A Castle in Brooklyn(47)
A gentle breeze fluttered the first buds of the apple tree in the garden, and just as it did, Esther felt she understood it all. No matter that she had done nothing, that she had only looked upon Zalman as nothing more than a dear friend. Jacob had already banished the man who had been his best friend, more than a brother to him. She resolved then to meet with Zalman once, to offer an attempt at a reconciliation between the men. But if he rejected the idea, if he deemed it hopeless, then she would have to let it go. She would tear up the paper with his cousin’s phone number and address, and for Jacob’s sake, even though it pained her, she would have to erase Zalman from her thoughts. Whether he stayed in New York or went back to the farm in Minnesota, it would all be the same to her.
But as Esther stood quietly, choking down the tears, another fear edged its way inside her brain. What if Jacob’s feelings for her had also changed from love to merely tolerance? If he could relinquish the mother who had raised him so lovingly, then how might he treat her?
A new decade, the seventies, was fast approaching, and the culture was shifting at a rapid pace, especially for women. They were protesting war, burning their bras, demanding the right to be equal. And, in fact, Esther never considered herself an inferior, having worked as hard as any man to maintain her father’s business, and having even mentored Jacob in the tools of the trade when the times called for it. She could do it all again, become a female of the times, an emancipated woman. And yet, was that what she really wanted? A life without Jacob? But somehow with that notion in mind, she no longer cared if he mistrusted her, maybe loved her a little less. Esther resolved that she would put all her efforts into building a life with Jacob. And although it would be a shattered life, a childless life, she would try to regain his trust, and maybe he would love her a little bit more. She had heard his story, and at that moment, as she turned from the window, she made a promise to herself never to question him about his past, never to speak of it again, even if the ghosts of the past continued to haunt them both. Esther knew then that she would never have the life she had dreamed of, a good life. Being with Jacob would have to be enough.
Only once did she approach Jacob, days after her meeting with Zalman at Wolfie’s. He had just closed on a large property in Midtown Manhattan, one that would bring in a good income in rentals for years to come, and Jacob was in a good mood. To celebrate, she cooked his favorite, a brisket with roast potatoes and green beans, its aroma filling the house as he walked in the door. Instead of a perfunctory peck on the cheek, he embraced her with a passionate kiss on the lips. Esther thought it might be the right time to have a conversation.
As Jacob sat scooping up the last forkfuls of brisket, which, he commented, fell apart just like butter, Esther felt her stomach surge. She knew she had to take this moment before she chickened out.
“Jacob, I am so proud of you! How far you have taken the business. And I know Papou would have been proud too.”
Jacob smiled as he licked his lips. “I would like to think so.”
“He would have been so very proud!” she repeated, afraid of the next words that waited on her tongue. He pushed his chair away from the table.
“Jacob, you’re such a good man, a wonderful man! But I know you are still hurting. I know you must miss Zalman. Can you not reach out to him, see how he is? Just a few words only.”
Jacob was standing now, as he turned toward her, a shadow over his face where only seconds earlier brightness had been. It was an expression she had not seen in a long time.
“Why are you bringing this up, Esther? Have you seen him, met with him?”
“N-no, of course not,” she lied.
He looked at her then, into her wide blue eyes, and finding no falseness in them, said in a low voice, “Don’t ever mention his name again.” He turned from her and went into the living room.
As Esther cleared the last dish from the table, she knew that she had no choice but to abide by Jacob’s words. She’d never speak his name again. And if one day Jacob decided to look for his old friend, it would be his decision. Not hers.
The days settled into a quiet monotony as Esther threw herself into a redecorating project with the help of Florrie, who more than ever before had become a fixture in the home, sitting at her elbow as Esther pored over reams of wallpaper peppered with orange-and-yellow sunflowers, holding the other end of the tape as Esther measured nearly the entire width of the living room for a new royal-blue velvet couch that would be free of its restrictive plastic coat. The flimsy tables were replaced by sturdy tan end tables that sat unmoved, like silent toads facing the new broad picture tube, this time a Sony, encased in its own highly polished black lacquer cabinet. Outdoors, the rumble of poured concrete could be heard for blocks as sweaty workers drinking cans of Coca-Cola replaced the front sidewalk. Even the backyard was excavated, the swing set unceremoniously now gone, the dwindling garden eradicated, replaced by lush hedges. All changed, except for the two trees: the golden apple tree that stood towering above the chaos, and the giant oak, a relic of the past and a reminder, at least for Esther, of what could have been.
And when she was done with the outside, Esther found new projects, glad that her mother had taught her the elements of home decorating, how planning and shopping could fill the time. She would carry stacks of glossy magazines on home decor, traveling into Lower Manhattan warehouses for a glossy metal-and-white Formica wall unit on which to stack Jacob’s prodigious collection of Elvis records and her prized Beethoven symphonies. A furry shag rug in a dazzling blue that felt like pure cotton when she walked barefoot, an austere grandfather clock whose hourly sonorous melody echoed the passage of time, fresh Dacron curtains that matched the oat color of the grass wallpaper that now liberally dressed the walls in the living room. An orange papasan chair in the corner struck a comical note, and a lava lamp spewing yellow-and-blue bubbles, an optimistic element. And beneath it all, individual gleaming tiles set into the concrete floor, upon which each table was decorously adorned with plastic flowers. Shelves were erased, faucets updated, all transformed until Jacob no longer recognized any of it, if he had bothered to notice as he removed his wrinkled overcoat each evening, placed his hat on the small foyer table, and crawled upstairs. All transformed except for the black baby grand that sat in the corner of the living room, just where it was placed on that first moving day. Unplayed. Unchanged.