The Ritual Bath

Rina hesitated a moment.

“What’d you hear?”

“Did a rape take place at the mikvah last night?”

“Where’d you hear that?” Rina wanted to know.

“Campus rumors,” Gilbert said. “Is it true?”

She nodded.

“That’s horrible!” exclaimed Hawthorne. “They said it was Yossie Adler’s mother.”

“Let’s drop the subject,” Rina said. “Suffice it to say that everyone’s alive and healthy.”

“Well, that’s good,” Hawthorne said. “You know, you can’t pick up a newspaper or turn on the news without hearing about the Foothill rapist. Then this happens-” Hawthorne stopped himself and looked at Rina through a fluttering left eyelid. “I’m doing a lot for your nerves, aren’t I?”

“It’s all right.”

But her voice lacked conviction.

“Listen, Rina,” said Gilbert calmly, “we know your being alone makes you especially vulnerable. If you need anything, feel free to give either one of us a call.”

“Thank you,” she replied. “If there’s nothing else, I’m going to be off.”

Hawthorne stood up and pulled out her chair.

“My, you’re chivalrous,” Gilbert said, his tone cool.

“My mama taught me well, Stevie.”

“Before I forget…” Gilbert searched through his briefcase and pulled out a few loose sheets of computer paper. “Take these home to your boys. They’re the programs they developed yesterday in Computer Club. I ran them this morning.”

“And they came out?” she asked, taking the papers.

“Of course they came out.”

Rina swelled with parental pride.

“Kids are born brighter these days,” she said. “But then again, they have better teachers.”

Gilbert acknowledged the compliment with a nod and stood up. The three of them remained motionless for an awkward moment.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” Hawthorne said to Rina.

“Thanks for your concern.”

“Do you want me to walk you home?” Gilbert asked.

“Thank you, but it’s really not necessary. After all, one can’t be overly paranoid, right?”

When neither one responded, she smiled weakly and left.

Though the synagogue had no assigned seating, people tended to sit in the same spot. Rina’s was in the front row of the balcony-the women’s section.

She saw Zvi davening, making him out very clearly though she was peering through a diaphanous curtain that hung in front of the upper level. He was at the podium, leading the service, rocking back and forth as he moved his lips. To his right stood Yossie, looking lost, and his two younger brothers, poking each other mischievously.

Rina wasn’t the only one looking at Zvi. All the women who had used the mikvah last night were gaping at him. The “incident” was the topic of whispered conversation in the balcony. Rina couldn’t stand the gossip and speculation. Though they tried to engage her in conversation, she remained aloof.

She concentrated hard on the Hebrew text in front of her. Tonight, praying seemed especially significant, and she davened with renewed spirit. Truly, fate is in the hands of Hashem, she thought. But to help Him along, she’d take the detective’s advice and be very careful. Usually after services she and her boys rushed home, allowing her to complete preparations for the Shabbos meal. But tonight she waited for her guests, and they all walked together.

The di

The festivities lasted until midnight. By the time everyone left, her boys were overwrought with fatigue. Yaakov, the seven-year-old, was ru

Rina kept her patience and calmed the boys down with a bedtime story and lots of kisses. She tucked them in, then headed for the kitchen. It was one-thirty by the time she’d finished cleaning up.

She crawled under the covers and immediately fell into a deep sleep.

In the wee hours of the morning she was awakened by a piercing scream. She shot up and ran to the boys’ room. They were fast asleep. She rechecked all the locks on the doors but didn’t dare peek out the window. Again, cries followed by scampering atop her roof.

The damn cats!

The house turned quiet-a suffocating quiet.

Rina trudged shakily back to bed. The adrenaline was surging throughout her body. Wide-eyed, she stared at the shadows on her wall until exhaustion overtook her.

6

“Eema could you pin my kipah?” Shmuel asked.

Rina put down the paper and attached the big, black yarmulke to the soft, curly locks with four bobby pins. No matter how many she put in, the kipah would always fall off. Little boys, she thought, smiling.

“There you go, sweetie,” she said, kissing his cheek. It was damp with salty perspiration and as soft as butter.

He thanked her and ran off to play G. I. Joe with his brother. Last she’d heard, the Joe team was beating COBRA, capturing and disposing of the evil forces with no mercy. Rina’d always felt that kids judged much more harshly than adults. If it were up to them, all criminals would receive the death penalty.

She reopened the paper, and the article jumped out at her. She wondered why she hadn’t noticed it before. The Foothill rapist had struck again. Reading the article slowly, she saw Decker’s name in the second paragraph.

She closed the paper and sipped her coffee. It had been nearly two weeks since the rape at the mikvah. The initial fright had abated, and life progressed as usual. The only differences were a dead bolt on the mikvah door and husbands walking their wives home after the ritual immersion.

But Rina was still worried. Oftentimes she’d walk home with the last woman to use the facilities, but that meant either coming in early to clean the mikvah from the previous night or finding someone to wait for her as she scrubbed the tiles. Recently she found herself getting careless, sinking back into the old bad habit of walking home alone. Several times she thought of calling the detective-sure she’d heard things outside-but hadn’t wanted to bother him. Besides, nothing had ever materialized.

Now, seeing his name in print, she wondered about the progress of the case and wanted badly to call him. But the house was too tiny for privacy, and she didn’t want her sons to overhear the conversation. She’d have to wait.

When it was time, she walked the kids to the yeshiva’s day camp. Upon returning home she picked up the receiver and immediately put it down. Perhaps it wasn’t the right time to call. With this new rape, he was probably up to his neck in work.

She fixed herself another cup of coffee and turned on the radio to a news station. It was a half-hour before the story came on. No details were given. Just another rape attributed to him. She flicked the dial to off and thought to herself: Wasn’t she a citizen? Didn’t she pay taxes to support a police force? She had even voted against the tax cut that would have reduced police and fire services. With newly summoned determination, she dialed his extension. Besides, she was sure he wouldn’t be in.

To her shock he picked it up on the second ring.

“Decker,” he answered.

She was momentarily speechless.

“Hello?” he said loudly.

“Uh-yes, this is Rina Lazarus. I don’t know if you remember me-”