Jane Goes Batty

“No,” Ben said, shaking his head. “Not so much.”

Jane couldn’t help smiling. The rabbi’s honesty was charming.

“Do you believe in God, Jane?” he asked.

Jane’s smile faded. “Not so much,” she admitted.

It was Ben’s turn to smile. “May I ask why?”

Jane sighed. “My father was a reverend,” she told him. “An Anglican. Naturally, so was I. It wasn’t until … later that I began to question things.”

“Later,” the rabbi said. “Was there a specific incident?”

When I became one of the living dead, Jane thought. She wondered what Ben Cohen would say if she told him she was a vampire. Would he treat her as if she had multiple personalities? Would he recommend hospitalization in a psychiatric facility?

“Not really,” she told him. “More like an accumulation of them.”

“And yet now you want to convert to Judaism,” said Ben. “That’s an interesting decision for someone who isn’t sure she believes in God.”

I might as well tell him the truth, Jane thought. “My boyfriend’s mother wants me to be Jewish,” she said, her cheeks reddening at the word boyfriend. It sounded so juvenile.

“I see,” said Ben. “Well, you wouldn’t be the first person to convert for that reason.”

“It’s all rather silly,” Jane said. “Walter wasn’t even really raised Jewish. His father and stepmother were Episcopalian. But his mother is Jewish, and that makes him Jewish.”

“I’ve heard that,” said Ben.

Jane put her hand to her forehead. “Of course you have,” she said. “I’m sorry. It’s just that it’s all a bit much to handle right now on top of everything else.”

“Everything else?” said Ben.

“The new book, my new editor, the film, Beverly Shrop.” Jane looked up. “You don’t need to hear all this.”

“It is what I do,” said Ben.

“Yes, but it’s not why I’m here,” Jane replied, composing herself. “Although I imagine you’re going to tell me that I’m a poor candidate for conversion, so I might as well go.”

“Why would I say that?” Ben asked.

Jane wrinkled her brow. “Well, I can’t say with any amount of honesty that I’m terribly sincere about it,” she said.

“Not now,” Ben said. “But maybe we should talk some more. It doesn’t even have to be about conversion.”

Jane, taking his meaning, asked, “You mean like therapy?”

“Yes,” Ben said. “Like therapy.”

Jane found herself laughing. “I don’t think that will be necessary,” she said.

“It’s up to you, of course,” said the rabbi. “But if you ask me—which you didn’t, but I’m going to pretend you did—you’re dealing with a lot of issues. It might help to talk about them.”

Jane considered this for a moment. Ben was watching her. But he’s not judging, she thought, looking into his eyes. “Perhaps you’re right,” she heard herself say.

“You have my number,” said Ben, standing up. “I hope you’ll use it.”

Jane stood too, gathering up her purse and preparing to leave.

“Have you met the mother?” Ben inquired.

“This afternoon,” said Jane. “Walter is picking her up as we speak.”

“May I give you some advice?”

Jane nodded. “By all means.”

“There’s one key thing for you to remember when dealing with a Jewish mother.”

“Which is?” asked Jane.

“They’re always right,” said Ben. “Always.”

“But that hardly seems—”

“Always,” Ben repeated. “Trust me. I’ve had one for thirty-four years.”

“I’ll keep it in mind,” Jane assured him.

Twenty minutes later she pulled up outside Walter’s house. His car was in the driveway. So you’ve arrived, Jane thought as she checked her hair in the rearview mirror. She applied some lipstick, sighed deeply, and got out of the car.

Walter answered the door even before she’d rung the bell. “You’re here!” he said, a little too loudly. He leaned in and gave Jane a peck on the cheek. “She’s already making me crazy,” he whispered.

“Is that the girl?”

Walter stepped aside, revealing a small, thin woman perched on the couch. Her hair, which was black with only hints of gray, lay flat against her head like a swim cap. Her blue eyes focused in on Jane like a bird of prey sizing up a rodent far below, and the look on her face told Jane that she had yet to make up her mind about her son’s choice of girlfriend.

She was dressed in white slacks and a billowy black blouse patterned with yellow and red flowers. Numerous rings covered her fingers, and beside her on the couch sat a small brown Chihuahua with enormous ears that stuck up like a bat’s. Something about the dog didn’t seem quite right, and then Jane realized that it was missing its right front leg and was leaning against Miriam for balance.

“Jane, this is my mother,” Walter said. “Mother, this is Jane.”

“I can see that,” Miriam said. She extended her hand. “Who else would she be?” she asked.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Fletcher,” Jane said as she shook Miriam’s hand.

Miriam drew back her hand. “Ellenberg,” she said. “Ms. Ellenberg.” She looked at her son. “You didn’t tell her? You should have told her.”

Jane, realizing her mistake, instinctively moved to protect Walter. “Oh, he did tell me,” she said. “I’m so sorry. It’s not Walter’s fault. I’ve been so looking forward to meeting you that it completely slipped my mind that you and Walter’s father—”

Miriam shook her head. “All the trouble I went through to divorce that man, the least I could get was my name back. How is that little shiksa he married?” she asked Walter. She glanced at Jane as she said it, and Jane couldn’t help but see that the barb was aimed partially at her.

“Bethany is fine, Mom,” said Walter.

“That’s too bad,” Miriam remarked.

Jane decided to change the subject. “What a handsome little dog,” she said. “What’s his name?”

“Her name is Lilith,” said Miriam.

Hearing her name, Lilith perked up her ears and looked up at Miriam. “I found her in Jerusalem,” Miriam continued. “She was wandering around the streets.”

“What were you doing in Jerusalem?” Jane asked.

“Hunting,” Miriam replied. “For antiques,” she added.

“Mother has traveled all over the world,” Walter told Jane.

“I still do,” Miriam said. “I’m not quite dead.”

“Of course not,” said Walter. “Mother travels all over the world,” he said to Jane.

“Walter’s father hated traveling,” Miriam said. “It’s one of the reasons I divorced him. That and the fact that he was a lazy, no-good son of a bitch.”

“I’ll just go get us some drinks,” said Walter.

“I’ll help,” Jane told him.

“No,” Miriam said. “You sit. We’ll talk.”

Jane looked at Walter, who nodded. Jane sat down in an armchair beside the couch and smiled at Miriam. “I’m so pleased you’re here,” she said.

“Bullshit,” Miriam said. “You’re terrified of me. You’re afraid I won’t think you’re good enough for my son. And I don’t. But nobody is, so don’t worry too much. Walter tells me you’re converting.”

Jane cleared her throat. “Well, I have been talking to a rabbi,” she said.