"These are the nicest houses I ever saw," Shayna spoke quietly.

"I shall buy one." The idea occurred to him just that very minute.

"Our people don't live here."

"Certainly they do. There are so many synagogues and kosher shops here. All the 'house for sale' notices in The Jewish Messenger."

"For the Americans! There are no immigrants here."

"Well, there shall be some now." He thought to himself, why not? "Perhaps my mother shall emigrate."

"Do you miss your mother?"

"Terribly." Benjamin felt decidedly uncomfortable, even guilty, talking about his mother to an orphan.

"I miss my brother," Shayna confessed.

Benjamin wanted to comfort her but could not think of anything he could say. He wanted to touch her. In the closed space of the cab, her warm scent filled the air. It was entirely different from Emma Kursheedt's floral perfume. Shayna smelled like something good to eat.

The hansom stopped in front of Jones Wood and Benjamin paid the driver.

"Have you ever been here before?"

Shayna looked around with a light in her eyes like a child at the entrance of fairyland. "I've heard of it. All my customers come here."

The pavilion was an all-in-one garden, pleasure park, outdoor cafe, refreshment stand and catering hall. Colorful Japanese lanterns surrounded the stone-flagged pavilion and well-placed shrubbery and potted plants created an illusion of privacy in a public place. The shrubbery deepened into a well-tended maze, from which rose the painted, onion-domed turret of a fanciful gazebo. There were a few patrons at this time of the evening-- well-dressed ladies and gentlemen enjoying a late supper or dessert. An elaborate "Seven Blessings" wedding supper, complete with brass band, was in progress. Benjamin escorted Shayna to a table on the edge of the pavilion, pulling out the white cast iron chair so that she could seat herself at the small, cloth-covered round table. The iron chair scraped on the stone tiles and the Japanese lanterns pooled together fuzzy light and whispering shadows.

"This is to make up for all those days you brought my dinner to the factory." Soft lanterns reflected golden highlights in her hair. He caught another glimpse of gold around her neck-- a filigree locket on a delicate chain.

"Why that's--"

Shayna flicked open the locket. "It's your aunt's portrait. She wanted me to wear it so that she could keep an eye on us." She glanced up, sapphire eyes gleaming.

"Clever woman." Benjamin noticed that Shayna's hair was done up in a manner very similar to the girl in the locket. Old-fashioned, but it suited her very well.

He bought supper at the refreshment stand, its rabbinic endorsement prominently displayed. Fried chicken, crusty biscuits, cabbage slaw, pickled cucumber, dark German beer, potato salad and slabs of fragrant apple pie, with clean cutlery wrapped in white serviettes. They washed their hands at a marble fountain covering a Croton water tap.

Benjamin was hungry, but had more pleasure watching Shayna enjoy the meal he provided. He recalled how happy it always made her when he ate her delicious pastries and enjoyed the excellent food she prepared. This ready-made food was a poor substitute, but she seemed quite delighted with it.

He sipped the lager and took a bite of chicken. Definitely not as good as her cooking. He wanted to talk but did not want to interrupt her enthusiastic appetite. They finished their meal in silence. The apple pie was quite good, redolent of raisins, nuts and cinnamon. Shayna's elusive fragrance was different, drowned now by the apple pie, more delicate, just as delicious.

"We were interrupted before," he began. "You were about to tell me something, the first time we ate together in my office, and we were interrupted."

"Tell you something?" Shayna put down her fork, pushed the empty plate away, wiped her mouth with the serviette. "I can't remember. What were we talking about?"

Benjamin tried awakening her sleeping memory. "You were telling me about a dream that you had. On the boat coming to America, or something like that."

She looked up at him, almost upsetting the stein of lager in front of her, her face pale as marble in the dim light.

"I'm sorry," he apologized. "I didn't mean to startle you, I truly didn't. Forgive me, please?"

"There is nothing to forgive. I remember now." Her voice was barely a whisper. It was very nearly dark in the pavilion, the only light coming from a few gas lamps, the twinkling Japanese lanterns and a full yellow moon. Benjamin gathered the remains of the meal, the dishes and cutlery and returned the utensils to the refreshment stand. He returned to the table to find Shayna occupied in saying "Grace After Meals".

She finished the prayer, and looking up, said, "What is that thing?"

"What thing?"

"That wooden thing." She pointed at the dome of the gazebo.

"Let's have a look." Following her into the maze of shrubbery, he realized at once they were in a children's play area. The shrubbery, only shoulder-high to Benjamin, would seem like a forest to a small child, with an enchanted castle in its midst. Shayna seemed swallowed up by the maze, making him even more acutely aware of how fragile she was.

"Watch your step!" he called out as she made her way through the darkened paths. The evening shadows deepened and faint light from the pavilion sprinkled the top of the bushes with silver. He was concerned that she might trip over something in the dark. "Wait!"

She laughed and skipped ahead of him to the enchanted castle. She reached the gazebo before he did, entered and seated herself on one of the child-size benches. It was indeed an elaborate child's play house. A child's play castle. Benjamin had to stoop in order to fit beneath the lintel. He sat next to her on the bench, knees almost up to his chin. Moonlight spilled through the lattice slats, crowning her hair with a halo of gold. A summer breeze teased her loose curls and whispered a breath of her scent through the air.

This is seclusion, Benjamin thought to himself. We shouldn't be here alone. He was about to suggest they leave when a burst of music from the brass band and the sound of voices in song reminded him that they were still quite close to the pavilion. The voices were indistinct, but he recognized the traditional tune and knew what they were singing: Voice of gladness, voice of joy, voice of the bridegroom and voice of the bride.

Shayna spoke, her voice so low that he had to lean close to hear her words. Her fragrance tantalized him, lured him. "My parents told me," she whispered, "when I was the most afraid, that I would meet a man in America. That he would be from Barisov, the son of Yakovlevich. That is why, when we met that first time, I was so... so surprised."

"All my papers say that I am from Riga." Benjamin's mouth went dry. He felt an odd sensation in his chest, neither pain nor pleasure, but a hollow yearning. Without thinking, he reached for her hand and placed it against his heart.

This is issur n'gia, he realized immediately. She must have also known that it was forbidden touch, but did not pull her hand away. She kept it there, resting against his heart, filling the empty space in his soul. She looked up at him, jewel-blue eyes brimming with tears.

"Oh, Shayna, sweet life..." He reached out again, gently touching the crescent-shaped scar above her eye. Instead of shrinking away from him, she leaned closer until her cheek rested against the cotton of his shirt, warm, a wounded spirit seeking refuge. He stroked the side of her face and the soft silk of her hair, the first female flesh beside his mother that he had ever deliberately touched.

"This is wrong, I shouldn't do this," he stammered, but did not want to push her away. Her fingers closed around the locket, dropping it over her shoulder so that it hung down her back. She turned her luminous face back up at him and he could no longer resist the lure.

His lips brushed her cheek, closing over her mouth. For an instant, an eternity, he tasted stolen waters sweeter and more intoxicating than anything that he had ever known. He had to breathe air, and glimpsed her face, still luminous, flushed bright pink in the moonlight-- from what? Embarrassment, pleasure, joy beyond belief? He felt all these things and more which he had no words to describe.

He tried to stammer a feeble apology and the words tumbled out, "Sweet life... I love you..." --©1997

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