The Ritual Bath. Faye Kellerman

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      “You’re safe now,” she cooed and rocked her. “It’s all over.”

      “It will never be over,” the other woman wailed.

      “You’re safe.”

      Sarah cried for a while, then reluctantly broke away. “I’m all right, Rina. I’d like to be left alone. I’ll call you when I’m done.”

      “I’ll go heat the mikvah and wait for you. Just come out when you’re ready.”

      Forty minutes later, Sarah came out of the adjoining door, wrapped in a white sheet. Her hair was dripping wet but free of tangles, and on her feet were paper sandals. She took off the slippers, stepped onto the bathmat, and dropped the sheet to reveal her naked body.

      Rina immediately saw the ugly bruises on her chest, buttocks, and left thigh—deep red and raised, as if the milky skin had erupted in anger. She was seized with sadness.

      Though she didn’t have to, Rina went through all the rituals, just like the first time. She checked the nails on Sarah’s small fingers and toes to make sure they’d been recently clipped and were spotlessly clean, and examined the soles of her feet for specks of dirt. Examining the soft arms gently, she found them gouged and raked.

      “You know,” Sarah said, her voice breaking, “I don’t even know if I can use the mikvah with all these fresh scrapes.”

      Rina softly moved her fingers over the damaged flesh. “They didn’t soak off the half hour you were in the bath. They don’t come off easily. I think you can go in with them.”

      She knew that the brief halachic debate was symbolic, as was the redunking itself. Despite the fact that she’d been raped, Sarah Libba was permitted to have sex with her husband. Her first dip had purified her.

      But that wasn’t the relevant issue at all. Sarah wanted to start over; she needed to undo what had been done.

      Rina scrutinized Sarah Libba’s back, chest, and arms for loose hairs that might have adhered accidentally to the skin. There were none. She moved on to the routine questions. Had Sarah brushed her teeth? Had she gone to the bathroom? Removed all foreign objects from her body including rings, earrings, dentures, and contact lenses? Sarah answered yes mechanically, and Rina gave her permission to immerse herself.

      Sarah walked down the eight steps until the water covered her breasts. At Rina’s nod, she dunked into the water with her eyes and mouth open. When the water covered the top of her head, she popped out and Rina announced that the dip was kosher. Sarah repeated the dunking two more times, then looked up.

      Rina handed her a washcloth that Sarah placed on her head. After reciting the prayer out loud, Sarah uttered a few more words to herself and gave the cloth back. She dunked four more times, each one affirmed as kosher, then began her ascent out of the pool. Rina extended her arms and held the sheet open, completely concealing herself from Sarah’s field of vision. When emerging from the mikvah, a woman was honored with complete privacy.

      After Sarah reentered the dressing room, Rina cleaned up and shut off the mikvah heater and the lights. Then she had no choice but to wait with Decker in the reception room.

      “All done?” he asked.

      “We’re just waiting for her to dress.”

      “How’s she doing?”

      “I’m not sure. Compared to what?”

      “Well, is she talking at all?”

      “She’s talking. But not about the … the incident, if that’s what you mean.”

      “Do you think she might be willing to talk to us sometime later?”

      “That’s up to her,” Rina answered.

      Decker didn’t pursue the conversation.

      “I’m not being deliberately evasive, Detective. I just don’t know.”

      “I understand. And I don’t want to put you on the spot. But frankly, without something more concrete, there’s no way we’re going to catch this guy.”

      Rina stood up, walked over to the linen closet, and busied herself with rearranging the already neatly folded towels and sheets. A minute later Sarah Libba appeared. Her head was covered with a kerchief—her new shaytel had been confiscated for evidence along with her torn clothing.

      Decker rose and held the door open for the women. Rina turned off the waiting room lights, and the three of them walked in silence across the grounds to the residential area, the women in front, he following.

      When they reached Sarah’s house, Decker knocked on the door and Zvi answered. He was still dressed in street clothes—white shirt, black slacks, black oxfords and yarmulke. His long, thin face was grim and stoic behind a thick pelt of light brown beard. After helping his wife in, he stepped outside.

      “Thank you,” he said politely to Rina.

      “If she needs anything, Zvi, call.”

      “I will,” he said softly, then focused on Decker. “Are you the detective in charge?”

      “Yes, I am.” He gave the young man his card.

      Zvi looked at it and placed it in his breast pocket.

      “Detective Decker, you find this thing,” he spat out. “You look high and low, and you find this thing. And when you do, you don’t arrest him or put him in jail. You just bring him here and leave me alone with him for an hour. That way justice will be done.”

      Decker let the words hang in the air for a moment.

      “I’m going to need your wife’s help, Mr. Adler, if I’m going to find him.”

      Zvi didn’t seem to hear. He stared into space, finally looked back at Decker. “Just find him and bring him here.” He turned abruptly and walked inside.

      Rina knew Sarah wouldn’t talk. The case wasn’t going to go anywhere. She looked at the detective. He knew it too, and she sensed his frustration. They began to walk.

      “It’s been a long night,” Rina said.

      “Yes, it has.”

      “Do you get a lot of long nights?”

      “Lately.”

      “You’re the detective on the Foothill rapist, aren’t you.”

      Decker nodded.

      “It didn’t dawn on me before, but now I recall seeing your name in the newspaper.” Rina started to shake. “That nurse who was beaten up, how’s she doing?”

      “She’s on the mend.”

      “That’s good.” Rina swallowed a dry gulp. “Do you think there’s any connection between this and the other Foothill rapes?”

      “Mrs. Lazarus, at this point I honestly don’t СКАЧАТЬ