THE REVELATION OF JOAN

Chapter 7 The Stranger in Your Gates

My Dad looked into my bedroom. "I'm going to pay a visit to Mrs. Girardi, Grace. Mrs. Levi will stay with your Mom. Care to come with me?"

"Yeah. What's up?"

"She wanted to talk about that art donation."

I have a sort of instinct for when people are not being level with me, and it was buzzing now. I had the feeling Dad wasn't telling me the whole story of the visit. Maybe he wanted to get to know Luke. Even the most tolerant of rabbis would get concerned if his only child fell in love with a Gentile and might be lost to the faith. Was it real love or one of my "symbolic rebellions"?

Luke and I rarely dreamed of the future -- Joan did that, and look where it got her. But now I found myself wondering: would we get married someday, and if we did, would Luke be willing to convert? When asked about religion, he'd usually quote Einstein, who was of course a Jew. I don't think his family would mind: his father was a religious skeptic, his brother's fiancee had rebelled against a nunnery, and Joan was, well, Joan. I wondered whether he was already circumcised -- and backed off from THAT thought in a hurry.

We parked in front of the Girardi house, and we walked up to the door. Joan answered it and showed us into the living room.

"Is Luke here?" I asked, then mentally kicked myself. I hated looking like a lovesick girl.

"No, he's attending a lecture at the college."

My Dad seemed to take that in stride. So this wasn't about Luke.

"Please sit down," said Mrs. G. "Would you like coffee? Tea? Soda?"

"I'll have a Coke," I said.

"I'm grateful for your offer of a painting," said Dad. "But you had a question about the artwork?"

"Yes, I thought I'd do a Bible story. But I'm not familiar with Jewish traditions, and I wanted to make sure that I don't do something unsuitable."

I got the impression that she had gotten in a argument over at the Catholic church over her donation there, but it would be rude to ask. And while I usually didn't mind being rude, I preferred to be careful with Mrs. G.

"Um, yes. The principal thing to remember is the commandment against making images of G-d. I mean, I admire Michelangelo's CREATION OF ADAM, but all the same it disturbs me to actually see G-d in a painting."

"Well, I'm not going to try to emulate Michelangelo, so that's all right."

"I presume that by "Bible Story" you meant something from the Tanakh, what you call the Old Testament--"

"Of course."

"-- but keep in mind that some stories are interpreted differently by Jews and Christians. For example, I am aware of the Christian interpretation of the Garden of Eden story, that all mankind lay under a curse after their disobedience, until Jesus lifted it. Jews don't give such cosmic significance to the story. It's simply a piece of Biblical history."

"I don't think Mom was thinking of doing Adam and Eve," said Joan. "At least, not in their usual, um, lack of getup. That'd REALLY shake up a congregation."

We all laughed at that. Then my father seemed to have a thought. "You might want to try an abstract pattern."

"An arabesque?"

"Arabesques were invented by Muslim artists trying to adhere strictly to a taboo against painting living things. It's not a purely negative concept either. An attractive pattern can represent the beauty and order in G-d's creation."

"Interesting idea. I'll look into it."

Everyone fell silent after that, and I wished that Dad would get on with his real business, whatever it was. Then I realized why he didn't: there were simply too many people around. To him, Joan was a girl on good terms with his daughter but with a reputation for being an oddball (and he didn't know precisely how odd). Not exactly somebody he wanted to pour out his secrets in front of.

Amazingly, Joan herself broke the deadlock. "Hey, Grace, why don't you and I go upstairs and do some girl talk, and let the grownups do their thing?"

"Yeah, sure," I said. For a moment I thought this would be a great opportunity to ask Joan about her sinister friend, but I was more curious to find out what Dad was up to. We walked up the stairs to the bedrooms, but as soon as we were out of sight I grabbed Joan's arm. "Wait. I want to hear what's going on."

"Wha--?"

"Chill!"

She chilled, and we listened to my father talking.

"Let me come to the point, Mrs. Girardi. Would it be possible for Grace to stay here for a few days? We'd cover her expenses, of course."

"Why, it's odd you should ask that right now, Rabbi. My older son is moving out to live with his fiancee -- ulp, it's not what it sounds like. But that means that we actually have a spare room, if the girls don't want to share Joan's. But why the elaborate request? All Grace needed to do was ask."

"She doesn't know yet. Since you're being so generous, I feel it's right that you understand the situation. Mrs Polonski and I have some, some problems to work out. I've already taken leave from my responsibilities at the synagogue to concentrate on my home life. But it wouldn't be right to impose all this on Grace. She deserves a happy summer, away from the troubles. Indeed, I should have tried sheltering her more, years ago."

"Oh my God!" Joan whispered. With a sudden look upward she added, "Don't answer that, I didn't mean You," and she turned back to me. "It's THAT problem, again, isn't it?"

I started crying, and Joan took me in her arms. Two things that I thought would never happen with Joan.

I felt like a total idiot. A few days ago I had eavesdropped on Joan, and our friendship had gotten awkward as a result. Now I had eavesdropped on Dad and had heard just how guilty he felt about me. And the girl I had been considering "crazy" was my source of comfort.

Joan pulled me into her bedroom. I had slept in that bed a few days ago, though it felt like a lifetime had passed. On the nightstand was Joan's cell phone, which I had casually picked up that night, angering Joan. This close-quarters thing may not work over a period of days.

"I suppose I'll take your brother's room," I said after getting under control. "Give you space."

"Oh, that's right, I -- " she hesitated a moment, "Ripples."

"Huh?"

"The room's available because Kevin's moving out. Kevin's moving out because Lily's agreed to marry him. Lilly agreed to marry him because God talked her into it, in disguise as a girl named Jennifer Hovah. So maybe God wants you to take that room."

I blinked at Joan's weird logic. "God's marrying them off just so I could get a room of my own?"

"Oh, no, it's just a side-effect. Ripples, we call them. But He foresees ripples, because He foresees everything."

Loony. Perfectly loony. To think the Lord of the Universe would busy himself with the sleeping arrangements in the Girardi house.

On the other hand, it WAS kind of weird that Kevin moved out of the room just when I needed it.