Portraits (41 page)

“Don’t worry too much, mama. They’ll be raised just as religiously as we were.”

“I certainly hope so. I wouldn’t want you to have any problems on that score.”

“I won’t—”

“Tell me, how do you get along with your husband’s daughter? Her being almost your age? It’s difficult to think of you being old enough to be a stepmother.”

“We get along beautifully,” Rachel lied. They hadn’t heard from Maureen since their marriage.

“Well, it seems everything in your life is just beautiful. You’re a fortunate girl, Rachel.”

“Thank you, mama. I know I am.”

“All it takes is a little
mazel
and that you’ve got.”

“Thank you, but I’ve got a lot of
mazel
. It’s been wonderful speaking to you, mama. So happy you called…”

When Rachel replaced the receiver, she sat looking at the silent phone and thought, finally I’ve really grown up a little.

S
HLOMO HAD HAD HIS
share of romances during his years in the service, but he had never seriously thought of settling down. The marine corps had exposed him to a world he might never have known existed, and he enjoyed the freedom to explore it.

Of all the places he’d been, Manila was the most exotic. Life was good, he lived like a king. He had risen to the rank of top sergeant, a position as high as any enlisted man could attain. The rank and job afforded him a small house, a Filipino aide named Juan, a car of his own
and
a Eurasian mistress.

Monica was an admixture of English, Portuguese and Filipino. She was not only educated, but beautiful. Her skin was smooth as ivory, and her black hair fell like heavy strands of silk to her waist. Her mouth was tender, her eyes deep, and the feel of her was at once exquisite and sensual.

They met at a New Year’s Eve party, where Monica soon found herself dancing every dance in the arms of Sergeant Sandy Sanders. At midnight the whistles blew, balloons floated in the air, champagne bubbled, and amidst shouts of “Happy New Year” Monica was being kissed by a rather inebriated Sandy Sanders.

At three o’clock in the morning, Monica found her hand in Sandy’s as he led her out of the ballroom to the terrace.

“Where have you been hiding?” he asked with, he realized, something less than originality.

“Where have you been looking?”

“Obviously in the wrong places. Did anyone ever tell you you were the most…the most gorgeous woman in the—”

She laughed. “On occasion.”

He held her very close. “I want to make love to you.”

“And what happens on the second of January?”

“That’s not until tomorrow.” He kissed her soft smooth shoulder, then ventured down to the cleavage between her breasts. “Please, now, I’ve got to have you…”

Monica was certain he must have said that more than a few times, but there also was something about Sandy Sanders for her that she neither could nor wanted to resist. She followed him to his car.

He drove silently, one hand on the wheel, the other around Monica’s slim waist. When he opened the door to his house he picked her up and carried her to his bedroom. He undressed her and caressed each part of her magnificent body as he exposed it to his touch. She was like no one he’d ever known before. The taste and smell of her…she was pure pleasure.

Lying side by side in the still, dark night, he said, “You asked me about the second of January. How about the Fourth of July?”

“Or the fifth?”

“Yes, or the fifth.”

“Give me a minute—no, two—to think it over.”

“I’ll give you
one
.”

“You’re a hard man”—said with a straight face. “All right, in that case the answer is yes.”

“You’re not only the most beautiful but the most sensible woman I’ve ever met. I’d never have given up. If you hadn’t said yes, think of all the time we’d have lost.” …

Literally from that moment on, there was no other woman Sandy wanted, and it wasn’t necessary for Monica to tell him that he’d be the only one for her.

Until Sandy had entered her life she was a woman groping. Her position in the government as an interpreter had been rewarding because it was all-consuming, but her husband, an English pilot, had been killed in the war, and at twenty-two she was left a widow. The world had fragmented into pieces she could not put together. And the few men she had permitted into her life were far removed from what she was searching for, whatever…whoever…that was. But now her life was complete. Sandy truly had become the center of her world. Her search was over…

Two weeks later the rattan furniture Sandy had lived with in the small stucco house on the base was carted away and replaced with Monica’s French, English and Chinese antiques. On one wall stood the tall, ten-paneled, black-lacquered screen, adorned with jade and rose quartz—a treasure that was a family heirloom. A gold Chinese rug covered the terra-cotta livingroom floor and English wing chairs were on either side of the fireplace.

For a moment she stood contemplating where the sofa should be placed, then she called Juan, the houseboy, who left his kitchen chores and came into the livingroom.

“Juan, please help me move the couch. I think it would be lovely facing the sea, don’t you?”

He smiled. “And very romantic.”

“I thought so too, especially watching the sunset.”

When the last picture was hung she stepped back and observed the whole of it. In her mind she saw Sandy sitting in one of the wing chairs during the evening, reading while she worked on her tapestry. She would take the book from his hand, sit on his lap and kiss him, and then put her head on his shoulder…God, how dear he was to her…she’d die if anything went wrong between them. Her thoughts were cut short when the clock chimed. It was four, he’d be home soon.

She had just finished slipping into a silk dress when she heard his footsteps coming up the garden path. She ran to greet him. This was truly the beginning of their lives together. She took him by the hand and led him into the house, eager to see his reaction.

“Monica, I don’t believe it’s the same place. My God, this is beautiful. You’re incredible. It’s like Buckingham Palace.” Taking her in his arms, he told her the truth. “Monica, I love you.” She led him to the large wing chair, sat in his lap. The fantasy had become real. “You know, darling,” he told her, “this is the first time in my life I’ve ever had a real home of my own. It means everything to me…I don’t think you realize how much—”

“It’s enough for me to hear it.”

“It goes beyond what I’ve said. I don’t have the words to describe it, or you, my beautiful Monica.”

If she had looked at Sandy’s face at that moment she would have seen the start of tears in his eyes.

From that time on, Monica devoted herself to her man’s needs and desires. She relieved Juan of the cooking chores to make certain that their dinners were just as she wanted, complete with candlelight and wine. She had opened up a whole new world for Sandy, and he for her. She was the perfect hostess at the small dinner parties they gave. Sundays were spent in quiet contentment, breakfasting on the terrace and then going to the beach. They fished and sailed and danced until dawn. When Sandy was relieved of duty for a few days they would drive up to Baguio and stay at a special inn. Their love only seemed to grow.

The only times Monica was unsure was when Sandy received letters from his family, especially from his brother Jacob. The letters always seemed to upset him, and they were always the same: when was he ever going to get over this craziness and come back where he belonged among his own people. Jacob still found it impossible to understand how a Jew could be content being in the marines. It was for
goyim
. And his mother Esther was concerned, too. She hadn’t raised him to be a marine. The snapshots of the children also upset him. “My God, Monica, they’ve all grown so and I wasn’t around…it’s a wonder they still remember me.”

Yes, she had to face it, it was in those moments that she knew in a way he longed to go back. But those moments of confusion and longing were usually short-lived. Monica’s fears were always put to rest and replaced with the quiet pleasure they shared.

They were still very much together a year later and once again they stood embracing, wishing each other a happy New Year.

“You brought the world to me, darling,” she told him, and meant it.

“Thank you, but if you’re the smart woman I know you are you’d look around for someone better—”

Comments like that rather frightened her, but only for a moment.

When he held her in his arms that night, she had no doubts, no shadows came between them. She could banish them with her love, and her fear…

In August, Monica knew she was pregnant, and she was delighted. Sandy would want this child, she was sure of it. A woman knew when a man adored her. His words last night, when he sat on the couch holding her in his arms, were a proof of his feelings. “Darling, how do you think you’d like living in Hawaii?” he’d asked.

She bolted up. “Hawaii?”

“Yes, I’m being transferred.”

“When?”

“In January.”

“That seems to be the best month of the year for us.”

“Every month is the best with you—”

“Oh, God, how much I love you…”

As she went over last night’s scene in her mind, she wondered if this was the time to tell him. She wasn’t sure why she was reluctant, but something down deep told her that this was not the time…

In the following months, she felt the child inside. Although she didn’t show yet, she knew she would soon have to tell Sandy.

Finally one night, as she lay close in his arms, she said, “Sandy, we’ve never talked about this…but I want to be your wife.”

“You are, as far as I’m concerned—”

“I know, but it’s not quite the same…”

He got out of bed and sat on the edge, lit two cigarettes and handed one to her. How could he tell her he adored her but couldn’t marry her? Eventually he would have to go home to the States, to a world that wouldn’t accept them. Could he really bring her home to his mother, to Jacob? Here they fitted, they were right…God, why hadn’t he considered that a woman couldn’t go on indefinitely in a relationship like this without wanting marriage. It was selfish, stupid. It was so fundamental. Even a woman in love wanted, needed, the security that only marriage brought. But he couldn’t marry her—
not
only for his sake but for hers. She couldn’t realize what life would be like for her in the States. People in love deluded themselves…maybe that’s what was meant by love being blind. Well, his vision was unclouded, unfortunately, and he despised himself because he had to hurt the dearest person in his life. But not yet…so he avoided it by saying, “Monica darling, let’s wait.”

For how long? “Sandy, tell me now. Do you want to marry me?”

“Of course, I
want
to…”

“Then?”

“Monica, we haven’t talked about it but one day I’m going home. The United States isn’t the Orient. It’s hard enough being a Jew, but interracial marriage would make us outcasts. You’d begin to blame me, to hate me. In the end it would destroy us.” He took her cold hand and held it gently. “Try to understand this…no one belongs just to himself, not in this world, and it tells us that if we want to survive we have to live according to some of its rules, and if we had children they’d be terribly hurt…through no fault of their own. But because of us…” He looked at her, and her eyes said more than words. Suddenly he put his face in his hands, knowing how he’d hurt her, unable to see what else he could have done…

She took him and put his head on her shoulder. “Shh…it doesn’t matter. You’ve given me more than you know—”

“It matters. It
matters
because I love you, Monica, but damn it, I can’t change the world. Not even for you…”

“Come lie down, darling. We’re together now. It’s what really matters. It will be enough.”

She said it like a judgment…

He woke up at four in the morning. Getting out of bed carefully so as not to disturb her, he went into the livingroom, poured himself a glass of bourbon and settled himself into the large wing chair. He sat in the darkened room and relived the years he and Monica had shared. Who had given him the contentment and joy she had? In his desire to protect her he had felt he had to be totally honest about what would happen to their lives if they married. And what he had said
was
the reality; they would
not
be accepted. But the truth was double-edged. Had he been honest for her sake alone, or had his own fears played a part in it? His mother? Jacob? No, he’d never have been able to bring Monica to them and have her accepted as part of the family, never. But how important was all that? What did living in the United States really mean to him? How much of his life had actually been spent there? And how good had life been for him there? Was it all
that
important to him if he never went back? The Orient had been his world and now he realized that he felt more a part of it than any other world. “Going, back” had been a myth, that’s what it really amounted to. It was merely an assumption based on his childhood longings to have the family together. Yes, he still loved them and always would, but they had been apart for so long now that they lived in different worlds—and it was more than just the miles that separated them. He had no hope that Esther or Jacob would understand or approve his marrying Monica and he understood what their reasons would be. But they had lived their lives as they had to, and he was entitled to do the same…they would be hurt and he regretted that, but he would regret Monica even more. He would
not
leave her, he couldn’t. She was just too much a part of him…

Suddenly he felt a sense of peace and new purpose. He got up and quietly went into the bathroom to shave and get dressed. It was six in the morning when he stood at the side of the bed and looked down at her.
She
was his world, and
nothing
could compare to having her. He checked his impulse to wake her. Tonight he would tell her. He kissed her cheek, then turned and left…

Monica spent the morning thinking about the alternatives. If she had an abortion, what would that solve? Yes, they could go to Hawaii and be lovers as before, but one day he would leave her, go home.
She
was not
home
; she was only a stop-off place. Oh, she knew he’d marry her if she told him about the child, but he would end up hating her, feeling she had tricked him. There was only one way out…she’d really known it from the very beginning. The small fears, the reluctance to tell him—they’d been pushed aside for a long time, as though by not facing them they would go away, disappear…