The Pruning

Chapter 2

Chapter 2Ruth slipped on her eyeglasses and read out loud. “Fear the Lord, you who are consecrated; those who fear the Lord will be sustained. Those who deny God are lacking and hungry. Those who seek the Lord shall not lack anything that is good. Give thanks to the Lord, for God is good; God’s mercy endures forever. God opens God’s hand and satisfies every living thing with favor. May the Lord bless our people with peace. Amen.” She closed the prayer book and set her glasses on the kitchen table.

“Amen.” Nili raised her glass. “You are favored and deserving. Le’chaim to Ruti’s triumph!”

Ruth got up and walked to the fridge. “How is exertion a triumph, or hardship a favor?”

“I’m toasting to your new jobs, darling. To BMW, HSBC Bank, Siemens, and BBC for keeping the roof over our heads and food on our table. Hail to the sole breadwinner. Kol ha’kavod.”

While it was true she’d landed more jobs of late, they were all relatively small and scattered—a voice-over here, a script translation there. Far from a permanent living. “I’m not burning a candle, but an entire candelabrum at its ends and barely getting by. So, where’s the winning come in?”

“It’s just a figure of speech,” Nili replied. “Winning bread sounds much more glamorous. At any rate, it’s a mitzvah to be happy. Be happy, Ruti. And dare to be grateful.”

Ruth removed the ice tray and jiggled the freezer drawer closed, struggling against a thick layer of ice built up on the shelf. She slid several cubes into her glass and raised it. “To happiness and gratitude. Le’chaim, Nili.”

“You do know,” Nili said, “you saved my life hiring me, despite my wretched health, when no one else would. Looking after me, a stranger in a foreign country . . . you’re a special person, Ruti—strong, kind, and compassionate.” Her eyes grew moist. “I love you dearly.”

Ruth placed her hand over Nili’s. “I needed you, with your fantastic personality and skill set.”

“I guess we needed each other in our respective predicaments.” Nili raised her glass again. “Here’s to excellent timing.”

They shifted their attention to the children, who after dinner had fallen asleep at the table, their heads resting atop their folded arms. Ruth set down her glass and lifted little Orly, sending a chunk of challah and a toy lorry falling to the floor.

Eight-year-old Avri roused and lifted his head, rubbing at his tired eyes.

Nili took his hand, and then hoisted up Hadassah. “This one here’s a philosopher,” she whispered. “Earlier today, she said, ‘Fog is when a cloud falls from the sky to take a closer look at Earth.’ Not bad for a seven-year-old, or?”

“That’s the beginning of a new novel right there.” Ruth reached for one of the children’s crayons. “Got to make a note.”

Nili chuckled, shaking her head. “They may have gotten their Mediterranean looks from their father, but the rest is all you.”

~~~

Except for the ticking of the clock on Ruth’s office wall, the apartment was pin-drop silent. Nili curled up on the sofa as Ruth dropped into the neighboring armchair, the tear in its back barely hidden by a brocade cover with a well-worn raised design. Inside the gas fireplace, tiny flames shot noiselessly up from a cluster of faux logs.

Several quiet minutes later, Ruth could feel the nanny’s eyes on her.

“What are you doing?” Nili asked.

“Concentrating.”

“On what?”

“I don’t know,” Ruth said with a shrug. “Getting drunk, maybe?”

“When is this old-enough-to-know-better stuff going to kick in with you? No more drinking from bottles that empty you.” Nili snagged the Yarden from the coffee table and placed it on the floor next to the sofa. “Well then, bring on the disaster report.”

Ruth sighed. “It’s that relentlessly detached manner of his. I might as well have been baring my soul to a cement slab.” Rabbi Kalman’s face rose in Ruth’s mind—his blue-gray eyes divulging not so much as a hint of compassion. She drained her glass to wash away the image. “And the thing of it is, once there, sitting in front of him, I realized I had been so consumed with getting the whole business over with that I’d never stopped to consider the possibility that I wouldn’t be allowed to move forward in the first place—much less, the ramifications of that now very real possibility.”

Nili gave Ruth’s leg a pat. “Let’s just walk this road one step at a time. See what comes. And if the answer isn’t what you hoped for, well then, we’ll just jump off that bridge when we come to it.”

Ruth turned her head toward Nili and smiled.

“At the very least, you know what you want, and that’s a good thing.” Nili sank sideways on the sofa, propping her head on an elbow. “And now that you’ve put that dreadful man-searching business behind you, you can focus on what’s important right now.” Nili chuckled to herself. “What was the name of that last one—the one who broke the proverbial camel’s back?”

“Harvey.”

“Ah yes, Harvey from Costa Rica. The man with money to burn.”

“And zero personality,” Ruth added. “He made Danny from Toronto, Pascal from New York, and Saul from Singapore all look like keepers.”

“Then again,” Nili said, “it isn’t exactly a mitzvah to be foolish in the face of a crisis, Ruti. If real is what you need, then Harvey’s money could have gotten you real.”

Ruth couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She launched herself to the front of the chair. “Money without love means nothing to me. You know that. I’d go on winning bread for the duration before I’d settle fo—” Ruth stopped, her eyes narrowing. “Nanny Nili, you’re teasing me.”

“Guilty as charged.”

Ruth sat back with a playful growl.

“In all seriousness,” Nili said, “if you’re looking to curb expenses, you could always send the kids to public school. Look at me. I survived just fine.”

On this point Ruth was firm. “Not a chance. I won’t compromise on their private education. I’ll work harder if I have to.”

“Big surprise there.” Nili pushed herself up—rather ungracefully—to a sitting position. “Ruti, when you were dating, did you ever consider looking outside the tribe?”

“Again, not a chance,” Ruth said. “I didn’t choose a Jewish life only to step outside the lines when things get tough. That goes for the lot of it, including marriage. I am who I made myself to be.” She set her empty glass on the table. “And let’s not forget, I have a responsibility to my children.”

“Nachon. True enough.” Nili pulled the throw from the back of the sofa and draped it over her legs. “So it’s time to come up with a plan and dig yourself out of this balagan you’re in, this mess. But you’d better do it fast because look at yourself. The stress is killing you.”

The green message-indicator light on the Ansafone caught Ruth’s eye. “How long has that been blinking?”

“Haven’t a clue,” Nili said. “Didn’t hear a ring besides yours. Then again, I was awfully tied up this afternoon, what with a renegade hamster and all.”

With some effort, Ruth rose from the chair and walked the few steps to her desk.

“Now, now, Ruti,” Nili warned. “It’s Shabbat. What were you saying a moment ago about not stepping outside the lines?”

Ruth turned. “This from the woman who just now told me I’d better get a plan, and get one fast? What if that blinking light is the plan?”

“Point taken,” Nili said with a flick of her hand. “Carry on.”

Ruth turned back to the machine and pushed the button, prompting the sharp mechanical voice of the recorder: “Friday, March 10, 1995, 2:54 p.m.”

There was a slight pause, then . . . “Hello, my name is Samuel. This message is for Qochavit. Star in Hebrew—that’s a lovely alias you picked there. Anyway, I received your response to my ad in the JC just as I was unexpectedly pulled out of town. My sincere apologies to you for just now getting back . . .”

In its unexpectedness, the message left Ruth perplexed. It hadn’t occurred to her that some of her ad correspondence might still be floating out there.

“. . . I very much enjoyed reading your letter. You sound like a delightful lady, and I, uh, would like to chat with you sometime, if you would be so inclined.” He chuckled nervously. “Might you give me a ring? The number at my shop is . . .”

Ruth felt her face grow warm. Try as she might to ignore the feeling, the stranger’s voice set something astir inside her. He was polite, but not too polite. Casual, but not too casual. And, somehow, just the right amount of awkward. Mostly, there was genuine warmth there, a personality—which was more than she could say for Mesfin of the Turks and Caicos and the ultimate fiasco: Guy from Nice. Figures, Ruth thought.

“. . . so I look forward to hearing from you, Miss Qochavit. Cheers. Shabbat shalom.”

As the answering machine clicked off, she turned back to Nili, who was studying her with a suspicious eye.

“What?” Ruth asked.

“You tell me. Tagidi li.”

“There’s nothing to tell.”

Nili stared her down the way only Nili could.

“He just seemed nice, that’s all. And real.” She joined Nili on the sofa. “Look, I told you I’m done with this dating business. Even if I were tempted in this case—which I certainly am not—I’ve just set into motion something over which a romantic entanglement could create a perilous conflict of interest.” Ruth was suddenly fighting an urge to snatch up the bottle of Yarden from the floor.

“That’s the spirit.” Nili gave her leg a pat. “Listen, if my twenty-four years in the army taught me anything, it’s this: the good life doesn’t simply happen. It requires tactics and a clear head. The more considered your choices, the better your future. And mine,” she added with a wink.

“That all sounds very good and practical, though it’s not exactly a cure for loneliness.” She threaded her arm through Nili’s. “Present company excepted, of course.”

“Of course.”

“The thing is—and it pains me to admit this—though you say I am strong, I long to be unstrong for a change, let myself fall and be carried. I want someone to know me, from the start, without a lot of words, no ridiculous dating dance. I want to see him and know. I want him to see me and know.”

“Yes, but you know what they say . . .”

“No, Nili. What do they say?”

“Hunting love is like finding a ghost in the fog. You can’t know until later which details really matter. You, darling, have been searching for a chemistry home run with all the trimmings, and I suppose it’s been my job to protect you from your own manic courage.” She gave Ruth a nudge. “You realize that it’s not that I don’t want you to find your heart’s desire. A beautiful, educated, clever girl like yourself deserves more, and better. It’s just that I don’t want to see you hurt again, or disappointed. And, for now, there’s that whole matter of the Beth Din and your hearing.”

“Mmm,” Ruth said, nodding. “And that’s no small matter.”

It was nearly midnight, and the hour of preset timers. The fire went out as if extinguished by a ghostly hand. The main lights dimmed. The central heating clicked off just as the dishwasher came to life, infusing the flat with the scent of lemony detergent. On the table in front of them, the candles had almost guttered out, their wicks drowning in melted wax.

“Time to call it a night, then,” Nili said through a massive yawn. “Get home to my humble Finchley matchbox.”

They crept down the hall to the front door, where Nili lifted her coat from the chair part of the old cherrywood gossip bench and threw it over her arm. “Laila tov, Ruti. Shabbat shalom.”

“Shabbat shalom.”

After Nili slipped out into the foggy night, Ruth tiptoed back down the darkened corridor and into her office. She strolled to her desk and stared down at the answering machine.

She hesitated only a second or two before pressing the playback button.

“Friday, March 10, 1995, 2:54 p.m. . . .”