The Ritual Bath

19

Decker’s ranch was four acres of scrub oak and fruit trees set into parched terrain. It was located midway between Deep Canyon and the police station, in a pocket of land that once had been used for commercial grazing. Developers had harbored lofty plans for the acreage during the real estate boom of the late seventies, but when interest rates shot up suddenly, the ground went fallow. Decker bought the parcel cheap and went about sinking roots. He’d needed something tangible-something to call his own-after his divorce.

He drove Rina and the boys along a narrow, rutted road past rolling hills, empty stretches, and an occasional barn, house, or grove of fruit trees. After a long, bumpy ride, the unmarked finally pulled onto a large strip of blacktop, next to a jeep. Also parked in the driveway, in front of the garage door, was an old, wheelless red Porsche with the hood up. Adjacent to the asphalt were groves of citrus, heavy with oranges, lemons, and grapefruits, breathing their fragrance into the hot summer air. The ground beneath them was newly watered and speckled with rotting fruit, glistening in the sunlight.

They piled out of the car, and the boys took off immediately into the trees to play a game of tag. Rina stepped out, stretched, and looked around.

Decker’s home was a modest one-story dwelling, fashioned after a barn. The exterior wood, painted a deep red, was sided with white cross-thatched beams and decorated with rectangular planter boxes full of geraniums and impatiens set beneath the picture windows. He’d put care into the place, she thought. Decker unlocked the front door. Rina called out to the boys, and they went inside.

They walked into a small living room, sparely furnished but flooded with sunlight. She liked what she saw. The floor was wood planks of unfinished fir partially covered by a Navajo rug, and the ceiling was peaked and beamed. The room had an overstuffed sofa, two buckskin chairs, a free-form driftwood coffee table, and a recliner parked next to the front window with a view of the grove. Across from the sofa was a large fireplace, trimmed with brick and flanked by twin copper cauldrons.

Decker led them through the living room, a small dining area, and out a side door between it and the kitchen. The backyard contained a barn, a stable, a holding pen, and a corral. Bales of hay stacked five high leaned against the barn, and to the rear, a mesa of flatland led to the mountains.

He excused himself to change, went into the barn, and came back out in jeans, boots, and a T-shirt. At his heels was a brilliant copper-colored Irish setter. From the wag of its tail, the dog was overjoyed at Decker’s presence but contained itself. Decker told the dog to sit, and it obeyed instantly. Without hesitation, Jake walked over to the setter and petted it, but Sammy waited until Rina approached it, then followed.

“He’s beautiful!” Rina said, stroking the gleaming fur. “And so well-behaved.”

“He’s a she.” Decker noticed Sammy’s reticence. “Come here, Sammy. Ginger’s very friendly. Too friendly. She’s a terrible watchdog.”

The boy gave the dog a cautious pet and smiled. Jacob was already trying to entice her into a game of tag.

“She looks like you, Peter,” Rina said smiling.

“That’s what Cindy said when she gave her to me.”

“Birthday present?”

“Divorce present. She figured I might be lonely.” Decker let out a small laugh. “At the time, all I wanted was solitude. Anyway, Ginger’s going with us on our ride. She’ll be our guide. C’mon, girl.”

The setter followed Decker back into the stable, and ten minutes later he came out with a saddled Appaloosa filly named Annie. Patiently he explained to the boys the do’s and don’ts of riding, put them on the horse-Jake in front, Sammy behind him-and led them around the corral. When they were acclimated, he took Jake down, gave the reins to Sammy and let go. Then he saddled up another filly and hoisted Jake upward. Within an hour the boys were riding the horses on their own, squealing with uninhibited joy. The dog jumped at the horses’ hooves, barking playfully.

Decker watched them closely, shouting out appropriate instructions when necessary. Rina stood in the background and clicked a camera, as excited as they were. She was glad they’d come. It was a day the boys would remember.

Decker took a brown stallion from the stable, mounted it, and rode to her.

“I want to take them for a short ride in the hills.”

“Fine.”

“Help yourself to anything you want.”

“Okay. Take your time.”

“You know, you could come with us. I’ve got a couple more horses in the stable that can use some exercise.”

She shook her head.

“Sure?”

“Positive.”

He turned around and led the boys out of the corral. They rode off, unbothered by the heat and glare, unaware of anything else except the open land that beckoned to them.

Rina went inside the house. The sun had cooked her scalp, and her head began to throb. The boys would probably be hungry after their ride, so she might as well set up for dinner. She took a stack of paper goods and some plastic utensils out of a bag she’d brought from home, having explained to Peter that his dishes and flatware weren’t kosher even though they’d been sterilized in a dishwasher. She could tell he didn’t understand the logic, but he was nice enough not to debate the issue.

His dining area contained a round cherry-wood table, four matching chairs, and a six-shelf mahogany bookcase. Having forgotten place mats, she unfolded several napkins and covered the table surface. She set out chicken left over from Shabbos lunch, potato chips, and juice. Not exactly well balanced, but at least the kids would eat it.

When she was done, she walked over to the bookcase and studied its contents. The top two shelves held a set of law books, police manuals, and police academy texts-books on law enforcement, criminology, search and seizure policy, forensics, ballistics, firearms, and evidence. Below them was a row of sociological and criminological studies: History of Homicide in America, Criminal Statistics in Los Angeles, The Challenge of Child Abuse, The Juvenile Offender, Detective Work: A Study in Criminal Investigation. The lower half of the bookcase was devoted to fiction; his taste leaned toward best-sellers and spy novels. She noticed a total absence of detective fiction.

She found a Natural History magazine wedged between two textbooks and pulled it out. The lead article was on the African tree frog. Settling down on the living room couch, she skimmed it quickly, looking at the pictures, too jittery to really concentrate on the text. Finally, she gave up and tried to stop thinking about the murder and rape. Forcing herself to take advantage of the peace and quiet, she sat back and closed her eyes.

An hour later there were hoofbeats in the backyard. The three of them stomped in with Ginger, the boys sweaty and excited.

“Boy, am I tired!” said Sammy, happily plopping on the couch.

“I’m starved,” Jake moaned.

“I’m going to take a shower,” Decker said, setting out a bowl of water for the dog. “Be back in a few minutes. You can feed them in the meantime.”

He disappeared.

“You kids can go ahead and wash up in the kitchen sink,” she said, piling their plates with chicken and potato chips. “You don’t have to make Al netilas yadaiyim because I didn’t bring any bread.”

The boys washed, then sat down at the table.

“Did you have fun?” she asked.

“Yeah, but my legs are sore,” Jake said.

“My butt is sore,” Sammy added. “This chair is like a rock. Can I have something to drink?”

Rina pulled out individual cartons of apple juice, poked straws in the openings, and gave them each one.

“I can’t cut with a plastic knife, Eema,” Jake said.

“Eat it with your hands. Did you guys see anything interesting in the woods?”

“Just some jackrabbits and squirrels,” Sammy said. “Nothing weird, but it was real neat. I felt like a cowboy. I wonder if the yeshiva will ever get horses.”

“Maybe one day,” Rina said.

“Can we have a dog?” asked Jacob.

“No. The house is way too small.”

“A little dog?”

“No.”

“It was real quiet out there, Eema,” recalled Sammy, dreamily.

“It was hot,” Jake complained, sipping the last drops of juice through his straw. “Can I have some more?”

Rina handed him another carton.

“Can we come here again?” Jake asked.

“I don’t think so,” Rina answered quietly.

“Why not?” Sammy asked. “Peter said it would be okay.”

“It’s not right to impose.”

But she knew that was an excuse. It was she, not Peter, who didn’t want them to return.

“Besides, school’s starting soon, and you have shiur on Sunday-”

“Not all day Sunday,” Sammy protested.

“There’s Maccabee soccer league, computer club, and piano lessons. You’re going to be swamped with activities.”

Sammy sighed and pushed his plate away.

“What’s wrong, Shmuel?” Rina asked.

“Nothing,” the boy sulked.

They ate in silence for a while. Ginger walked around the kitchen, then began to beg at the table.

“Can I give Ginger some chicken?” Jacob asked.

“Don’t do anything until you’ve asked Peter.”

Jake looked at the mournful dog. “Sorry,” he told her.

She whimpered.

Rina stroked Sammy’s arm.

“I’ve been trying to find another Jewish Big Brother for you guys-”

“I don’t want a Big Brother,” Sammy snapped.

“Why not?” she asked.

“Shmueli says they’re all perverts,” Jake said.

“They’re not perverts,” she said.

“They’re weird,” said Sammy. “The last one that took us to the movies was weird.”

“So we’ll find a good one,” Rina said. “In the meantime, the yeshiva boys are always happy to play ball with you-”

“Not really. They do me a big favor sometimes and let me play deep center. Just forget it, Eema.”

“You do understand why Peter can’t be a Big Brother?” Rina asked him.

“Yes. Just forget it!”

Sammy was holding back tears. Rina brushed the hair out of his eyes and repinned his kipah.

“It’s just not fair,” he said in a cracked voice.

“No, it isn’t,” she agreed. “Listen, maybe we can work something out with another organization who’d-”

Decker walked in, hair wet and slicked back, carrying a big box.

“Why the long faces?” he asked.

Rina waved her hand in the air, and he didn’t press it.

“Don’t beg, Ginger.” Decker placed the carton on an empty chair, then poured out a bowl of dry dog food.

“Can I give Ginger some chicken?” Jacob asked.

“The grease isn’t good for her, Jake.”

“What’ve you got in the box?” asked Sammy.

“These are some Jewish books and articles that my ex-wife’s grandfather brought over from Europe. When he died, no one in the family wanted them, so I took ’em. I’ve been meaning to take them to the yeshiva.”

Decker ripped open the sealed top and held up a leather-bound book with pages edged in gilt.

“Does this mean anything to you?” he asked.

“Wait a minute,” Rina said. “My hands are dirty.”

She and the boys washed their hands, and Decker took the carton of books into the living room.

Jake picked up the book that Decker had been holding. “That’s a machzor,” he said.

“A what?”

Sammy took it and opened it carefully. “It’s a prayer book for the New Year. This side is Hebrew, but I don’t know what language this is.”

He handed the book to Rina.

“It’s German,” she said. “Was her grandfather from Germany?”

“I don’t know,” said Decker.

“Look at all these beautiful sepharim,” Rina said, pulling out another volume. It was bound in dark green leather, the cover lettering stenciled in gold. She looked at the date of publication-1798.

“A lot of sepharim were destroyed during World War Two. These may be very valuable, Peter.”

“Look at this, Eema,” said Sammy, holding up an elaborately filigreed, foot-long scroll case.

“Yeah, what is that?” Decker asked. “See, you pull this tab over here, and the text comes out of this slit. It’s illustrated with all this beautiful artwork-”

“This is unbelievable!” Rina said, pulling on the tab gingerly.

“Megillas Esther,” Sammy said.

“Fantastic.” Rina was awestruck. “Look how clear the lettering is.”

“Can you read it?” Decker asked her.

“It’s easy,” Jake said, rattling off the first line.

“You know what it means?” the detective asked.

“Yeah, it’s talking about this king, Ahashverus, and his kingdom,” Sammy said. “Hodu v’od Kush? What are those countries again?”

“India and Ethiopia,” said Rina.

“Amazing,” Decker said.

“The kids are bilingual,” Rina explained. “Yitzchak only spoke Hebrew to them.”

“What do you do with this?” Decker asked.

“You read it on Purim, of course,” Jake said.

“Of course,” Decker repeated.

“It’s my favorite holiday,” Jake explained. “You get to dress up in a costume, and the shul has a big Purim party after they read the megilla. All the older boys get drunk and throw up. It’s so gross, but it’s real funny. The next day you get to stuff your face with cookies and candies that your friends bring you.”

“You’re allowed to get drunk?” Decker asked.

“You’re supposed to get drunk,” Sammy said.

“You’re not supposed to get drunk,” Rina said. “Tipsy maybe.”

“You’re supposed to drink until you can’t tell the difference between cheering Mordechai and booing Haman, pooh, pooh, pooh. That’s drunk, Eema.”

“I can’t picture the yeshiva letting loose like that,” said Decker.

“It’s real exciting,” Sammy said animatedly. “The older kids juggle bottles or balance them on top of their heads-”

“Drunk?” Decker asked.

“There’s a lot of broken glass,” explained Jake. He started to giggle. “Last year one of the rabbis dressed up as Haman, pooh, pooh, pooh, and we all got to throw rotten tomatoes at him.”

“Haman’s a bad guy, huh?” Decker asked.

“Yeah,” Sammy said. “He was one of Hitler’s ancestors.”

“Really?” Decker asked Rina.

“Some say. If they weren’t brethren by blood, they were spiritually. They’re all Amalek.”

Decker’s eyes darkened. “What’s that?”

“Originally, a tribe at the time of Israel’s liberation from Egypt. They were purposefully mean and spiteful to the Jews as they left. Now the term is used for any person or group bent on the total destruction of the Jews. I consider Yassir Arafat-y’mach shmo-Amalek, for example.”

Decker said nothing.

“Anything wrong, Peter?”

“Nothing,” he said quickly, then peered into the box and brought out another book.

“This is Bava Metzia,” Sammy said taking the text from Decker. “I’m going to learn it this next year.”

“Somebody in your wife’s family was a scholar,” Rina said. “This is Talmud; it’s what is studied in the yeshiva.”

“I’ve got a whole set of these books upstairs in another trunk, and they all have this strange layout of the text. You’ve got a big block of Hebrew here. Then all these columns of Hebrew surrounding the block. What is this?”

“The big block, which is written in Aramaic, is the legal question that’s being discussed. This particular book starts out with the laws of lost and found.”

“This isn’t a Bible?”

“No. It’s a treatise on Jewish criminal and civil law.”

“So what are these columns all about?”

“Rashi, tosafot-” She stopped herself. “Commentaries-different interpretations of the legal question.”

“Do you follow these laws?”

“Oh yes!” she exclaimed. “That’s what being a Torah Jew is all about.”

“How’d this all come about?”

“The primary laws were given to Moses by Hashem on Mount Sinai-some were written, some were passed along orally. Later on, the oral laws were written down and interpreted by the Amoraim-a group of prominent rabbis. The final laws were decided by rabbinic vote between the third and sixth centuries.”

Decker was silent. She knew what he was thinking.

“There are allowances for today’s problems. Like electricity. The question of whether we could use electricity on the Sabbath didn’t pop up in the Talmud.”

“And who decided whether you could or couldn’t?”

“The scholars of the day.”

“Can you?” he asked.

“No. It’s considered kindling a fire, which is prohibited on the Sabbath. That isn’t to say we sit in the dark Friday night. We leave the lights on before the sun goes down, or some of us put the lights on a time clock. We just can’t flick the switch on or off.”

“I can see where this gets very complicated,” Decker said.

“That’s why there are yeshivot. It takes a lifetime to learn all of it.”

“I’m bored,” Jake said. “Can I watch TV?”

“Why don’t you go outside and play with Ginger?” Peter suggested. “She looks bored, too.”

Jacob looked at Rina.

“Fine with me.”

Jacob ran outside with the dog.

Decker looked at Sammy, who was immersed in a book. “You want to go outside with your brother?” he asked.

“Huh?”

“He likes to read,” Rina said. “Sammy, why don’t you sit in the big chair? It’s more comfortable, and there’s better light.”

The boy didn’t answer.

“He doesn’t hear me when he’s concentrating,” she explained. “Shmueli, honey.” She gently tugged on his shirt sleeve. The boy stood up, and she led him over to a chair on the far side of the living room, then walked back to Decker, who was in the dining area clearing the table.

“Sammy’s a real little rabbi,” he said, dumping the plates in the garbage.

“Like his father,” she said, pitching in.

“Or his mother. You seem to know what you’re talking about.”

“No, he’s like his father-extremely intense. Jakey is much more like me. Believe it or not, I’m really an easygoing person.”

“I can believe it. You’ve handled yourself very well under all the stress.”

Decker pulled out a chair.

“Why don’t you sit down? I can clean this up. You’re a guest.”

She sighed heavily, sat down at the table, and rested her chin in the palm of her hand. “I don’t know. I’m so nervous all the time, always on edge.”

“Don’t you think you deserve a night out on the town?” he said quietly, not wanting the boy to hear.

She turned away from him.

“Those sepharim are beautiful. I can’t imagine your in-laws not wanting any of them. They’re works of art.”

“They were about as Jewish as I was. We celebrated Christmas and Hanukkah. We ate ham on Easter. We even joined a Unitarian church when Cynthia was school-age. My ex-wife was adamant about letting her choose her own religion, even though I had no objections to Cindy being raised Jewish. You can’t get much more assimilated than that.”

“True.”

“By the way, you nicely sidestepped my question.”

She glanced at Sammy.

“Peter,” she whispered, “as much as I enjoy your company, I can’t go out with you.”

“I’m not talking about a date. Something platonic. Marge Dunn is giving a recital with her boyfriend, and I’m invited. I wouldn’t mind a little company.”

“What does Marge play?”

“Flute.”

“Is she good?”

“She’s terrible. But we all love her and tell her she’s terrific. Anyway, all her boyfriends have been musicians, and her latest is a violinist. The two of them are planning to butcher Haydn. I need someone to go with.”

She said nothing.

“It’ll be really a harmless get-together. I just don’t want to be stuck there alone.”

“Won’t there be other detectives that you know?”

“They’ll all have dates. If I show up alone, I’ll be conspicuous. Then, someone’ll start trying to set me up, and I’m not interested in being set up. You’d be doing me a big favor.”

“I’m sure you know other women,” she said waspishly, then regretted saying it.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

She blushed.

“Oh, nothing really. I’m sure you have no shortage of women, that’s all.”

“They’re beating down my doorstep,” he laughed, touched by the tinge of jealousy in her voice. “Can’t you hear?”

“Now I know what all the loud thumping noises were.”

She grew serious.

“If feelings were everything, I would have gone out with you a long time ago. I like you. This is very hard for me, Peter. Please try to understand. My religion is my life.”

“Let me ask you something. If I were Jewish, but the same person, would you go out with me?”

“Certainly, if you were religious.”

“Plain Jewish-like my daughter-isn’t good enough?”

She hesitated a moment, then said: “It’s not a matter of good or bad, Peter. Your daughter is a fine person regardless of her religion. It’s an individual choice. I don’t feel any more comfortable with assimilated Jews like your in-laws than with non-Jews. How could they have given away beautiful treasures like these books? It takes a lot more to be a Torah Jew than just an accident of birth.”

Well, that ends that, Decker thought.

He walked over to the refrigerator and pulled out a six-pack of Dos Equis.

“Okay. I give up.”

“Please don’t be angry.”

“Nah, I’m not angry.” He opened up a green bottle and took a gulp. “I don’t understand your reasoning, but at least it’s nothing personal.”

“Believe me, it’s not.”

“I honestly thought you could be worn down, but you’re tough.”

He took a few more swigs, finished off the bottle, and tossed it in the garbage.

“It’s damn frustrating, though.”

Decker stared across the room, then returned his eyes to Rina.

“Anyone else ever chase you like this?”

His tone of voice had become abruptly neutral, and his eyes were hard. She didn’t know what to think.

“Not really,” she said softly. “I met Yitzchak at seventeen and married him six months later. I was out of circulation very young.”

“How about recently? Anyone ever ask you out and you refused?”

“A couple of the bochrim I dated-like Shlomo. When they asked me out a second time, I said no. Except for Shlomo, they’ve all left the yeshiva.”

“Who else?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to me.”

She stared at him, then asked:

“What are you getting at?”

“Nothing really,” he said mildly. “Just grasping at straws.”

But he had taken on a cop’s demeanor. She found herself relieved that the conversation had turned more business-like.

“No one outside of the yeshiva men ever asked you out?” he asked.

“Well, after Yitzchak died I went back to UCLA to finish my B.A. A couple of grad students and a professor asked me for a date. They didn’t seem broken up by my refusal.”

“How long ago was this?”

“A year, year and a half ago.”

“Do you remember their names?”

“The professor’s name was Dooley. Frank or Fred. I don’t even think he’s in LA anymore.”

“And the students?”

“Blanks.”

“Anyone else?”

She paused.

“Matt Hawthorne asked me out ages ago. But Matt’s harmless.”

“Matt’s the teacher who’s been guarding the place on Friday night?”

“Yes, he and Steve Gilbert. In a pinch they’ve even walked me home at night, so if either had wanted to do something, he’d have had ample opportunity.”

“Not really. Not if he didn’t want you to know his identity.”

“You are grasping at straws.”

“What’d Matt say when you said no?”

“He made a joke out of it. Said he was only teasing, that he’d wanted to take me to a nudie show and watch me blush. But if you knew Matt, you’d know that’s the way he is. A little crude at times, but he doesn’t mean anything by it.”

“How long have you known him?”

“About five years. Both he and Steve had been working at the yeshiva when Yitzchak and I arrived.”

“How about Gilbert?”

“What do you mean?”

“He never asked you out?”

She paused for a long time.

“Actually we went out for a drink once. But,” she quickly clarified, “it wasn’t a date. He’s been engaged to the same girl on and off for five years, and this was one of his in-between periods. It was also a year after Yitzchak died, and I was so lonely. But we concentrated on him. He was feeling very low, and I gave him a shoulder to cry on.”

“Never asked you out again?”

“No. As I said, it wasn’t a date. He knows as well as Matt that I only date Jewish men. Besides, Steve loves his fiancée. I’ve met her, and she’s a very nice girl. Both of them have trouble making decisions; they keep setting dates and breaking them. He’s due to get married in about six weeks, and it looks like this time it’s going to go through.”

“What’s he like?”

“Quiet, but not unusually so for a physics type. I was a math-physics major in college, and I knew lots of guys like him.”

“What about your students, Rina? Any of them seem a little off?”

“They’re boys, Peter!”

“They’re the same age as Cory Schmidt.”

“Lehavdil. In answer to your question, no. The kids I teach are terrific.”

“And you know every single one?”

“There are a hundred boys in the yeshiva’s high school. I know close to every single one. They’re fine, normal boys.”

He threw his arms upward, stretched, then opened another bottle of beer.

“You’re probably right.”

But she sensed he wouldn’t leave it at that.

“We’d better be getting back, Peter. I can’t wait until you take the books over to the Rosh Yeshiva. He could tell you a lot more about them than I could, as far as value. Rav Aaron is often asked by galleries to appraise works of Judaica. His study is like a museum.”

“I’d like to see it.”

“He’d show it to you. He’s very proud of his collection.”

“Rina, I want to ask you an off-the-wall question.”

“Okay.”

“In Moshe’s closet was a beautiful white robe that was protected by a cleaners’ bag, completely out of character with the rest of his wardrobe. Does it have any religious significance?”

“Yes. It’s a kittel. A man wears it when he marries, when he prays on the High Holy Days, and when he’s buried.” She paused. “Why do you ask?”

“Curiosity. My box contained a similar garment. I took it out and had it wrapped in plastic to prevent it from yellowing.”

Rina became pensive.

“God knows why Moshe kept his,” she said. “It must be a painful remembrance for a man whose marriage went sour.”

Decker smiled sadly.

“True enough,” he said.