Home > culture, escape, liberty, life, orthodox, religion, secular, sex > Better Late – 16

Better Late – 16

“I must buy some soft, beautiful lingerie soon,” Shaynah said aloud to the empty room. Another crash of thunder shook the windows and reminded Shaynah that she’d best get going if she was to meet David Goodman at the mainland marina as they had arranged. He was to take her out to the island in his boat. Shaynah was filled with trepidation about this, and wondered if it really was a good idea to proceed, in view of the inclement weather. She again scolded herself for that thought. She asked herself how she could live there, if she was even hesitant to go for a visit because it was raining. She stepped into the shower enclosure and lathered herself all over including her head. She picked up the safety razor that was beside the shower mirror and looked at the soft fuzz of hair that covered her smooth, beautifully rounded, unblemished skull. She asked herself why she should continue to shave her head as the religion required of married women. She was a widow now, and she wanted her own hair. She put the razor down and finished her shower.

Shaynah wore the closest thing she had to casual or country wear. It was a coarse brown and beige tweed dress with matching short jacket and a high-neck checked shirt under the jacket. Her shoes were brown with low heels. She knew she would not look like she belonged in the rural environment, but it was the closest she could come to what was called for. The swept up style of the wig was a good choice. A bit casual in appearance, it emphasised her very long, graceful neck. It was a new sensation for Shaynah to be thinking about how people other than those in the cult would perceive her appearance. It was ironic, she thought, that her concerns within the family and congregation were that she should look sufficiently demure for the devoted in the community, and her concerns in the secular world were that she should appear attractive. Attractive for what purpose, Shaynah had yet to admit to herself.

She entered the garage through the interior door and slipped behind the wheel of her SUV. A touch of the remote on her dashboard and the wide garage door slid quietly up and out of the way. Shaynah started the car and backed out into the torrential downpour.

“I must be out of my mind,” she said aloud as she backed out onto the road and pulled away smoothly to take a closer look at the island home, the remote way of life, and to be truthful, to take a closer look at David Goodman. Shaynah blushed, even though she was unable to make a mental picture of what she might blush about. Obviously she knew about sex and procreation, but she was totally ignorant of sex and love and passion. She reasoned that anything powerful enough to demand the severe controls imposed by the Hassidic laws must be something very desirable. That ignorance, the gap of understanding within her was the motivating force that pushed her on toward her irresistible destiny. She saw the lashing, wind-driven rain as a potential deterrent. She recognised in the cracking lightning and long, rumbling thunder that which could be read as the wrath of God. Again, her determination surged. Free at last, after decades with the homely, stupid, lazy Itzhak, Shaynah shed the mantle of devout conformity like a yoke of lead from her shoulders. With Itzhak’s death, so too had died the odious requirement that she shave her head and wear wigs, homely dresses, and clunky shoes. She could even cook some meals that are not kosher, and put some imagination into her cooking.

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