Sundry Days Read Online Free PDF Page B

care of himself, has friends outside the family, keeps busy. If he wants to dress up like a woman once a year and attend some of the more raucous events the Easter-Esther Festival has to offer, he has every right.  Lots of men do, though Sam is the only one in our family who celebrates spring this way. And he knows better than to encourage me to participate. The rest of the year he acts responsibly.  He’s a good husband and father, not to mention a considerate and very skillful lover.
    I’ve asked him what appeals to him about wearing false breasts, a wig, a dress, and getting drunk with other men.  He’s not homosexual.  Not even bisexual.
    “It’s just mindless, outrageous fun, Susannah,” he says. “There’s nothing wrong with that.  It’s true, some men do things with each other.  Mostly the single ones.  They’ll take anything they can get. But most would rather have a woman.”
    And a few lucky single men, ages 18 and up, do get one, for the night, at least.
    Wearing their feminine finery, they’re given the opportunity to compete in “beauty contests,” judged by married women dressed as men.  The judges, I’m told, are simply wives and mothers caught up in the spirit of the season.  And since they’re in costume and wear masks, supposedly no one knows who they are.  Each generous judge selects a “winner” who gets to copulate with her.
    “You know, it’s traditional to masquerade during the Easter-Esther Festival,” Sam points out.
    Yes, I know.  Tom, who doesn’t participate in any of the bawdy events, has told us all about the historical, religious and cultural underpinnings of the festival.
    Tom knows because he’s Jewish.  His family name was Fine before we got married.  And Mama Fine made sure all her children were well versed in the lore associated with their ancient bloodline. After two Great Floods—the biblical one featuring Noah and his ark 5,000 years ago, and the one that involved melting ice caps 600 years ago—there are still Jews.  Not because they are The Designer’s “chosen,” but because they choose to remember where they came from, according to Tom.
    His maternal family doesn’t really practice Judaism as a religion, per se.  I doubt that anyone does. It’s more about passing on the heritage, and embracing some of the customs.
    Tom and his brothers, for example, all have been circumcised.
    He was my first husband, so it wasn’t as if I could make comparisons. But one of the first things he said to me on our wedding night was, “I hope you don’t mind.”
    “I don’t, if you don’t,” I told him.  And there’s never been anything to mind, as far as I’m concerned.  All of my husbands are different.  I make it a point not to compare them. I consider Tom a very companionable lover.
      We have a good time.  And although some people think the snipping he underwent as an infant must be a detriment to enjoyment—on the man’s part anyway—I’ve never found him lacking in any way. I love Tom.  All of him.
    Anyway, he’s passed on the story of Purim, the story of Queen Esther, to our family.  At least, the version of it he’s been told.  In the old days, Purim was a spring holiday noted for its merry-making right in the synagogue, which made it a bit unusual in the Jewish lexicon of solemn holidays.  God is not even mentioned in the original Bible story, Tom likes to point out, although the story of Esther is included in sacred texts.
    It takes place in Persia, maybe 3,000 or so years ago. The king of Persia, who’s been drinking heavily with his pals, orders his queen, Vashti, to come make an appearance dressed only in her crown.  Vashti, being a strong-willed woman, refuses this outlandish request. The next thing she knows, she’s being told to turn in her crown, and the king goes looking for a new queen. A beauty contest of sorts is held throughout the land. And the winner is a Jewish girl named Esther.
    It seems that young Queen