“Let’s tell them in the morning,” said Sasha. “It’s time.”
“At rehearsal,” said Miriam. “I can’t wait another minute.”
“Neither can I.”
“I’ll say it,” said Miriam. “I’m the one who has to. You leave it to me.”
After they parted in the hallway in front of her door with one last lingering kiss, Miriam got into bed and lay awake the rest of the night while Isaac snored beside her. At dawn, to avoid facing him, she got up and fetched some coffee and paced along the promenade until it was time for their rehearsal.
When she arrived at the chapel, Sasha was alone practicing his part for Rivka’s piece. Without the rest of the instruments to give it a context, it sounded even weirder, even uglier, as if he were a teenager screwing around with atonal dissonances, trying to annoy his mother.
“My darling,” he said.
Her chest felt like a giant slow bubble was rising in it, just because of the sound of his voice and the sight of his familiar but suddenly thrilling face.
He put his violin down and stood up and embraced her. The feel of his hands firm on her waist, his warm breath against her temple, made her press her face to his.
“You look as beautiful still as you ever have,” he said with amazement as they pulled apart, smiling at each other.
“So do you,” she said. “As handsome.”
They kissed slowly, with their mouths open, breathing hard.
“We’d better stop,” she said, chuckling. “They’ll be here any minute. They shouldn’t walk in on us before we tell them.”
Sasha sat in his chair again, picked up his violin, and noodled around while Miriam got hers out and tightened and rosined the bow, tuned the strings, put on her reading glasses.
Isaac arrived first, and then Jakov. Miriam felt her hands shaking slightly at the sight of them. Her heart thudded as she put her violin down and looked at Sasha. He looked steadily back at her, willing her to be the one to say it. It had to be her.
She and Sasha had been speaking in English. But now she said in Hebrew, “Jakov and Isaac. I have to tell you something. Sasha and I have fallen in love.”
“What was that?” said Isaac with a confused expression. He’d been staring into his viola case, lost in thought, as he often was in the mornings.
Jakov had heard Miriam just fine. He stared at her, and then at Sasha, and then at Isaac. Then he looked back at Miriam with a fierce expression. “Say it again,” he said. “Go on.”
“Sasha and I have fallen in love,” she repeated. It was much easier the second time. She was so relieved, she felt like laughing, but she restrained herself. It would be so impolite to Isaac, whose befuddled vague expression was shifting, sharpening, comprehending, and then in an instant, trying to compose itself into dignity, acceptance, pride.
“Mazel tov,” he said to Sasha, and then in English, “She’s nothing but a headache.”
All three of them burst into laughter, but Jakov was scowling. “This is unprofessional,” he said. “This isn’t good. You’re acting like a couple of idiots. Please stop it. You’re old and you’re losing your minds.”
Isaac cradled his viola against his stomach and caressed its curves with his thumb. “Jakov,” he said, “surely this is my battle to fight, not yours.”
Jakov twanged the C-string of his cello. It gave a deep burp. “Sure,” he said. “Fight away. Only you’re not fighting. You’re divorced, or so you say. Well then, why can’t I say something? This quartet, it’s my entire livelihood. You think it’s funny? Be my guest, laugh.”
“Why is this bad for the quartet?” Sasha asked mildly. “What Miriam and I choose to do in our personal lives is our business. We’re telling you as a courtesy.”
“Actually,” said Miriam, “we’re telling you because we want to switch staterooms. To be honest.” God, it felt good to just say it, after tiptoeing around in secrecy for two days. She went on boldly, “In fact, Sasha wants to switch with Isaac. We want to share a room.”
There was a silence. The room’s walls seemed to vibrate a little from the shock waves emanating from Isaac and Jakov.
“Sleep together,” said Isaac, pale, his laughter gone. He clutched his viola in both hands against his belly and stroked it as if it were an upset, high-strung cat.
“That’s right,” said Sasha, as if he’d just realized that he had a part in this little drama too. “It’s true. Do you mind changing rooms with me, Isaac? We can do it this afternoon.”
“Do I mind,” said Isaac in a daze, “do I mind.”
“Of course he minds,” said Jakov, “and I do too. I don’t want to bunk with you, Isaac. You snore.”
“He does snore,” said Miriam. “But Jakov, I’m sure you do too. And anyway, why should I have to put up with it? I put up with it for years already.”
“I can’t hear myself,” said Jakov. “But him, I’ll hear.”
“Stop it,” said Isaac. “This isn’t funny. What do you mean, sleep together? You two? In the same bed? Sasha. Tell me. Is that what you’re saying?”
“Yes,” said Sasha, “and what are you, her father? Am I some boy come courting her? I’m asking you to switch rooms with me, that’s all. You don’t need to know anything else. It doesn’t concern you.”
Miriam looked around the airless, ugly room with its mustard-yellow rug and hideous paneling and ridiculous little pulpit. As a place of worship, it was sadly lacking. As a place of high interpersonal drama, it was comic. Isaac’s thin hair floated in wisps above his scalp and caught the light. Jakov’s shirt had some egg yolk on it from breakfast, and his face was crumpled from his pillow. Even Sasha looked old and funny in this room, and Miriam was certain that she did too. A giggle rose in her throat. She couldn’t hold it down.
Isaac began to weep. He looked down at his viola, careful not to let tears splash onto the glossy wood. His thin chest heaved. His soft stomach convulsed. “Miriam,” he said. His voice was plaintive and stricken. “You would do this to me now?”
Miriam crossed the room and put her hand on his back and rubbed gently between his shoulder blades as she’d done for their children when they were sick or upset. “Shhhh,” she said as he leaned into her. “This doesn’t mean I don’t still love you, neshama. You’re my children’s father. You’re my life’s mate. Don’t cry. I deserve to be happy. I deserve to be loved by a man. You and I, that part of us is over, remember? But you’re family to me still, and you always will be.”
Isaac took a breath and shook his head. “I know that, Miriam. I know. I just needed a minute. Now we should rehearse and no more talk about this.” He wiped his eyes with the back of one hand. “And yes, Sasha, I will exchange rooms with you, and Jakov, we will snore together in beautiful harmony.”
Miriam felt she had never loved Isaac as much as she loved him right then. His back had been quivering. She could feel what a blow this was to him and how much it cost him to summon his generosity. But he had done it. This was a demonstration of love he had never shown her when they were married.