Reva sipped spoonfuls of borscht, to assuage a hunger she hardly felt.
Reva certainly recognized her husband's appeal the passion of his ancestral longings had only intensified his beauty--but his renewed need for accumulated female intimacies rankled her.
A bride and groom in white processed across the bridge; Reva's husband shielded his eyes, though the sun remained veiled by clouds.
"Miles." Reva stuck out her tongue--a mistake, she knew, but her husbands dazed impenetrability - irritated and scared her.
He rose, dusting off the knee of his white pants with a vigorous slap, and Reva watched his mouth open and shut, open and shut, the bride opening and shutting in response.
She greeted Miles with an embrace and kisses on either cheelc; for Reva, a two-fisted handshake.
Earlier that morning while Miles slept, face buried in his pillow, Reva had discovered a blank video screen on the zoos website.
Reva dutifully photographed each one while Miles looked on in pained, reverent silence.
Ducking under the cues of a linen shop, Reva pressed a linger to her lip; the bee sting had faded to a dull twinge.
As far as Reva knew, her husband hadn't set foot inside a synagogue since childhood, nor had he attended Hebrew school or studied his Torah portion.
why hadn't it shuddered to life in Reva? Perhaps her soil--her soul?--was arid and harren, and nothing planted there could flourish.