The day I became a man

This is an old Brooklyn story....
just another of the peculiar experiences I had when I first arrived in the city...

I was freshly arrived from Cape Breton Island.  the year was 1987. 
I was 26, feeling adventurous and full of the right kind of naiveté .
What a city! 
I made it my business to get up early every morning and get lost for the day
in a different direction.  It was a whimsical way to get to know New York.
I especially loved the ethnic neighborhoods.
I would immerse myself in the little pocket worlds of Chinatown,
little Italy, alphabet city, Flatbush and the like.  It was an easy trip
around the world.

For some unknown reason, I gravitated most often toward Williamsburg,
the Hasidic neighborhood in Brooklyn.  
It was like a trip back in time.  Old Europe...minutely preserved 
There was something about the place that my soul craved.

The intensity, the sense of seriousness mingled with a kind of hidden joy.
I fit with them in a strange way...somewhere on the 5th subterranean level
of my being. 
I seemed to share many of the same values...
I even dressed similarly...head covering, long skirts, dark stockings, modest sleeves.
Their food was my food. 
Their sense of separation and focus were as nearly mine as could be.
I fairly haunted the place trying to soak up the comfort that it gave me
while trying to understand why I was so drawn to this people.
I even wondered if I should convert...
As I walked through the neighborhood, They were as curious about me as
I was of them. We could sense an affinity, but on the street level of life,
I was not one of them...but I could be.  It was a bit confusing. 
I was nearly identical and yet I was not. 
What I lacked was the wig under the headscarf and the baby carriage...
and the usual several children trailing behind.
We looked upon each other as ...............
Furtively glancing, not quite giving way to a smile, but strangely stirred.
If you got too close, there would be a quick and definitive toss of the head,
as the inner blinds were drawn tight against the outside world of strangers.
"Goyim" entered my vocabulary that year. 
My growing sense of understanding bought me to the realization that I was both
attracted and repelled in nearly equal measure.  The subtleties began to emerge.
But I was already hooked.  I thought less of conversion.  I had an understanding
of what that would require and while some of it may have been laudable,
much of it would have been crazily regressive to my soul.
Weighing the comfort and stability of a community such as this against
the price to be paid by its female members left me...........

And so I enjoyed what remained to me and continued to observe.
I could be counted on to make my rounds on Fridays.  The streets were livelier
as the Hasidic families made their preparations for the Sabbath. 
If only I could get a glimpse into the inner ...of these people,
I yearned for an opportunity to share that ....but I knew the chances of that
ever happening were akin to my chance of  ...........

My last stop of the day was at my favorite bakery. 
I forget the name, but I can see it in my mind's eye as though it were yesterday. 
It was pretty basic and utilitarian in appearance...old and in need  of sprucing up,
but that is the kind of place I like. 
What counted more than the decor, of course, was the quality of the baked goods.
Judging by the volume of customers leaving heavy-laden with Challah loaves,
babka and rugelach, I knew this was the place for me.  And so I became a regular.

The woman behind the counter had taken note of me as the months went by.
She had initially been quite reserved, almost suspicious.  What was I doing there?
But she had warmed up a little...just a little, mind you.
But one day as I was leaving her shop, she beckoned me closer and asked
in her Yiddish accent  "If I would be so kind as to do her a favor?"
I was surprised.  I said "Yes, of course".  Her voice lowered as she asked
"Do you have a car?"   "Yes...yes", I told her.
She leaned in, suddenly conspiratorial and with a sense of urgency.
"The sun will be going down soon and the Rebbe is old now and walks with a cane.
Can you give him a ride to his building?  It's not far I assure you...just a few blocks from here.
Please, if you coul do it for me..."

What Rebbe?!  It was closing time and I was the only customer in the shop.
She nodded gravely to a figure seated in an unobtrusive corner.
I had never noticed him before. Apparently he had always been there...
But, as I was to learn, he was retained by the owners of the bakery to ensure
that the kosher rules were observed in minute detail.

Not knowing any better, I agreed to help.  She rushed over to help him as he rose
with difficulty from his chair.  He was a heavy, elderly man of about 70 years old.
He was almost too big to fit in my old volkswagen.  I apologized as he maneuvered
his bulk into the front seat.  I reached out to help and was immediately rebuffed
the two of them.  A woman was not to touch a man, much less a Rabbi.
The woman thanked me and rushed off to close up shop in time to get home before
sundown.  The old man gestured this way and that until we arrived in front of his
apartment building.  I opened the door, this time remembering not to reach out to help.
As he turned his back to go, he thanked me and murmured that, if it were possible,
could I take him home next Friday?

The following Friday, I was there, of course.  I felt both elated and a bit strange about
our arrangement.  The woman behind the counter discreetly nodded as I held the door
open for him for the trip home. Nothing more was ever said. 
As we drove off, the Rabbe made a little conversation.  He offered to give me a little tour
of the neighborhood.  Reminiscing, he told me about this house or that shop replete with
details on each family and where they had immigrated from.  Entire family histories
unfolded slowly and with care.  I slowed the car way down so the stories would not be rushed.
I was enthralled with this living history.  His narratives were so filled with insight, pathos
and humor.  It was such an intimate portrait of his people, spanning decades and oceans and
generations past to present.  I could hardly believe my good fortune.
Could there have been a better guide to this place and its people? 
We arrived at his place just before sundown.  I thanked him for the tour and bid him good evening.
"Maybe next time, I can show you a little more."  And then he was making his way up the walk.
I waited until he was safely inside....

And that is how our unlikely friendship began...

Doctor’s Wife

 
Smoky room walking through the dream of her life.
Beat-numbed and ready for another dreary encounter. 
She entered the Hideaway a little past midnight. 
She walked in, ordered a vodka tonic and positioned herself to watch the crowd
filing by on their way to the dance floor. 
It was all so predictable.


She remembered the day when she called in her neurotic Jewish doctor
She had always wanted to date a Jewish doctor.  Just one time...
She didn't know why exactly...she just did...even though she knew that it would be
a pretty loaded equation.  For reasons unknown, she’d had that bit of unfinished business buried in her psyche for a long long time
It made no sense to her real life, but it was an odd bit that refused to go away...
Just one more stupid thing to get off her mind and out of her system once and for all.
She decided the time was now.
Perhaps it was a certain kind of lust…or a bid for the easy life...even if it came
with a price. 
It persisted even though she’d heard their stories…the doctor’s wives.


She had worked the phones at a women's shelter once. 
The doctor's wives were the hardest to help...the cops wives ran a close second. 
Their stories were horrific.   
Like birds trapped in gilded cages... beaten, abused, alcoholic, hidden,
living in their beautiful prisons.  Taken out and put on display periodically.
They had everything, but they were the ones that could never leave their wretched mansions. 
A dark curiosity lingered…
What in her had wanted to touch that ugliness?   To experience their dirt and depravity. 
It repelled and attracted her at the same time. 
It had slipped in and out of her awareness for years without resolution.
It was time to be done with it.  It wasn't going away on its own. 
She would have to exorcise it.
So she simply put it out there...the request.

Before long she noticed a man entering the club. 
Brown curls, glasses, well-dressed, deceptively respectable. 
Without hesitation he slid past the others and made a straight line for her. 
He stopped directly in front of her, faced her squarely, beamed at her and with open arms declared  ‘Here I am !’

Now this IS a true story...and as improbable as it sounds, he was the neurotic Jewish doctor she’d always wanted to experience.  It happened that quickly.

Glittering conversation, brightness mired in depravity and a kind of despair. 
Hopeless carrier of his race’s choices.  Such contradiction. 
Doomed to replay itself endlessly...or so it seems.
She had asked for it.  She bought the ticket and it was time to take the ride. 
It seems that when one is serious about working out an issue,
the Universe does not hesitate to provide the opportunity.


He tried to make a sophisticated impression.
He wasn’t much of a dancer…no surprise in that. 
Generous  to a fault and well-mannered... also no surprise, but she could
already feel the game playing…possibly a deadly one.   Giver and taker of life. 


“You’re so different from the other women that come here. I haven't met anyone so fascinating in a long time.  Let’s take in a play this weekend."
Culturally correct.  Above reproach...but the stink was in the air.
"Better yet, I’d love to cook a fine meal for you.  I recently added a wonderful wine
to my collection and I’d love nothing better than to share it with you.  Please let me do that for you."
Fairy tale in motion.  Perfect.  Why wasn’t she buying it?  Why couldn’t she
just enjoy it…the ride?
It was one of the things she’d always wanted.  He was so willing.
She could make it work well enough, she fantasized. 
Isn’t that what women always do?  Share the illusion?
Isn't that what most couples did?   Relationship as consensual trance? 
If the illusion didn’t always loom so large, she probably could... 
For her there was never a moment’s real escape from the part of her
That Knows Better...  
She would attempt and most likely succeed in fooling everyone but That Self.  
In her cat and mouse game with herself, she pretended that there was more
to learn here...to discover.  Don’t cut the experience short. 
She accepted the invitation.


Trying to believe that all was as he said, she drove to his place the next night.
That alone should have been enough of a tip-off.  Why was she ‘trying’? 
What did that signal?  Would she play dumb again anyway in her stubborn way?
A replay of past mistakes?
She was getting a little weary of that game, too. 
She reasoned that she didn’t have a better alternative at hand, so what the hell…she’d go.   
He had changed the order of things.  Dinner first and then the theater.
"This way we could have more time to get to know each other."


Trendy modern condo in a desirable area of town.  
Before she knocked  he opened the door and pulled her in with a kiss.
Expensive Italian leather couches.  The finest stereo equipment.
Hmmm…a 45 year old doctor in 1 bedroom condo?   That seemed off...  Love nest?
Candles burned on the mantel above a table set for a romantic dinner.
Soft jazz played in the background.  He placed a glass of wine in her hand
and led her to his sumptuous black leather couch.
Soon they were talking- or rather he- was talking and she was listening
to the story of his bitter divorce.   The only thing that saved her from the drone of that was the shift to the stories involving all of the grasping girlfriends that had followed. 
A very unfortunate string of events that left her strangely unmoved.  
Fly in the ointment... 
He was the personable victim plying her with wine.  He tried to initiate some intimacy. She recoiled and tried to make light of things...slow things down a bit.  "Let's not burn dinner", she joked unconvincingly.  He was becoming a bit aggressive. Dinner was a re-run of more attempts
to undress her.


He was getting lost in his narrative and she felt the depersonalization.
The details were forgettable.  The doctor had recently lost his license to practice medicine for reasons that would remain vague, but of course, he was the undeserving victim.  He had filed for bankruptcy, too, but could still get his hands
on good drugs, he assured her.  This was, apparently, his best means of making new friends.
He offered, in turn, several goodies...even offering some injectables.
Not her style, she replied.  
He tempted further, assured that every woman had her price. 
He felt the need to indulge a bit as he fished through drawers showing his wares,
excited by his own menu of items. 
It was a downhill crawl from there...


She could feel his resentment surfacing, his focus sharpening. 
He was in his lust trance and she was wasting her time...she needed to go...Now.
She wanted to slip towards the door when his back was turned.
She reminded herself grimly…she bought the ticket…she had to take the ride,
This was not the innocent little lark that she wanted to pretend it to be.
This guy could be dangerous.
The Knowing was never far behind... 

She was sorry...and ultimately responsible.

She checked her watch.  She’d asked a friend to call at an appointed time
to check on her.  The call was due in half an hour.  Her friend would have to play
her part well. She hoped for an early release.  She half-listened to a few more lurid details of his fraying life.
He pasted a gloss over it and sank a little deeper into make-believe. 
A moment’s pity was misspent on him. 
He was bent on his own plan. 
When the call finally came, she told the doctor that she had to rush off and help
a distressed friend.  He wasn’t convinced.
It was clear by now that they were going no further than his apartment.. 
Attending the theater had been a ruse  He was becoming frantic about his lost plan for the night and showed it by lunging for her on the way out. 
He tried to wrestle her to the couch and have sex with her.
He had no problem with rape. The fiendish little beast exposed.
She was the featured meat on the evening's menu.


She half-hated doing it, but a knee to the groin was the only sensible prescription
for the doctor.
He’d sleep it off.

She was finally and firmly relieved of her obsession.

In life you can have anything you want…anything. 
Choose carefully.
Be careful what you ask for...

 

Doctors Say the Dumbest Things