never would….
In love? Oh, my God, no, he couldn’t be in love, he wasn’t ready, he couldn’t afford to be in love! How could he? He couldn’t even support himself, much less a wife. What was he thinking of? Why had he even thought of the words wife or support? To support someone meant that you had to get married. Married? My God, he was insane! He just met this girl; one didn’t fall in love so quickly, it took time. You don’t take a girl for a boat ride and right away think about getting married. He didn’t even know her. Maybe it was an illusion. He wasn’t going to see her ever again. Isn’t that what he told Solly, just once? By tomorrow he’d forget her; by next week he wouldn’t even remember she existed. He made up his mind, he was not going to be in love.
Running downstairs to his flat, he undressed in the dark, got into bed and spent the worst, most miserable night he could ever remember. Not only that night, but for three nights and three days he kept arguing, fighting, debating with himself. He was not going to see Katie, he was going to forget her, cut her out of his thoughts. Why not? He was too strong-willed to allow a girl, a mere girl he met once, to make him fall in love with her. Nothing was strong enough to make him change his mind. Fine, finished, period.
Except now, he found himself waiting just beyond the tenement where the Greenbergs lived, waiting for Katie and Birdie to come home from work. Maybe, he reasoned, if he saw her once more he would realize how stupid he had been to have plagued himself. He took out a cigarette. When he struck the match his hand shook. Taking a deep breath, he moistened his lips and tried to compose himself. He wanted to run away, he still had time; but when he saw Katie and Birdie approach, he knew … knew it was too late. Birdie was already saying, “Hi, Dave.” He shrugged his shoulders. Later he couldn’t even remember whether he had answered or not. All he could focus on was trying to disguise his joy at seeing Katie, a joy mingled with irritation and surprise at his own weakness—he still thought of it that way. “How are you, Katie?” He hoped it sounded casual. When she smiled in reply he felt his heart pound. When he heard her voice … “Fine, David, and you? How are you?” … just those few words, that’s all … she was real all right. Just the smile…. And he heard himself saying, as though he had no will of his own, “Fine … thanks, are you busy tonight?” “No.” “Would you like to go for a walk or to a movie?”
Birdie interrupted, “What about supper? Mama’s got supper ready. Want to come up, Dave, and eat first?” He had forgotten Birdie was there. “No, thanks.”
“But you got to eat,” she said, suddenly disliking him enormously. After all, she had been the matchmaker and he was treating her like some kind of intruder. Maybe Solly was right, he was a schmuck, a snob. What, her house wasn’t good enough for him? She wished she had never started the whole affair. She didn’t feel less offended when David passed over her again and asked Katie directly, “Would you like to eat out?”
Katie looked at Birdie, “Do you think it would be all right?”
“Why … what’s not to be all right? Go … go and have fun.”
Katie knew Birdie was hurt. David had been rude, but why he had been rude, she didn’t know nor could she understand. She felt vaguely guilty, but she wanted so badly to be with David that her loyalties to Birdie were overruled. She kissed Birdie on the cheek and said she would be home early, then left with David as Birdie stood watching them walk down the street until they were out of sight.
The Greenbergs were seated in their usual places at the kitchen table when Katie came in. Birdie looked at the clock. It was only seven-thirty. “How come you’re home so early?” Katie shrugged. “I don’t know. It seemed David was tired and said he had a big day tomorrow.”
“Some date. The Romeo, the big Beau Brummell of Hester Street was tired.” Birdie was about to go on when Malka asked, “Did you eat, Katala?”
“No … I wasn’t hungry.”
“Come, sit down. The stuffed cabbage is still hot.”
Before Katie could answer, Birdie interrupted, “What? The big spender couldn’t take you somewhere for a bite. In our house, he didn’t want to eat.”
“Please, Birdie, that’s not true, I just didn’t feel hungry. We did have coffee.”
“Ha—that must have set him back a whole dime.”
Malta was mystified at Birdie’s attitude. “That’s enough already, Birdie, with the big mouth. Now, Katala, sit down and I’ll fix tea.”
Katie bit her lip to stop from crying, “Thank you, but may I be excused?” Before anyone could say another word, Katie walked quickly to the bedroom and shut the door behind her, stood at the window and let the tears tumble down her cheeks. She wasn’t even sure why she was crying. She didn’t look around as Birdie entered and for the first time Katie was angry, confused with Birdie. In fact, she was confused about a great many things. Most of all about David’s reactions to her during their brief time together. He had said little. In fact, they seemed to have little to say to one another. Sitting across the table at Plotkin’s, drinking coffee, there was an awkward silence between them, as though David’s mind was a million miles away. To break the silence she asked, “David, do you like your work?” He looked up from the coffee and said, “You bet I love it. In fact, you know, I had the opportunity to be a banker, but I turned it down. Sure, I even turned down being gentile and picked Jewish.”…
Her thoughts were interrupted by Birdie’s, “I’m sorry, I don’t know what got into me.” She walked over to Katie, put her arms around her. “You’re crying because of what I said. I’m sorry.”
Katie wiped her tears, “No, Birdie, I’m crying because I’m so—”
“You’re crying because you’re in love.”
“Yes, I am in love, very much. But I always thought being in love was a wonderful happy thing. Tonight was so curious …”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean I’m not sure how David feels about me.”
“O.K., so tell me, what is it you see in him that makes you love him so. I grant you, he’s handsome, but what the hell else is he? He’s an arrogant louse, always was. He’s not good enough for you.”
“Oh, Birdie, you don’t know David at all,”
“And you do.”
“Yes.”
“So tell me, what’s so great to understand?”
She hesitated, then looked at Birdie. “David is a very lonely man who lives inside himself. He’s so afraid to allow anyone to understand him he has built up a hard shell so not to be hurt, and I believe life has hurt David deeply in a way I don’t entirely understand but I know instinctively. David feels deprived somehow … it’s as though he were wounded, and he holds back as though he were afraid of what might happen if he didn’t. And yet I feel a kindness and tenderness in him … Do you understand what I’m saying?” Birdie thought, a little education can be a very dangerous thing. This was how David looked to Katie? Lonely, deprived? Tough luck, Dave, we’re all millionaires and we come home from the factory in our Rolls-Royces. What she said was, “Did he kiss you good night?” “No, but I think he wanted to.”
Oh boy, and Katie knows about men? A guy likes a girl, he grabs her in the hall and plants one right on the mouth and says I’ll see you tomorrow, next day, the next 4th of July, Chanukah. Didn’t even kiss her, and she thinks he likes her. “So,” said Birdie, “when’s your next date?”
“David didn’t say.”
“What the hell did he say?”
“Just that it was nice being together. And thank you.”
“Oh, that’s great. He didn’t even try to kiss you?”
“No, but I know that I’ll see him.”
“Mazel tov!”
When David had left Katie, he felt there was no place to hide. He wanted to be anything in this world but alive in this moment. The evening had been a disaster. He was afraid of talking too much, afraid to betray himself by one word leading to another until without realizing what he was saying, blurt out, I love you. Saying good night without touching her, not kissing her … it had been agony.
All week, he walked around like a zombie, again unable to sleep, eat, work. He would walk past her house hoping to catch a glimpse of her. At the end of ten days, he thought he would go out of his mind. His mother, noticing how drawn he had gotten and how nervous he was, pleaded with him to eat. He couldn’t. He tried calling Abe Garfinckel, but he was away for the week. There had to be someone to talk to, so he tried his brother.
Ben was something less than sensitive. “This is the second time you took her out?”
“Yes,”
“You’re screwy—who falls so crazy in love with a broad? And so serious yet.” In between cutting the soup meat on his plate, he went on, “You know what you need, Dave, is a good lay to get your nuts off. Take it from me.”
David was so angry at this sage advice he ran out of the house and down the street until he was out of breath. Then he walked for blocks, aimlessly, without seeing. He stopped and looked in a pawnshop window. The owner came to the door and called out, “There’s something you want, maybe? Come in, I’ll show you nice stuff.”
David shook his head, walked on and turned down Mott Street. There, hung on two chains, he saw the wooden sign of Goldstein the optometrist, with the huge eye that swayed gently back and forth in the breeze. The eye seemed to follow him to the door beyond where Madame Vanetti ran a house of prostitution above Goldstein’s store.
Maybe Ben was right, maybe this was exactly what he needed to get Katie off his mind, maybe that was all that was wrong with him. David rang the bell at the bottom of the stairs, and Madame Vanetti released the lever from the top as the door opened. She called out to him as he walked up the steep flight, “I’m-a-glad to see you, bambino.” When he reached the top of the stairs she ushered him into a small waiting room.
“You-a wait, it ain’t-a-gonna be long. You-a gonna get-a my best-a girl.”
She said that to every customer, in the exaggerated American-Italian. He waited nervously. Finally he went into a room that smelled of too many sweating bodies and too much cheap perfume. He began to take off his shoes, tie and shirt. As he let his trousers drop to the floor, he looked down and saw the overblown body in bed where someone else had just been—and the lurid red hair, the exaggerated outline of the sensuous mouth, the green eyelids. He wanted to throw up. Quickly he put on his clothes, grabbed his jacket, took two dollars out of his pocket and tossed them to her.
As he went out she said, “Well, I’ll be god damned,” and then, picking up the money, “Well, what the hell … win some, lose some.”
It was eleven o’clock when David knocked on Malka Greenberg’s door. Jacob opened it and stood before David in his long union suit that bagged out at the seat. It bagged even more because one of the buttons was missing.
“So what do you want, bummukeh?”
“May I see Katie? It’s very important, please.”
“I should throw you out. At eleven o’clock, he comes. It couldn’t wait until tomorrow, there would be a revolution? You should only go in hell.” He went to get Katie, and as he walked back to bed he mumbled under his breath, “Malka couldn’t wait for her to get a boy, nu, so now she’s got one. A bum. Who comes to see a girl at eleven o’clock? Oi, yoi, yoi, America goniff.”
Katie quickly slipped out of bed and into her robe as Birdie bolted up in bed. “Should I go with you?”
“No, Birdie, I’m sorry to disturb you.”
“What’s wrong, Katie?” Sammy said as she passed his bed.
“I don’t know. Now go back to sleep, dear.”
“You want me to protect you?”
“I know you could if I needed you, but no, darling.” She bent down and kissed him on the cheek, then hurried to the door. There was David, looking shockingly haggard and disheveled. “David, what’s the matter?”
“Nothing,” he said, “Go get dressed quickly—I want to talk to you,” She started to speak but he interrupted. “Don’t ask any questions. Just trust me and get dressed.”
Katie hurried back. Birdie asked nervously, “What did he want at eleven o’clock? Talk about chutzpa, nerve, guts, he’s got it. Doesn’t call a girl all week, doesn’t see her all week, and eleven o’clock he’s here. Do you know something I didn’t tell you? I’m sorry you ever met him.”
Katie was paying no attention as she proceeded to dress.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Birdie asked.
“David wants to talk to me. I know it must be important or he wouldn’t have come at this hour.”
“How do you know, tell me? How do you think you know so much about men? Listen, you’re a big girl now and I’m going to tell you for your own good, when a guy comes to a girl’s house this late it ain’t because he respects her. He thinks she’s easy, a pushover, you understand what I mean? In other words, he couldn’t sleep because he’s got hot pants.”
Katie was dressed by now. “Birdie, do me a favor—go to sleep and don’t worry.”
She met David in the hall. Without a word he took her by the hand, led her down the stairs and out into the street. They walked silently along by the river for a long time, then found a bench and sat down. She looked closely at him under the yellow lamplight.
“David, if you have a problem I’d like to help you with it. May I?”
“Yes, I have a problem.” He hesitated, then said, “You’re my problem.”
“What do you mean?
“I mean I’m in love with you.”
“… I can’t believe what you’re saying—”
“Believe it, believe it—I’m in love with you.”
She turned to him. “Why didn’t you try to see me all week?”
“Because I don’t want to be in love with you.”
“You don’t want to—”
“That’s right, I’m not ready. What can I give you, what can I do for you? If you married me, well, this is what you’d have for the rest of your life.”
She got up, walked to the edge of the sidewalk and watched the river. He followed and stood next to her.
“David, what can I say to you, except that I’m sorry I made you so unhappy?”
He took her face in his hands. “Maybe you could say that you could love me. I guess that’s what I really want to hear.”
“I can’t say that yet.”
“In other words you don’t feel anything—”
“That’s not what I meant. It’s just that before I can answer I have to be sure.”
“And you’re not?”
“Yes, I’m sure of myself, but one week has gone by and, well, I imagined you hadn’t even thought about me—”
“That’s some joke! I haven’t slept or eaten.”
“Well, why did you stay away. Why should falling in love be so difficult for you?”
“Because the timing is all wrong, I just haven’t the right—”
She took his hand and held it. “David, I believe love is a matter of the heart; it doesn’t ask the time, it just happens.”
“Have you thought about me at all?”
“Yes, a great deal.”
“What did you think?”
“That you were kind and understanding. I walked on a cloud the whole week.”
“And I was afraid to come tonight, afraid you’d think I was crazy.”
“How wrong you were. The first time we were together I felt a bond between us, the way two people do when they feel these things. It’s just something you sense … I waited for you to call or at least come and see me, but then as the days went by I decided I must have been mistaken.”
“What did you do then?”
“I spoke to Birdie, who’s so smart about these things and—”
“What did she say?”
“She told me I was wrong.”
“Which only proves she’s not so smart. Then what?”
“Even then I still felt I couldn’t have been so mistaken. I thought you liked me, but when I didn’t see you I began to think—”
“To think what?”
“I began to think about all of the things that I said.”
“What things?”
“That maybe I had talked too much, that maybe a girl doesn’t tell about herself to a boy she’s just met.”
“Did I seem bored?”
“No, but I did think that perhaps you might have been. You see, David, I’ve never been in love with anyone before.”
“Neither have I.”
“I knew that I was in love with you but being in love takes two.”
“Well, I’ve already told you how I felt.”
“I know, David, but for me it’s terribly important. I just don’t want to be hurt.”
“I would never hurt you, Katie.”
“But it took you ten days to see me again—”
“I told you, I have some problems.”
“I know, but here you are. Are your problems solved?”
“No, not by a long shot, and when I found out how I felt about you, well, I’ve been going around in crazy circles ever since.”
“David, let’s start from the beginning, I really must know why.”
“All right.” He took a deep breath. “I had never met anyone like you before; in fact I never thought a girl like you existed, or if she did that she would ever come into my life. You were just everything I ever wanted. The props were knocked out from under me.”
“Yes, but why—”
“When you love someone you want to share your life with them, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Well, what do I have to share? Share? … Hell, I don’t have anything to share.”
“And that bothers you so much?”
“Sure, and what bothers me most is I couldn’t stand not being able to give you something better than this. You don’t know what it’s like, feeling so helpless …”
“Why should you think I wouldn’t understand? I’ve been poor all my life.”
“Your poverty wasn’t the kind I’m talking about. This kind drags you down so far you can’t get away from it; it holds onto you like a vise.”
“But there are still people who fall in love. Why should it be so difficult for you?”
“Because, well, I suppose because I’m afraid of the future.”
“David, don’t ever be afraid of the future. Don’t you know that when people fall in love they bring each other luck? They really only need each other. I know that what I need most of all in my life is to be loved and to give someone love. Let me love you, David, please let me …”
He took her in his arms, kissed her and held her for a very long time. Then, rushing the words, he said, “Will you marry me, Katie? I don’t want to wait. Next week.”
“Yes, David.”
She leaned against the door in the dark kitchen. Could this be true, was she really going to share life’s joy with David? Was she at last going to belong to someone, to be a complete woman, a complete person? She had never known that there could be so much happiness in a kiss. To be held by someone who loved you so much he wanted to share the rest of his life with you … Closing her eyes she said, “Thank you, God. Mama, mama, thank you.”
She ran past Sammy’s bed. “Is anything wrong?” he asked.
“No, no, Sammy, everything is wonderful. I’ll tell you in the morning.”
Katie sat on the edge of the bed and hugged and kissed Birdie. “Birdie, Birdie, I don’t know where to begin. I know you won’t believe this but David has asked me to marry him.”
Birdie switched on the light and screamed. “I don’t understand, what happened?”
“I don’t know that I do, but David and I love each other and he wants us to be married next week and—”
“Oh, my God, I don’t believe it! David Rezinetsky that didn’t think any girl was good enough for him. Come on, let’s wake up mama and tell her.”
It was six o’clock in the morning when Jacob came into the kitchen. “What’s the matter, you’re all up so early, Malka?”
“Early? We never went to bed. You don’t know the good news about Katie. She’s going to get married.”
“To that bummukeh that was here last night?”
“Never mind,” Birdie said. “That kind of a bummukeh every Jewish girl should only get.”
All night they had discussed the wedding. Let’s see, the chairs they would get from Aunt Fega, they would be married in synagogue and have the two families for supper.
“Are you sure it won’t be too much?” Katie asked.
“It wouldn’t be too hard,” Malka said, dismissing it as though this was the only fitting and proper thing for her first daughter, which she felt by now that Katie had become. They would bake cakes and cook all week. Later today she would go and see Mrs. Rezinetsky and they would plan the wedding together, it was only right. Katie would be married in a long veil and a white dress. It would be a wedding that Lilly Platt would envy, whose mother boasted that hers was the best wedding in the neighborhood.
“Believe me,” Malka said, “she would be plenty jealous.” And then remembered in all the excitement that they had to hire Mendel the photographer to take wedding pictures, and Yankel Levinsky, the great violinist, who played at all the bar mitzvahs and weddings, to be sure and be free next Saturday night (she was sure he’d be available). The week was a frenzy of shopping for Birdie’s rose taffeta dress, which she had to be squeezed into because the dress was a size 14 and she wore a 16. No problem, so from the big bow in the back, they took a little piece out which no one would notice and sewed it into the bust line, and of course David and Katie walked around as though the world had come to a standstill. Each day that went by brought them closer to that moment when they would be one.
Katie stood before the mirror, looking at her image as Birdie adjusted the veil. She felt as though she were gazing at a stranger, a beautiful lovely stranger who had come such a long distance to stand in this place, waiting for a life to begin with a young man who was to become her existence forever. She was caught up in the feeling that fate truly did predestine the lives of people. Oh, mama … dearest mama, have you intervened for me, is it you who have brought me to this day? Oh, God, I love you so, if only you were here, but you feel what I feel and know the love I have for David. Make me a good and devoted wife.
At that moment Malka walked in, dressed in the new blue rayon taffeta dress she’d bought at Bloom’s. (So never mind how she would pay it out.) This was one of the most important days of her life … she had lived to see Hannah’s child given in marriage. God works in mysterious ways. You see, Hannala, I gave a promise to you that has blessed me. Malka looked at Katie, then embraced her.
“You have been my mother, how can I thank you, what can I say that is enough?”
Malka took Katie’s face in her hands. “Mein schön kind, God calls on us so seldom to do good that when we do it the reward is ours. You should thank me for the happiness and naches? No, mein schöne, Katala, you have blessed us by becoming ours.” Katie was crying now. “It’s enough, mein Katala, remember a kallah shouldn’t go to the chuppa with red eyes, now finish dressing.” Malka looked at Katie once again, “Oy—what a bride. You’ll see, Lilly Platt’s mother will plotz!”
The little shul on Hester Street was filled to capacity by guests who had been invited and by guests who had not been invited, and it seemed, from Malka’s observation, there were more guests that had not been invited than those that were. Some chutzpa. Shnorrers! Now she was worrying if there would be enough chopped liver. She could just see Mrs. Rifkin filling up the brown paper sack, which she took with her to every wedding and bar mitvzah, filling it up to capacity with all the cookies, the strudel, the salami sandwiches to take home for her little Boris so he should have enough to eat for the next week Not only her, but all the rest of the yentas. Oy vay! There should only be enough for the family.
But now the moment had come when she was compelled to set aside such worldly thoughts. The first star had appeared in the heaven. Shabbas was over and night had come and it was time for Jacob on one side of Katie and herself on the other to walk Katie down to the end of the aisle, where David, alongside his parents, awaited his future wife. As the tapering candles were lit and handed to each of the parents under the blue velvet chuppa, the rabbi began the sacred and solemn ceremony in Hebrew. The bride and both sets of parents circled the groom seven times in the truest of orthodoxy. Next the parents stood at their separate sides and the last blessings for everlasting peace, devotion and love were said. The goblet was handed to the bride as she lifted her veil for the first time and drank from the cup offered her by her husband. The veil was then dropped so as not to reveal her face, and the goblet was handed back to David, who nervously drank from it. They were pronounced man and wife and, amid shouts of mazel tov, the wine goblet was stomped upon by David. He then picked up the veil once again, held it so only he could see his bride’s face in the candlelight, slipped it over her head and held and kissed her so long and so tenderly that everyone began to sing joyously, “Chassen kallah mazel tov.”