Tovah 19.
One. Two. Three. Throw.
UGH! Why can’t I get this right? Zeppo and Ezra make it look so easy. If they can do it, I can do it.
Deep breath. Calm. Steady.
One. Two. Three. Throw.
“GOD DAMMIT!”
Knife in hand, I spin around at the sound behind me, poised and ready to strike. Heart in my throat, I force my body to relax. It’s Pharaoh. He makes my heart race for an entirely different reason.
Tev and I are 10 years old, but we’re the tallest kids in our class and the two grades above us. Pharaoh is TALL . I mean, he’s like 18 and a man, but he’s super tall. I think Dad said he’s 7 feet tall. He doesn’t speak though. My cousins never shut up, my aunts and uncles are always talking, but Pharaoh…the glimpses I get of him, his mouth is always shut, his eyes…haunted. That’s how Aunt Esther describes him. Uncle David, the Avraham Avinu, said “tragically, he’s a skilled interrogator.” I don’t know what that means exactly, being skilled at something sounds like a good thing.
He's handsome, too. The most handsome man I’ve ever seen. And he’s here with me in the compound gym. We had instruction earlier, my cousins, brother and I. Our parents want us to be competent enough to escape a threat. Being children of the Jewish mafia makes us targets for the “unscrupulous”.
Pharaoh gently taps me on the shoulder with the tip of his finger. He points between us, and I realize he wants me to mimic his pose. I position my body like his and feel my cheeks heat when he smiles at me with a thumb’s up.
For the next hour, he walks me through several defensive moves and a few offensive. He never utters a word and it’s the most beautiful silence I’ve ever experienced.
***********
“Come on, Masud. Show me what you got.” I extend my hand, hold up my palm, and bend my fingers to beckon him. He smiles, toothy and broad, distracting me. 6 years we’ve been doing these lessons. And the man has only gotten hotter. It’s ridiculous how much I think about him. His eyes, soulful and troubled, haunt me in my dreams. Natural tan skin courtesy of his Egyptian heritage, big broad shoulders, long lines, sinewy muscle, perfect control over his body.
He advances, using my momentary distraction to his advantage, faking to his left, using his right leg to sweep mine out from under me. I land on my back and use the momentum to roll to my knees, my knife drawn and aimed at his “delicate bits”. He laughs, grabbing my wrist and twisting my arm around. I stand with the movement, spin on my heels, plant my ass in his midsection, and flip him over my back. He lands with a thud, arms sprawled, body shaking with quiet laughter.
At the edge of the mat, I grab a towel and wipe the sweat from my face and wrap it around the back of my neck. Tossing my head back, I squeeze my water bottle into my mouth and drink greedily.
“Happy Birthday.” Startled, I drop my water bottle with a gasp. He spoke. To me. I’ve heard his voice a few times over the years we’ve been sparring. Always low, hoarse. But just now…clear and confident.
He hands me a long, gift-wrapped box. A bow on top. “You got me a birthday gift?” He smiles encouragingly, nodding at the box. “Thank you.” I rip it open, the first of my sweet 16 th birthday extravaganza. Tevye and I are twins, but we don’t share a birthday. His was yesterday, we had a family dinner, then he went out with our dad and uncles and male cousins. I don’t know what they did, but I know I was pissed I wasn’t invited. Penis or not, I’d wipe the floor with any of them. And they know it.
“Fuckin’ hell.” He makes a sound at my cursing, but I’m too excited to care. “Is this…is this a Khatool Maccabee?” He nods with a softness to his expression I don’t understand. I hold the tactical knife at my side, feeling it’s weight. “Did
you give one to Tev?” His eyes widen briefly, then he laughs as he shakes his head. “Better not. This bitch is mine.” I thrust it into the air, doing a few practice swings, loving how it feels in my hand…natural.
Without thinking, I launch myself into his body, my long arms around his neck. His reaction is instant. A strangled noise in his throat, his large hands in the center of my chest shoving me to the ground. He drops low, his body strung tight in a defensive position. Tears well in my eyes at the sight of this beautiful…broken man. I know not to touch him. Unless we’re sparring or he’s working for my uncle, no one touches Masud.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” I wipe angrily at the tears, using my leggings to dry my hands. Masud’s eyes are unfocused, teeth bared. “I’m sorry. I’ll…shit. I’ll leave, I’m sorry.” I gather my gear and his present. “Thank you, Masud. This is the best birthday gift ever.”
I leave him alone. Running through the halls of the family compound, rushing back to the safety of my own room. Slamming the door behind me, I lock it and slide down to the floor. I hold the knife in my hand, turning it over and over.
“Stop it. You sniveling, pathetic little girl.” I close my eyes and will the tears to stop. I’m better than this. I’m stronger than my cousins and brother, faster, deadlier. Moshe won’t choose me as a kapitan , but that doesn’t mean I can’t protect the family.
And Masud. He serves the Kosher Nostra, but no one serves him. I will. I flip the knife, catching it by the handle. I’ll protect him too.
***********
Omri—
I’ll be honest. I’ve never written a letter. And I’m not sure how to write one now. But for you…I will try.
The beginning of my life was rooted in violence. Scars litter my body and my soul, a reminder of what I deserve. Your family rescued me and many others. I owe them my every breath and for that reason I do as they ask without question. My life forfeit. I have never sought material possessions, wealth, or status. I only ever craved peace. The elusive quietening of the madness that lives inside my head and my heart.
A mistake has been made. I have been bestowed a gift I do not deserve. I am not strong enough to return it. I gave my life to the Kosher Nostra, and yet, I feel as though you have given it back to me. The only peace I find is in your presence. Between your heartbeats. In the notes of your laughter.
I am in awe of the woman you have become. The strength of your character. The depths of your loyalty.
I was rescued years ago, but with you, I am saved.
Thank you for humoring a broken man and giving him a reason to continue.
I am most grateful for your birth. Not so much Tevye’s. But definitely yours.
Masud
P.S. I have given into thine hand Jericho…protect the city and the king thereof, my mighty woman of valor.
The Jericho 941 sits in my lap, my hands shaking as I reread Masud’s letter through unshed tears. That bastard! Making me feel . He’s older than me by 8 years, though now that I’m legal, that hardly matters to me. He’s all but admitted to being in love with me, but knowing him as I do, he’ll fall on his sword and refuse me because of some misguided honor and self-loathing.
“AGHHHHHHH!” Well, we’ll just see about that. I carefully place the gorgeous gun on my bed and storm from our suite. Stalking through the halls of the family compound, I wave to my bodyguard and driver Ari.
“I need to go to the consortium.” He dips his chin, turns on his heel and opens the front door for me. I wait, stewing in my anger, while Ari retrieves a vehicle. The entire drive to the Mishpocheh Consortium, I vacillate between joy and anger, and excitement and concern.
No matter, Masud is mine. He’s just gonna have to accept that. I am his omri , after all. “Oh, man up!” I snap at my chest. My heart goes pitter-patter over the nickname, and I want to vomit at my girliness. I’m just grateful no one is here to witness this.
At the consortium, I barge through the main doors and take the stairs down to the basement. Without knocking, I throw open the metal door to Masud’s “office”. He’s alone, thank God.
“You son of a bitch.” I bark. He stands up quickly, his eyes darting from left to right, his hands up in front of him. “You write me a letter like that and expect me to just…what? Date someone else? Fuck someone else?” He winces and it buoys me to know he doesn’t like that idea. “Marry someone else?” I’m breathing fast, my chest heaving. “Well, I’ve got some bad news for you, buddy. I don’t want anyone else. I want you.” I stomp my foot, my hands fisted. “I’m gonna have you. And that’s final.”
“Tova—”
“No. You call me omri.” A ghost of a smile crosses his handsome face and then it’s gone, replaced with a frown. “We can’t.”
“We can.” He sighs, dropping back to his chair, resting his elbows on his thighs, avoiding eye contact.
“Your family will kill me if they ever find out about that letter, let alone how I…what I think about…” He shakes his head, cutting himself off and switching gears. “I cannot be with you. As a boyfriend or husband should. I can’t…it hurts…I can’t.”
“Masud.” I call his name sternly, waiting for him to meet my eyes. “I don’t give a fuck about what a partner or spouse ‘should’ do. I care about you and me and whatever we decide is best for us.”
“You deserve someone who can…touch you.”
I wave off his comment, “I can touch myself. I do, actually, a lot. Thinking of you.” He nearly swallows his tongue and dammit, it’s adorable. 7-foot tall, violent interrogator, tongue-tied over little ol’ me.
I’m tired of this. “Do you love me?” His Adam’s apple moves in his throat, then he nods once. “If you love me, you want me to be happy?” He nods again. “Good. I love you. I want you to be happy…with me. The rest is details. We’ll figure it out.”
“God help me.”
“Oh honey,” I purr, drawing a finger down my chest between my large perky tits. “God can’t help you now.”
***********
“Yak. Back the fuck up.”
“The Kosher Nostra can protect him against his family.”
I pound my chest, and hiss, “I am his family. And no one fucking touches him.”
“Tovah, I need to know, are you sure?” I glare at him unamused at his delay. “You and Masud…are unconventional. You may be happy now, but a prolonged relationship like yours may not be sustainable.”
“Wow. Do you carry a thesaurus with you now? I don’t remember you sounding this pompous before.”
“Tovah. I’m fucking serious.” I step until the toe of my high-heels touch Yakov’s boots. Our faces inches apart.
“Me too. That man,” I point into the judge’s chambers where my intended waits for me, “is my future. I have never towed the line, Yak, never cared much for the opinions of others, I ain’t gonna start now. I love that man without hesitation, without expectation, without limits. You love someone, you meet them where they’re comfortable. I am a strong fucking woman; I can carry his past and look damn good while doing it.” Discreetly, I pull the knife Masud gave me years ago from its sheath in the concealed pocket of my dress. Yak’s eyes drop to where it digs into his abdomen. “You wanna tattle to my family? Go ahead, let’s see how far you get with your entrails dragging behind you.”
“On second thought, I think you’ve got this.”
I tap the tip of the blade against his sternum. “Smart man. Don’t forget the additional paperwork.”
“I’ve got it.” There’s a long pause as I cross the hallway. “Tovah?” With a heavy sigh, I stop with my hand on the doors, my back to him. “You two…you two are what love is all about. I’m privileged to witness your wedding, and I’m honored to help you and Masud in any way I can.”
“Don’t get mushy on me now, Yak.” He did this on purpose. Throw me off my game, ninja attack me with emotions. I’ll get him back. Right now, I gotta marry my best friend.
The ceremony is short and to the point. We say our “I do’s”, sign the wedding certificate and the other papers, and stand in front of one another pledging our lives to ensure the other’s eternal happiness.
We were inevitable. I had no intention of ever letting this man go. His family in Iraq and Egypt…they just sped up the timeline. And added a few more signatures. I will do anything to keep him out of their hands. You wanna crawl out of the woodwork nearly 30 years later, I’ll stomp you like the fucking cockroaches that you are.
The judge pronounces us man and wife and tells Masud he can kiss his bride. I already told him it wasn’t necessary, or just a peck on the cheek, whatever he was comfortable with is fine with me. He surprises me, though, steals the breath from my lungs when he dips his head and softly presses his lips to mine. I can feel him trembling and know this has likely cost him a great deal. My hands itch to grab him; my arms feel heavy with wasted purpose that I cannot wrap them around his neck.
It's a couple of seconds, and a chaste kiss by even a nun’s standards, but it’s the best kiss of my entire life. My first kiss with my husband. I pray it won’t be my last.
He stands straight; his eyes wild as they dart around the room looking for an exit. “Hey. Husband. Just you and me.” It takes him a second, but he acknowledges me with a grunt. “You ready to celebrate, Mr. Frenkel?” If my family ever finds out, they probably won’t be surprised that he took my last name. I just have that kind of personality. He wanted to, to forget his past, to hide from his family, to start over as someone new. I don’t care what his name is, so long as I can call him my husband.
“I am, Mrs. Frenkel.”