Rebecca’s family celebrated the Jewish New Year with a traditional heavy dinner at Flo and Mitch’s house in north Toronto off Bayview Avenue. Rebecca’s sister, Susan, had driven in from Montreal with her youngest son to be with her family. Susan’s observant husband and the two older boys — “the rabbis,” Mitch called them — had remained in Montreal with her in-laws.
Rebecca had tried to help her mother and sister with the preparations for dinner, but her arm still hurt and the bandages cut down on her mobility. She ended up sitting at the kitchen table happily entertaining four-year-old Jonathan. They both watched Flo and Susan from the rear as they chopped, stirred, and blended food on the counter.
“Who’s that?” Rebecca asked the little boy, pointing at Flo.
“That’s Bubbie,” he said, his brown eyes shining.
Flo turned and gave them both a radiant smile.
“That’s right,” Rebecca said. “And who’s that?” She pointed at Susan’s back.
“That’s my mommy!” he shrieked with delight.
“Right!” she said. “And guess what? Your bubbie is my mommy.”
His eyes widened, the little face grew puzzled. “You’re too old to have a mommy.”
Rebecca grinned. “You’re never too old to have a mommy.”
“I’m tired,” he said. “Aunt Rebecca, can I sit in your lap?”
She stroked his downy blonde hair. “I’d love for you to sit in my lap, sweetie, but my leg is injured.”
“She has a boo-boo on her leg,” Susan said, turning around to smile at them. “Show him, so he understands.”
Rebecca had worn a light crinkly skirt because it was loose and comfortable on the wounds. She lifted the fabric up to reveal her thigh swathed in bandage.
“Ooohh,” he said with delight.
Sarah and Natalka arrived after eight o’clock. When Natalka stepped into view, Rebecca’s heart skipped a beat. She had been waiting. Natalka’s white hair was twisted into a smooth funnel at the back, elongating the line of her swan neck. She looked the same as before, only now Rebecca was searching for something else: David. She found him in the shape of Natalka’s brow, the direct green eyes.
Sarah handed Flo a large round honey cake on a covered plate. “Natalka helped me make it. It’s her first honey cake.”
“Sweet things for a sweet year,” Natalka said, looking to Sarah for approval.
Sarah nodded at her and beamed.
Natalka seemed to have warmed up to her newly discovered mother after a week, thought Rebecca. A week and a cake.
Natalka took in the cathedral entranceway to the Temple home, the flowered damask furnishings that echoed the ochre in the thick broadloom, the wall tapestry that Flo had brought back from Amsterdam. Rebecca didn’t take her eyes off her: the angle of Natalka’s shoulders, the tentative smile in public, brought back David in a rush.
Rebecca admired the sea green jacket that Natalka wore over a matching dress. It didn’t look like it had come out of the suitcase from Poland. Sarah must have taken her shopping. The colour brought roses to her complexion and reflected the green in her eyes. She would have been the image of grace if not for her illness. She held her new beige purse over the swollen area around her spleen.
Rebecca greeted Sarah with a kiss on the cheek. When she embraced Natalka, Rebecca whispered, “I have some news for you.”
Before Natalka could respond, Sarah began introducing her to Flo, Mitch, Susan, and Uncle Henry. Rebecca wondered how much had been resolved between the two women. Though Sarah glowed in her presence, she didn’t say “This is my daughter.” She said, “This is Natalka.”
“We’re in for a treat later,” said Flo. “I’ve asked Sarah and Natalka to play something for us tonight.”
Rebecca observed her mother with surprise. She had engineered another opportunity for rapprochement — rehearsal.
Mitch took everyone’s drink orders and disappeared into the dining room. Flo, Susan, and Uncle Henry retreated to the kitchen to finish the food preparations.
Rebecca led Sarah and Natalka to the far end of the living room near the upright piano, where a corner table held old pictures of the family. Natalka picked up a photo of Rebecca when she was six, wearing a frilly plaid dress.
“This is you?” Natalka asked, smiling, showing the picture to Sarah.
Rebecca nodded.
“So serious. You looked already like a doctor.”
David had said the same thing about her childhood photos, that she had looked so solemn, like she was ready to take on the problems of humanity.
At least she had good news for Natalka. Lowering her voice, she said, “I have a message from Halina.”
“She called you?” Natalka asked, glancing nervously at Sarah. “Where she is?”
“She went back to the convent downtown. She called this afternoon. I think she was too embarrassed to call Sarah’s house.”
Sarah stared at Natalka with wary eyes, looked away.
“She wants you to know she’s going back to Poland. She’s going to arrange for your daughter to come for a visit here.”
Natalka’s face lit up. “Anya? Coming here? This is wonderful.” Her eyes quickly clouded over. “But how they will do it? Government will not let her go.”
“Halina will tell them you’re very sick and want to see your daughter once more. Before the end…”
Both Natalka and Sarah took in a sharp breath.
“No, no, you’re fine. It’s just to persuade them,” Rebecca said, placing a steadying hand on Natalka’s arm. “But it’s a good plan. She’ll convince them that, once you’re gone, the girl will have to come back to Poland to her father, the only parent she has left. Only once Anya’s here, she won’t go back to Poland. She’ll stay here with her mother. And grandmother. Halina knows you’ll both have a better life here.”
Natalka’s pale eyebrows curved together. “But she will lose job. Maybe worse.”
“This is her idea. It’s her choice.”
Natalka bit her lip. “When she is going?”
“Sunday.”
“This Sunday?”
Natalka turned to Sarah. “I don’t want to upset you, but I must see her. I must… thank her.”
Sarah sighed and nodded. “We’ll go down there tomorrow.”
Mitch approached with their Dubonnet and the subject was changed.
Everyone sat down to dinner. Flo Temple served the gefullte fish first.
Natalka stared at the white oval lump on her plate. “No, thank you,” she said. “I never had sweet fish. I don’t really like fish at all.”
“I should tell you,” said Mitch, “I put a prize into one of the pieces of fish. But you have to cut into it to see if you’re the winner.”
Rebecca rolled her eyes at Flo, who didn’t seem to notice.
Everyone watched Natalka push her fork warily into the ball of fish. “I think you’re playing trick on me…” She broke the fish into half, then quarters.
“Nothing inside?” Mitch said, disappointed. “Well, now that it’s all in pieces, you may as well taste it. If you don’t like it, we won’t charge you.”
Natalka smiled weakly and put a tiny piece in her mouth. She chewed. Then she stopped and smiled. “It’s good.”
A cheer went up around the table while she finished the rest of the fish.
When they had finished the beef brisket, Mitch raised his hand in the air to quiet the general tumult of conversation.
“Let’s raise a glass to the chef. To Flo — a wonderful dinner, as usual.”
Her mother grinned and basked in the attention.
“And to our beautiful and brilliant daughter, the doctor. Who managed to stay calm when confronted by a homicidal professor who gave a whole new meaning to the term ‘publish or perish.’” Mitch threw her an apologetic kiss and everyone around the table tittered.
Served her right for telling him the story, Rebecca thought. Despite her struggle with the black humour, she felt surrounded by warmth.
Her mother leaned over and put her arms around her. “Thank God,” Flo whispered.
Later, on her way to the kitchen with some dirty dishes, Flo said, “This would be a perfect time for some music, Sarah. We can digest while we listen.”
The dishes were scraped and piled in the sink and on the counter. Everyone drifted into the living room. Rebecca sat on the sofa between her mother and her sister.
Natalka set her music down on the piano then arranged herself carefully on the bench. For a moment she sat still, watching Sarah, who stood nearby, her back straight, taking in deep breaths.
“We picked the Song of Songs from the Bible,” Sarah said, “because tonight we’re celebrating a religious holiday, the beginning of a new year. And people have interpreted this poetry as a love song to God, but it is also clearly just a love song. So we wanted to sing our praises to God, and to each other.”
The two women exchanged intimate looks that surprised and warmed Rebecca. Natalka played a note. Sarah aimed at it, held it. Then she nodded at Natalka.
The younger woman stroked the keys softly while Sarah began to sing. Her throaty mezzo voice thrilled and soothed at the same time. Rebecca heard something she hardly recognized in it: joy.
My beloved spake, and said unto me,
Rise up, my love, my fair one, and come away.
For, lo, the winter is past, the rain is over and gone;
Rebecca watched her new sister-in-law with awe, searched for David there. Her white hair had been orange once. Like David’s. Rebecca had to make an effort now, to picture his hair orange, the fine hair on his arms impossibly orange. If he had lived longer it would have turned white, like his sister’s. It was extraordinary — for the first time she could see a resemblance between mother and daughter, the delicate nose, the line of the chin. If she were Sarah, she would grasp Natalka with all her might and never let her go. Now that she had found her again.
So that you can always find me again. That was what Rebecca needed: a compass to show her the way. But a compass wouldn’t help her find David again. Or Michael. Nothing could do that. But a compass might help her find something else. What was it she was looking for? A compass could only point north. And where was that? Was it someplace knowable?
The flowers appear on the earth; the time of
the singing of birds is come,
and the voice of the turtle is heard in our land;
The fig tree putteth forth her green figs,
and the vines with the tender grape give a good smell.
Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away.
Flo’s arm rested on the back of the sofa behind Rebecca, touching her shoulders. Susan quietly put her arm through Rebecca’s. A wave of something inexplicable washed over her: warmth, intimacy, safety. It was true that a compass only pointed north. But north was a fixed position. It was stable and never moved. So once you knew where north was, all the rest fell into place.
Rebecca closed her eyes to listen to Sarah’s rich dark voice, to savour the words.
O my dove, that art in the clefts of the rock,
in the secret places of the stairs,
let me see thy countenance, let me hear thy voice;
for sweet is thy voice, and thy countenance is comely.