The Enemy of the Good (16 page)

Anxious not to disrupt the party, she said a discreet goodbye and left the table. At a nod from the Rabbi, Zvi stood to escort her to her car. For the first time they were alone, although she had followed his every word during dinner, as thrilled when he scored a point as when she had used to watch Chris in his Sunday morning league (she angrily dismissed the analogy, which had sprung on her unawares). She felt a knife-edge tension in the air and pictured him taking her in his arms in defiance of all the rules. Yet, while the
impulsive
part of her longed for the evening to end as it would have done with any other boyfriend, the judicious part gave thanks for the difference. Despite his failure to help her with her coat, even when her arm caught in the sleeve, he had wrapped her in something far warmer. Moreover, he invited her for coffee after the service.

‘This time, the café’ll be open. I’ve checked.’

Driving back into central London, Susannah knew that she had come to the moment of truth. In the three months since her introduction to the Lubavitch, her life had been turned inside out. She had joined the Kabbalah class in a bid to find something that would relieve her nagging sense of
discontent
. In the event, she had found far more than she had dared to hope. These were people whose lives had a coherence that she had never before encountered outside books. They had given up so much of what she had once believed to be indispensable – art, films, fashion, even casual contact between the sexes – but which she now saw to be a distraction. Hard as it was to admit, she had found freedom in a world of constraints. She felt a tremor of unease at the thought of her family’s and friends’ reactions. She heard Clement’s ‘You must be mad!’ as clearly as the honking of the car behind at the changing lights. It was up to her to show them all that she had never been so sane.

She arrived home and prepared for bed. ‘It’s like I’m seeing you for the first time,’ she said to the face in the mirror. ‘This must be how an adopted child feels when she tracks down her mother. I love the people who brought me up. They’re decent and honourable and I’ll always respect them as my parents. But I know now that I belong somewhere else. At last my life makes sense. I am a Jew.’ Suddenly self-conscious, she thrust her hand over her mouth, picturing what people, not least her clients, would think if they should catch a glimpse of her. Then, with a burst of elation, she realised that she no longer cared.

She had not been at such a peak of anticipation since the sixth form disco. She barely slept and her chief fear was that her eyes, which were accounted her best feature, would be bloodshot and puffy. Unable to risk more than a hint of mascara, she was grateful that Zvi was forbidden to look her full in the face. At ten o’clock, she drove to the Chabad House, following Rivka’s
directions
, which were less thorough than Zvi’s. She parked behind a run-down shopping centre, made out the inconspicuous sign and, announcing herself over the intercom, walked in. She climbed a narrow staircase to the first floor, trying to identify the mulchy smell that wafted down from the kitchen. She passed a small cloakroom and stood on the threshold of a drab meeting room with a low polystyrene ceiling. It was unequally divided by a net curtain: the larger, brighter part was filled with men; the smaller, darker part held two old women. She searched for Zvi in the crowd of wide-brimmed hats, long black coats, charcoal suits, white shirts and tasselled prayer-shawls, finally spotting him standing by the window, his face caught in the light that filtered through the slatted blind. She tried to catch his eye, until the awareness of her
irreverence
forced her into a hasty retreat.

She took a seat close – but not adjacent – to the two women, who
welcomed
her with a smile and resumed their conversation. She was surprised not to see Rivka, despite the loose ‘between eleven and twelve’ set for their meeting. She fixed her attention on the lectern, which was perfectly visible through the curtain. She was amazed at the informality of the congregation who, with their prayer shawls over their heads, swayed back and forth,
chanting
discordantly and bursting into spontaneous song, before striding across the room to talk to friends. Yet, for all that it was incongruous and
incomprehensible
, she had a strong sense of belonging. Sitting in the austere,
inelegant
Chabad House, she felt that she had come home. She was connected to a living tradition that stretched back three thousand years, merely skipping two generations of her own family.

Rivka and Rebekkah arrived in time for the Rabbi’s sermon, the one element of the service in English, which, with its review of the Biblical grounds for Greater Israel, jolted her out of her timeless concerns and back to the contemporary world. Then, after the final blessing, the curtain was opened and the women headed for the kitchen to prepare the
kiddush
. To her surprise, Susannah found that, far from resenting her subservient status, she was glad to be given a clearly defined role. She set out the selection of salads and snacks, chicken liver, pickled herring and the aromatic
cholent
, a bean and vegetable dish that had been slowly simmering overnight. For all that she admired the meal, she was far too nervous to eat, and she was relieved when Zvi asked if she were ready to make a move. Such a public request left no room for
confusion
, and her pleasure was doubled when, crossing the road, they passed a stream of people walking home from a nearby synagogue whose friendly nods acknowledged them as a couple. They entered the café, settling in a Formica booth with a leatherette banquette, which, in a more fashionable part of town, would have been hailed as
retro
. Zvi ordered an expresso and she a cappuccino.

‘So did you enjoy our Shabbat meal last night?’

‘Tremendously. Although
enjoy
isn’t a strong enough word. I was moved and excited and charmed. Oh yes, I enjoyed it.’

‘I’m very glad.’

‘Everyone made me so welcome. I felt as if I truly belonged… more, as if I’d never known anything else.’

‘I’m very glad.’

‘The one drawback,’ she said, strangely emboldened, ‘was sitting so far away from you.’

‘Were you? I didn’t notice. I felt as if we were as close as we are now.’
Susannah
thrilled to words which, unless he had developed a sudden flair for
flattery
, implicitly recognised the bond between them. ‘I’m afraid that’s the way things are,’ he said. ‘When I marry, my wife and I must be prepared to spend several days apart each month.’ She was surprised to learn that his work took him away so often.

‘Your wife will be prepared for anything provided she knows you’ll be home.’ As he stared at the table, she remembered his belief in discretion and feared that she might have overstepped the mark. She was grateful for the arrival of the waitress with their drinks. Before stirring in the sugar, Zvi recited a simple blessing.

‘Everything is blessed,’ he said, registering the question in her eye. ‘We thank God for all the goodness in our lives.’

‘I’m starting to feel very blessed myself.’

‘I’m glad. It can be hard for an outsider who comes into our community. Especially someone brought up in a different faith.’

‘It depends how much she… or he – ’ she added quickly – ‘wants to be part of it.’

‘In your line of work you must meet a lot of men.’

‘And women too. Don’t forget the women,’ she said, eager to acknowledge the achievements of her own sex.

‘Really?’ he asked, with a look of alarm.

‘I mean I come across people of every sort. As do you, I imagine. But if you’re asking whether I’ve had boyfriends, the answer is yes. I can’t pretend that I’ve slept alone for twenty odd years.’ As she tossed out the figure without thinking, she prayed that he would see her as an early developer.

‘Some women are wedded to their careers.’

‘Yes, nuns. But, for the rest of us, it’s compensation. I can’t disown my past – I wouldn’t want to – but I’m not bound by it. That’s why I’m here.’

‘I’m very glad you are. Very glad indeed.’ He was distracted by the spectacle of three rowdy children at a nearby table. ‘Look over there!’

‘I am.’ She shuddered.

‘It’s good to see parents who let their children be themselves, who don’t try to squash them.’

‘Yes, of course,’ Susannah said, choking back the censure on the tip of her tongue. She marvelled at Zvi’s unexpected tolerance as the youngest boy thumped his plastic tomato, sending ketchup all over the booth.

‘You must think that all we do at the Chabad House is worship and study and argue about the Torah, but some of my best times – my very best times – are spent with
Tzivos Hashem
, that’s our youth group.’

‘I didn’t know… Are you very involved?’

‘Almost every week. I’m one of the leaders. We run a packed programme. In the summer we take the kids on trips or go camping. We regularly ask in experts to teach them different aspects of Jewish life, anything and everything from making candlesticks to baking challah. It’s a joy and a privilege to
introduce
them to the richness of their tradition.’

Zvi fell silent and Susannah was fascinated to discover another facet to him. As they lingered over a second cup of coffee, she scarcely even craved a cigarette. She yearned to take their relationship a stage further, but there was no easy way. With anyone else she could show her interest by inviting him for a meal or a film or a drink with friends, with Zvi that was out of the question. Not only was he forbidden to eat in her home or any of her favourite
restaurants
, but he never went to the cinema and would be offended by her friends. What’s more, he would disapprove of her taking the initiative. Although the two men could not have been more different, she would be as dependent on him as she had been on Chris.

Zvi loomed large in her thoughts when she prepared dinner the following week for Clement, Mike and Carla. The superstitious dread of speaking his name had given way to the wish to do so at every opportunity. She planned to use the occasion to inform her family of the changes in her life. In the event she had to wait until they moved to the table, since the aperitifs were taken up with Clement’s account of the trial of the Roxborough protestor. All his doubts about the penal system had disappeared and he welcomed the man’s eighteen-month sentence, with the rider that the foot-soldier had been
punished
while the Major escaped scot-free. Carla, meanwhile, announced that she had almost completed the repairs to the window, which would shortly be put back behind sheets of reinforced glass. Rather than celebrating, Clement declared that it would only goad Deedes and his friends into finding fresh ways to vilify him and launched a blanket attack on fundamentalists of all faiths, which alarmed Susannah who knew that, however unjustly, there would be those who applied the term to Zvi.

She waited until the vichyssoise had mellowed his mood before describing how she met Zvi at the Kabbalah class.

‘That’s fantastic!’ Carla said. ‘I told you you’d find it enlightening. Of course, I meant spiritually – ’

‘Believe me, it’s that too.’

‘So it was your idea?’ Clement turned on Carla. ‘Brilliant!’

‘I just put Susannah in touch with a Lubavitch friend – ’

‘For which I’ll be eternally grateful.’

‘The Lubavitch! I might have guessed.’

‘Who they?’ Mike asked.

‘A proselytising Chassidic sect,’ Clement said. ‘The Jehovah’s Witnesses of Judaism.’

‘You have your faith, Clem, so does Carla – ’

‘I’m beginning to feel outnumbered,’ Mike said.

‘So please don’t begrudge me mine. For years I’ve longed to find something I can believe in – something of my own, not yours or Pa’s – and now I have. I know you have issues with them. But if you met them, you’d feel differently.’

‘Met them or met him?’

‘Zvi is a Lubavitch. You can’t separate the two.’

‘But suppose for a moment you could… that he hadn’t been at the class, would it still have held the same attraction?’

‘Do you think I haven’t asked myself that? Do you think I’m too besotted to question my motives? But I’ve realised that in the end it doesn’t matter.’

‘Oh, really?’

‘Yes, really. People come to God in different ways. Some through the head; others through the heart.’

‘I just don’t want you to be hurt,’ Clement said. ‘I know these people.’

‘Since when?’

‘I mean I know their sort. Major Deedes and his friends, wearing
yarmulkes
and speaking Yiddish.’

Susannah resolved to keep her temper. She understood that he felt threatened. She was worried in turn how Zvi would respond to her brother’s sexuality. Her one hope lay in his exclusive focus on his fellow Jews.

‘What sort of a name is Zvi?’ Mike asked.

‘It’s Hebrew for Henry.’

‘Tell us more!’ Carla said. ‘How old is he? What does he do? Is he gorgeous? What colour are his eyes… his hair? Tell, tell! We want to know everything.’

Susannah was happy to oblige. ‘He’s thirty-eight,’ she said, grateful that no one alluded to her eighteen-month seniority. ‘He owns a highly select travel agency. I’m talking new clients by referral only. Although he suggested last week – I’m not sure how seriously – that we should pool our lists: I send him my clients for holidays and he send me his for PR.’

‘Cosy,’ Clement said.

‘He was brought up on a kibbutz. His parents still live in Tel Aviv. He had a sister – Chava – but she was killed in a terrorist attack ten years ago.’

‘Shit!’ Mike said.

‘Yes,’ Susannah replied, gazing at Clement and trusting that he made the link.

She longed to say more about Zvi but found herself at a loss. She couldn’t cite a love of jazz or windsurfing or vintage cars or any of the thousand and one things thought to be integral to a well-rounded personality. She had fed enough feature writers details of eccentric interests and endearing passions to know what people wanted to hear, but in Zvi’s case it was impossible. His life was the Lubavitch. He worked and prayed and studied and spent all his spare time in the community. His faith was who he was.