The Ghost of Hannah Mendes (35 page)

“Quite the contrary.”

Her forehead puckered. “Meaning?”

“It is your fascinating personality.”

“And if I weighed two hundred pounds?”

“There’d be more of you to love,” he answered gallantly, his hand fondling her slim arm. “But perhaps I might love you less per square inch.”

“You!” She put her hand underneath his shirt to pinch him, but the delicious smooth warmth of him made it impossible.

“Please, Suzanne, I won’t be able to concentrate on the road!”

She was about to say something suitably clever when she looked up. There it was, that great outcropping of rock extending with a sweeping majesty straight up to heaven.

“It looks exactly like those ads for the insurance company,” she quipped, covering her confusion. It really
was
awesome.

“‘Pillar of Hercules,’ the ancients called it. There’s another one in Morocco, Mount Abyla. They say Hercules split one great mountain in two to let the Mediterranean in. It was the medieval world’s portal to the universe.”

Seagulls circled high around the green-drenched mountain overlooking the bluest of seas. Just beyond was Morocco, Tangiers, Casablanca, Ceuta…. Suzanne stared at the great boats in the distance. “Refugees from the Inquisition must have sailed these waters. Perhaps even this ancestor of mine.”

“Who?”

“Gracia Mendes, my fabulously wealthy, jewel-bedecked ancestress,” she said lightly, unaccountably embarrassed for some reason at having thought of it.

“She was much, much more than that!”

She turned around. “You’ve actually heard of her?”

“My mother was a great admirer of Cecil Roth. He wrote an entire book about Gracia.”

“So I’ve heard…”

“You mean you haven’t read it!?”

“I’ve been meaning to.” She bit her lower lip. “What did you mean by ‘much, much more’?”

“She was a heroine, in every sense of the word.”

Hiding her pleasure, she protested, “What’s heroic about cornering the pepper trade and making a king’s ransom?”

“The trade wasn’t the point! According to Roth, her company operated a secret underground network that snatched hundreds of people out of the fires of the Inquisition.”

“How?”

“Read the book!”

She tapped her foot listlessly, offended.

“Darling!” He kissed her fingertips. “It will be good for you to do a little research. It was an unbelievably daring and wonderful system. But the risk was enormous: slow torture, certain death, and the confiscation of everything she owned. She was so brave.”

She caressed his face, touched by the sincerity of his admiration, wishing she were the object. Smoothing back a thick, honey-colored lock from his brow, she vowed to do a little more reading.

Cars had come to a halt, inching their way to the border crossing.

“How long will it take?”

“Hard to tell. Twenty minutes, two hours! A few years ago, you couldn’t cross this border at all. The Spanish were so incensed at the English for insisting on keeping Gibraltar one of their colonies that they closed it. You’d have to fly or sail in!” Gabriel whispered, as a guard approached them to check their passports.

But once across the border, the time it took to reach the center of town was unbelievably swift. One moment they seemed to be facing an endless expanse of sparkling sea, the next the bustle of a port city. Celebrating sailors, long-skirted Moroccan women jangling with silver jewelry, young Jewish boys in black skullcaps, and tourists of every description crowded the duty-free shops, which lined the main street in either direction as far as the eye could see.

“Is this it?” she said, a bit appalled at the transition. “Is that what people do here, shop?”

“No. Sell. At least, my relatives. Gibraltar’s a duty-free zone. They sell perfumes, leather goods, liquor, electronics. I think among them, my relatives own over a dozen shops. It’s quite profitable.”

“Which street are their shops on?”

He waved his hands, grinning. “There are only two streets in Gibraltar.”

“Tiny as that?”

He nodded. “Tiny and wonderful. Either the
muezzin
is calling the faithful to prayer, or the church bells are ringing, or the streets are full of people walking to and from the synagogues! And everyone interacts and gets along.”

“Sounds just like New York,” she said dryly.

“Except that the whole of Gibraltar could fit on a few avenue blocks in Manhattan! That’s what makes it so special. Everyone’s on top of everyone else, and yet there is so much tolerance!”

“No one feels threatened?”

“On the contrary, they reinforce one another’s values: close-knit families, religious instruction for the children, early marriages among their own kind, prayer, charity, honesty…”

“You’re right. They’re such close neighbors that they have no choice but to get along.”

He took her hand and kissed it. “Maybe one day everyone will feel that way about the planet!”

“But isn’t it ironic to find such a place at the tip of Spain, I mean, with its history of intolerance.”

“Be fair! The Inquisition happened, but for hundreds of years, Jews, Christians, and Moslems all lived side by side in Spain with incredible tolerance. Gibraltar is the clock turned back to the Golden Age.”

“How long has your family lived here?”

“Actually, my Great-Aunt Claudina, my grandmother’s sister, married into a Gibraltan family. Her husband’s family has been here for hundreds of years. The first Jews came right after the Expulsion, but a British ban forbade them to settle. So they sailed just beyond, to Morocco and North Africa, trickling back little by little, opening up businesses. The English sort of closed their eyes to it. They’ve been here ever since.”

“Where are we going to be staying, Gabriel?”

“With Auntie Claudina, of course.”

“Wouldn’t it be better for us to go to a hotel?” She panicked, picturing an elderly chaperone checking on their sleeping arrangements. “And how are you going to introduce me?”

“As my dear friend.” He stroked her cheek, smiling.

“Really, Gab. I don’t know about this.”

“Trust me, darling. You’ll love them. And they’ll love you.”

“Well, here goes.”

“Where?”

“To your great-aunt’s of course.”

“We’re here.”

She looked around at the teeming main street, then stared at him, stunned. “She lives here?! On top of the shops?”

“Everyone here does, because they all want to live in walking distance of each other and of the two main synagogues. Orthodox Jews don’t drive on the Sabbath.”

“But…over the shops?” She looked around, appalled.

“Don’t jump to conclusions, darling.”

He rang the bell. A uniformed maid opened the door.

“Buenos tardes, María.”

“Señor Gabriel! Como esta usted?”

“Muy bien, gracias. María, Señorita Suzanne.”

“Mucho gusto!”

Suzanne stepped over the threshold, amazed.

It was like the interior of some stunning English mansion, all dark mahogany wainscotting and dusky-rose, damask wallpaper. A gracious staircase curved upward beside a private elevator.

“Come.” Gabriel smiled, taking her hand and enfolding it in his.

Upstairs, numerous rooms led off a long hall lit by bright crystal chandeliers. She followed Gabriel into a huge sitting room. It was wondrous, she thought. Like stumbling through a time warp into the private salon of some Victorian queen. In the center, ensconced on an overstuffed and probably enormously costly antique sofa, was a tiny, quite elderly woman dressed entirely in white.

“Auntie!” Gabriel said reverently, bending his head and kissing her twice on both cheeks.

The woman clasped him with her gnarled and wrinkled hands, whose fingers were weighted down by many large and heavy rings.

“My lovely nephew! G-d bless you! And who is it you bring me?”

“My friend, Suzanne Nasi da Costa Abraham.”

The old woman’s face lit up, her faded blue eyes studying Suzanne with alert pleasure. “Lovely to meet you, my child,” she said with a broad smile, holding out both hands. Suzanne grasped them, surprised at their unexpected strength and eagerness as she bent to accept the touch of the old cheeks on her young ones. They felt like dry parchment.

“A Nasi
and
a da Costa!” Claudina exclaimed with glee. “My dear boy, wherever did you find such a treasure?”

He was amused! Suzanne noted, annoyed, feeling like some dusty auction find. Of all things to impress people with! Your family! Still, she could not stop the tiny smile that found its way to her lips as she tried to imagine any one among her New York acquaintances desiring her for her lineage.

So what? she argued with herself, attempting to still that growingly strident voice that had taken to complaining nonstop about her unrepentant happiness. What difference did it make if it was her family’s money, or her body, or her mind that made people smile at her with welcome? The bottom line was that this was Gabriel’s family and they were happy to see her.

Yet, she couldn’t completely shake off the unbelievable ignominy of being in love with someone whose family not only approved of her, but whose approval would be reciprocated in spades by her own. The image of Gran and Claudina sinking into the sofa cushions side by side, sighing with contentment, beaming down blessings and cheek-kissing into the next century, was more than she could bear.

“Maria will show you to your room, my dear,” Claudina told her. “The maids will bring you whatever you need. We dine at eight. Gabriel, the cousins will be coming, and Uncle Serge and Auntie Orvieda and Uncle Joseph and Auntie Esther. I’m afraid we tend to be a bit traditional here, especially Friday nights. I hope you won’t find it too terrible,” she said, smiling at Suzanne.

Suzanne, suddenly acutely aware of the fraying rips in her faded jeans, smiled back in confusion, wishing she’d brought a few more suitcases.

Not only weren’t their rooms next to each other, they weren’t even on the same floor! Suzanne groaned, pouring out the contents of her bag onto the bed. But it was one stunning room. The dark, polished wood was full of intricate inlays, finely carved and finished with a luminous richness that spoke of an age when craftsmen lingered over their work with pride. The bedspread and canopy were extravagant creations consisting of yards and yards of sumptuous fabrics in shades of cream and royal blue.

She glanced toward the heavily curtained windows. There was nothing but the busy street to look out at here, she thought, leaving the curtains drawn. She felt detached from the world and from time, in a magical location where the disappearing ozone layer, the endangered whales, desertification, Ebola, and date rape didn’t exist. A place where blissful and perfect happiness would be allowed to sing its song aloud without being asked to turn down the volume out of respect for those less fortunate.

She laid down, pulling the featherbed blissfully around her shoulders and dozing off. When she awoke, she wondered not only where she was, but who. She blinked, looking around the room. Fresh towels had appeared on the washstand and a small covered tray on the night table held a Limoges teapot and a silver salver of petit fours. Hanging by the full-length mirror, was her freshly ironed Chinese silk dress.

She stared at it. She had intended wearing it that evening. But having it selected for her this way was unbearably annoying. With a firm and deliberate motion, she hung it back inside the closet, taking out a wrinkled white cotton blouse and a long, crush-pleated Indian skirt. She showered and dressed quickly, determined to have a word with Gabriel.

Servants in black uniforms with white aprons stopped scurrying as she passed, nodding and greeting her with a curtsy and a friendly “
Buenas noches, Señorita Abraham
.”

How many were there, she began to wonder in dismay. Didn’t these people do
anything
for themselves? But the help all looked content and well-fed. Creating employment was also a virtue, she admitted grudgingly.

She wandered though the house until she reached the dining room. The table had been exquisitely set. Crystal, porcelain, and silver—spotlessly clean and polished to perfection—created the feeling of a royal banqueting table from a different age. The centerpiece was a huge silver candelabra.

“My dear!” Auntie Claudina suddenly appeared, her gracious and friendly glance betraying only the most imperceptible surprise as she took in Suzanne’s wrinkled outfit. She herself was dressed in a black suit of silk brocade straight from the couture houses of Paris.

“I’m sorry about the clothes,” Suzanne stammered, filled with a sudden, sharp regret. “I didn’t realize…”

“Never mind,” Claudina patted her arm. “It takes a while to get used to us, I know. But we didn’t invite your clothes, we invited you!” She looked tiny and elflike as she leaned on her cane. “I was just about to light my candles. Won’t you join me?”

Suzanne hesitated.

She hated mumbo-jumbo, the repetition of meaningless rituals performed to satisfy some bullying invisible power—call it “custom,” or “G-d,” or “family tradition.” But then she thought of the consequences. She wasn’t, after all, at home now. She was a guest. And this was someone else’s party.

To her surprise, Claudina walked past the candelabra into an alcove near the fireplace. A small card table was set up in the corner. They weren’t Sabbath candles at all, Suzanne realized, but small glass dishes filled with oil and floating wicks.

“I thought you meant the Sabbath candles.”

“Ah, that, too, soon. But first these. Have you never seen them before?”

“I…I don’t really remember.”

“Your grandmother, perhaps?”

No. Not Gran. She was certain of that. “My grandmother is rather, well, nontraditional in some ways. What are they for?”

“Oh, everything. And everyone. This one I light for my niece who is having an ultrasound on Sunday. They fear something might be wrong with the baby. And this one is for my brother’s boy, who took his law exams today. These are for the souls of my father and mother and my husband, and this for the child I lost in the womb. And this is for the Jews of Salonika who lie in unmarked graves. There were fourteen thousand Jews in Salonika before the war. Twelve thousand were killed. Many were from my mother’s family. Did you know that eighty-nine percent of Ladino-speaking Jews in the world died at Hitler’s hands, many of them in Auschwitz? We are all that is left.” She spread out her hands, including Suzanne. “A tiny, precious few. And this one is for Gabriel. And this one is for you.”