store had insisted it was all the rage. Smiling but looking baffled, like a child dressed up for a dance party.
Laura looked majestic, nothing silly about her. Swallowed up by the Yemenite wedding gown and headdress that had been in the Zadok family for generations but belonged, really, to the Yemenite community of Jerusalem. A treasure, centuries old, lent to any bride who requested it. A tradition that stretched back to San'a, celebrating social equality: The daughters of rich men and beggars came to the huppah dressed in identical splendor, each bride a queen on her special day.
The gown and headdress and accompanying jewelry were as heavy as chain mail: tunic and pantaloons of crisp gold brocade; three rings on every finger, a trio of bracelets around each wrist; scores of necklaces-strings of silver and gold coins, filigree balls glowing like silver gumdrops, amber beads, pearls and gemstones. The headdress high and conical, layered with alternating rows of black and white pearls and topped by a garland of white and scarlet carnations, the pearl chin-piece hanging down to the clavicle like a glittering, shimmering beard; a fringe of tiny turquoise pendants concealing the top half of the brow, so that only the center of Laura's face was visible. The young, beautiful features and enormous pale eyes framed and emphasized.
The night before, she'd had her palms and soles smeared red in the henna ceremony, and now this. She'd barely been able to walk; the merest flick of a wrist elicited a flash of gemfire, the jangle of metal against metal. The old women tended to her, jabbering incomprehensibly, holding her upright. Others scraped out complex rhythms on finger cymbals, coaxed near-melodies from antique goatskin drums. Whooping and chanting and singing women's songs, the Arabic lyrics subtly erotic. Estelle had gotten right in with them, a small woman, like her daughter. Light-footed, laughing, whooping along.
The men sat in a separate room, eating, drinking Chivas Regal and arak and raisin brandy and Turkish coffee augmented with arak, linking arms and dancing in pairs, listening to Mori Zadok sing men's songs in Hebrew and Aramaic. Stories of the Great Ones. The Rambam. Sa'adia Gaon.
Mori Salim Shabazi. The other elders followed him, taking turns delivering blessings and devrei Torah that praised the joys of marriage.
Daniel sat at the center of the table, drinking the liquor that was placed in front of him, remaining clear- headed in the manner of the Yemenites. He was flanked by his father, who sang along in a high, clear tenor, and his new father-in-law, who remained silent.
Al Birnbaum was fading away. The liquor was turning him pinker by degrees. He clapped his hands, wanting to be one of them, but succeeded only in looking baffled, like an explorer cast among primitives. Daniel felt sorry for him, didn't know what to say.
Later, after the yihud ceremony, Al had cornered him, hugging him, slipping money into his pocket and planting a wet kiss on his cheek.
'This is wonderful, son, wonderful,' he blurted out. His breath was hot, heavy with arak. The band had started playing 'Qetsad Merakdim'; celebrants were juggling and dancing before the bride. Al started to sway and Daniel placed a hand on his shoulder.
'Thank you very much, Mr. Birnbaum.'
'You'll take care of her-I know you will. You're a good boy. Anything you need, ask.'
'Thank you very much. I appreciate that.'
'You're welcome, son. The two of you will make a beautiful life together. Beautiful.' A trickle of tears hurriedly wiped and camouflaged by a fit of coughing.
Later, of course, the phone calls had come. Static-laden long-distance calls buzzing across two continents. Poorly concealed cries of parental loneliness that always seemed to interrupt love-making. Not-so-subtle hints about how wonderful things were in California, how was the two-room flat working out, was the heating fixed yet, did it still smell of insecticide? Al had a friend, a lawyer, he might be able to use someone with investigative skills; another friend owned an insurance agency, could steer him into something lucrative. And if he got tired of police work, there was always room in the printing business
Eventually, the Birnbaums had accepted the fact that their only child wasn't coming home. They purchased the Talbieh apartment, all those bedrooms, the kitchen full of appliances, supposedly for themselves. ('For summer visits, darling-would you kids be good enough to house-sit?')
The visits took place every year, like clockwork, the first two weeks in August. The Birnbaums arriving with half a dozen suitcases, half of them full of gifts for the kids, refusing the master bedroom and sleeping in the boys' bunk. Mikey and Benny moving in with Shoshi.
Thirteen summers, sixteen visits-one extra for the birth of each child.
The rest of the time, the Sharavis house-sat. More luxury than a policeman could except
'You looked like a princess, Laura,' said Luanne, turning a page and studying pictures of dancing Yemenites.
'I lost two pounds perspiring,' laughed Laura. She poked at the roast with a fork. Then her face grew serious and Daniel thought he saw her fight back a tear.
'It was a beautiful gown,' she said. 'A beautiful day.'
Daniel walked over to her, put his arm around her waist, enjoying the feel of her, the sharp taper inward, the sudden flare of hip under his palm. She raised the fork and he felt a current of energy dance along the surface of her skin, involuntary and tremulous like the quivering flanks of a horse after exercise.
He kissed her cheek.
She winked at him, put the roast on a platter, and handed it to him.
'Help me serve, Pakad.'
During dinner, Luanne and Gene talked about their trip to Eilat. Snorkeling in the crystalline waters of the Red Sea, the coral forests below, schools of rainbow-colored fish that swam placidly up to the shoreline. The long gray shapes Gene was certain had been sharks.
'One thing I noticed,' said Luanne, 'was the shrimp. Everyone was selling it or cooking it or eating it. I didn't feel I was in a Jewish country.'
'First-rate shrimp,' said Gene. 'Good-sized, deep-fried.'
