The Marriage of Opposites
Page 31
- Background:
- Text Font:
- Text Size:
- Line Height:
- Line Break Height:
- Frame:
All at once, I pitied him. “Do you at least love her a little?”
“Do you think you’re the one to ask such questions? You of all people, who married a business rather than a man.”
“And what shall I say to the woman you do love?” I asked.
“That’s my affair,” my cousin told me. “Not yours.”
THOUGH WE WERE PLEASANT enough to Aaron’s new wife, Elise was wary of our ways from the start. She gazed at Rosalie’s skin color rudely as Rosalie poured buckets of water into the bath. Before she entered the claw-foot tub, Elise cried, “The water’s green. I hope there aren’t frogs in there.”
“Is there anything that makes you say thank you?” Rosalie said primly.
I wanted to laugh but elbowed Rosalie to hush her.
Elise threw us a look; then she slipped off all of her clothes, including her petticoat and her chemise, and tossed them on the floor. As she stepped into the bath, water sloshed over the silk. We noticed she didn’t wear pantalets, which was something of a shock. She clearly liked to show herself off, and I wondered if this was how she had caught Aaron. Soft, naked skin and money.
“What kind of woman is she?” Rosalie asked me.
“One from Paris.” I grinned.
“She won’t last here.” Rosalie shook her head. “Not for an hour.”
Elise dipped her head under, and when she arose she blew out a stream of water like a dolphin. To our surprise she laughed with pleasure. “Now I feel better. And the water is wonderful, so yes, thank you! But I want more. And colder. And be sure to get me my own soap. It’s in my bag.”
Perhaps she was more resilient than she seemed.
I AGREED TO TAKE Elise on a tour of Charlotte Amalie while Aaron met with my husband to discuss business. The synagogue was being rebuilt after several fires; we would soon have a beautiful stone edifice and a larger congregation than ever. Wooden buildings were no longer allowed on main streets, and the new synagogue would be both fireproof and hurricane proof, with four stone pillars, each representing one of the matriarchs of our people, Sarah, Rachel, Rebecca, and Leah. There were mahogany pews made by the best furniture makers. The walls were fashioned from sand and limestone, bound with sticky near-tar-like molasses, the island’s biggest export, along with rum. Despite the space for six Torahs to be housed in the mahogany ark, and the Baccarat crystal chandeliers that would be lit with oil, the floor was made of sand, there to remind the congregation of the sand floors that had muffled their footsteps when they met for prayer during times of trouble in their home countries so their presence would go unnoticed by the authorities. I explained the reason for the sand floor, so that Elise would not think our congregation barbaric. When I told her molasses had been mixed in with the mortar to bind it, and that the children said when they ran their tongues across the walls the building was sweet to the taste, she didn’t believe me.
“There’s quite a lot you won’t believe about our island,” I said. Molasses and rum were at the heart of all we were and did, since the rest of the world wanted this from us. “We have to spray salt water on the synagogue to keep the ants away.”
Elise grinned and said she wanted proof, so we went around behind the building and put our tongues on the mortar as the children often did. The taste was gritty and sweet.
Elise was delighted. “It’s like candy! Perhaps I’ve judged too quickly. Now I want to see everything it’s impossible to believe.” She had grown accustomed to the heat quicker than I’d imagined, perhaps because she wore lighter clothing borrowed from my mother’s cabinet, a white cotton skirt and blouse.
I should have reconsidered, but I welcomed a day without the children when I could play at being a guide. I found Elise fascinating, and couldn’t yet imagine how conniving she could be. I loved her chatter about Paris. She told me about the new fashions, the teashops and lounges she and her friends went to, the parks with carousels. She spoke of the leaves turning color in October, a soft gold that made the entire city glimmer, and of the snow in the winter, when she and her brothers had built forts out of ice. I felt a sort of enchantment come over me, and I wondered if this was what had happened to Aaron. A door had opened into another life.
In return for these tales, I would show her our marvels, small as they were. We went to the harbor to a café, where we drank limewater laced with a dash of rum; then we went to the fish market so Elise could gape at the piles of fish, which were so fresh they were pink and gasping. There was a fish we called ballyhoo that was a big favorite, and there were dozens lined up to be sold. All along the beach men had built fish pots in the surf out of straw and sticks and wire; fish could swim in but they couldn’t get out, and we waded in to see the coils of fish within these contraptions.
“Do you think you’re the one to ask such questions? You of all people, who married a business rather than a man.”
“And what shall I say to the woman you do love?” I asked.
“That’s my affair,” my cousin told me. “Not yours.”
THOUGH WE WERE PLEASANT enough to Aaron’s new wife, Elise was wary of our ways from the start. She gazed at Rosalie’s skin color rudely as Rosalie poured buckets of water into the bath. Before she entered the claw-foot tub, Elise cried, “The water’s green. I hope there aren’t frogs in there.”
“Is there anything that makes you say thank you?” Rosalie said primly.
I wanted to laugh but elbowed Rosalie to hush her.
Elise threw us a look; then she slipped off all of her clothes, including her petticoat and her chemise, and tossed them on the floor. As she stepped into the bath, water sloshed over the silk. We noticed she didn’t wear pantalets, which was something of a shock. She clearly liked to show herself off, and I wondered if this was how she had caught Aaron. Soft, naked skin and money.
“What kind of woman is she?” Rosalie asked me.
“One from Paris.” I grinned.
“She won’t last here.” Rosalie shook her head. “Not for an hour.”
Elise dipped her head under, and when she arose she blew out a stream of water like a dolphin. To our surprise she laughed with pleasure. “Now I feel better. And the water is wonderful, so yes, thank you! But I want more. And colder. And be sure to get me my own soap. It’s in my bag.”
Perhaps she was more resilient than she seemed.
I AGREED TO TAKE Elise on a tour of Charlotte Amalie while Aaron met with my husband to discuss business. The synagogue was being rebuilt after several fires; we would soon have a beautiful stone edifice and a larger congregation than ever. Wooden buildings were no longer allowed on main streets, and the new synagogue would be both fireproof and hurricane proof, with four stone pillars, each representing one of the matriarchs of our people, Sarah, Rachel, Rebecca, and Leah. There were mahogany pews made by the best furniture makers. The walls were fashioned from sand and limestone, bound with sticky near-tar-like molasses, the island’s biggest export, along with rum. Despite the space for six Torahs to be housed in the mahogany ark, and the Baccarat crystal chandeliers that would be lit with oil, the floor was made of sand, there to remind the congregation of the sand floors that had muffled their footsteps when they met for prayer during times of trouble in their home countries so their presence would go unnoticed by the authorities. I explained the reason for the sand floor, so that Elise would not think our congregation barbaric. When I told her molasses had been mixed in with the mortar to bind it, and that the children said when they ran their tongues across the walls the building was sweet to the taste, she didn’t believe me.
“There’s quite a lot you won’t believe about our island,” I said. Molasses and rum were at the heart of all we were and did, since the rest of the world wanted this from us. “We have to spray salt water on the synagogue to keep the ants away.”
Elise grinned and said she wanted proof, so we went around behind the building and put our tongues on the mortar as the children often did. The taste was gritty and sweet.
Elise was delighted. “It’s like candy! Perhaps I’ve judged too quickly. Now I want to see everything it’s impossible to believe.” She had grown accustomed to the heat quicker than I’d imagined, perhaps because she wore lighter clothing borrowed from my mother’s cabinet, a white cotton skirt and blouse.
I should have reconsidered, but I welcomed a day without the children when I could play at being a guide. I found Elise fascinating, and couldn’t yet imagine how conniving she could be. I loved her chatter about Paris. She told me about the new fashions, the teashops and lounges she and her friends went to, the parks with carousels. She spoke of the leaves turning color in October, a soft gold that made the entire city glimmer, and of the snow in the winter, when she and her brothers had built forts out of ice. I felt a sort of enchantment come over me, and I wondered if this was what had happened to Aaron. A door had opened into another life.
In return for these tales, I would show her our marvels, small as they were. We went to the harbor to a café, where we drank limewater laced with a dash of rum; then we went to the fish market so Elise could gape at the piles of fish, which were so fresh they were pink and gasping. There was a fish we called ballyhoo that was a big favorite, and there were dozens lined up to be sold. All along the beach men had built fish pots in the surf out of straw and sticks and wire; fish could swim in but they couldn’t get out, and we waded in to see the coils of fish within these contraptions.
