Like
a birch tree in the wind I'm trembling from head to toe standing on
top of our exclusive meeting place, the Empire State Building, where
I first slipped the ring on her finger twelve years ago. Married once
before, I never felt happier than when I met Mary.
"You devil!" I
said, pulling her hands away from my pants. "Don't you ever rest?"
"Not when your skin
is pulsating, David."
"Shouldn't you finish
your work first?" I opened her leather case sketchbook.
"Only if I draw you
nude. Now, would you let your pants go?" Her enigmatic
eyes flashed.
Mary was a dream
that could happen to a man once in a lifetime! My music, my songs reached
the top ten in sales. Every deejay knew my name. Eventually she had
to quit her F.I.T. classes to join me on my tours. She was the bubbliest
cheerleader at my concerts, missing one performance when she gave birth
to Faith in the fifth year of our marriage.
Danny came three years later
and things began to change.
"Baby, are you coming
to bed?" The fourth time I've called her. "The kids are sleeping."
"I just told you, I'm
reading!" She sat on the couch, playing with her blond tresses.
"What is it? Some kind
of woman's stuff?"
"Not exactly."
"Good enough to keep
you up!"
"Actually, I want you
to read it too!" She sounded thrilled.
"A sex novel?"
"You wish! It's the
Bible!"
The land had moved under
my feet since Mary turned down my attempts to share our bed. I no longer
had pleasure holding my wife in my arms. I wondered what went wrong.
Why couldn't I bring her zest for life back as it was before? Had she
found another man? Maybe her regular trips to the church were nothing
more than an excuse to seek a lover?
I admit that one evening
I felt so low, I followed her to the church. Being a non-religious Jew
myself, I had no problem with my wife turning to Christianity. That
night her God must have cried heavily, as I was drenched to the skin,
peeking through the back door of her church for three hours. I saw her
chanting among the others, but couldn't spot anyone in particular. The
penance for my curiosity was a whole month nursing pneumonia. I lost
my voice and canceled the long-planned trip abroad with my upcoming
rock concert. Without Mary, it would be no fun anyway.
In the beginning I was not
too concerned over her growing interest in religion. Then I got the
news.
In early spring, Mary announced
she wanted to open a private Catholic School and teach there. My role
would be to put up the money and take over the household duties.
"David, this is God's
call," she said suddenly, and her lips hardened.
"Baby, you're not serious!
Are you?" I gasped for air. "It's not a good investment!"
Mary's eyes filled with tears.
"Can't you see the violence in the schools across the country?
Or maybe you don't want to see your children grow old?"
"There are safe schools
around."
"Mommy, Mommy!"
Faith dropped her teddy bear and joined us in the kitchen, dragging
Danny along by his sleeve. In a matter of minutes they all were weeping
together. My children clutched their mother's side. I couldn't help
but weep too. Faith and Danny have been the lights in my life. My heart
bled to see them crying, or was it tears of my despair?
Less than a
year later my wife opened The Transfiguration of the St. Mary. I had
no choice but to comply with my family's wishes, pouring my life savings
into this new venture.
The first blow came when
little Danny returned from his first day of school frowning. His eyes
were wide and his pupils dilated. I closed my notes on which I was working
fruitlessly; lately I couldn't compose a decent song. He climbed on
my legs.
"Daddy," he whispered,
touching my chin. "Why did the Jews kill our Lord?"
I lost my balance as I was
rocking on the chair and almost dropped my precious son on the ground.
"They didn't. He chose
to die. Let's get some ice cream. What else did you learn in school
son?"
I held him tight over the
Sundaes. "Daddy loves you very, very much, Danny."
When I told Mary about this
accident, she laughed at me. She said Danny picked it up from the street.
Nobody in her school would ever teach such nonsense.
The second blow struck the
night Mary came home pale. I was worried that she spent too much time
in school and was sick from exhaustion. I cleaned up the kids and put them
to bed, waiting for her to talk. She burst into tears. Her shoulders
shook violently and I took her into my arms.
"There is something
I wanted to tell you," she said sobbing.
"What is it? Are you
sick?"
She tried to reply, but no
sound came out from her throat.
"Is it a cancer? Honey,
don't worry, we'll pull through!"
She shook her head. "No,
I am not sick. It's Liz. She is in town."
"Liz? Your best friend
since first grade?"
The rest I learned from a local
paper that ran the story on my wife, "The Configuration of the
St. Mary." Under the headline was a picture of a seductive naked
blond. I couldn't believe my eyes. In the article, Liz spilled it all.
Her former roommate and partner in crime, my fair Mary, was a high-class
escort service babe for years, before marrying a sucker like me.
Here I am all alone balancing
with the daring smile. Suffering the same trembling, while facing
rising wind from the top of The Empire State Building.
No-no! Don't expect me to
jump. I am not done yet. I'm waiting for...
Here she comes.