Masud 21.
Steven and Gertie Frenkel stare at me over the prone body of their daughter. They wear their pain for all to see. Keeping our marriage from them has hurt them. It wasn’t our intention, yet the pain remains the same. My omri is unique. Strong physically and mentally, confident, unflappable. It is hard to remember that no matter her age she will always be their little girl.
“ Makhasheyfe !” Tevye hisses at his twin. My body tenses, wanting to punch him, but I know this is how they communicate. They don’t “talk” things out usually, often resorting to violence to work through whatever is troubling the pair. Of course, Tovah is triumphant frequently. I am infinitely proud of her, proud to be her husband.
“ Shedim!”
“Will you two stop it?” Gertie spits out. She glances at her son, “Although, kudos on using the word for witch. I haven’t heard that in a long time.” Her eyes turn to her husband, “At least since Bubbe Frenkel kicked the bucket.”
Tevye slowly turns his head to look at his sister. He’s sitting at the end of her bed on her feet since she tried kicking him a few minutes ago. “That’s where you get it from!” He starts laughing, “You’re just as fucking evil as that paskudnik. ”
“You are speaking about my deceased mother,” Steven reminds his children, and wife. They don’t care.
“Yeah? You must get your cloven hooves and horns from her. Never knew a demon quite like our beloved Bubbe Frenkel.”
Steven lifts his eyes to mine. “She wasn’t that bad.”
Mother and children immediately reply, “Yes, she was!”
“Can we get back on track?”
“Yes, let’s hear Tovah’s husband’s tragic backstory that justifies her marrying in secret, shtupping every female she meets, and lying to us all for 7 years.”
“It all started when I was born a poor Egyptian boy.” Tovah’s body shakes with laughter at my opening. Steven blinks rapidly several times.
“Did you…did you just quote The Jerk ?” I nod, unsure how my joke will be received. Tovah has been busy during our marriage introducing me to every movie worth watching from the last century. Steve Martin is a particular favorite of mine. “I hate this,” he motions between Tov and I, “a little less.” I’ll take it.
“Masud? Do you want me—” I shake my head at my wife. I need to do this. For her. For me. For the future I so desperately want to have with her.
“I was born in Egypt. My father…he was a Muslim extremist. He murdered my mother in front of me when she tried to flee with me when I was 3 years old.” I swallow hard at the memory. At the age of 3, I probably shouldn’t remember anything, but the image of her lifeless body is ingrained in my DNA at this point. A nightmare I relive often. Gertie makes a strangled sound, her hand hovering over Tovah’s body like she’s reaching out to me. To comfort me. I don’t know what to do with that, so I move on.
“He moved us to Iraq in late 1990. He worked his way up the ladder and became a high-ranking member of a terrorist regime. My father took his anger out on me. I was used as an example to the others to stay focused on their goal.” I glance up at Steven. “By the time your people arrived after Desert Storm ended, I had nearly died four times. Beaten. Stabbed. Lit on fire.”
Steven whispers, “But…you were only 5 years old when we brought you here.”
“There wasn’t a single day of my life before the Kosher Nostra, where I didn’t experience agonizing pain. I owe the Kosher Nostra, David and Aaron especially, my life. I have lived the last 32 years in servitude to my saviors. I know pain…I am good at making others know it too.”
Gertie’s eyes dart between her daughter and I. Tovah rests her hand on the railing of her hospital bed, not touching me but close enough to know she’s with me. Tears pour down… my mother-in-law’s face. I have never referred to her as such, and I find I like how it sounds in my head. “The only touch you’ve ever known was excruciating.” I dip my chin in agreement. “Oh, Masud…I really wanna hug you right now. I won’t. But I want to.” She wipes her face. “If you can’t be touched, how are you two—”
“What kind of life can you have together?” Tevye asks. He reassures us, “I’m not trying to be a dick. I’m genuinely confused. You can’t touch her, so she’s what? Supposed to have lesbo sex for the rest of her life with no stability at home? It doesn’t make any sense.” He looks at his sister pleadingly, “Why would you want that?” Then he turns to me, “Why would you? For either of you.”
I don’t know what to say to that. It is an old “heated discussion” between Tovah and I. I want to give her the world, but I can barely live in it.
“If you, or Moshe, or Ez, or Dad…if your love is contingent on getting your dick wet, then you aren’t in love.”
“You’re getting your dick wet too!” Tev argues.
“When I’m with others…” her eyes ask permission, and I give it to her. In for a penny, in for a pound. “Masud is there. He isn’t seen, but I know he’s there. And I feel close with him.”
“Like a sexual proxy? A switch-hitter? A designated-fucker!” Steven is very proud of himself. Gertie pats his arm without taking her eyes off her daughter.
“He experiences my pleasure in a way that is comfortable for him.” Tovah uses the panel on the railing to raise the bed again. “And in turn, experiences his own.”
“And you aren’t jealous?” I shrug, Tevye’s question fair.
“I want to be the one she’s with but being touched…this was a healthy solution.” They don’t need to know that watching Tovah in the throes of passion, her body glistening with sweat as she writhes in pleasure, her inner thigh muscles twitching when she explodes…I cum untouched. Every. Damn. Time.
There are moments, and they are happening more frequently, where I itch to reach out and feel her. The heat of her. The softness of her skin. The throbbing of her clit between my fingers. Her juices sluicing down my hand. But my heart starts to pound uncontrollably in my chest and my vision blackens at the edges when I try.
“Masud, we owe you an apology,” Gertie begins. My dark brows slant in confusion. “The Kosher Nostra took you in, fed you, clothed you, put a roof over your head…but we neglected to nourish your soul.”
“Devorah took me to therapy for a few years when I first came to live here.” All four of them inhale sharply.
“She did?” Tovah rolls to her side to fully face me. “She did that for you?”
“Devorah has been wonderful to me. Looking after me, reminding me that someone loved me, even when I didn’t love myself.”
“She was the other witness at our wedding…” Tovah starts laughing, “She always gives me extra cookies for you. I just thought she was being nice to me.”
Tev chuckles, “No, she was rewarding your husband for putting up with you.”
“I guess she’ll have to start baking cakes for Vandy!”
The siblings bicker while Steven and Gertie stare at me. “We will do better, son.” Something constricts in my chest at his words, the weight of his vow. I rub my knuckles over my sternum to soothe it away.
Gertie throws her hands in the air exasperatedly. “Tovah is winning at adulthood! This is fucking ridiculous. How is the grand-spawn of a demon witch a better wife than me?” She gasps dramatically, “She’s got a bigger heart than Ruthie!”
“You take that back!”
“Again, that’s my fucking super dead mother!”
Tev pats the bed near me to get my attention. “Your secret is out now, shvager. There’s no escaping the mishegas .”
“I think I’ll be fine.” And I will. I’ve got Tovah, as unconventional as our marriage may be.
“Wait!” Gertie yells, silencing her husband and daughter. “You didn’t change your name.” Tovah smirks, quirks an eyebrow and looks at me.
I raise my hand slightly, “No. I did.”
“Why?”
“I had no use for the Mostafa name. And at the time we got married, Yak had discovered some rumblings from forgotten relatives looking for me and some of the other refugee children you rescued. They had ties to some hard-core extremist groups. If they found me, it would have been bad enough, but to learn that I had been living with Jews and converted to Judaism…I would have never survived. We talked about getting married; those rumblings moved up our timeline. And I took Tovah’s last name for further protection but also…it felt right.”
“They won’t be a problem anymore?”
Tovah and I laugh, “No, Dad. You remember the vacation Yakov and Monty took about 6 years ago?”
“The only vacation Yakov has ever taken? Yes, I think I recall it.”
Tevye snaps his fingers. “They went hunting.”
Our eyes clash and Tovah smiles at me. “They sure did.” I can never repay Yakov for what he and his buddy Monty did for me. Though to hear him tell it, they owe me for as much fun as they had.
Tevye growls, crosses his arms over his chest, “Bastard didn’t take me with him! I love hunting wabbits.”