Free Her One Obsession by Roberta Latow

sliding back of the doors, the train had arrived. Walking through the near-empty car, Dendre took a seat between a black man dozing and a turbanned Indian reading a paperback book:
Business Success in 80 Days
.
    She swayed to the rhythm of the wobbling carriage as it sped under the city’s streets. For several minutes Dendre was mesmerised by the sight of people standing rigid, as if suspended from the leather straps and looped handles they used for support against the rock and roll of the underground train as it barrelled at high speed through the tunnel. Some read newspapers under the bright lights, others stared into space. She was used to riding the subway, changing from one train to another several times during the long ride back to Brooklyn. Here was familiar territory she could relate to. This was her world, the place where she felt secure. Where she had been with Gideon was foreign territory, but once experienced she knew she would rather die than leave it. She felt that no sacrifice would be too great to make for being loved by Gideon. She felt suddenly ecstatic, understood now what he meant when he told her he wanted her to be happy and that would mean her straddling two worlds, his and hers. He was right of course, and that was exactly what she intended to do. How clever he is, she told herself, and leaned back and closed her eyes. It was all set. She knew where she was going. They would be together all the days of their lives.
    Dendre had changed trains for the last time. Once settled, she tried to relive her day with Gideon but couldn’t conjure it up. All that came were thoughts of her mother, father, brother. Gideon had of course been right about that too; there was an elder brother, Orlando, who adored her. Of course she could never tell them about Gideon, about losing her virginity and loving every minute of it. She would have to squirrel her happiness away and take it from its hiding place only when she was alone in her room, until slowly and carefully she was able to introduce Gideon to the family.
    The Moscowitz house was not stylish: small, cream-painted, square in shape with a porch large enough to hold a wooden slatted swing hanging on chains, black shutters and window boxes with dead plants in them. It was flanked, more or less, by carbon copiesthe whole length of both sides of the street. There was, however, a large tree in the overgrown yard at the back and a small patch of lawn with more bald patches than grass in the front. No, the Moscowitzes were certainly not stylish.
    It was dark out and the porch light was on. Dendre put the key in the lock and pushed the door open. She was greeted by the delicious scent of her mother’s cooking: sweet and sour stuffed cabbage, roast beef, potato dumplings. The aroma and atmosphere of comfort and love blocked thoughts of Gideon and her lecherous afternoon from her mind.
    It was only when the family didn’t rush forward in a panic to greet her that Dendre realised this was one of the three nights she usually spent studying art in Manhattan at Cooper Union. Instead her father greeted her with a kiss and took her coat. Dendre loved him as did most people who knew him. He and Orlando, her brother, were the men in her life, the only ones she had ever truly cared about. Now that she had met Gideon she had someone to measure them against. And compared to the vital, handsome, inspiring man she had fallen in love with, her father looked old, tired and worn out. That wrenched her heart. She flung her arms around his neck, gave him a hug and clung to him for several seconds.
    Possibly for the first time Dendre saw him as he really was, without that thing daughters have of making their fathers their hero, the white knight always ready to ride up and save them. Hershel Moscowitz was a master furrier, a meek man without dreams, happy with his lot in life. He was a man dedicated to peace at any price, happy in the security of his religion and otherwise unambitious life.