“Predictive? Don’t be stupid, how can a snore tell you the future? It is what it is: wind blowing through nostrils.”
“Mother, I think it’s time we went inside.” Miriam stepped forward. Immediately the camera swung in her direction. Appalled, she lifted a hand to cover her face but the anchorwoman’s microphone jutted forward like a bludgeon.
“And here we have the younger Mrs. Gluckstein. Mrs. Gluckstein, I do believe you are Aaron’s widow?”
“Please, you are disturbing the community on the sabbath…We just want to be left alone…please…”
As Miriam pleaded with the crew there came a sudden roar from the top of the street. Everyone turned to see four elderly rabbis approaching, flanked by twelve tall bearded yeshiva students who looked more like religious henchmen—which indeed was what they were. The four elders, ranging from seventy to ninety-four, strode vigorously toward the house, their tallises flapping like ominous black wings. Hobbling behind them came Mordecai Bergerman, struggling to keep up.
Myra clutched Miriam’s arm fearfully. “I told you, the four horsemen are here. We are finished,” she said, cowering behind her daughter-in-law.
Even the camera crew backed off, intimidated by the sobriety of the approaching posse. “Jesus, Mick,” the anchorwoman said to her cameraman, dropping into a Bronx drawl, “all we’re missing is Charlton Heston. Get the legals on the cell and check out our rights.”
But before the cameraman had a chance to flick open his phone the rabbinical council was upon them.
“You have five minutes to get out of Crown Heights before we smash your cameras and maybe even file a legal action,” the tallest and most handsome of the students murmured seductively to the anchorwoman who, unnerved by the combination of sex and violence, dropped her microphone in the melting snow.
Meanwhile the most powerful rabbi placed himself squarely in front of Miriam and Myra.
“Myra and Miriam Gluckstein, the council has discussed your case and this is our judgment. We give you one week, and one week only, to rid your house and souls of this abomination by whatever means necessary. If you fail to do so we will excommunicate you, purchase your property at cost price, then board the house up until further notice.”
Myra reached out a hand but the rabbi had already turned his back on them and was marching back to his colleagues.
“That schmuck,” she hissed to Miriam. “He will not even look into the eyes of a woman for fear of catching something terrible—like empathy.”
Behind them the camera crew were slamming shut the doors of their van. Blushing furiously Mordecai Bergerman hobbled up to Myra.
“Myra, I did what I could. I have argued with them for days but in the end there was nothing I could do….”
“So what do you suggest now, kid? We option the movie, nu?” Disgusted, Myra walked back into the house.
The next morning had the atmosphere of a wake. Myra, convinced they were about to be evicted, had already begun to pack up her most precious objects—huge piles of ancient books and papers well over fifty years old. She sat in the infamous yellow dressing gown, a photo of Abraham circa 1946 sticky-taped to her breast in case she forgot him in the rush, staring mournfully at the fried matzo and egg on the plate in front of her.
“So what is the point of eating? I might as well die now and save on the airfare to Chicago, assuming your mother will have us.”
“Let’s not panic, I have a plan,” said Miriam.
“So what do you know that I don’t?”
Later that morning Miriam locked the bedroom door, propped up a shirt of Aaron’s with his photo perched in the empty collar, then sat before the effigy. She paused for a moment, staring into his deep brown eyes, then said aloud, “Aaron, I know why you haven’t left us; there is something you have left unfinished, something that I’m sure, had you lived, you would have had the courage to carry through. Well, darling, I’m going to do it for you. And may God protect both of us.” Fighting back the tears, she took a deep breath, then rang the number of the first lawyer mentioned in the file. Amazed to hear from her he immediately made an appointment to see her and insisted that she take every precaution against personal attack and possible burglary.
“You don’t know these guys, Mrs. Gluckstein,” he told her, fear thickening his voice. “They will stop at nothing. Already I’ve had two clients mysteriously disappear. What you have in that file could destroy a corporation more powerful than half the countries in the world. Your husband would have known that.”
Trembling Miriam put down the receiver, then immediately wondered if the phone was tapped.
Two hours later she was riding the subway escalator up to Wall Street. Dressed in an elegant suit Myra had borrowed from a secular friend, her black wig exchanged for a chic bobbed one, her legs revealed in stockings from the knee down and wearing high heels, she was unrecognizable—which was exactly what Miriam wanted.
I am not being irreligious, I am not breaking the law, I am playacting for a higher purpose, she convinced herself as she attempted to walk without stumbling in the high shoes. A handsome executive smiled at her—a Christian. For a second Miriam looked behind her, thinking the smile was for someone else, then caught sight of herself
in a window. The woman in the reflection was beautiful. She wasn’t hunched over in shyness nor covered from head to toe; she looked modern, confident—but she wasn’t anyone Miriam knew. Breathing deeply to check her fear she looked at the street numbers and finally found the building she needed.
“You’ve read all of this?” John Stutton, attorney, placed the file carefully on the desk, then looked at the young woman sitting in front of him. For someone so beautiful she seemed decidedly uncomfortable in her clothes and he had a sneaking suspicion that she might be wearing a wig. The possibility of cancer treatment floated through his mind.
“I have,” Miriam responded gravely.
“And you would be willing to testify in court, despite the enormous risk to both yourself and your family?”
“There is no family, just Aaron’s mother, and I’ve spoken to her. She is fully supportive. Myra was a radical once, before she became Orthodox.”