The Marrying of Chani Kaufman (23 page)

The Kaufmans beamed. Mr Levy frowned.

From the end of the table Baruch piped up, ‘I knew you'd like her, Mum.'

‘And here is the delightful young lady herself,' said Mr Levy as Chani hovered in the doorway.

‘Ah, Chani-leh,' cried Mrs Kaufman. ‘There you are. I was worried about you.'

‘No need for that, Mum. Everything's just fine.' Chani smiled serenely as she resettled herself at the table. Mrs Levy busied herself with rearranging her crystalware to best effect.

‘Anyone for more pudding?' said Mr Levy, ogling the last slice.

‘If you wouldn't mind, I'll have a little more – ' replied Mrs Kaufman, proffering her bowl.

‘Tell you what, Mrs Kaufman, let's share it, shall we? As a sign of things to come, perhaps?'

‘As you wish,' said Mrs Kaufman. Deference to a higher power was a lifelong habit.

 

Later that evening as they were preparing for bed, Mr Levy felt it prudent to question his wife about her protracted absence at dinner. His wife was absorbed in brushing out her sheitel.

‘You were rather a long time away from the table this evening . . .'

Mrs Levy deliberated mid-stroke and then grasping her wig from within, she resumed her activity with renewed viciousness.

‘Oh, Chani and I were just having a little chat – '

‘I'm sure you were, Berenice,' he replied, sounding a note of warning. She met his stare.

‘She certainly knows her own mind, that girl – I'll give her that.'

‘It takes one to know one,' murmured her husband.

 

The Kaufmans were subdued as they returned home. The house seemed dingier than ever after the extravagance of the Levy residence. The walls were discoloured and their feet stuck to the linoleum in the hall.

Chani watched her mother bumble off upstairs. She turned to her father as he hung up his jacket.

‘Dad.'

‘Yes, Chani-leh?'

She noticed a hairline crack in one of his lenses. Her father looked tired and frail. His shoulders were poking through his faded jumper and his hands trembled slightly as they hung from his sleeves. She knew he was itching to get back to his books and prayers. Suddenly she wanted to fling herself at him and engulf him in a wild hug, but those spontaneous gestures of affection had ceased a long while ago.

Instead they stood close but without touching, in the dim light of the hall. There was something sad and vulnerable about her father that made her protective of him. Chani thought of loud, brash Mr Levy and found her father infinitely superior, despite his lack of worldly confidence. He was always a good, kind man.

‘What did you think of Baruch?'

‘He seems a very nice and decent boy. A little quiet but considering the circumstances.'

‘And his parents?' The image of Mrs Levy towering over her flared in her mind's eye.

Her father stroked his beard. Chani knew he was choosing his words carefully.

‘They are different to us. But well meaning enough, I should think. It is hard to tell at these sorts of events. The main thing is the boy, Chani. He seems a studious and serious young man. You could do a lot worse.'

It was hardly high praise but then her father had barely spoken to Baruch. She wished he could be more precise but vagueness was her father's default setting.

‘So you think I should say yes, if he asks me?'

Rabbi Kaufman blinked wearily. His daughter's pale anxious face hovered before him. He reached out and patted her cheek clumsily. ‘Yes, perhaps you should. He's been the closest offer you have had yet. Let's see if his intentions are true. I believe they are, judging by tonight.'

Then he turned and slowly made his way to his study. Chani stood alone in the shabby hall. She examined herself in the dusty mirror. A small, thin figure gazed back. Her pinafore looked ridiculous. She hated it and had only agreed to wear it for her mother's sake. She wished she owned something more sophisticated to wear. Like Mrs Levy. She thought of the woman's foot in the door and smiled. Baruch wanted to marry her. Mrs Levy had been forced into submission. The thrill of triumph made her shiver. Her eyes glowed in the dark glass.

The years of being taken for granted by her parents, of being reprimanded by Mrs Sisselbaum, criticised by whining teachers, all fell away. She felt as if she were on the cusp of something adult and significant. A boy had chosen her over everyone else, despite his mother's objections – she was sure Mrs Levy had voiced them loudly and clearly to Baruch. At that moment, the fact that she hardly knew this boy was inconsequential. The future lay before her and she had fought her way towards it and won.

Now all the boy had to do was ask.

Indigestion and night-thoughts prevented Mrs Kaufman from finding solace in sleep. She burped softly into the darkness and listened to her husband's gentle snores.

Rabbi Kaufman was in the midst of a very exciting dream. He was Moses and was leading the Israelites out of Egypt. Just as he was about to part the Red Sea, his wife elbowed him in the ribs and he woke up with a start.

‘Yankel, wake up!'

‘Can't a man sleep in peace a little?' he moaned.

‘Not now, Yankel, I need to talk.'

‘Not again. Can't this wait until tomorrow?'

‘It's already tomorrow. Yankel, listen, this is important.'

Rabbi Kaufman groaned in surrender. ‘Ok, Leah-leh, I'm listening.'

‘I'm worried about Chani.'

‘You're always worried about Chani. Chani is fine, believe me, that one can look after herself.'

‘I've been such a terrible mother – ' said Mrs Kaufman. She ended her pronouncement with a loud wet sniff. Her husband fumbled for the light switch. They blinked in the electric brilliance.

‘Leah,
please
don't start that nonsense now – I forbid it.' said Rabbi Kaufman.

‘Ok, I won't,' said Mrs Kaufman in a small voice.

‘Good, now tell me, what's the problem?'

‘I don't like those people.'

‘I knew you wouldn't like them. They're not our type and we're probably not theirs.'

‘That woman, I don't trust her. Those shoes and that dreadful sheitel – she looked like a – a – ' quivered Mrs Kaufman.

Her husband reached for her hand. ‘Don't say it, Leah-leh, it's beneath you. But I know and I understand.'

‘I can't bear the thought of Chani marrying into a family like that – she won't fit in.'

‘If it's any comfort to you, from the little I saw of him I believe Baruch to be a very nice boy. And he's clearly very talented. He's not like them, I sensed.'

‘B'srat HaShem. Let's hope not.'

‘It could be worse.'

‘It could. But how, tell me, Yankel?'

Rabbi Kaufman stroked his beard. His wife waited.

‘They have money.'

‘So? Who needs money? HaShem will provide!' cried Mrs Kaufman.

‘Leah-leh, you know that isn't always the case – life is not easy if you struggle financially. Look how it's worn us down. Think of all the things we could have given our daughters.'

‘I knew it. We should have given them more,' wailed Mrs Kaufman.

‘Now, now, we have given them everything we could . . . and they got what they needed most – love and kindness, and a proper Yiddisher upbringing. And they had us . . . we're not so bad, are we?' Rabbi Kaufman wrapped his skinny arm around his wife's massive shoulders.

‘No, and as for that Mr Levy – he is not worth the salt in your little finger, Yankel!'

Rabbi Kaufman chuckled and kissed his wife's cheek. ‘Leah-leh, if Chani is half as good a wife as you are to me, Baruch will be blessed.'

Rabbi Kaufman tickled Mrs Kaufman under her chins.

‘Stop that, Yankel!' she giggled and then sniffed, remembering her woes.

‘That boy is very keen on Chani and I think he'll look after her,' said Rabbi Kaufman as Mrs Kaufman rubbed her face against his pyjama buttons. ‘And if he doesn't, she can come home again to us. And we will look for another boy for her.'

‘Has veh Shalom!' said Mrs Kaufman. Her eyelids were beginning to droop. Her bulk began to relax. Rabbi Kaufman's right arm had gone numb but he dared not remove it until his wife's head started to loll and her breathing came in long, loud rasps. Then, carefully he inched his shoulder out from beneath her and curled up against her warm bottom as they both fell asleep.

August 2008 – London

The day had dawned bright and blue and swelled into a balmy afternoon. Riding the sweltering tube into town, they had burst through the bubble of the North Circular and surfaced in the heart of summery London, Hyde Park. They strolled along the wide asphalt paths ogling the sights. A female roller-blader whizzed past almost clipping Baruch. He had been staring so hard at her muscular thighs and gleaming shoulders that he had forgotten to move out the way.

His interest had not escaped Chani and she had felt a pang of envy which was quickly dismissed. After all, this was their fourth date and she was sure today he would ask. They had survived dinner with both sets of parents and so far the scheming Mrs Levy had been successfully outmanoeuvred. She pushed the woman to the back of her mind; she would not let her spoil today. Chani had woken with a jolt that morning and little tremors of excitement continued to flutter in her stomach. To help her cause she had davened extra hard.

She had dressed with care, choosing her favourite white v-neck jumper, a black T-shirt to be worn underneath and a flared black linen skirt that swayed gently as she walked. Baruch wore his usual long-sleeved white shirt and black trousers. He had hooked his jacket over his shoulder and loped by her side. On his head nestled the obligatory black velvet skull-cap. Together they resembled a walking chessboard, the only splash of colour provided by the bunch of flowers he had given her. Chani clutched them tightly against her chest. She could not remove them for fear of revealing the large yellow pollen stain that covered her right breast. She looked as if she had been egged. Still, she did not care for today was the day he would ask.

What else would a frum boy and girl be doing so far from home? The exotic venue had sealed her certainty. Any minute now. She was sure of it.

But Baruch was fumbling for the moment. He wanted to say the words but every time he took a breath, something prevented him. They stuck in his mouth. He had played the moment over and over in his mind but he remained teetering on the edge of marital bliss.

He had to do something. Conversation had come to a standstill. He sensed the expectancy emanating from the small slim figure to his right. He would ask her before they reached the end of the path. He slowed down.

Round the bend spread the shimmering expanse of the Serpentine. Small waves lapped the bank. Trees rippled in the breeze. Swans dabbled, their orange webbed feet paddling comically beneath them. But Chani was blind to the beauty spread before her. Why was he taking so long? What was wrong with him?

Baruch had an idea. He would take Chani boating in a pedalo on the lake. He would pedal out to the middle where it was calm and picturesque and there he would propose. He would pedal and Chani would sit in the hollow next to him. How blissful, how serene the Serpentine appeared! Why hadn't he thought of it before? There was no one to see them and pass judgment. No fear of reproach. They were free! Unless of course Chani did not want to.

He could but ask. He turned to her. She turned to him, gazing expectantly.

Baruch plunged in. ‘Have you ever been in a pedalo?'

‘A what?' She frowned.

‘A pedalo. One of those funny boats over there.'

She followed the direction of his arm to where a man looked as if he was cycling across the lake in a pudding bowl. A woman sat next to him, her knees moving up and down in a mechanical fashion. The bowl proceeded forward sedately.

‘No, no. I haven't. Have you?'

‘No, but how about giving it a go?'

‘Now? You and me?'

Chani looked at him askance. She pursed her mouth, reminding Baruch of his grandmother. ‘Are you sure that's wise? I mean, is it OK for us to get in one of those together?'

She watched the large round plastic boats move slowly across the lake. Laughter drifted over. The people in the pedalos did indeed look happy and excited. A breeze stroked the water; it looked cool and inviting. Here was something new and different.

‘I don't see why not. We wouldn't be touching. I'd pedal and you can enjoy yourself. How about it?'

Why not? She could swim should anything happen. Pretence might provide an altogether more thrilling scenario however. It might even force his hand. She had a sudden vision of Baruch churning up the waters in a manly crawl whilst she flailed helplessly, her long skirt twisting around her legs, her mouth opening wide as she screamed for help. She saw herself lying wet and bedraggled on the shore and Baruch kneeling by her side.

Chani turned to him grinning. ‘OK. It looks fun. Who would know about it anyway?'

‘Exactly.'

They smiled at each other shyly, brimming with excitement. Walking briskly over to the shed they met the manager and Baruch paid.

Life-jackets on, Baruch and Chani followed behind the manager over the small decked jetty to where their carriage was waiting. It was pastel blue and had a small white ‘22' painted on its stern.

Baruch was the first to clamber into the cockpit. The pedalo rocked violently and he wobbled. He swiftly sat down. There was not a lot of space but he had no problem reaching the pedals. His knees bent at right angles making his legs look like pipe-cleaners.

‘In you go,' said the manager offering Chani his hand which she blithely ignored. She placed her right foot into the pedalo with care, found her balance and brought her left foot over whilst clutching at her skirt.

‘Most elegantly done,' said Baruch.

‘Thanks,' said Chani, blushing furiously. She felt ridi­culous in her life jacket but at least it hid the pollen stain. She pulled her skirt down well over her knees and clamped them tightly together to prevent it billowing up. She thanked HaShem that she had chosen to wear her black tights today.

‘All right, you two,' said the manager ‘You've got forty minutes. I will call you in via the loudspeaker. Any unsafe conduct or jumping into the lake will mean that I will come and fetch you personally with the park police and escort you off the premises. Understood?'

‘Of course, Sir,' replied Baruch. ‘I give you my word of honour that we will behave ourselves.' Chani nodded.

‘I should hope so, son.'

The manager gave him a look and shoved the pedalo hard. It swayed in the wash. He nodded grimly and left.

‘It's easy, I've got it under control. You relax and enjoy the scenery. I know how to work this thing.' Nothing to it, Baruch figured.

‘Ok, are you sure? I feel a bit silly just sitting here doing nothing whilst you do all the legwork. Pardon the pun.'

Baruch chuckled. She had cracked a joke! He was delighted. He took this as a good omen that they were both beginning to relax and enjoy their little adventure.

‘Fear not, it's simple. HaShem didn't give me these long legs for nothing.'

Baruch began pedalling and slowly their boat turned right. He pedalled harder. The water churned underneath. It smelt of mildew. Hoping to speed things up he pumped for all he was worth, his legs shuttling as if steam-powered, but the pedalo had only moved a few feet. They were going nowhere fast. Exhausted, he stopped. They bobbed up and down in silence. The water slapped against the side of the pedalo. Baruch looked out over the lake and sighed.

‘I think we need to pedal together to make it go faster,' said Chani.

She was right. Why hadn't he thought of it before? There went his idea of playing the gentleman. Chani tucked her skirt around her legs and reached for the pedals. She had never ridden a bicycle let alone powered a pedalo. Doubtless a pedalo would be considered just as immodest but right now she didn't care.

She pushed down and the wheels turned. Baruch joined in. She pedalled harder to match him and the boat began to power forwards. Behind them the lake foamed. A dirty white streak carved across its olive surface.

‘Great work, Chani.'

‘You too, Baruch.'

Full steam ahead. Faster and faster they pedalled. Baruch admired Chani's prowess. She was good.

Giggling they approached the centre of the lake. Suddenly Baruch shrieked with pain. It was as if an axe had spliced his groin. It was unbearable. He grabbed his knee forsaking the pedals.

‘What's wrong? Whatsthematter?' Chani cried.

Baruch was bent double. He was making strange groaning sounds.

‘Baruch! Are you ok? Tell me what's wrong? What is it?'

She wished she could touch him, put a comforting hand on his shoulder.

‘It's my knee,' came the muffled reply. He could hardly tell her he had strained his groin. Mentally, he apologised to HaShem.

The pedalo had drifted and now they were miles from the shore. Baruch was lowing like a bullock caught in an electric fence. Helplessly Chani looked on. After a couple of minutes of paralysis, Baruch raised his head. He was ashen.

‘I'm so sorry, Chani. I think I've done my knee in – hang on I will try and pedal – ' he gasped.

‘No – no – don't – you'll make it worse – '

Baruch was silent now. He sat hunched and dejected. His plan had failed; the afternoon was wrecked.

‘Come in number 22! Your time's nearly up!' boomed the Tannoy.

Baruch was still, as if in a trance. Chani had to try something. She inhaled deeply and attempted to shout a cry for help, but her voice was lost on the breeze. Now she wished she had learned semaphore and not Yiddish.

‘Oh for God's sake number 22! Get a move on!'

There was only one solution. Chani sank back into her hollow and began pedalling. They progressed at a snail's pace. Baruch remained a silent lump. He was humiliated and could not bring himself to make eye contact. Instead he stared at his feet.

‘It's all my fault. I should never have suggested this mad idea,' he said.

Chani was inclined to agree. He hadn't even proposed. She had nothing to say. Instead she watched the shore and willed it nearer. The sun beat down on her efforts and her calves started to ache. But she kept going, stopping intermittently to catch her breath. The pedalo nosed forward.

‘Number 22! I'll be charging you double. Hurry up!'

Now the pedalo gained momentum and with each thrust her sense of indignation grew.

‘You can do it, Chani,' said Baruch in a small, hopeless voice.

Chani did not respond, focussed on her task. She could clearly see the jetty. And there was the manager, a blurry figure holding a white megaphone. Her legs felt like lead. They were slowing down.

‘I thought I told you two love birds to stay out of trouble.'

Furious, Chani went beetroot. Baruch looked away. She fought the temptation to lash out at him. It was wiser to save her breath.

The pedalo wallowed in the water. It was going agonisingly slowly, but they were still moving. Finally the jetty was within reach. The manager waited, hands on hips.

‘Take your time, why don't you?' he snarled.

‘I'm so sorry, Sir, but I've hurt my knee and I can't pedal,' confessed Baruch mournfully.

‘There's always one. And as always it had to happen on my shift. Right. No point grumbling. I'm going to throw the young lady a line and hopefully she'll catch it and tie it to the steel handle on the side of your pedalo. I can haul you in. Ready?'

Chani nodded. The line flicked through the air across the water and slapped against the side of the boat. She made a grab for it and caught the soaked end. Her fingers worked at the cold slimy hemp until she had tied a proficient knot. She pulled as hard as she could to secure it. The manager watched her, a dour look on his face.

Satisfied, he started to pull. The pedalo moved slowly and smoothly. Chani and Baruch were dragged in sideways. As they neared the shore they suffered the curious stares of fellow boaters. The pedalo bumped against the sawn-off rubber-tyres flanking the wooden posts. The murky water sucked and oozed. Delicate water weeds drifted by like sprigs of parsley in chicken soup. They had made it.

Baruch limped after Chani.

‘Wait, Chani. Please wait.'

She halted obediently and turned to watch as he hobbled along. His face was a picture of anguish. The anger withered inside her. All she wanted was to go home. Mrs Levy hovered menacingly at the edge of her thoughts. Chani realised that she had survived trial by fire but not by water and now it appeared that Mrs Levy had won.

Baruch caught up with her and slowly they made their way to the nearest Tube in silence.

The ride home was a dismal affair. They sat opposite each other staring glumly into space. Baruch tried to engage her in conversation but her replies were monosyllabic and he gave up.

The stops trundled past. He was barely aware of the doors opening and closing or the rush of passengers scrambling for seats. A businessman blocked his view. He could no longer see Chani and soon he would never see her again. He had missed his chance.

Chalk Farm. Belsize Park. Hampstead. The train roared out of the tunnel into sunlight. In a few seconds they would be stopping at Golders Green, his stop. Too soon. He wasn't ready to leave her.

The doors opened and Chani turned to say goodbye.

‘I think I'll stay on and see you to your stop,' Baruch said.

‘All right then.'

The train shunted off. Chani appeared indifferent, her pale face glazed with tiredness. The flowers had long since been abandoned and she sat with her arms crossed, her small handbag at her feet. Baruch stared at the tunnel wires as they rose and fell in unending waves outside the carriage. He had to think fast.

Brent Cross came and went. The next stop was Chani's. The train clattered into Hendon Central. Chani got up and moved towards the doors. He followed her onto the platform.

She turned to say goodbye.

Baruch opened his mouth. ‘Will you – '

Beep! Beep! The sound of the doors closing obliterated his words.

‘What?' said Chani irritably. What was it now?

He took a deep breath. ‘Will you marry me?'