Ayala

I have been driving around all day on a fool's errand. I am looking for a cottage, somewhere in a 2 square mile area, but it is a cottage I have seen only once, and that was more than fifty years ago.1

The chance that the cottage even still exists is very slim. The chance that I would recognize it if I saw it is even more remote. The crazy notion I had to look for it is ridiculous, yet I have to do it. The cottage, and more especially the people in it, have haunted my memory all these years.2

Abba Reis was the most serene, loving, older man I had ever met, and his wife was the gentlest and sweetest. Together, their love for each other shone from their faces. It shown in a way that bathed those around them with peace and joy. I felt that peace permeate my soul the moment I crossed their threshold.3

I had felt the joy even earlier, for it shone from their daughter, Ayala, and it was she who brought me to her home.4

I was a boy of 19 at the time, and Ayala was about my age. We met in a most unlikely circumstance. I grew up in a Methodist home; she in an Orthodox Jewish home. We each, at the same time, decided to broaden our horizons, as youths will do. We both decided to attend the same Quaker retreat.5

We were drawn to each other; I suppose most people would call it puppy love, but of course it seemed much more than that to us. I was a shy and polite young man. She was a reserved, traditional young woman. We spent hours talking, and probing deeply into each other's eyes. We touched, we held hands, but we never even kissed. For us those few days ended up being only about each other.6

The retreat was more than one hundred miles from my home, but it was within walking distance of Ayala's. That is how I came to be in her home. She wanted me to meet her parents, and I wanted to meet them. Being in their home was a highlight of my life.7

To this day I can't understand or explain why I never wrote Ayala or tried to see her again. I was a very foolish boy, and I have berated myself for that countless times in the years since. I'm an old man now, but the memory of her, and of her parents, still lives within me. And that is why I am on this fool's mission today.8

Wait, that house looks right, though I remember it standing alone with extensive gardens around it. Now other cottages are crowded up against it. No, I'm being foolish; I'll never find what I'm looking for.9

But I wonder, and drive around the block to see it again. I slow the car to a creep so I can see better. The low picket fence and the roses are there, just as I remember them, but there must be millions of homes like that. Why does this one look so familiar? Perhaps it's something about the shutters, or the flowers growing at the window sills.10

Oh, look, that metal case on the door post. It is just as I remember it, polished brightly. What did Ayala tell me it was called? I can't recall after all these years, but I know it meant a great deal to them. It's starting to come back; the box contained a scripture scroll. Perhaps this really is the house I'm looking for.11

I drive around again and look at the mailbox. My heart sinks. No, this is the Cohen home, not the Reis home. Even if, unlikely though it would be, this is the right house, it is no longer the right people. Yes, yes, I know. Ayala's parents, like my own parents, have undoubtedly passed away by now. But I had dared to hope the home was still in the same family, and that somehow I could get in touch with Ayala again.12

Well, I think as I circle the block a fourth time, it could be a relative with a different name. Do I dare try? No, no, you're being utterly foolish, Ray. You can't bother total strangers on the one chance in a million that you will find what you are searching for.13

The odds haven't dissuaded me. I'm now parked in front of the home. I'm afraid to open the car door, but I can't bear to leave without knowing. I force myself out of the car and up to the door.14

My knock is answered by a tiny woman. Not an extremely old woman, but old enough that there are lines in her face.15

"I'm terribly sorry to disturb you," I stammer, "but I was looking for someone I knew a very long time ago. This is probably not the right house, and it certainly isn't the right name, so I don't know what possessed me." I start to back away. "Please forgive me."16

"Wait, I've lived here all my life," the woman answers calmly, "Perhaps I can help you. Who are you looking for?"17

"Oh, then it can't be the right place. I was looking for the Reis's home."18

Her head jerks up. "This is the Reis home," she says, smiling. "My maiden name was Reis."19

"Oh, of course, you're married. How foolish of me not to think of that."20

"Was married, actually," she says gently, "my husband died ten years ago."21

"Oh, I'm so sorry, but then this is the right house!"22

"Please don't be sorry, we had a good marriage, and I have many fond memories of it."23

I nod. "That's good, and I know how you feel. My own wife died five years ago."24

What are we doing, two strangers discussing such private things?25

"But I still haven't told you," I go on, "why I am here. Fifty-seven years ago, and I can't believe it has been that long, a young woman brought me to this home. I met her parents, and I have never been able to forget them, or her."26

To my surprise there are suddenly tears in her eyes. "Fifty-seven years ago," she says, her voice catching, "I brought a young man to this home, and I've never been able to forget him. You are Ray, aren't you?27

Now I have tears in my eyes. "Yes, and you are Ayala."28

She nods and steps back from the doorway. The tears are now streaming down her cheeks.29

"Please come in. I've been waiting for you."