Till Death Do Us Part
Abraham
Atlantic Highlands, New Jersey
December 28, 2018
We were watching television together in our pajamas, curled up under a blanket on my red Victorian horsehair sofa. Destiny was wearing a satin bathrobe and was sitting with her head on my shoulder, smelling like soap and lavender shampoo, warm and soft. Ivan sat on my lap, purring. Victoria sat pressed up against my thigh, with her sleek black fur and bright gold eyes. Our cat Inanna was sleeping on her back in the leather chair. Our home could get drafty in the winter, but it wasn’t frigid. Well. Perhaps I was the wrong person to ask.
Destiny channel-surfed, looking for something interesting on the television. She settled on the news. They announced that independent presidential candidate and Internet Personality Thomas Hopkins had been “deplatformed,” and fortunately, they explained what that meant. Apparently, his web provider had decided that he was too offensive and refused to host his site any longer. There was some discourse about free speech and what content it covered.
They showed a blurred, censored version of his website—although I could still make out a swastika and a Confederate battle flag—with a voiceover of him. “Free speech must include discussion that I consider abhorrent, much like it must cover my speech. Otherwise, the term is meaningless.” There was something familiar about his voice, but I couldn’t place it…
…until they showed his photo. A serene olive-skinned face; high, dark eyebrows; and a balding pate, with a fringe of frizzy black hair. I knew him as Thomas—just Thomas; no one had told me a last name. I was reasonably certain due to the circumstances of the introduction that his surname wasn’t “Hopkins.” I froze, staring at the screen like the proverbial deer in the headlights modern Americans describe.
Ivan, agitated, jumped off my lap and left the room. I heartily agreed and resisted the urge to get up and pack my belongings. My hands were shaking, I realized, and I shoved them under the blanket to hide them. Victoria glanced up at me, looking worried.
“If you elect me president,” Thomas said on the television, “I’ll get rid of freedom of religion and the clause about ‘cruel and unusual punishment.’ Torture is good! Torture works! And if it saves innocent lives, it’s completely justified. It’s been almost two decades since the brave soldiers at Abu Ghraib were prosecuted, but I haven’t forgotten them! God bless Guantánamo!”
Yes, Thomas would say that. I noted he wore what resembled red Inquisitor robes, which would surprise someone who’d never met him. Not me, though. I’d heard that he was an actual Inquisitor during the Spanish Inquisition, which might explain his pro-torture stance. Bastard.
The announcer pointed out that Thomas’s prior day job was prison warden, and I was so horrified that I missed most of the rest of the feature. I registered they were discussing whether his forums incited violence; and whether freedom of speech covered hate speech.
“It’s only a temporary setback,” he said. “I’ve already found another web host and am simply waiting for something called ‘DNS’ to repoint.” He smiled, beatific. “The internet has been such a blessing to my ministry.”
His “ministry.” Appalling.
I didn’t like being in the same country as him. To be honest, I didn’t enjoy being on the same planet. Thomas wasn’t the reason I’d moved to America, but I’d previously moved to London because of him. Perhaps it was time to return. I asked Destiny, “What would you think of moving to London?”
Destiny pulled away and turned to stare at me. “What? That’s random!”
No, it wasn’t. It was fight or flight. “Seriously.”
Her brow furrowed. “I’d need to get a vet license in England. We’d have to take health certificates for the pets. We’d be too far from my mothers.” She gazed down at Inanna, who was now sitting at her feet, washing her paw. “No? I like my nice, normal life the way it is.”
Those things weren’t an issue. I had Dave for my trust fund—reliable Dave, who asked no questions—and I had an excellent source for fake identities. I’d never tried to find a connection for falsified vet credentials, but I supposed I hadn’t had a need for them. Things were harder to falsify nowadays, and getting more difficult all the time, but we could manage and bring her mothers with us if necessary. It wasn’t like Destiny needed to work at all, married to me, but she’d said she wanted a career.
I sighed. “I guess that goes for Germany, too.” Although, on second thought, the current climate in Europe made me reconsider. “Canada?”
Destiny turned to face me, expression and voice concerned. “What’s gotten into you?”
Honestly? Changing my name and moving was my standard response to legal problems or Thomas issues. Usually not as far as London, but… suffice it to say that I had a love/hate relationship with changing my name and moving. Sometimes metamorphosis was a refreshing change, and others it was an incredible nuisance. Preparation made all the difference.
I was not prepared. We had a wedding vow renewal scheduled in a couple of days!
***
Ludwig
Rosenheim, Bavaria
September 10, 1762
After Mass, I picked up the Bible and carried it into Father Thomas’s office.
Father Thomas had a serene face and a deep speaking voice. He was balding, his hair forming a dark fringe around the sides of his head, and he had strong features and warm-toned skin that spoke of a southern climate. His sermon today had filled people with passion, although I suddenly realized I couldn’t summarize it. So embarrassing! Clearly, I needed to be more attentive.
His prior sermons—the ones I could remember—scared me, but I suppose they should have frightened me: host desecration, deals with the devil to sicken entire cities… I had hoped I would enter a safe cloister and be alone with my lovely books, untouched by that sort of ugliness. Surely God was the creator of all that was beautiful, after all. Our church reflected that: all graceful, serene white and gold arches, bright and soaring, and the ceiling painted to depict heaven.
“Your piety is so beautiful and pure, Ludwig,” Father Thomas said, as I set the Bible back on a shelf in his office, a place of honor. It was two hundred years old and was an object of art, each letter typeset by hand with the utmost care for beauty, with exquisite drawings in the margins and headers, beautifully bound. No one ever had to tell me to approach it with proper reverence, like they did with some of the younger boys who would come to serve immediately after engaging in giggly jests with one another.
Father Thomas continued, “And your family’s donation was much appreciated. We need that money to protect the church from Jewish machinations. I’ve posted a guard on our well, of course, to keep them from giving us all the plague, so their donation will help make us all safer.”
I’d never actually met a Jew, so I didn’t know how to respond to this.
“Do you think you would have trouble with a vow of poverty, coming from a noble house as you do?”
I considered this. “I love beautiful things… but I suppose I needn’t own them.” To be honest, I was more dismayed at the idea of shaving my head in a tonsure, as I was vain about my blond hair, but I believed this to be a character flaw. Besides, my brother, Friedrich, would get the barony. I’d briefly wanted to be a musician, but my family had made it plain that they wouldn’t stand for such nonsense. I needed to do something with my life, after all, and the Church was the usual lot for second sons.
Father Thomas smiled at me, warm and indulgent, and patted my shoulder with a massive, fatherly hand. “And chastity?”
“That,” I said, surprising myself with the passion in my voice, “is not an issue.” The very idea repulsed me. It was all too intimate! Invasive. I found some people more aesthetically pleasing than others, but this never translated into wanting to touch them in an improper way.
Father Thomas raised an eyebrow at me, but all he said was, “Very good.” He walked out of the room, towards the confessionals, and left me in his office, staring out over the pews.
I realized later that he hadn’t asked me about obedience.
***
Destiny
Eatontown, New Jersey
December 31, 2018
I hadn’t slept that well the night before the vow renewal. Nightmares. I’d spent the night at my moms’, so maybe it was the unfamiliar bed? They’d gotten rid of the one I'd slept in when I left for college, and replaced it with one that I’d never gotten used to.
I didn’t know where it came from, but I’d always been afraid of fire. Do most people know where their phobias come from? I didn’t remember any traumatic experiences, but even when I was a little girl, I’d sometimes dream that the house was on fire and I needed to get our pets out. Maybe the fear of fire was stories of witches from burned at the stake, because we were all Wiccans. Maybe it was a metaphor for one’s safest place—one’s home—not being safe after all. Who knows?
I’d had that dream again the night before. I was in a burning house trying to escape with my cat Inanna—who was currently at home. But in the dream, I was holding Inanna in my arms and looking for an exit that wasn’t blocked by fire, and when I woke up, I was still too afraid to go back to sleep. When that happened at home, I’d get Abraham to tell me a story about his past. I don’t think he was offended that I sometimes fell asleep during them.
We always had pets when I was little. Mama Morgan was a dog person, and Mommy Bridget was a cat person. We had big mellow tomcats and less patient lady cats who would let me dress them up in doll clothes, and small dogs and medium-sized dogs I would put party hats on and have tea parties with. I’ve always loved animals; I had mice, rats, hamsters, birds, rabbits… That’s probably why I became a vet, and is definitely why I don’t eat animals.
So I was tired, and my mothers took me to a spa, where I fell asleep during the massage. I couldn’t believe that I’d agreed to a midnight New Year’s Eve vow renewal. Of course, I’d been well-rested at the time.
I mean. I wanted one, too. We’d gotten one of those generic justice of the peace things, and we both wanted something more… spiritual.
After the spa, there was the cosmetologist whom we’d hired to do my hair and makeup for the vow renewal. We set up in the living room, with the lavender sofa and the Indian pillows and all the Wiccan-themed posters and crystals, and my moms’ wedding broom. I fell asleep again while she was working on me, and when I woke up, I was delighted that I looked like a fairy princess and not a drooling, shambling zombie. Wanting to be beautiful on your wedding day is patriarchal and buying into the idea that a woman’s worth is in her looks—but I still wanted to be beautiful at my vow renewal. That’s societal pressures for you. I wore my red hair down to please my husband, but the cosmetologist curled it and put flowers in it.
I’d inherited my red hair, green eyes, upturned Celtic nose, and Scots/Irish pale skin color from my mother Morgan, who was my biological mother. I sometimes regretted that they hadn’t chosen a donor who looked more like Bridget—chestnut-brown skin, thick curling hair, broad nose, full lips. Bridget had almost carried me, as there had been drama with Morgan’s family—they disowned her. Morgan had left her parents’ Catholic Church for Bridget’s Wicca, and they’d raised me in the more queer-inclusive faith. Bridget’s parents also reacted poorly, although there was now a somewhat chilly détente. They still weren’t happy that Bridget was gay, but they made a big show out of not mentioning it.
I was proud to be a product of their love story. I’d always known there was someone out there for me as well—speaking of societal tropes, but whatever. I still knew. Abraham wasn’t what I expected, but…
It was his eyes. Okay, no, we were a good match in that he loved classical music and cats as much as I did, and we both had kind of a philosophical bent? You know, common interests, similar goals—we both wanted kids and a quiet, normal life—all that. Sexually compatible. But… there was something about him. When I gazed into his eyes, it felt like we’d been friends all my life.
Okay, he also wanted me to turn into a vampire. I… no? I supposed I might change my mind over time, but it seemed unlikely. But he was willing to take no for an answer, so…
“Honey?” Bridget said, interrupting my reverie. “Do you need a cup of tea?”
“She needs coffee,” Morgan said. It was an old joke and an old play argument.
“I need caffeine in some form,” I admitted. “I’m not picky which.”
“Did you have the dream again?” Bridget asked.
I nodded, and Morgan left the room. There was clattering, and the sound and smell of coffee brewing in the kitchen made me smile.
Bridget bit her lip, but all she did was take my hand and squeeze it.
I’d always suspected I had died by fire in a previous life. I thought Bridget suspected, too, but she’d never said so. She often looked like she wasn’t saying something when we discussed it—biting her lip, pressing her lips together…
Morgan came back with the coffee, lots of cream and sugar—the way I liked it. I took a sip of the sweet, creamy, bitter goodness. The cosmetologist winced and pulled out the lipstick again.
***
Abraham
Atlantic Highlands, New Jersey
December 31, 2018
We stood side by side in our living room: Destiny in a long, sleek, strapless white dress, holding a bouquet of white roses and calla lilies, and me in a black silk tuxedo, my shoulder-length brown hair pulled back. She had a little crown of white roses in her beautiful long red hair and wore understated makeup. She also wore flat-heeled shoes because she was two inches taller than me. I didn’t mind—I liked tall women—but she also said it was more comfortable. Perhaps this was elaborate for a vow renewal, but we both craved something more meaningful than our first ceremony.
We lived in an old Victorian farmhouse, with wooden floors and a beautifully carved mantel, and our living room was in tones of red and gray, with warm wood, brown and black and white. The room had decorative columns on either side of the curving staircase, with lovely scrolling spandrels between them. There was wood paneling, with a bit of gray wallpaper across the top. I had a faux-antique ceiling light, made to resemble a candle chandelier with crystals that probably weren’t crystal. An antique Persian carpet and a grand piano made in 1911 tied the room together.
I’d pushed our red Victorian horsehair sofa back against the wall to make room for the party. A table in the corner held a television, neither huge nor tiny, showing the New Year’s Eve ball-drop countdown; the guests had been told that the ceremony would happen right after the start of the new year. The rest of the room had an antique wooden bar; a long wooden table with a white tablecloth and vases of roses at each end; a table with a wedding cake that I couldn’t eat, of course. It smelled divine, however—sweet and creamy. I also had some wooden chairs with red velvet cushions and some brown leather armchairs. We could have used more seating, to be honest. We rarely had a lot of company over.
We had set one corner of the room up as a photo area, with a backdrop depicting a snow scene and an immense quantity of flowers, with lights and a professional photographer. Destiny and I had already posed at length, but the photographer was planning on taking both still photos and video of the ceremony. At the moment, guests were posing, complete with silly faces and gestures.
Outside, it was all snow and distant ocean. I could pretend the world was dressed in white for the occasion. If we went upstairs, there were city lights across the water, but the party was downstairs.
I’d hired a bartender, and we had an open bar… but it was still a small party. Mostly Destiny’s family, friends, coworkers… and my two guests: my lawyer and my accountant, Dave. To be honest, I was a bit of a recluse, or perhaps a crazy cat man. I’ve always been shy, and ever since… well. Let’s say that I didn’t like to attract a lot of attention. There was someone I didn’t want to find me.
The guests were all wearing formal clothes. Dave appeared awkward, as he was much more comfortable with numbers than with people. He once told me he could see whole narratives, battles for power, etc., in numbers. I didn’t ask him what he saw in mine; I was curious, but asking would raise more questions than I wanted to answer. He’d driven in from New York City, which struck me as a brave thing to do on New Year’s Eve. Dave was about my height and had curly black hair, a tan skin similar to my own, thick glasses, and a hearing aid. He wore an expensive-looking suit that fit him poorly, as if he minded the time shopping more than the cost of the clothing.
“Louis!” Dave called across the room, and my attorney turned around. He was very blond, very handsome, and very flashy, and I’d known him for about a hundred and eighty years. His suit probably cost as much as some people’s cars, and fit like it was tailored for him… which I suspect it was.
Ludwig—“Louis”—wandered over, a wineglass in his hand. “Is Abraham keeping you busy?”
Dave laughed. “He’s very laid-back. Just looks to see that the numbers are going the right way from time to time.”
Ludwig raised an eyebrow at me. I shrugged in response and went searching for my cats.
My darling black cat Victoria was hiding somewhere, as cats do, but friendly Ivan was trotting around the room with his tail in the air seeking pets, as cats usually don’t. But Ivan had been a bottle baby with an eye infection and had seen so many vets that he was unfazed by people and considered them his devoted subjects and instant best friends. I’d considered making him the ring bearer but decided he was just as likely to make the rings hockey pucks as to bring them to us on cue. He was a cream tabby, very handsome. I’d dressed him in a little black bow tie for the occasion, and Victoria in a pink collar encrusted with rhinestones. Ivan twined around my ankles and gazed up at me with adoring bronze eyes, and I scooped him up and kissed him on his furry golden head. Destiny’s tortoiseshell cat, Inanna, had immediately bolted into the kitchen cabinets and hissed at me when I checked on her, so I decided she could spend the party in her Fortress of Solitude if she chose, and declined to dress her in party finery. After all, Inanna had a reputation for attacking landlords and repair people. I’d rather she not launch herself at our guests.
Victoria had been my primary source of emotional support when a previous relationship ended and my ex started referring to me online as that Goth psycho who thinks he’s a vampire—no name, of course, but our mutual friends knew who she meant. Cats have always been my truest companions in times of isolation.
Lucy—Destiny’s vet tech—walked over. She was wearing a violet gown that complemented her deep brown skin, and wore her hair in a series of braids. “Where’s my favorite lady?” She meant Victoria.
I appreciated her asking. “Hiding. This is a lot of guests for her.” Ivan fidgeted in my arms, so I put him down.
Lucy pouted and scooped up Ivan, who purred graciously at her. “Such a good boy! You should tell your sister to come out and see me. I’d hate to drive all this way and miss her.” Ivan shifted his weight and tried to escape, so Lucy put him down. “Congratulations, by the way. I was delighted when you left your number for Destiny.”
My cheeks warmed slightly, but I smiled. “Thank you.”
The ball dropped on the television, and we all stood around and chanted the countdown. “Ten… Nine… Eight… Seven… Six… Five… Four… Three… Two… One… Happy New Year!” I leaned over and kissed Destiny, probably getting a light coating of lip gloss.
And then a couple of Destiny’s coworkers—Alicia and Eric—started singing Wagner’s Lohengrin wedding march—off-key, with the lyrics “Dun dun dun dun!”—but that wasn’t the reason I winced. I held up both my hands and said, “Please. No Wagner, I beg of you.” I tried to keep my tone light, but Wagner was a noted antisemite who wrote offensive essays about the Jews, and his work—if Alicia and Eric even realized it was his work—had no place in my home, let alone at my vow renewal. Fuck Wagner!
Alicia and Eric blinked at me and swayed drunkenly, mouths slightly slack, but Destiny’s mother Bridget smiled at me and said, “I wouldn’t want Wagner if I were you, either. No Wagner, please, everyone! No Wagner!” I appreciated her understanding and support.
Destiny’s mother Morgan leaned over and murmured something to Bridget, and Bridget answered quietly, “I’ll explain later,” gesturing in a way that was probably meant to tell Morgan to drop it.
Bridget wore a long, flowing, hand-painted purple silk dress with elaborate glass beads sewn onto it, and a pretty beaded headdress. Morgan wore a tuxedo with her short red hair. Bridget was a cellist and I’m a violinist, so I felt a certain string player affinity for her.
As a preamble to the ceremony, I placed a hand-painted document on a table in front of Destiny’s mothers. It was written in Aramaic with the letters forming a tree. “Will everyone please sign the ketubah?”
“It’s pretty,” Morgan said. “What is it?”
“Um…” My cheeks were warm. “I promise to provide your daughter with food, clothing, and, um, conjugal relations…”
Destiny’s drunk coworkers hooted. Dave said, “Hey, it’s a mitzvah!” If you don’t know, a mitzvah is a commandment or good deed, and yes, it’s also a euphemism for Sabbath marital relations.
“…and if we divorce, she gets a portion of my assets.”
There was an awkward pause. Dave winced in my general direction. “Louis,” on the other hand, appeared unruffled.
All right, so I’ve heard a ketubah described as the least romantic document imaginable—basically a prenuptial agreement, and intended to protect the woman rather than the man. I wanted one. They’re usually beautiful, and I wanted to promise my wife those things. There wouldn’t be much in this ceremony that was Jewish, and… I wanted one.
People gathered around signing it. Dave gave me a sidelong glance over the rims of his glasses before signing it. Well. He was my accountant, and also Jewish, so he understood what he was signing. It’s traditional to have two adult male Jews sign it as witnesses. Dave was the only guest fitting that description, so I had everyone sign. It’s not like it was legally binding, after all.
Bridget said, “All right, we’re starting. Settle down, please. Please join hands in a circle.”
Everyone gathered in a circle surrounding us, holding hands. Ludwig, Dave, Morgan, and Lucy—still glancing around occasionally for Victoria—each held a ribbon-wrapped pole with a corner of a prayer shawl tied to each pole as a chuppah, or wedding canopy. Other than those four, only Bridget, Destiny, and I were inside the circle. They put the poles into the waiting vases on the floor, but stood by to make sure they were stable.
“Dearly beloved,” Bridget said. “We are gathered here today to witness the vows of Abraham Levy and Destiny Andrews Levy. Brought together by pets, joined by love. We wish you joy. We wish you a long life together. We wish you children.”
“Give me grandbabies!” Morgan interjected. There was laughter, but it was a bit awkward on my part, as my first wife, Flora, had told me vampires can’t. Vampires are only made one way.
I picked up the ketubah and read it aloud. It was, as I said, in Aramaic, and had a melody. So it’s perhaps more accurate to say that I sang it—B’ezrat Hashem Yitbarech… B’shlishi bashabat esrim v’chamesh yom l’chodesh Tevet sh’nat chameshet alafim ush’va me’ot…, etc., etc.—and then I placed it on the table. One usually has the rabbi, or another expert, read the ketubah, but it’s hard to find a rabbi willing to do an interfaith ceremony. I didn’t even ask around, assuming that the Wiccan elements would shock them. Reading the ketubah myself was, as the modern Americans would say, a flex—a very subtle flex, as Dave was the only person in the room who might understand the significance.
I continued by picking up the cup of wine and saying, “Barukh atah, Adonai, Eloheinu Melekh ha’olam, borei p’ri hagafen.” Blessed are You, Lord our God, King of the universe, Who creates the fruit of the vine. I took a sip, then offered the cup to Destiny, who took a sip. I placed the ring on her finger, and said, “With this ring, you are consecrated to me according to the law of Moses and Israel.”
Destiny picked up the ring and said, “Isis, Astarte, Diana, Hecate, Demeter, Kali, Inanna. With this ring I pledge myself to you, between the worlds, in all the worlds, so mote it be.” She placed the ring on my finger.
I caught sight of Dave, who stared wide-eyed and open-mouthed, perhaps shocked by the idolatry of Destiny’s Wiccan vows. I stifled a smile, although it felt a little uncomfortable to me as well. But I’d adjusted to the idea of an interfaith marriage. My previous wife was Christian, after all.
Bridget smiled. “Please clasp hands.”
Destiny and I clasped left hands. Bridget took a silk cord and tied our wrists together—a Wiccan element for my wife. “This knot expresses your eternal bond of love. Within this knot, I bind all the wishes, hopes, love, and happiness wished here for you.” Her lips twitched in a quirky grin. “By the power vested in me by an ad in the back of Rolling Stone magazine, I pronounce you husband and wife. Blessed be!” Technically, she didn’t have to say this because we were already married, but she had insisted.
“Blessed be!” Destiny and Morgan repeated. Everyone else kind of mumbled. Count of Wiccans in the room: three.
We slipped our hands out of the knot, and I drank half the wine—tart and delicious, but I was after the glass—and handed it to Destiny. She drank the other half. I wrapped the glass in a cloth napkin, put it on the floor, and stepped on it as is Jewish tradition. There are a lot of reasons given: it commemorates the destruction of the Temple in Jerusalem, makes a loud noise to frighten away demons, symbolizes the fragility of human relationships, symbolizes sexual release, and is a symbol of breaking down barriers. There’s also a belief that each couple was once a single soul that was shattered like the glass—an idea I find distressing, since my first wife is dead, so it implies that either she or Destiny is a second choice. The glass stomp is the mark of the end of the ceremony, which was much better than our previous wedding, but almost certainly not kosher. It would have to do.
“Mazel Tov!” Dave shouted, but he was the only one. Count of Jews in the room: two.
Jewish legend calls the person who once shared your soul your bashert, and says that before you were born, God chose you and your soul mate for each other. This person is your destiny, your fate. Was it possible to have more than one soul mate? Mainstream Judaism didn’t do reincarnation, but some of the mystical sects, like the Kabbalists, did. But it felt like an idea that I needed to approach cautiously, to avoid dishonoring one of my wives by mistake.
I kissed the bride and walked over to the table to put the ketubah into a matted frame I had ready next to it, then hung it over the wooden mantle. Now I had exchanged vows in front of our friends, and was proudly displaying our ketubah. Now the ceremony felt complete. I felt a swelling of almost complete joy, along with a distant pang that till death do us part wasn’t long enough.
Ludwig gathered up the four corners of the chuppah and carried it back to my guest room, presumably. He passed Lucy, who was trying to coax Victoria out from under a side table. Victoria allowed the petting, and even did her patented “sit up tall and look adoring,” but drew the line at being picked up, so Lucy petted her again and let her be.
When I came back, Dave was telling Destiny, “Congratulations! Apparently, your husband’s love language is paying off your student loans.” He took a sip of his martini.
Destiny laughed and glanced over at me, smiling, her eyes gentle. “Yes, he’s very thoughtful.”
I kissed her on her soft, warm cheek. I know it’s cliché to say that one is lucky in love, but Destiny is unique. She’s what people like her mothers call “an old soul,” wise beyond her years. In my way, I’m both old and young; in her way, so is she.
“Kol haKavod on the Aramaic,” Dave said. “You speak it like a native.”
I smiled. “Hardly.”
Ludwig returned and stood on the sidelines, watching the discussion with a smile.
“Seriously,” Dave said, leaning closer. “Did you study to be a rabbi or something?”
I shrugged. “I did a year of Talmud study at a yeshiva about a million years ago.” I really did study for a year at a yeshiva in what is now Poland, back in 1839 or so. It was my mother’s condition for my going to the Berlin Academy of Music the following year.
Dave raised an eyebrow at me. “Were your parents, like, super frum or something?” He was asking if my parents were very observant.
I didn’t really want to get into it, so I shrugged and said, “You could say that. Long story.” No offense, Dave, but that’s above your pay grade.
Morgan did something with her phone and the speakers played the Dixie Cups’ “Chapel of Love.” Destiny sang along. Some of the other guests groaned, but, by all means, the Dixie Cups rather than Wagner. Not that I don’t love classical music—classical music is my life—but… fuck Wagner.
I pulled Destiny close, stretched out one arm in front of us in a silly pseudo-tango. Her dress whirled, as did her hair, and she laughed. I got the impression that she didn’t know the tango, so we made it up, wandering the room cheek to cheek, followed by spinning. Our guests giggled, and so did we. Bridget and Morgan watched us side by side, swaying gently together.
After the dance, Destiny said, “I think we need a sectional sofa and a big screen TV in here. Our TV sucks—no offense.”
The idea mildly appalled me, but marriage involves compromise, so I was almost certainly replacing my beloved antique horsehair sofa with a sectional. Oh, the humanity! I took another sip of beer. In the corner, Bridget and Lucy were chatting quietly. It looked like Bridget was reading Lucy’s palm.
“Where are you going on your honeymoon?” Alicia asked.
Destiny waggled her eyebrows and said, “The bedroom.”
My cheeks were warm, but I’d already announced to the room that I’d promised my wife conjugal relations, after all. Dave spat out his martini. So much for its being a mitzvah? Everyone laughed, including Dave, who wiped the martini off his chin. Everyone but Ludwig, who raised a bemused eyebrow.
“I don’t do well on airplanes,” I said, patting Dave on the shoulder.
“You can get Xanax for that!” someone suggested, and burst out laughing. My dismay must have shown on my face. My problem was vertigo and nausea, not anxiety, and the idea of being drugged and nauseated…
Eric held out his hand. He was tall and blond and had a boyish face, currently flushed pink with too much alcohol. “Congratulations! I work with your wife, but I don’t think Destiny has mentioned what you do…”
Ah, yes, the American obsession with what one does—also known as shorthand for being introduced by your class and income. The European in me was unamused.
I shook the proffered hand and told the truth. “I was born into a banking family and live off my investments.” I also used to be a famous musician under another name, and earned a lot of money from that, but I didn’t share that information. Basically, over a hundred years of compound interest. The tricky part was setting up a trust. You know. So people wouldn’t notice that I wasn’t dying. It used to be a lot easier to get a fake identity before computers, but one can still do it. That was part of what “Louis” was for.
The trust was what Dave was for. I could manage my own money. It’s just that Dave was better at it, and enjoyed it so much more than I did. I preferred to devote my life to the violin.
Eric blinked at me. “Ah. Um. You have a lovely home.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re not going to, I don’t know, go to college or whatever? What are you, twenty? Twenty-one?”
“Old enough to drink,” I said. In fact, Eric was driving me to drink, so I asked Dave if he wanted another martini and headed to the bar for a pastry stout. I should really have been more patient with Eric.
I returned and handed Dave his martini and took another sip of beer.
“What do you do?” Ludwig asked, eyeing Eric over a glass of wine.
“Oh, um, I’m a vet, you know,” Eric said. “What about you?”
“I’m a partner at Cooper, Richmond, and Strauss, but I prefer to think of myself as a patron of the arts.”
“Ah,” Eric said. “Um. Cool? You must be one of their youngest partners. Did you go to law school in your teens, or do you have a portrait in your attic?”
Ludwig just smiled.
“He’s older than he looks. He just has a baby face,” I said.
Ludwig gave me a withering glare, but Eric appeared satisfied.
Eventually, we had to kick all our guests out into the snow. We stood together, waving and repeating “Good night, good night,” until we finally had the house to ourselves… although I called Dave a cab. He was singing “Chapel of Love” off-key, and dancing like he was in a sixties girl band while he did it. I hoped he wouldn’t be too embarrassed in the morning.
I pulled Destiny into my arms. I kissed her and said, “Have you given any thought to…?”
Destiny shook her head. “No, I’m still a vegetarian.”
I tried not to wince. It was, to my mind, a romantic offer! Let’s make till death do us part meaningless and replace it with forever. Forever, and forever, and not a measly half-century or so of watching her body betray her, slowly and inevitably. Having been in this position before, I can assure you of the horror of arthritis and broken hips, of heart attacks and strokes. And yet I continue to do this to myself. Life without connection is meaningless.
She squeezed my arm; it must have shown on my face. “I don’t want to celebrate our vow renewal by becoming a vampire, Abraham. I want to have some nuptial TMI and then go to bed.”
I burst out laughing. Was she protecting the cats’ innocent ears? “I bought you a nicer bed… all the better to TMI you in…”
“Thank you.” She kissed me on the cheek. “You’re not going to carry me over the threshold?”
“You already live here.”
It was Destiny’s turn to laugh. “Fair enough. It just seemed like a kitschy 1950s movie thing, and sometimes you’re a little old-fashioned.”
“It’s… not our custom,” I said. Honestly, I thought it was Italian, I could have been mistaken. “So, about that TMI…”
She giggled, and I picked her up and carried her into the bedroom—white, with cream wallpaper and a new four-poster bed with a lacy white canopy—replacing the antique bed, which I’d sold. I had to help her undress. Women’s fashions of the day are much better in that regard than they were in the past, but wedding dresses are still… a thing.
I unzipped the back of the dress, and she let out a long sigh. “I can breathe! I can breathe again!” I helped her out of it and hung it up. She had elaborate “shaping” undergarments that she had to escape. The shaping garments were unnecessary; her shape was perfect. My clothing was much easier to remove. When I was finished, she looked lovely, yet exhausted. “Are you too tired?”
“Oh, shut up,” she said, and fell over backwards, pulling me onto the bed with her.
I love modern women. Tall, smart, spirited, sexually liberated… Sorry. I’m permanently nineteen. I also love women with really long hair, but that’s the fashion of my youth speaking. Destiny had gorgeous waist-length red hair.
She’d also made her wishes known. In that case, I had a delightful duty that I had publicly promised to perform.
***
Ludwig
Rosenheim, Bavaria
October 13, 1762
“Ludwig,” Father Thomas said as I was preparing to change and leave. “Please come with me to my office and close the door. I have an important matter to discuss with you.”
Oh dear. I followed him, chewing on my lower lip, and closed the door behind me. I wondered if I had done something wrong, and if I was in trouble. I sat on a plain chair in front of his carved wooden desk.
“I’ve had my eye on you for some time.” He leaned forward, lowered his voice. “You must hold what I’m about to say in the strictest confidence.”
“Of course!”
“I’m a member of a secret order and think you would be a suitable candidate.” He smiled. “We’re defenders of holiness, and we fight to protect the true faith.”
I was astonished and flattered. “Me? Do I have to take my vows first?”
“You would make your vows directly to me.”
I blinked. This sounded… unorthodox. “These would be my novitiate vows? To you?”
“The order is not strictly monastic. We must be mobile to face threats at their source.”
I considered this. It was sounding like this might not be what I’d wanted. “You said ‘fight.’ Do you mean literally?”
“Yes.”
I was no sturdy farmhand, nor was I even an adequate fighter. I was, in fact, the despair of my instructor at arms. Despite being right-handed, I insisted on fencing with my left to protect my calligraphy hand from possible injury. Given any choice in the matter, I limited my exertion to lifting large, heavy books, or musical instruments. I bit my lip and stared at the plain brown carpet.
“It’s all right,” Father Thomas said. “The initiation process will make you strong, physically as well as spiritually.”
I continued staring at the floor. I’d really had my heart set on a nice, quiet monastery, not nasty, brutish physical fights. “I… I’m very flattered, but I…”
Father Thomas smiled at me. “Let me tell you more. You will receive a gift, a special magical ability unique to you.” He continued to speak, and as he did, I realized that I very much wanted to join his order. Unfortunately, I didn’t recall what he had said to convince me. It was almost as if I had dozed off and awakened with a new opinion. “Will you accept?”
“It would be my honor and my privilege,” I said, and I meant it with all my heart.
“Wonderful. Please kneel.”
I went to my knees on that plain brown carpet, being very careful to keep my cassock and surplice from getting dirty.
Father Thomas came and stood over me, imposing in his black and white vestments. “Repeat after me: I, Ludwig of Gravenreuth…”
“I, Ludwig of Gravenreuth…”
“Do of my own free will and accord, free of any coercion…”
There was something that sounded off in those words, but I said them anyway.
“Solemnly swear to protect the Catholic faith…”
This I repeated with more enthusiasm.
“And to obey Father Thomas in all things.”
I didn’t understand my trepidation, so I said the words.
“Close your eyes.”
I dutifully closed my eyes.
There was a pause, then he pressed a cup to my lips. I drank, even though it tasted wrong. My eyes fluttered open.
“You know how, through the miracle of transubstantiation, wine becomes the blood of our Savior?”
I nodded and gazed at the cup thoughtfully.
“You’re about to become closer to that miracle than you expected.” Father Thomas smiled, a not-very-comforting smile. “This is my blood, shed for you.”
I stared into the cup. It really resembled blood.
“There may be a little pain.” He held out a hand. I took it, and he helped me to my feet.
I was still staring at him, uncertain, when he suddenly lunged at me, faster than the eye could see, and bit me on the neck, a sharp pain. We sailed backwards into a stone wall, hard enough for me to see stars. My head throbbed. I whimpered and tried to escape, but he grabbed me by the hair and pulled hard, tilting my head to one side, presumably for better biting. My scalp stung.
“You’re hurting me!”
Father Thomas responded with a groan and yanked my hair more violently, clamping his other hand on my shoulder hard enough that I would have bruises. Surely, I only imagined an erect member under his vestments. Either way, I felt violated.
Tears sprang to my eyes, and my vision was swimming. “Please,” I whispered. “Stop.”
He was making loud slurping noises on my neck now. I tried to bat him off me, but I was feeling so weak, so very weak… The room spun slowly, and my vision blurred.
He pulled away and groaned again. “You’re delicious.” His teeth were sharp and long—how had I never noticed this before?
And I convulsed. Before my vision burst into a field of gray, followed by unconsciousness, I saw a malicious smile spread across Father Thomas’s face.
***
Abraham
Atlantic Highlands, New Jersey
January 2, 2019
When I woke up in my coffin, Victoria was curled up on my feet… as usual.
The coffin was, admittedly, a bit of an affectation. I could sleep in a bed as long as the curtains were drawn—it’s about avoiding sunlight. The problem was that I appeared dismayingly dead when I slept. No one wanted to sleep in a bed with me, trust me. The cats usually avoided me, too, and when I had a dog, the dog would try to wake me up… with his teeth. But Victoria knew that even though I looked dead, I would wake up in the evening, and she always wanted to sleep with me. The coffin was tucked into a small storage area in the basement, behind the wall with the washer and dryer.
I blinked, and stretched, and sat up, and she gazed up at me with her huge, attentive, intelligent golden eyes. I’d left the lid off for her, like I always did. She sat up so she could kiss me on the lips, then closed her eyes and kneaded her paws on my chest while I petted her. I glanced at the clock and realized that it was later than I’d thought. I swore, and Victoria gave me a disapproving stare.
I had a finished basement, but it was still dark… all the better to not wake up in a pool of sunlight. There were spiders, but I’m not arachnophobic. They eat things that are grosser than they are, and the cats think they’re cat toys. I occasionally find dismembered spiders on the basement floor. I wonder if I have some sympathy for spiders as fellow blood-drinkers, come to think of it. Not enough sympathy to deny the cats their toys…
I was only warm after I fed, but Victoria always wanted to sleep with me, or to be on my lap, anyway. She followed me from room to room unless we had company over. Most cats have a certain dignity to them, but if Victoria did something that made me laugh, like chew on a candle and then make a comical face of dismay, she’d try to do it again to make me laugh again.
I picked her up and kissed her on top of her soft, warm, fluffy black head, then put her down and went upstairs. Victoria trotted along behind me, my furry shadow.
I purchased this house in 1962 from a little old lady who was a bit of a Luddite. I’d renovated it gradually over the years, but I’d kept the wooden floors, the tin ceiling in the kitchen, the original wallpaper… and the kitchen was last updated by the aforementioned old lady in the 1920s. I’d been living in the city for decades and had a craving for the Queen Anne style and trees. I hadn’t felt motivated to renovate the kitchen, so it appeared as it had when I bought it—complete with a blue gas stove and an icebox. You can’t get appliances like that nowadays. They’re practically indestructible.
Destiny was in the kitchen, wearing jeans and a t-shirt that read, “Life is great! Pets make it better!” She pulled a frozen vegetarian meal out of the microwave—a recent addition to my kitchen, which she had brought with her when she moved in. Unlike with sectional sofas, I didn’t mind the microwave. I don’t eat, so the kitchen should be functional for my wife. Ironically, I cooked more frequently than she did. We did have to upgrade the wiring when she moved in.
I yawned and walked into the living room, sat in my favorite brown leather chair and picked up my book. Victoria hopped into my lap. I petted her.
Victoria shivered and shuddered. “Are you all right?” I asked her.
Victoria jumped down onto the floor, onto the Persian carpet, but her front leg crumpled under her. She stared at her paw curled back on itself, then gamely tried to walk away on her wrist. She stopped after a few steps, appearing confused.
“Destiny? Destiny!”
Destiny put her food on the coffee table and kneeled on the wooden floor and examined her for a moment. Victoria didn’t seem distressed, more disoriented. “She can’t unclench her paw. Did she injure herself?”
“No.”
“We need the emergency vet to confirm. I don’t have the equipment to be sure, but…”
I picked Victoria up, and she gazed up at me with her usual cheerful curiosity. It was after dark, so I ignored my sun gear and headed out in my shirtsleeves. Yes, I should have used a cat carrier, but I was in a rush, and it wasn’t like she could run away in that state. It was pouring down rain, and I was grateful that there was an emergency vet. A few short decades ago…
We left the house, locked the door. As we walked across the porch towards the car, Destiny said, “It’s either a neurological event or a blood clot, which…”
That was when Victoria went limp and peed all over me. Her eyes were open, but she wasn’t alert. “Victoria?” I stared into her golden eyes, but despite her still being alive, I wasn’t sure anything was staring back. I’m not ready, I’m not ready! I glanced at Destiny, hoping she could fix it.
“Emergency vet,” Destiny said.
We rushed to the car—I drive a nondescript silver Toyota—in the freezing rain. I held Victoria while Destiny drove. We went to the same emergency vet where she’d had her $6,000 emergency perforated ulcer surgery, the one with the feline oncologist and the feline cardiologist and the feline neurologist. She meowed mournfully from time to time, and I held her close. “Come on, baby, stay with me.” I gazed into her eyes again. “Can you hear me?”
She didn’t react at all. Fuckity fuckity fuck fuck fuck. If we could get to the clinic, maybe it would be okay. I’d pay anything. Six thousand for emergency surgery? Been there done that would do it again if only she would stay with me. Stay with me!
The rain was violent, and Destiny was grim, silent, driving faster than I would have dared. It sounded like buckets of ice water were being continuously thrown onto the windshield, complete with the ice. I smelled like cat pee.
“Hang in there, baby,” I said. “Hang in there. I’m here. Hang in there.” She felt so light and limp in my arms. “Stay with me.” It became a chant, a plea, a prayer: “Hang in there. Stay with me.”
As we pulled into the parking lot, she made some weird growly exhalations. “Victoria?” I was shaking now and trying to avoid shaking Victoria. I can’t…
We rushed over to the square concrete building and rang the bell. I did my best to shelter Victoria from the rain with my body, hunching around her with my back to the torrential downpour. It felt like buckets of ice water, too. The door buzzed open, and we rushed in. Destiny said to the desk clerk, “We need a resuscitation.”
What? I glanced down at Victoria, limp in my arms. She wasn’t breathing anymore. Not my sweet angel girl, I wouldn’t accept it, they had to fix it!
The clerk called someone and a woman with tawny gold skin and sleek black hair, wearing blue scrubs, rushed out and looked at her eyes, touched her chest, and said, “Do you want us to resuscitate her?”
“Yes!”
The woman in the blue scrubs took her out of my arms and rushed her into the back, and the clerk said, “I need you to sign some forms before we can try.”
I signed everything, waved my credit card around, and resisted the urge to bare my fangs at her. She was only doing her job. And then I stood still off in the corner and silently freaked out. People compare pets to children, but Victoria was more like a mother. Sensitive to my moods, washing my hands like I was her kitten. If the food or water dish was empty, she’d ask me to fill it and let the other cats eat or drink first. Always there with a gentle purr or a comic antic when I was down. Twenty-five years isn’t a long time for my kind, but for a cat…
“Abraham?”
Destiny approached, but I shook my head and she backed off. I intentionally tuned out the painted cinder block walls, the television playing HGTV, and the other pet owners shifting uncomfortably on the fake leather benches and pacing the beige linoleum floor. The whimpers of an injured dog, a cat yowling in a carrier… I hugged myself and shivered. I was drenched, but the rain hadn’t washed away the smell of cat pee.
I don’t know how long it was before the vet tech in the blue scrubs came back out, her face sad and grim, and said, “I’m so sorry. Do you want to see her?”
I gave the only possible answer. “Yes.”
They ushered Destiny and me into an exam room—more beige cinder block and linoleum and metal and an industrial cleaner smell, and silence broken only by very faint muffled barks coming from farther inside the clinic—and a tech came in with a small bundle wrapped in a white towel. She laid the bundle gently on the stainless steel exam table and pulled the towel away from her face.
Victoria was clearly dead, but her eyes and mouth were wide open, like she was screaming, and suddenly I was making keening sobs and Destiny was holding me and the tech was crying. The tech quickly covered Victoria’s face again. She appeared worried. I didn’t care; I was in a place beyond dignity.
“It’s okay,” the tech said. “You can stay with her as long as you want. Do you… Do you want to be alone with her?”
I nodded.
The tech left, and Destiny pulled the towel back from Victoria’s face and kissed her gently on top of her head. She was crying, too.
Destiny turned to me. “Do you want to say goodbye?”
“She looks like she’s screaming,” I said, but I also wanted to say that she wasn’t even in there anymore, that she didn’t even look like herself without the sweet expression in her eyes. I’ve been present for cat euthanasia before, but those always end up in calm, sleepy cat faces, not… this. She was barely recognizable as being Victoria. I scooped her up in my arms. Fuck death, fuck mortality, fuck the short lives of our best and truest companions.
“She’s not screaming, sweetie,” Destiny said. “They intubated her, to resuscitate her.”
There was a timid knock on the door, and the tech came back with a box of tissues. She smelled of disinfectant soap. She handed them to me and said, “I’m so sorry. I know it’s hard.”
I went and stood in the corner with my back to them, clinging to Victoria. I couldn’t lose control… okay, more than I already had. I was fantasizing about going out in the sun. I couldn’t go out in the sun; I had a wife and it wouldn’t be fair.
Also, Victoria wouldn’t want me to.
When I finally calmed down enough to talk, the tech asked us about “aftercare”—meaning what we wanted to do with her corpse—and whether I wanted fur clippings or paw prints. Individual cremation, and fur clippings and paw prints felt undignified, so I said no. I didn’t want someone pressing my sweet girl’s dead paws into clay or ink or whatever they had in mind. The very idea of someone manipulating her body without me to supervise made me want to scream, or cry, or attack someone.
Destiny had to drive me home. I sat in the passenger seat of my car and shivered. I still smelled like cat pee. When we got home, I drank an entire bottle of Merlot and climbed into my coffin—alone—while Destiny did a poor job of pretending she wasn’t hovering. When I woke up, Destiny had placed a book of Mary Oliver poetry on the table, right where I would see it when I got up… almost certainly for “In Blackwater Woods.”
***
Destiny
Atlantic Highlands, New Jersey
January 3, 2019
I woke up after noon—alone, alas, except for the cats. Inanna was curled up next to my head, and Ivan had his head on my feet. I slid out from under them and wandered into the kitchen.
I supposed I could have had vow renewal leftovers for lunch, but I had Uber Eats bring me a veggie burger from Good Karma instead. It smelled amazing—grains and greens and mustard.
I was eating my veggie burger when Abraham wandered in, appearing groggy, and headed towards the icebox. “Good morning. Are you okay?”
“No,” he said, his voice wistful. He pulled a wineglass out of the cupboard and opened the icebox. He poured blood from the carafe into his glass. He sat opposite me and took a sip from the wineglass.
Perhaps I should deliberately change the subject. “Will you play for me after lunch?” I knew he’d played violin in the Victorian era. He owned a Stradivarius.
He smiled, but the smile was subdued. “If you like.”
“I like,” I said. I adore classical music.
I ate, and he drank, but he finished before me. He rinsed his glass out thoroughly, set it to dry on a dish towel, and vanished into the other room. He returned with the violin.
He placed the case on the kitchen table and opened it. From the first note, as always, I was mesmerized. I sat there, veggie burger forgotten. I had an odd sense—probably my imagination—of an old-fashioned Victorian stage, an audience’s adulation. And sadness; it was as if I felt his grief for Victoria myself.
I don’t know how long he played, but my delicious veggie burger was noticeably cooler. “You play like a god.”
“Hear, o Israel, the Lord is your God, the Lord is one,” he murmured as he put the violin back in the case and closed it.
Was that a rebuke? It didn’t sound aggressive, more a statement of modesty. Still, it felt appropriate to change the subject, perhaps to a related topic. What was it about death that always led to religion? “Are we going to have a funeral for Victoria?” I took a bite of the veggie burger. “What’s Jewish tradition on that?”
He sat in a chair and stared at his violin. “If she were human, I would say a special prayer, the Kaddish, every day for thirty days with a minyan of ten Jews, but I’m not supposed to say Kaddish for an animal.”
I chewed, swallowed. “No offense, but I kind of hate that.”
“So do I,” he admitted. “You and the cats are my family, my only community.”
“You could break the rules,” I suggested.
He shook his head, but I thought I saw tears in his eyes. “I’m not supposed to say Kaddish alone, either.”
I hated to see it, but of course it was a healthy reaction. “One thing that makes mourning an animal hard is that people dismiss your grief. If it would bring you comfort, I don’t think God would mind.”
He let out a shuddery breath. “I know, but there are already so many Jewish things I can no longer do. I hate to add another way I’m missing the mark to the list.”
I took his hands in mine and squeezed them. He gazed down at my hands, lifted one, and kissed it. His lips were soft and warmer than his hands.
“Thank you,” he said.
“Will you tell me another story?” I asked. “I know it’s not bedtime, but tell me about your first cat.”
***
Abraham
Wreschen, Prussia
2 Av 5593 (July 18, 1833)
The kittens were a variety of colors. I expected them to all look like their mother—black, orange, and white—but there was a brown striped one, a couple of orange and white ones, and one that had colors like her mother but stripes like the brown one. They were all under a bush in our garden. I reached down and touched the tiny babies. The mother watched me, wary, but I petted her as well. I decided her name was Malkah, meaning “queen.”
“Avrahom!” my mother called. “It’s time for dinner!”
“Mamme, can we keep them?” I asked.
My mother stepped outside and fanned herself in the July heat—and, of course, she’d come from a hot kitchen. “We don’t keep animals in the house.”
“But, Mamme!”
My father stepped outside. “I think she performs a valuable service, keeping rats and mice away, and, as such, we should let her stay.”
My mother shot him a sour glance, but I rushed to my father and hugged him. “Thank you, Tatti!” I ran to get a crate and a blanket.
As I passed my parents, my mother was glaring at my father, and my father shrugged. “He’s a sensitive boy, Rivka. It’s a good thing. We want him to be refined, cultured, polite…”
My mother made a face but didn’t argue with him as I put the mother and her kittens in the crate. I carried them into the house and up to my room.
“Avrahom!” she called. “Dinner!”
I came back downstairs and said, “But, Mamme, the Torah says I’m supposed to feed my animals before I feed myself!”
My parents exchanged a proud smile, and my mother gave me a cat-sized serving of fish to feed the cats. “Don’t forget to wash your hands!”
