The Ritual Bath. Faye Kellerman

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       5

      Rina sat at her desk in the stuffy basement classroom and looked out at a sea of bobbing yarmulkes. Heads down, her students were busy scratching away at the test. She’d thought the exam would be challenging, but the kids seemed to be whipping through the pages in record time. It was getting harder and harder to challenge them, she realized with delight. It was a pleasure to teach such a bright group of kids. Her only major complaint about the job was the poor facilities. In the summer the room became a sauna, and the two large floor fans did little to mitigate the heat.

      Her eyes returned to the open pages of the Chumash. She’d finished studying parsha—the biblical portion of the week—and was on the haftorah. Sunday was the new moon, so the reading would be the story of the friendship between David and Jonathan. It was one of Rina’s favorites—a tale of unswerving love and trust. She’d never had a relationship like that with anyone, including Yitzchak. Theirs had contained some of those elements, but Yitzchak’s first and true love had been the Torah.

      The rabbis had regarded his brilliant mind as a gift from God. He was their prize pupil, one of the few young men who was a real talmid chacham. They’d showered him with attention, but it had never gone to his head. He wasn’t interested in adulation, just in the acquisition of knowledge.

      Rina had been astonished by Yitzchak’s intellect when they first met. He was a living, breathing genius, and she was willing to put up with his idiosyncracies for the privilege of being around him. He’d turned out to be a warmhearted man and a good father, but their relationship had always been a bit distant.

      It was cruelly ironic that his brilliant brain cells eventually led to his demise.

      Rina felt melancholia nibbling at her gut. She looked up from the text, and her eyes landed on the sandy-haired boy in the corner. His expression hadn’t changed since he’d entered the room. Usually one of the quickest thinkers, today he gazed at the chalkboard as if it contained some magic words of comfort. Yossie looked just like his father, Zvi, and his face bore the painful, numb expression that his father’s had last night. Rina was sure they hadn’t told him, but he knew. Oldest children always knew when something wasn’t right.

      A few of the best students had handed in their exams. Rina would grade them, but really didn’t have to bother. She knew they’d be perfect. Soon the rest of the boys followed, until Yossie was the only one left. He continued to stare blankly, not even moving when Rina was standing right next to him. She looked down at his papers and found them untouched.

      “Yossie,” she said gently.

      The glassy hazel eyes inched their way upward.

      “Yossie, you’re having an off day.”

      He nodded.

      “Take the test home. I trust you. Finish the exam when you’re in better spirits.”

      “Thank you,” he whispered.

      He got up, stuffed the papers in his overloaded briefcase, and left the room.

      Rina was the last of the trio to enter the room. She had last-minute chores before Shabbos and hoped the faculty meeting wouldn’t take too long.

      Three times a semester she and the two other secular teachers got together to discuss the curriculum. She was the head of the math department—and its sole teacher. The men were the departments of humanities and physical sciences.

      Matt Hawthorne taught history and English. He was a jovial man in his mid-twenties, a little on the short side, with a puckish face and dark curly hair. Quick with a joke, he got along extremely well with the rowdier boys.

      “Want to close the door, Rina?” he asked her.

      “I’d prefer to leave it open,” she replied automatically. Hawthorne had a gleam in his eye. “You don’t want all the students to hear our trade secrets, do you?”

      Rina sighed. It was an old story. Matt knew she left the door open for religious reasons, but insisted on teasing her about it anyway. Ordinarily she took it in good humor. Today she wasn’t in the mood, and the expression on her face reflected it.

      “What trade secrets?” asked Steven Gilbert, coming to her defense. “Leave the door open. It’s hot enough in here without cutting off the little circulation we do have. Let’s get on with business.”

      Of the two of them, Rina preferred Steve. They were both nice enough, but Steve was more subdued. He was older than Matt and her, in his middle thirties, balding and bespectacled, but with facial features that were still youthful. Like Matt, he was a public school teacher who moonlighted by teaching the yeshiva kids in the late afternoon, when the boys learned their secular studies.

      They went through the meeting with choreographed efficiency.

      “Shall we call it a day?” Rina asked when they were done.

      “I’ve got nothing else to add,” said Gilbert.

      Matt looked down. His eye suddenly twitched. It was a nervous tic that Rina had noted before.

      “What’s the problem?” she asked.

      “This has nothing to do with the curriculum, but I heard that something went on here last night.”

      Rina hesitated a moment.

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