A Get. It sank in like Brutus' knife.
The phone rang. Let the answering maching get it.
She changed her mind as she cringed, launching herself the two steps to the phone just to interrupt the cackle.
-Hi, hon, I'm glad you saved me from having to leave you a message, what took you so long to get to the phone?
-I, um...
She choked on the excuse she had been about to give. Obviously she couldn't be chopping vegetables for dinner on the start of Tisha B'Av, even if Marie didn't yet know that. She would pick it up.
-Are you ok, hon? Where is Mike? Has he done anything to you?
-No! But, he...
-That pig has hurt you! I'm coming to get you. Dont' you move I'll be right there!
Before she could say anything, the phone line went dead in her hand. Oh, no.
Then her stomach began doing cartwheels. Marie might be like family, but the idea of talking about a Get terrified her. Easier to just die.
She shot a glance across the kitchen table, no more than a blur in the darkness, to the empty knife rack. The knives waited patiently in the drawer below. She hadn't told Mike why, when he'd groused about not finding the chopping knife. Mike was, or had been, the only friend that Nanyehi had ever trusted. Even above Marie, her adopted family.
Though she trusted Marie more than anyone else in her life, she had never told Marie things about herself that she had entrusted to Mike. Marie undoubtedly suspected without being told. But Mike had offered her the security of marriage, an official way to become family, conditioned only upon her trust. Or that was what he had said before they got married.
She had been so happy, so relieved, so grateful that someone would accept her despite the constant jumpiness that Marie often pointed out. Once, Marie had tried to explain how Nan's jumpiness made her nervous, too, but it only made Nan feel even more ashamed.
Mike, on the other hand, after she'd confided to him that she often felt afraid,
(he never notices my feelings, but that actually makes it easier)
had become more protective, pulling her into bone-crushing hugs which he undoubtedly meant to make her feel loved, safe and reassured. And they did, until his smell changed. Then she felt more small, nauseaus, and excrable than ever.
-Why in the hell was I born a women?
She looked down, thinking to have addressed that question to the kitchen table. But she was really addressing the question to her chopping knife. That knife had a soul, she was sure.
-In fact, why in the hell was I born at all? What in the frickin 32 hells of Dante did I do before I was born to deserve this? What's 32 divided by 9, anyway?
The table did not seem to have answer. Who was she kidding, it was her chopping knife that had no answer. Tali, on the other hand, just might give her a reply. The image of her large white talit, the prayer shawl she had taken 6 weeks to finish, between sewing the long blue atara across the top, and tying the four fringes in the corners just so, with all the patience she could muster. Every morning she seemed to ignore that talit, despite the fact that her beautiful soft talit, whom a friend at shul had dubbed Tali, most certainly did have a soul, and lots of opinions to go with it.
-Was I a serial killer, a rapist, the secret right hand man of Hitler or something in my last lifetime? What exactly did I to deserve this?
-Nothing, hon.
Naamah twitched even though she knew the voice behind that assertion. She threw a confirming look across the kitchen. Marie flipped on the light, placing a large duffel bag by the door.
-You did not do a single cotton-picking thing to deserve being mistreated. And don't try to deny it, because you were obviously mistreated at some time very early in your life. And no, it was not your fault, whatever it was, hon. You just got dealt a crappy hand, and now you have to play that hand the best way you can.
-But, how-
-The back door was unlocked.
-Unlocked?
That jerk! Mike had left the door unlocked with her like this? Alone in the house?
-Ah, when did you break your leg?
Marie gave her a look that stated louder than words the conviction that something was not right, and that it had to be Mike's fault.
-Um, I was climbing. Why does the look on Marie's face say that she doesn't believe me?
Marie crossed the kitchen and sat down next to Naamah. Marie took Naamah's hand, then looked her dead in the eyes, seeming to measure her. The trembling that had started in her gut spread to her entire body. It was no use trying to hide anything from this woman.
-Aren't you not supposed to be climbing, hon?
When Naamah hung her head like a child caught playing with matches, Marie continued:
-Tell me, hon, what's going on?
-He... suddenly she felt like hot coals were being piled on her face.
-Mike?
She nodded, -Mike, he... she drew a deep breath, then expelled the words: -wants a divorce.
-Halelujah!!
Naamah nearly fell out of her chair.
-What?!
-I said-
-I know what you said, Marie! Why are you happy!? What, do you want me to come move in with you, be your sewing asstant, wash your dishes?
-Hon, that hurts. You know I don't need a sewing assistant and I don't want you doing my dishes.
-Well I can't work at the school like this, they already told me my kids were out of control, and now that I've failed my EMT re-cert, I cannot go back to being a para-medic. I'm fricking useless!
Naamah made a vast effort not to cry. There was only one reason she could think of to keep living.
-At least I was able to make one person on this planet happy by my existence, and now that isn't even true. He says I just want an excuse to stay away from him.
-And what am I, chopped liver?
-No, but he married me. You are like my sister, but you can't be there day and night for me. He promised to do that for me if I just trusted him.
-Oh, really? And did he promise this out of the goodness of his heart, Saint Mike, or was it because he wanted to have sex with you?
-No! He said he was happy just for me to trust him! He said he didn't need to have sex with me!
-Really, and so, you are still a virgin, I take it?
-Marie!!
-No, he happily accepted to rescue the damsel in distress, and accept the reward of the knight in shining armor! You know that when the hero saves the world, he always gets the girl!
Naamah looked down at the table. It was true that Mike had been delighted, the few times they had made love. She had not enjoyed it, but she had tried her best to make him happy, to show her trust. She had hoped that after a while she would come to like it.
She couldn't. Eventually Mike had noticed. All her guilty feelings couldn't make her enjoy physical contact with him.
-Look, hon. You don't owe him anything but the trust that you promised him. If he loved you like he said, he would not have accepted your body without knowing your mind.
Naamah had to admit that she felt the same way. Mike had always treated her more like a pet than a wife. Proud of her exotic beauty, he had sent wedding photos to all and sundry. But he never sought to understand her feelings. And now, she needed his understanding.
-Did I ever tell you the story of how "No Mocassins" got her name?
-Why do you want to tell me that story?
-Because it is the story of how a man should treat his wife.
Naamah was all ears.
-To make a long story short, a man, let's say he was Cherokee, got captured by a rival band of Indians, let's call them Iroquois. After three days tied up in their camp, he figured all of his folks had counted him for dead. Then that night, he saw his little wife sneaking in to rescue him. Later, he noticed she was barefoot. She cut him down, got him home, and nursed him back to health. When he got around to asking, it turned out that she had left her mocassins a way up another trail to lead the enemy in the wrong direction, so she could rescue him. And she never told anyone. Neither did he, at her request. When she died, he finally told the whole band why he called her No Mocassins. Before they lit her pyre the next day, there was a while pile of mocassins underneath. Does Mike respect you, every day?
-Well...
-No! Why do you think I never liked him, hon? He loves you the way he loves his airplane.
-That is not true!
Marie looked her dead in the eye.
-Are you sure, hon? Does he love you for saving lives, or for your curly hair? Think about it, now.
Marie glanced out the window as the sound of the Camaro passed by.
-Speak of the devil and he will apear. I'll call you in a few hours, I think I should leave now. When you decide you are ready, you know I have a guest room, hon.
Headlights appeared, and then darkened.
She jumped as the door slammed. Marie was leaving out the other door, post-haste.
Thinking of Mike reminded her of a lover years before.
-Why do you always look like that when we're outside, caray?
-Look like what when we are outside? Why are you upset? What's wrong?
"Caray" was a mild swear word that Mexicans employed to show irritation, but Rosario seemed to be irritated with her all of the time. Maybe switching back into Spanish would appease her.
-Quieres comer algo? If you want to eat at the Lebanese place tonight, I will treat.
Her eyes darted off to the left at a passing bus.
-No.
Her stomach had flopped when she saw the flash in Rosario's eyes. Caught scanning the plaza again. This avenue was broad enough, leading from an intersection of 5 major roads, that anyone could approach them unseen from the side streets. Shorter by only half a head, but unused to walking as fast, Rosario had had to break into a trot to keep up with her. The frown deepened Rosario's perceptive face. Trying to change the subject hadn't worked, either.
-You always do that! Why do you keep looking around as if the migra was after you? I am here, I will protect you!
Nanyehi had tried to supress the sceptical look she had started to level at her girlfriend. Being caught by The migra, or immigration and naturalization service, was Rosario's greatest fear. And part of why they were together. She had met Rosario, an energetic immigrant without papers, in the Latino community and been impressed with her energy and interest in intercultural issues. Their favorite films to share were films that showed the problems between various communities, and especially problems of women in the Latino community. It was a difficult challenge to protect women who were at the mercy of the system and of the men in their lives.
Rosario could not protect her; had never asked why she was so jumpy. Rosario's only question, every other day, was "quando vamos a estar juntas?" as if they were not already together.
-Y quando vamos-
-Ya basta, Rosario. Last time I checked, we were together. We are together right now, watching this movie.
-You know what I mean.
The lecherous look in Rosario's eyes had confirmed it. She couldn't get away from that stupid sex thing, even with a woman. So much for women being more sensitive.
When she had finally broken up with Rosario, after several tumultous months of trying to relax enough to give herself to this insistent woman, Rosario had not been kind about it:
-You are very difficult. You know, you should be grateful that I would accept you. After all, who is going to have you with your background?
My background?
Whether Rosario had been referring to her mixed racial background, which was often a subject of contention when they talked about Rosario's insistence that Black people were lazy, or to the constant jumping at noises and surveilance of the territory, Nanyehi had no longer cared. Like Mike, whom she had already met, but never imagined marrying, Rosario had promised to be a protector for Nanyehi, but had turned out to be more dangerous emotionally than simply being alone.
Mike walked into the kitchen, throwing a hostile look at Naamah.
-I'm going out to eat with my family.
-You told them?
-I told my mother, but she wants to keep it quiet, avoid all the lashon harah. People gossip, and we don't need to air the family laundry in public. I brought you a burger.
A burger? -Thanks.
Mike seemed to think that her thanks were not enthusiastic enough, judging by the look on his face.
He must have forgotten that it's Tisha B'Av, or maybe, to give him the benefit of the doubt, he thought that having a broken leg exempted her from fasting.
Either way, his glare in her direction as he stomped out the door told her more than any words could have said.