Bee Season (13 page)

Aaron’s feet are shaking as he walks down the center aisle. If he wasn’t holding onto each successive pew for support, he’d probably twist his ankle and then someone would take him to the nearest hospital and stay with him despite his protests until his father arrived looking fresh off the cover of
Hadassah
and then the shit would really hit the fan. The blood has drained from Aaron’s head. He is seeing spots and hearing that buzzing sound he heard just before fainting at age eleven in anxious dread of the Presidential Fitness Test. Luckily, by the time Aaron’s fear has grown taut as a trip wire, it is time for him to kneel.

He is certain the priest can tell. It’s not that big a congregation. The man has heard these people’s sins for years and years and there’s a bond there, something you can’t just fake because you’re young and God-curious. While lightning is probably not about to strike him, it’s entirely possible that the priest will take a long hard look at Aaron and pass him by. But he’s here, he’s on his knees, and the flesh and blood are two mouths away so he can’t back out without looking just as bad. More importantly, like a wave cresting over Aaron’s fear is an intense excitement, an electrical charge that has switched every pore and hair to the On position.

Aaron closes his eyes and opens his mouth. As he waits for the wafer, he visualizes scenes from the New Testament. For Aaron, this means recalling the 7 A.M. puppet shows he used to watch on television for lack of Sunday morning cartoons. And so, with the father two open mouths away, Aaron pictures Jesus as a low-budget marionette, standing between two cardboard pillars, preaching to an audience of hand puppets with googly eyes.

Because his eyes are closed, the moment the host is placed on Aaron’s tongue has all the intensity he hoped for, the surprise of unexpected contact sending warm tingles down his spine. However, as his saliva starts to work and the thrill of initial contact fades, the stale breadness of it hits. This isn’t helped by the wine, which is actually worse than Manischewitz, which he didn’t think was possible. The idea of finding God here dissolves with the wine-soaked communion wafer, turning to soft mush in his mouth.

Aaron stays for the rest of the service. His initial disappointment that the service is not in Latin fades as he realizes that Latin would pose the same parsing problem as Hebrew. At the service’s end, he leaves through a side entrance to avoid shaking the priest’s hand. He feels like a game show contestant who has to leave with the set of dish towels instead of the new car because he picked Door Number One instead of Door Number Three. It’s as he is nearing the parking lot that Aaron realizes God’s inherent value is reflected in the fact that there are so many doors to choose from.

Saul unknowingly gifts Miriam with a rationale for her lifelong acquiring habit midway through their courtship. It takes the form of an impromptu lesson after they have made love. Saul is on his side facing Miriam, trying to keep her in his bed until she grows too impressed with him or too tired to leave for the night. The white sheet is a stark contrast to the dark hairs curling tightly against Saul’s chest, which continue to surprise Miriam long after his naked body is no longer novel. Clothed, Saul gives the impression of a smooth-chested man, his intellectualism surely having defeated his animal nature long ago.

“The mystics believe that in the beginning of the world God’s Divine Light, containing all that is good, was enclosed in sacred vessels,” Saul whispers, one hand cupping Miriam’s breast, the other stroking her belly and gliding gradually downward. “But because there was already sin in the world, these vessels could not contain the Light and shattered into countless pieces. The Light was dispersed and the shards fell upon the world, becoming poverty, hatred, cruelty, and all the other forms injustice takes. According to the mystics, it is our job to locate these shards and to mend them through good deeds, so that God’s light can be whole again. This is called
Tikkun Olam,
or the fixing of the world.”

It is a concept Saul has described in similar words and with similar motions to previous lovers, though generally in an attempt to get them into bed and not to keep them there. When Miriam’s face lights up, Saul has no idea it is because his words have revealed to her the reason behind that first pink rubber ball and all the objects to follow. Miriam realizes she is a broken vessel, pieces of her scattered everywhere. She has been finding these pieces, in their many forms, and bringing them together so that she can be whole again. Miriam can feel Saul’s words falling into place inside her. She knows then and there that they will marry.

Saul had been hoping Miriam would stay the night but had not dreamed they would make love again. As they do, he has no idea that his words are the reason, that by opening herself up to him she is reclaiming her newest missing piece.

Aaron is in the library, ostensibly studying for the
SAT
, but actually reading
Eastern Religions
from behind a copy of
Sports Illustrated.
Though he knows Catholicism is just one color in the veritable Christian rainbow, he has decided against Christianity. In addition to the Son of God factor, which a lifetime of Judaism has made difficult to swallow, Aaron has trouble accepting that life is merely a testing ground for heaven or hell. It’s too much like a video game, proceed to the next level. The proverbial nail in the Christian coffin is Aaron’s realization that, in a country of shopping mall Santas and plastic manger scenes, everyone is Christian by default. Even people who know he’s Jewish are surprised to learn there’s no tree in his living room come December. Switching to a religion already assumed of him would feel too much like climbing onto a diving platform to jump off rather than dive.

Even the words “Eastern religion” are alluring to Aaron. They feel like a tropical island or a far-flung mountain range which requires several layovers and a spectrum of transportation to reach. Aaron has decided he will fly, he will sail, he will ride camelback, but he will reach Eastern religion. He will dip his toes in and, maybe, he will take a swim.

As Aaron reads on, he becomes so engrossed that he allows the
Sports Illustrated
to drop an inch or two, he stops tapping out a frenetic rhythm with his left sneaker on the carpet and frees his lower lip from the clutches of his nervous teeth. It is as if his entire life up to this point has prepared him for this book. His too pale, too skinny body, the grade school bullying, and the unforgettable moment at his bar mitzvah all fit into a larger plan. The outer world is a fiction. His own body, with all its failings, is immaterial. The spark of True Self lies within, an essence of the divine shared by everyone. Perhaps it was True Self he recognized on the
bima
three years ago. Perhaps that moment was a brief glimpse into what could be his if he found the right path. Perhaps the path begins with this book. Perhaps, like Buddha, he will experience enlightenment. Perhaps through
karma
and
bhakti
he can achieve liberation. Perhaps he should figure out the differences between these religions so they stop blending together, Buddhindutaoconfusedism, inside his head.

Eliza knows they whisper about her behind her back. She’s gotten caught a couple times studying words when she was supposed to be doing math worksheets or reading history. The first time, Ms. Bergermeyer is amused and pats Eliza on the head, suggesting that she budget her time. After that, Bergermeyer starts taking Eliza’s spelling sheets away and sending her home with notes for Saul to sign. Saul advises Eliza not to let spelling interfere with her schoolwork, but as far as Elly is concerned the approaching national bee requires that she adjust her priorities.

She gets better at hiding her word sheets. She can make it appear as if she’s listening to Ms. Bergermeyer drone on about the life of the cell when she’s actually looking at h-words. She starts spending her recesses under a tree near where the swings used to be. Sometimes Sinna Bhagudori joins her there and they review the words together.

“It’s good practice for when I start studying for the PSATs,” Sinna explains, seeming, if not enthusiastic, then pleasantly resigned.

Since Eliza won the area finals, Sinna has been known to save Eliza a seat at a lunch. The table is occupied by serious children who discuss the pros and cons of sharing homework and how to protect their test answers without really seeming like they are. All of them want to be doctors or lawyers or both. They eat healthy, balanced lunches brought from home in which dessert is invariably a piece of fruit, making Eliza feel the need to apologize for her occasional pudding cup. If Eliza eats with them more than once a week, the gravity they attach to every aspect of their lives begins to weigh her down.

The week before the national bee, a reporter and a photographer arrive at school. They seem disappointed to learn that Eliza doesn’t play an instrument or participate in any sports, isn’t in Girl Scouts or 4-H, and doesn’t know what she wants to be when she grows up. They settle for a picture of Eliza with Ms. Bergermeyer and Dr. Morris at the school entrance, teacher and principal posed beside Eliza like fishermen showing off the season’s record-breaking tuna.

On an evening when Saul is teaching an adult education class at the synagogue and Eliza is studying alone, Aaron goes into the den. He isn’t actually interested in watching TV. He cranks the set loud enough that Eliza will either have to close the study door or ask him to turn it down. He really wants her to ask him to turn it down.

He feigns nonchalance as Elly enters the room, fakes total absorption in a “Three’s Company” rerun featuring Don Knotts, whose eyes give him the creeps. He wants Elly to stand in the doorway while he continues to ignore her. He wants her to sound self-righteous so that he can deliver the speech he’s been practicing, the one in which he tells her how stupid spelling is and how she’s turning herself into a performing monkey just to get Dad’s attention. But instead, Elly walks quietly into the room and sits next to him on the couch, sliding her leg next to his the way she used to when she was small.

“Aaron?” she says in a quiet voice that cuts through the sound of the laugh track even though he’s got the volume at 6. “Why don’t you play guitar anymore?”

Aaron opens his mouth and then closes it again. He sometimes looks at the guitar case in his room and forgets what’s inside. He can still picture Eliza at the area finals, the look of utter joy on her face as they handed her the trophy.

“I don’t know,” he answers. “Why?”

“I was just wondering,” she says, wishing he would turn toward her.

Aaron keeps his eyes on the rerun. “Dad’s a better musician.”

“He’s done it longer,” she replies even though she thinks Aaron is right.

Aaron shakes his head. “My fingers are too stiff. I can’t really do bar chords.”

They sit in silence. Suzanne Somers roller-skates through the apartment in a bathing suit.

Eliza talks to the TV. “Um, Aaron — ”

Aaron is surprised at the calmness of his voice. “I don’t have a gift for music, Elly. It was just something to do. It’s no big deal.”

Elly tries to catch Aaron’s eye, but he is too intent on the TV screen. She leaves feeling as though she doesn’t deserve what he has given her. Aaron is amazed by how easy it was to give.

In Eliza’s dream she is taking her seat with the other national contes-tants when a voice rings out through the auditorium. The auditorium is Beth Amicha on a gargantuan scale, its
bima
reaching twenty feet into the air. The spelling contestants are seated across it, numbered placards attached to prayer shawls hanging around their necks. Elly cannot see to the back of the room, which is lined with endless rows of chairs. The spectators have small, predatory mouths filled with unnaturally sharp teeth.

“Number 59,”
the voice booms, seeming to emanate from everywhere at once. “
Number 59.”
The room, which had been pounding with noise, is suddenly quiet. It is the silence of Moses approaching the burning bush, of the sealed ark afloat upon the rising flood.

Eliza realizes that everyone is staring at her. The faces of her fellow spellers are featureless except for glinting eyes. Eliza senses their impatience. By remaining in her seat she has stopped the grand mechanism of the bee, which is straining to carry the rest of them forward.

Eliza knows the inevitability of what is about to happen. Ever since she first rose from her seat in Ms. Bergermeyer’s classroom she has felt defeat brush past her on its way to someone else. Each of its passings sent a ticklish chill down her spine, leaving a stone in her stomach. Looking into the eyes of the other spellers, she knows that her time has arrived.

Eliza rises from her seat. The weight of her body has doubled. Her footsteps pound and echo against the stage. The distance to the microphone stretches and stretches until it is longer than Eliza’s memory of why this journey began. Her vision narrows until she faces a dark unending passage thick with the smell of her sweat. Then the light appears. Eliza quickens her pace. The weight lifts. She is sure she is nearing the sun itself. For a brief moment the pure joy of having reached her goal overwhelms her. Relief salves her body. Then she realizes where she is.

She is at the edge of the
bima,
the epic distance between microphone and empty chair now absurdly small. The sun is gone, transformed into a spotlight. The silence is leaden. A single sound rips the air. It is at once fragile and vicious, the almost ticklish sting of a sharpened razor first slicing into skin.

Ding.

Eliza’s legs begin to tremble. The blood rushes from her head. Her number is torn from her neck and she is tossed off the
bima
into a teeming sea of heads and hands, where her mouth is held open, her old teeth are ripped out, and a set of smaller, sharper teeth is shoved in.

Aaron is the only small person in the front lobby of the funeral home, which is sparsely populated by men who look uncomfortable in their suits. There is a fountain in the middle of the room with a cement angel trickling water from his mouth, a sound that makes Aaron have to pee. He wants to tell his dad this, but even though Saul is holding his hand very tightly, Aaron is pretty sure he’s been forgotten. When people come over, they keep saying, “You’re his son, aren’t you?” and it takes Aaron a few times to realize they aren’t talking to him. They say, “You look just like him,” or “I haven’t seen you since you were a pup,” to which Saul nods and grips Aaron’s hand even tighter.