Innocence

The Drinks

It was the fourth or fifth time the Sheins visited for Shabbat dinner that my father asked them what their intentions were for Caleb. He delved into the question shamelessly; he asked about Caleb's future, he spoke at length about the responsibilities of a rabbi, the study of the Torah and the importance of the carrying forward its message to the next generation. It was dreadfully boring and repetitive. I knew my father had always wanted a son and I didn't care, but the way he spoke sounded almost yearning and I found it embarrassing. I'd just taken a huge mouthful of spiced vegetables and rice when Mr Shein, with his wide, crooked smile and amused, bushy eyebrows, joked about marrying Caleb off to the Rav's daughter.

The entire table laughed, except for Deborah; I instantly choked on the food in my mouth and pulled my face into a grimace. I glowered around the table as everyone continued to chuckle.

'You see?' My father said, laughing and gesturing towards me, wafting the acrid smoke from his pungent cigar around the table. 'She already has perfected a wife's expression.'

The adults continued to laugh and talk about Caleb for some time. I'd pushed my plate away while discomfort and irritation bubbled inside me like boiling water.

'He has so much potential.' My father rambled. 'He and Dovid both, such smart, young men. They have so much ahead of them, so much to offer.'

'We hope Caleb will achieve great things, Rav.' Mrs Shein said; her voice was raspy and sharp, and she had a mass of lines around her mouth trailing to her pale lips; she must have been a heavy smoker. Her wig was dark and long, it framed her face well and I realised then that Deborah and Caleb must have inherited their pointed chins and defined jaws from her.

'Of course he will.' My father replied, raising his half-filled glass. 'Of course. He will do great, great things.'

'What about Deborah?' I asked, creating a sudden crevasse of silence in the dining room. I kept my expression light, I asked as though the question was innocent even though it was laced with barbed intention. No one spoke; I felt Deborah shift next to me and I saw Caleb grinning across the table. 'Well? What about Deborah?' I asked again with a slight shrug of my shoulders.

'Ronit-' My father rested his glass down and went to rub his eyes.

'I'm just curious.' I said, scratching my chin. Mr and Mrs Shein were staring at me, they looked uncomfortable, but my eyes flitted to Caleb's amused face. 'Do you think Deborah will do great things as well?'

'Ronit-' My father said again, with more impatience in his tone.

'Or will she just become someone's wife, have a million children and-'

'Ronit!' My father's voice was loud and harsh.

'What?' I turned to him, my shoulders arched defensively. Deborah sat between us; her back was hunched, and her light hair hung low, but she was peering up at me over the top of her new glasses; they made her wonky eye look better.

'You are showing off and embarrassing yourself.' My father stated.

'I am not showing off, I-'

'Be still and be quiet, Ronit.' He spat every word.

'Like a good wife?' I said, almost laughing. I felt our guests' eyes on the both of us, but I didn't care. I stood up and my chair scraped along the floor loudly. 'I'm going to my room.'

My father didn't respond, but as soon as I left the dining room I heard him apologise for my behaviour. I detested that more than anything. How can someone else apologise for your actions. I wasn't sorry, so how could he be? I slammed my bedroom door hard when I reached my room, it made the entire house shudder. I went to my dresser and pulled out the stolen packet of cigarettes from my father's study; I took one out went to sit on my windowsill. I yanked the handle and pushed the window open, breathing in the humid air that smelled of dead leaves and daffodils. I sparked the end of the cigarette and inhaled it, in the same way Esti had taught me so long ago now. Cigarettes were becoming more and more of a vice recently; they took me away from my own stifling mind, somewhere else that wasn't Hendon. I was halfway through it when I heard a knock on my door, I knew it wasn't my father – he would never have knocked.