Alone through death, alone by
choice, cursed woman and tortured man. Tortured by the past, in each prison
they lay at night. Eve is sleeping, but is awoken, the calling of a pigeon by
her window. 2:39 the wind moans heat and she sweats with loneliness. As torture
curses the man to dream til the waking hour. At 2:39. Innocence or Guilt?
Nineteen Ninety-Nine, I don’t
remember the exact date, but it was late June. South Williamsburg Brooklyn; the
afternoon sky boiled red behind grey clouds threatening rain. The sky, as colorless
and dirty as a sewer rat was welcome only through the cool breeze. I gazed at
its desolation and spat into the wind. My spit caught a current of air; it
glided across south 9th
street and into oncoming traffic. I watched
nervously, anticipating the possibility of a disgruntled motorist. I got lucky;
the spit eventually glided its way onto the opposite curb without hitting a
target. As I continued my stroll little Hassid children were scurrying past at
every turn, darting from behind lamp posts and dented mini-vans. This was not
my neighborhood, but it was on my route. I enjoyed walking through the orthodox
district. I liked to soak in the cultures of my neighbors on the other side of
Broadway. From the sweet smelling bread factories, to the mysterious social
pavilions, and Yiddish book bazaars. All was an assault on the senses. On this
particular day I met Eve. She was walking faster than id ever seen a woman
strut comfortably without giving the appearance of aerobics. I smiled, her black
dress waving in the wind. I was not met with a response. Still the distance was
enough for at least another attempt at communiqué. I waived, my heart raced as
her face entered closer into vision, her flesh toned stalkings appeared as if
they chafed at every movement. Her stone faced oblivion couldn’t possibly be a
match for my charismatic whit.
“Hello,” I
stuttered, “Nice breeze this afternoon…No?” Eve began to cross into the street.
Eve would not look me in the eye. In fact Eve did not look enthusiastic about
being smiled at, waved at, or spoken to. “You dropped something!” I had to get
her attention, “Miss… Miss… You dropped something!” Eve’s head swung around,
almost like an owl, it twisted inhuman with large sharp green eyes with wicked
stare; wise and terrifying.
“What did I
drop?” Eve was now staring through my soul, into the back wall of the chemical
factory, through the machinery and possibly three blocks east.
“Um…Well” I
began scanning the ground between us for any sort of familiar objects. I saw a
dime. “That dime there,” I answered.
“Not likely.” Her
neck began to turn, and I almost accepted defeat.
“What
is your name?” I had to know. Eve’s eyes were hypnotic, her hair mesmerizing,
her arms were hidden beneath that horrendous oversized cardigan sweater, a
mystery, her hands, her slender fingers perfection. Her generic sports sneakers
and flesh toned leggings were so horribly un-charming…and yet Eve was young,
possibly no older than 25. I was 27 and I was doing something wrong. I was
engaging a citizen of a private society. But why was it wrong? What invisible
barrier protected me from her and her from me? Could I hurt her, was I wrong to
want her?
“Hello I am Eve, I am in a hurry, I
think you are nice… but I have to be on my way.” Something in her response was
revealing, her stare changed, the air changed. The sky was cut in twain and the
red sun poured above the street reflecting off her jet black hair and lit her
silhouette with shimmering radiance. She looked unhealthy, malnourished and her
eyes cried for sleep. I felt like a fool. I was falling in love.
She seemed
fazed, affected, infected, you could almost say. She turned from me, walking
away, but not as brisk of a walk, a slower methodical walk. She peered over her
shoulder as if to invite me to join her. Her statement of hurry did not suggest
rejection, and I took her glance as an invite for a stroll.
“Hey wait
up,” I jogged along side her, “You didn’t tell me your name,” I had to know, it
was necessary to know.
“It is
Eve.” She stated, “What is yours?” she asked quizzically, eyes scanning as she
walked, arms in movement, legs in flight.
“Adam,”
“Adam?” “Are you Jewish?”
“Um...yes…
I am,” that was a lie, at least a half lie, no a quarter lie. My mother was
half Jewish; her father was a polish Jew who had escaped the war.
“What’s
your last name?” She quizzed me further,
with a look of doubt that I could come up with a suitable last name to impress
her.
“Uh…? Mordecai!”
I responded without fear of discovery, I had an alibi, but I knew that I had to
change it slightly so that it seemed my mother was a full Jew, that way I would
be certain to gain the trust of my Eve for further discourse. “You see, my mother’s
family escaped from Poland
just before the war, they settled Mount
Vernon and we have been there ever since.” She had no
reason to doubt me, my story was flawless. Albeit a bit muddled, I was certain
she would be moved by it, and would find me interesting to say the least.
“Mordecai,
that is a strong name,” each breath she took was wonder, each roll of the
tongue accentuated in her mouth made me shudder with forbidden glee, “ I am
Liebowitz, Eve Liebowitz, you see my family comes from Ukraine, but we have been here
since before the war. The Zaporozhian Cossacks pushed our families west to
Moldavia, The Moldavian revolutionaries pushed our families south to Crimea,
and from there we lost hope, as the Crimean’s showed us the way to the Black
Sea, where we found trust in the bowels of a peaceful Turkish merchants galley
sailing to Greece. Then we came to Brooklyn.”
“Wow Eve,
you sure have a knack for Genealogy, I am impressed to say the least.”
“Family history is an important part
of my culture, and I must preserve the stories for my children to learn, so
that they might in turn tell their children, and so forth. But alas Adam, I am
alone in this world, my parents were killed some time ago in the 70s and I am
the sole survivor of that lineage. My brother Schlomo, My brother Asher, and my
sister Luka, all killed by a drunk motorist.”
My body ached with delight, and
sadness all at once, My Eve had no family, it was terrible for her, sad,
misfortunate, but to me that spelled LUCK. I could pursue Eve without her
family forbidding our romance, without fear of her great father’s wrath, her
untrusting mothers scorn, the anger of jealous brothers, and the confusion of a
betrayed sister. I was lucky, Eve was unlucky, or maybe she was lucky, maybe
cursed? Who knew? Our lives were about to change. With her family out of the
way, my mind was more at ease.
“Eve?”
“Yes,
Adam?”
“Where
do you live?”
“999
Wallabout.”
“Do you live alone?”
“I live
with my aunty Elzabet.”
“May
I walk you there?”
“No, but to the corner.”
“Can
I have your phone number?”
“No, but I can have yours”
“Will
you call me?”
“Yes, I will call you”
“Could
we see eachother again?”
“I will have to consider it.”
“Is
our friendship forbidden?”
“I will have to consider it.”
“Thank
you for talking to me Eve, you are very Beautiful.”
“You are Handsome, but now we must part ways.”
“Goodbye
Eve…”
“Goodbye…Adam”
I reached
in to hug her but she backed away with a smirk.
“There is much you will learn Adam, I will teach you this.”
“My phone
number?”
“Lets have it,” she pulled out a scrap of paper from her
massive pocketbook. She jotted the number carefully. She turned from me,
walking away, but not as brisk of a walk, a slower methodical walk. She peered
over her shoulder glancing quickly, as if to suggest fulfillment, and I took
her glance as a showing of acceptance.
My phone
rang promptly at noon the following day. I ignored it, choosing to sleep in.
The answering machine picked up. “Hello this is Adam Forester, please leave a
message after the beep.”
“Hello
Adam, this is Eve, we met yesterday over by the bridge, I am available this
evening if you would like to meet by the bridge. I go for a walk every
Wednesday at 730 in the evening for my exercise. I will be at the bicycle
entrance.”
I was
immediately concerned that Eve would notice that my name wasn’t Mordecai at all
and in fact Forester, which was in fact not Jewish at all. What could I do?
What would I say? I was in trouble and I knew it. I was however eager and thrilled
to meet Eve for our exercise date across the Williamsburg bridge.
I stood at
the foot of the bicycle path entranceway waiting for Eve. The blood in my neck
pulsed vigorously as I scanned the cityscape in search of my Eve. I made sure I
got there ten minutes early, so I could smoke a cigarette, or two without her
noticing. I was convinced such things were forbidden. I waited smiling, It was
now 730 and sure enough she was on time. I could see her shape from at least
500 feet away, scurrying toward the bridge. I dropped my cigarette and stomped
it out with my foot. Her black and white form resembled a sea gull. As she
waltzed toward the bridge she appeared to almost be flying, arms at her side
moving in unison with her hips and legs. I chuckled to myself as I noticed her
hair was twice as long and in a different shade and style altogether. This
evening she wore a white long sleeved blouse with a black dull skirt reaching
all the way past her ankles. Large faux pearls adorned her gentle neck and
large gold hoop earings dangled shabbily from her disproportionately small ear
lobes. With those same generic sports shoes clashing miserably with her charm
less flesh toned stalkings. However horrid her style appeared, I convinced
myself how adorable she was. I longed to show her a world of self-style, of
beauty. I wanted to take her to Cape Cod,
where my family vacationed. I wanted to show her films, books, drugs, I wanted
her to need me, my mind raced wildly with thoughts of revelation.
“You look
beautiful Eve, I like what you did with you hair.”
“Thank
you Adam Forester, why have you lied to me? You are not Mordecai like you have
said?” she jumped right in. I was not expecting it, but I had a rebuttal.
“Oh yes
well Forester is my Legal name, but it was changed during immigration as not to
be sought after and we could lay hidden safe in our home at Mount Vernon. Out
of fear of the SS” The fib was worth a try. I wasn’t really all that well
versed on the history of fleeing refugee’s during the war. So I tried my best,
and she seemed to buy it. I scanned my memory for anything relating to Jewish
culture, as I really had little knowledge. “What do you do for work?”
“I am a
Nanny, I watch the children of my neighbors”
“A
noble profession Eve, I am impressed.” “As a child I had a Nanny, she was a
wonderful woman, and I believe all children should be raised by Nannies and
Grannies and Aunties too” Eve giggled. I decided to go with some lightweight
humor to make her feel at ease. We made small talk, and I listened to her tell
stories of her Aunties love for Kabala and Haggi Gah! It was now getting late,
and the sun began to wane, and the sky became that familiar deep red color,
reflecting the fading light so intrinsically upon her darkened Whig. We reached
the Manhattan side of the Williamsburg bridge as the sun was just beginning
to hide behind the Manhattan Skyline.
“Here we must part ways, as it is
forbidden to be seen with a man after sundown,” I was not surprised, in fact it
was something that I did know about orthodox culture, I was just hoping she was
going to break her cultural taboos for me. I decided to not push my luck, and
accepted the evening’s gift of Eve’s company and reception with a simple
gladness.
“Eve, will I see you again?” “Will
you call me?”
“I
will consider it, but for now goodnight.” I reached in to hug her but she
backed away with a smirk.
“There is much you will learn Adam, I will teach you this.”
I decided to be bold.
“Someday
you will understand that there is much more that you shall learn from me Eve,
and I will teach YOU this.” I said this in a sarcastic tone, half mocking Eve,
but she had already turned around and was scurrying briskly up the walking ramp
back toward Brooklyn by the time I had
finished. I wasn’t even sure if she heard me. Once again, at a safe distance,
she peered over her shoulder glancing quickly, as if to suggest fulfillment,
and I took her glance as a showing of acceptance.
I woke up
at 2:39 am, a strange hour, yet familiar, a consistent pull from sleep, sameness
felt in unrest, a weekly haunt, a nightly dread. Why? Cold sweat, fear, what am
I doing with my life? Why am I seeking love in hopelessness, why is my
conscience pushing me, at 2:39 fear grips, and sleep loosens. 3:18 restless
legs, dehydration, I walk to the refrigerator, my cold cave void of liquid save
half a sip of Gatorade, why did I leave it? Some thirsty foresight? A lazy
afterthought? Some lingering childish languor? I let the sink run, till the
ever dreary, dull grey tap runs cool for a glass. Bottles adorn the floor
beneath the makeshift bachelors bar, and in those bottles could be cold
refrigerated water, I let them rest, not bothered to fill them, I abandon
forsight, I pray for slumber with my lukewarm cure. I return to my bed in
defeat. Restless legs rule the night, its 4:39 am, my head aches and 10 am stalks
my breath.
She
approached the Bodega, although she looked a bit different, she seemed taller,
and her hair was not showing, save Bangs wrapped in a black cap with enormous
tacky white pearls jutting from her exposed earlobes. Her hair was an off red
and her skin was a shade whiter than id last seen, as impossible as it seems.
In fact she looked like a ghost, maybe she was. I wondered what judgments
brewed in her mind, I wondered and wondered, till my wondering became a Burdon,
and so I pondered, and as I pondered I grew weary with mental meanderings and
shut off my mind and opened my mouth.
“Eve, so
wonderful you called, I was hoping to hear from you, it’s been a week, how is
your aunty Elzabet?”
“Aunty,
she… Died on Wednesday, you see… She was preparing for her favorite radio
program, it was… I can’t speak of such things…”
It broke my
heart to see Eve, so ghostly, so beautiful, so trapped, so unknowing so
enraptured with her life. Her world, where she resided, smaller than Central Park, her lineage, cut from her. Was she cursed?
She would be married off to some undeserved heathen, some Zealot. “Eve, have you ever left the city?” my mind
raced.
“I have
never considered it.”
“Why
not consider it now?”
“I have
distant cousins in the Catskills, in fact, that is where I must go.”
“Let
me take you?”
“I will
consider it”
“Is
it forbidden?”
“It must be
presented properly.”
“Just
say you are taking a bus, and I will drive you.”
“I will
consider it”
“Are
the Catskills’ Liebowitz Hassid like you?”
“I
have not met them, I do not even know.” she hid her face in painful shame…
Eve and I
had taken the precaution of sticking to the less densely Hassidic populated
areas of South Williamsburg. I had gained her
trust enough to walk close to her, without giving the impression that we were
strangers and I felt closer to her now than ever, and I felt guilt. I tried
endlessly to convince myself that my desire for Eve was not reckless, I felt
ashamed for finding pleasure in her desperation, or did I just want to protect
her? I didn’t trust my own instincts, did I have instincts? I wanted to take
Eve, I wanted to leave the city, I wanted to escape. Did she? I awoke at 2:39.
Alone
through death, alone by choice, innocent cursed woman and guilty tortured man.
Tortured by the past, in each prison they lay at night. Eve is sleeping, but is
awoken, the calling of a pigeon by her window. 2:39 the wind moans heat and she
sweats with loneliness. As torture curses the man to dream til the waking hour.
At 2:39.
-
