![]()
ACT ONE
Scene One
A Sunday afternoon in May 2004. SHMULEYâs kitchen in North London. A door leads to a hallway, where the telephone is, and also to the front door and the rest of the house. The kitchen is tatty but spotless, with two sinks and colour-coded crockery and cutlery. A Jewish festivals calendar hangs on the wall. A huge saucepan of soup is bubbling on the hob. Sun is coming through the window, shining on RIVKA, who is standing on a wooden chair in her wedding dress and socks, her arms up; occasionally she nervously touches her hair. There is something odd about it, though we donât yet know what. The dress is long-sleeved, high-necked, white and austere, but beautiful. MALKA, her mouth full of pins, is pinning it to take it in. LEELA sits at the table, with OK! magazine open in front of her.
LEELA. Cos skinny women donât have daughters. Look at Victoria Beckham. Sheâs got Romeo, but whereâs her Juliet? Sheâs got Brooklyn but whereâs herâŚ?
RIVKA. Chelsea?
LEELA. Yeah. If youâre too thin your body thinks thereâs going to be hard times so you get boys. To work the fields and stuff.
MALKA. Did you get this from your doctor class or OK! magazine?
RIVKA. Whenâs Victoria Beckham got hard times?
MALKA. Well, whatâs-his-face is having an affair.
RIVKA. Is he?
LEELA. Where have you been, Riv? Underwater?
RIVKA. Whoâs he having an affair with?
MALKA (sniffing the dress). Does it smell like mothballs still?
RIVKA. Not that Page Three Girl again?
LEELA (sniffing the dress). No.
MALKA. He had an affair already and she didnât divorce him? I suppose you canât blame him. Whatâs-his-face. He probably just wants a zaftig girl, some flesh to squeeze.
LEELA. Sheâs put on weight; they donât call her Skeletal Spice any more.
MALKA. Sheâs still a ferkrimpter.
RIVKA (automatically translating). Sour-face.
LEELA. She doesnât smile cos she hates her dimples.
MALKA. Is it tight? We want you to be able to dance.
RIVKA. Itâs perfect.
MALKA. Your grandfather would roll in his grave if he saw me doing this. He was the best tailor on Princelet Street. His stitches were so tiny! He said I sewed like a bear. Okay, put down your arms.
RIVKA. Okay?
MALKA. Like a dream you look, kayn eynhoreh.
A moment where she looks at RIVKA. They hear the front door opening and MALKA hides the magazine. SHMULEY enters, touching the mezuzah and kissing his fingers. He sees RIVKA and his eyes fill with tears.
SHMULEY. Rivkele. Youâre changing your motherâs dress?
MALKA. Whoâs changing it? Weâre altering it.
RIVKA (getting down). We just had to take it in, Dad.
MALKA. Sheâs skinny like a noodle.
LEELA. But youâre going to have grandsons.
SHMULEY. Grandsons?
MALKA (to LEELA). Sshh! (To SHMULEY.) One day, please God. And also granddaughters.
SHMULEY. I didnât know you were changing her dress.
RIVKA. Itâll look the same, I promise, just the same.
SHMULEY (wipes his eyes and makes an effort to smile). You look very nice.
RIVKA. âNiceâ?
SHMULEY. You should always tell the bride sheâs beautiful. Even if she isnât beautiful! You can lie through your teeth and not only God wonât mind, He even counts it a mitzvah! Thatâs what Hillel says!
RIVKA. What does Shamai say?
SHMULEY. He disagrees.
RIVKA (to LEELA). He always disagrees.
SHMULEY. He says, âWhat if the brideâs blind or lame, disfigured, how can you lie and say sheâs beautiful?â
LEELA. Blind or lame?
SHMULEY. What, itâs not politically correct?
LEELA (laughs). No!
RIVKA. Itâs the Middle Ages.
SHMULEY. Hillel wins though.
RIVKA. Hillel always wins.
SHMULEY. He says it doesnât matter what she looks like; make her happy. Hillel wasnât only a great sage, you know; he invented the sandwich.
SHMULEY shuffles off, looking for something.
RIVKA. So, do I look nice or are you lying?
MALKA. Whoâs lying? You look be...