character. There are mutterings that I’m partial.” He shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe I am.”
“I’m sorry if it got you in trouble. But, believe me, Peter, he’s not the man you want.”
“Who is he?”
She sighed. “His name is Moshe Feldman.”
“What is he? Some stray that the rabbi took pity on?”
“No. A long time ago—actually not too long ago—he was a brilliant student. He was best friends with Yitzchak, my husband; they were chavrusas —learning partners. Moshe met his wife about the same time I met Yitzchak, and the four of us were inseparable. We even got married within a month of each other.
“Two months after Moshe’s marriage, his wife announced that she didn’t want to be religious and she didn’t want to be married. I don’t know what happened. No one would talk about it. She wrote to me a couple of times saying she had to find herself, but didn’t go into specifics. Last I heard she was living with this rock and roll guitarist…”
Rina threw up her hands.
“Anyway, Moshe withdrew from people after that. Even Yitzchak. They no longer talked as friends, but they still learned together. Yitzy used to say that Moshe’s mind was as sharp as ever, but he was blocked emotionally. When my husband died two years ago Moshe stopped learning formally. A month later he asked me to marry him. I refused, and a week later he snapped. He’s been like that ever since.”
Her eyes moistened.
“I know, intellectually, that he was over the border before he proposed to me. He hadn’t been in his right mind since his wife left him. But I couldn’t help it. I felt it was my fault.”
She looked at Decker.
“It was very important to me that you didn’t arrest him. First, because he’s not a rapist. Second, I called you down there. His arrest would have been my responsibility—”
“That’s absurd, Rina—”
“I would have felt that I nailed his coffin. He was a wonderful person, Peter. A sweet man with a brilliant mind. In some ways he was much more attentive to me than Yitzchak. He would never do anything criminal, Peter. Just as you wouldn’t. It’s not in his makeup.”
Decker said nothing.
“You’re not convinced, are you?”
“No, not at all,” he said. “If anything, you’ve given me more reason to suspect him. Rapists usually hold huge grudges against women. Nasty feelings that suddenly explode. Your friend sounds like a prime candidate for an explosion.”
“He’s not, Peter. You’ll just have to trust me.”
“I gave him his one break. Next time, I play by the book.”
“I appreciate what you did.” She started to pat his hand, but stopped herself.
“I don’t bite,” he said softly.
“I wish you did. It would make it a lot easier on me if you were crude and unappealing.”
“Then it’s a good thing you can’t read my mind. A whole lot of crude thoughts are swimming around there.”
She didn’t say anything.
“Did I offend you?”
“Peter, I’m not some naive little Pollyanna who believes the whole world is cotton candy. Or an inhibited prude who thinks people should only make love in the dark with their clothes on. I’m religious . I realize that’s a foreign concept to most people, especially in California, but that’s what I am. I don’t do certain things, not because I don’t want to, but because I have religious values.
“I think it’s wrong to have sex if you’re not married. I don’t think fire and brimstone will come pouring down if you do, but I think it’s wrong. Why? Not on moral grounds—though a case could be made for that, too—but because it’s immodest. Tsnios —bodily modesty—is important to us. That’s why we dress the way we do, that’s why married women cover their hair. Not to look unattractive—we like dressing up as much as the next person—but because we believe that the body is private and not some cheesy piece of artwork that’s put on public display. We know our way of thinking is
“I’m sorry if it got you in trouble. But, believe me, Peter, he’s not the man you want.”
“Who is he?”
She sighed. “His name is Moshe Feldman.”
“What is he? Some stray that the rabbi took pity on?”
“No. A long time ago—actually not too long ago—he was a brilliant student. He was best friends with Yitzchak, my husband; they were chavrusas —learning partners. Moshe met his wife about the same time I met Yitzchak, and the four of us were inseparable. We even got married within a month of each other.
“Two months after Moshe’s marriage, his wife announced that she didn’t want to be religious and she didn’t want to be married. I don’t know what happened. No one would talk about it. She wrote to me a couple of times saying she had to find herself, but didn’t go into specifics. Last I heard she was living with this rock and roll guitarist…”
Rina threw up her hands.
“Anyway, Moshe withdrew from people after that. Even Yitzchak. They no longer talked as friends, but they still learned together. Yitzy used to say that Moshe’s mind was as sharp as ever, but he was blocked emotionally. When my husband died two years ago Moshe stopped learning formally. A month later he asked me to marry him. I refused, and a week later he snapped. He’s been like that ever since.”
Her eyes moistened.
“I know, intellectually, that he was over the border before he proposed to me. He hadn’t been in his right mind since his wife left him. But I couldn’t help it. I felt it was my fault.”
She looked at Decker.
“It was very important to me that you didn’t arrest him. First, because he’s not a rapist. Second, I called you down there. His arrest would have been my responsibility—”
“That’s absurd, Rina—”
“I would have felt that I nailed his coffin. He was a wonderful person, Peter. A sweet man with a brilliant mind. In some ways he was much more attentive to me than Yitzchak. He would never do anything criminal, Peter. Just as you wouldn’t. It’s not in his makeup.”
Decker said nothing.
“You’re not convinced, are you?”
“No, not at all,” he said. “If anything, you’ve given me more reason to suspect him. Rapists usually hold huge grudges against women. Nasty feelings that suddenly explode. Your friend sounds like a prime candidate for an explosion.”
“He’s not, Peter. You’ll just have to trust me.”
“I gave him his one break. Next time, I play by the book.”
“I appreciate what you did.” She started to pat his hand, but stopped herself.
“I don’t bite,” he said softly.
“I wish you did. It would make it a lot easier on me if you were crude and unappealing.”
“Then it’s a good thing you can’t read my mind. A whole lot of crude thoughts are swimming around there.”
She didn’t say anything.
“Did I offend you?”
“Peter, I’m not some naive little Pollyanna who believes the whole world is cotton candy. Or an inhibited prude who thinks people should only make love in the dark with their clothes on. I’m religious . I realize that’s a foreign concept to most people, especially in California, but that’s what I am. I don’t do certain things, not because I don’t want to, but because I have religious values.
“I think it’s wrong to have sex if you’re not married. I don’t think fire and brimstone will come pouring down if you do, but I think it’s wrong. Why? Not on moral grounds—though a case could be made for that, too—but because it’s immodest. Tsnios —bodily modesty—is important to us. That’s why we dress the way we do, that’s why married women cover their hair. Not to look unattractive—we like dressing up as much as the next person—but because we believe that the body is private and not some cheesy piece of artwork that’s put on public display. We know our way of thinking is
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