A Garment for the Moon by J. Hannah Orden How can you tell the

							                     A Garment for the Moon
                       by J. Hannah Orden


     How can you tell the exact moment when day ends and
evening begins?
     Ellen watches from the window of her attic apartment
on the third floor of a rambling Victorian house.       A narrow
slice between two buildings across the street affords her a
glimpse of the river and the sky above.       Both are slate
gray, but whether from cloud or dusk, Ellen can’t
determine.    The sun has not shone for a week.     Somewhere
there must be a table or chart that lists the time of
sundown.    Can she look in the newspaper or is there a
special number to call?    Ellen doesn't want to insult Art
and Sophie with a ringing telephone on Shabbat, but she has

to catch them before they leave their house, to tell them
she has changed her mind.     Over and over she picks up the
phone and puts it down, wondering why she ever agreed to go

to a Megillah reading in the first place.
     Her memories of Purim are anything but happy.       Ellen
pictures her sister Mimi prancing around dressed as Queen
Esther, brave, pretty girl, savior of the Jewish people.
Everyone agreed that Mimi was a perfect queen with her
round, rosy cheeks and dark curls.     What had Ellen dressed
up as?     Had she put on a fake mustache and beard and
pretended to be Esther's uncle Mordecai?      Or had she
trailed around in her little sister's shadow as a pale
imitation of a queen?
     For the past few weeks Ellen has been under a spell,
not quite herself, disoriented from the moment she first
saw Pinchas at Howie’s party.    She was on her way out, too
shy for parties, even when the hosts were her closest
friends.   Worrying that Sarah might catch her leaving too
early, she snatched her coat from a pile in the bedroom and
was sneaking down the hall when a man appeared.    With his
long black coat, wide-brimmed hat, and bushy, dark beard,
he looked more out of place than she felt, not simply shy
and awkward, but belonging to a completely different world.
     Ellen tried to walk past, but the man, large and
loose-limbed, filled the hall.    She pressed herself against
the wall and inched toward the door, unaccountably

apprehensive.   Glancing at the man’s face, she saw
something burning in his eyes, intense and yearning.    She
was caught there for a moment, trembling and confused,

thinking the yearning was for her, until she remembered
that she had never seen this man before.    Something welled
up inside her, her own yearning perhaps, and something like
shame, and she was seized with a wild urge to run.    As she
hurried down the stairs, she couldn’t shake the feeling
that she was being followed.    She kept looking behind her,
but no one was there.
     The next day Ellen was back at Sarah and Howie’s
apartment eating leftovers and helping Sarah relive every
glittering moment of the previous night.    Ellen asked what
a Hasidic man was doing at Howie’s fortieth birthday party.
She wouldn’t have been entirely surprised to discover that
she had imagined the whole thing, but Sarah admitted that
Howie had met Pinchas at a used bookstore in Harvard Square
and they had struck up a conversation.   Howie kept going
back after discovering that Pinchas worked at the
bookstore, and somehow they had become friends.    Ellen
pressed Sarah, wondering out loud why Howie would want to
make friends with a Hasidic Jew.    "Since when is Howie
interested in religion?" she asked.
     "Why do you think Howie became a lawyer?"    Sarah
answered Ellen with a question.    "You know he loves a good
argument.   So, what could be better than sitting around
arguing about the existence of God and the value of a life

devoted to bringing the Messiah?"
     The question hung in the air.    Howie had married
Ellen’s best friend, and over the years he and Ellen and

Sarah had spent hundreds of hours talking about justice and
change and politics.   Rarely had any of them mentioned God.
     "I invited Pinchas to the party, but I didn’t expect
him to show up."   Sarah continued as though Howie’s
interest in bringing the Messiah had been firmly
established.   "I warned him that we would be serving shrimp
and playing Sympathy for the Devil.    Men and women would be
dancing together in public.   All that forbidden stuff."
     Laughing gaily, Sarah told Ellen about the night she
awoke and heard voices in the living room.   She stumbled
down the hall, half-asleep, wearing only an old T-shirt,
and found Howie deep in conversation with a bearded man in
a black hat.   When Howie introduced her, Pinchas turned
away, covering his face with his hands.
     "What did you do?" Ellen asked.
     "I stood there, blinking like an idiot, then I went
back to bed.   In the morning Howie explained that religious
Jewish men are not supposed to see women’s bodies.     They’re
not permitted to dance with women or touch them or even be
alone with a woman unless they’re related or married."
     Sarah’s story, however, only partly explained why,
three days later, Pinchas slipped a note under Ellen’s door
without knocking or introducing himself.   The note, written

in careful, oddly formal script, informed Ellen that there
were some people she must meet and he hoped she would
consent to come to dinner.   There was an address in

Dorchester, but no date or time was specified, leaving
Ellen with the tantalizing impression that anytime she
arrived, she would be welcome.
     Of course, Ellen had no intention of going.     If
Pinchas were trying to win converts to his way of life, he
had picked the wrong person.   Though born Jewish, Ellen had
never had much interest in Jewish traditions, certainly had
never considered herself a religious or spiritual person.
How then, could she explain why she had not torn up the
note, but rather had left it on the table beside her bed?
The next morning, when she opened her eyes, the note seemed
to shimmer in the faint light of dawn, whiter and brighter
than any ordinary piece of paper.    She tried to go back to
sleep, but the note glowed in her mind until her whole body
began to tingle.    She sat up and pressed the paper against
her cheek, discovering that warmth as well as light
emanated from it.
     This was how Ellen knew she was under a spell: several
days later, after returning from work, she saw an edge of
paper, unmistakably bright, poking out from where she had
buried the note under a stack of mail and catalogs on her
kitchen counter.    She drew it out and looked at it
objectively — nothing more than a square of paper, folded
over once.    Cautiously, she opened it and read again three

of the words that were written inside: Come to dinner.
     Suddenly angry, Ellen crumpled the note in her hand.
The person who wrote it knew nothing about her, and she was

not interested in knowing him.    But she still did not throw
the paper in the trash beneath the sink.    Instead, she
found herself rushing downstairs, unlocking her car, and
turning the key in the ignition.    Only after she had driven
several blocks and had stopped at a red light, did Ellen
open her fist and smooth the crumpled paper on the seat
beside her.
     The house, when she located it, looked perfectly
ordinary with paint beginning to peel and a neatly shoveled
walk.   Ellen sat in her car with the motor running.      The
blue numbers on the dashboard ticked off 18 minutes one by
one before Ellen saw a woman’s face, round with wispy white
hair and wire-rimmed glasses, in the window.       In another
moment the door opened and the woman was beckoning to Ellen
to come inside.
     "I was just wondering who's been sitting out here for
so long," the woman called as Ellen approached the door.
     "I'm Ellen.     Ellen Rosen."    The woman's face was kind
and untroubled, but Ellen saw no glimmer of recognition.
"Pinchas invited me," she added.
     "Oh Ellen!    Of course.   Pinchas told me he asked you
to dinner, but I wasn't sure when you were coming.       Anyway,
here you are, standing in the cold.       What am I thinking?
Was I born in a barn?     Come in.   Come in.   I'm Sophie.    But

you know that.     Who else?   The housekeeper?"
     Sophie's laugh was infectious.       Ellen laughed along
with her, though she actually had no idea who Sophie was.

Pinchas’s mother?     Grandmother?   Great aunt?   Landlady?
Ellen followed her inside, noticed her sneakers and long
wool skirt, her old blue sweater with a small hole in the
back, near the left shoulder.
     "I was just making myself a cup of tea.       Would you
like to join me?     Pinchas isn't here.   He and Art are at
the bookstore.     But come, sit.    We'll drink some tea."
     Sophie's kitchen was steaming.       Pots were bubbling on
the stove, and a greenhouse window overflowed with plants,
blocking the snow, and giving the impression that in this
house it would always be spring.    Sophie waved Ellen toward
a rocking chair beside the window.     A colorful afghan was
draped over the back.     Sophie poured tea for both of them
and set Ellen's cup on a small table near the rocker, but
she never sat down to drink hers.    She was in constant
motion, stirring the bubbling pots, chopping, mixing,
straining.    As she worked, she talked incessantly about
Pinchas, and Ellen listened carefully, piecing together the
story of a lost and lonely boy who had wandered into the
used bookstore Sophie's husband Art owned in Harvard
Square, searching for something.    He believed he found it
in the old Jewish texts Art kept on a special shelf, but
Sophie didn't know for sure.    Maybe he found it in Art's
friendship.     Art was a special man, one in a million,

though Sophie admitted that maybe she was just a little bit
biased.
     According to Sophie, Pinchas’s interest in Judaism

grew quickly.    As he began to observe the strict laws of
Orthodox Jews, he spent more and more time with Art and
Sophie.   He ate all of his meals with them because Sophie
kept a kosher kitchen, and he could no longer eat at home.
His parents, though Jewish, were mystified by their son’s
desire to revert to ancient customs that they believed had
no relevance to modern life.
     "Does he live here?"     Ellen couldn't quite imagine
Pinchas living anywhere.     He seemed to have dropped from
another century, a time traveler, an apparition, a dream,
not quite substantial.    Of course she knew nothing about
him, really.    Maybe he had an apartment, a job, a wallet
bulging with cards — driver’s license, library card, credit
cards — like anyone else.
     "He's always welcome here," Sophie answered.      "But we
try not to be greedy.     He's left us several times to go to
New York and Jerusalem.    And when he’s in Boston, he often
prefers to sleep at the bookstore.     There's a cot in the
back room, although, truthfully, I don't think he sleeps
much.   I worry about him, but what can I do?    He stays up
most of the night studying.    He doesn't say so, but I can
see the circles under his eyes."
     Sophie continued lifting lids, tasting and salting as
she moved from one pot to another.     Her nimble tongue moved

on from Pinchas to Ellen.     She asked Ellen question after
question.    Where did she grow up?   Was her family
religious?   What brought her from Ohio to Boston, and why

did she stay?   How long had she been teaching?    Did she
enjoy her work?   She stopped short of asking how old Ellen
was, but Ellen could tell Sophie was keeping track in her
head, the years of school, the years of teaching.      Ellen
guessed that she was being interviewed for the job of
observant Jewish wife and mother.     Surely, she ought to
have apologized for giving Sophie the wrong impression by
accepting Pinchas’s invitation.     Probably, she should have
excused herself and gone home, but she remained in the
rocking chair, reluctant to leave the colors and smells of
the kitchen, answering each of Sophie’s questions.
     "Please don't take this the wrong way," Sophie said
finally.    "You seem like a very nice girl.    Only I'm not
sure you understand what you are getting yourself into.
Following all the Jewish laws is not easy, even for people
who grew up this way.     I keep a kosher kitchen, and Art and
I observe the Sabbath.    On everything else we are very lax.
But Pinchas has chosen a life in which every moment is
devoted to glorifying the Holy One, blessed be He.       Such a
life would be a tremendous adjustment. . ."      Sophie stopped
stirring and looked Ellen up and down.     ". . .for someone
like you."
     Ellen felt her face flush.     What did Sophie see when
she looked at her?     Ellen didn’t even want this thing that

Sophie was denying her, so why did she feel like a failure?
     "I don't mean anything bad," Sophie said.      "But you're
a modern girl.    You have a career.    You're not so very

young.     Maybe you're a little set in your ways."     Sophie,
pulling a kitchen chair near the rocker, finally sat down
and took Ellen's hand.    "It's not impossible," she said.
"But you must want it very badly.      Do you, Ellen?   Do you
want a life devoted to God?"
     Before Ellen could answer, a car door slammed outside,
and Sophie was up again, hurrying toward the door.
     "They're here!" she said, her voice full, nearly
bursting with joy.
       There seemed to be no possibility of escape, and if
Ellen had really wanted to leave, she would have done so
long before now.     She stood next to the rocking chair,
waiting for Sophie to return, triumphant, with her two men
trailing behind her.
       "Look who's here," Sophie announced.    "Your friend
Ellen Rosen."
       Pinchas’s pleasure radiated from somewhere deep inside
him.   "So."
       Ellen had not heard Pinchas speak before, and with
that one word she began to tremble like a new bride.       She
felt Sophie watching her, but she was powerless to control
the effect Pinchas’s voice had on her.
       "I see you've met Sophie," Pinchas said.    "And this is
Art.   They are my dearest friends."

       They are my dearest friends.    That explained who these
people were, but Pinchas still offered no explanation for
Ellen’s presence.     Ellen turned toward Art.    He was small

and impish with a grin that filled his whole face.       His
graying hair and beard were the only clues that he was no
longer young.
       "I'm so glad to meet you," she said.
       "No, no.   The pleasure is all mine," Art replied.      "I
have heard so much about you."
       Sophie patted him on the cheek.    "All right, Arthur.
Are you trying to make me jealous?       Now, go and wash your
hands, both of you.     Everything is ready to eat."
     After dinner Pinchas and Art began telling stories.
Pinchas spoke slowly, his voice resonant and deep.     Art's
voice was higher, quicker, dancing around Pinchas’s words
as a butterfly flutters around a flower, both equally
lovely.    The stories they told were Hasidic tales, at once
familiar and strange.     They were fairy tales filled with
quests and giants and gifts from wise men.     Golden birds
dropped magical feathers, and ministers disguised as
beggars searched for lost princesses.
     Pinchas instructed Ellen to close her eyes and let the
stories become part of her.    These were stories that were
understood not with the intellect but with the heart, he
insisted.    Only after he and Art had finished did Pinchas
explain how the Hasidic masters used stories to teach

lessons about the coming of the Messiah, the importance of
prayer, and the need to reunite the masculine and feminine
aspects of God.

     Ellen returned home well after midnight and lay on her
bed, bewildered that she had never heard anything like this
before.    She had no idea Judaism had room for so many
stories.    Not tales from the Bible.   Not sermons from a
rabbi.     Not lessons about planting trees in Israel or
giving to those less fortunate.     Ellen lay awake for a long
time until the images from the stories dropped away and all
that was left was Sophie’s question: Do you Ellen?     Do you
want a life devoted to God?
       Under the spell of Pinchas’s voice and the magic of
the stories, Ellen agreed to celebrate Purim with Pinchas
and Sophie and Art, and even now though she holds the phone
in her hand, she knows she will not call to say she has
changed her mind.    At six o'clock she takes a shower and
gets dressed.   She's seen religious Jewish women wearing
long sleeves and skirts down to their mid-calves, even in
the heat of summer.    Their heads always seem to be covered
too.   Ellen puts on a black wool skirt and a gray sweater,
but her reflection in the mirror looks mournful, like
someone who is going to a funeral.    She exchanges the gray
sweater for one that is pale blue and digs out a faded
bandanna from the back of a drawer.    The square of cotton,
with edges beginning to fray, certainly doesn't look like

something to wear to a celebration, but it's the only scarf
she has.   She ties it over her hair and hopes she won't
stand out too much.

       Half an hour later, she is waiting downstairs on the
porch when she sees a battered Ford station wagon with
wooden side panels driving slowly down her street.    Somehow
she didn't imagine Art driving such a big car, but then she
catches sight of books piled high in the back, and realizes
that a bookseller would need a large vehicle.    As the car
pulls to a stop, she notices that Art is in the driver's
seat with Pinchas next to him and Sophie in the back.
Ellen slides in beside Sophie.    She doesn't know whether
Sophie is relegated to the back seat because she is a woman
or whether the point is to keep Pinchas and Ellen apart.
Either way, Ellen doesn't like it.
     "Ellen dear, we are so glad you are coming with us!"
Art turns around and flashes his beautiful smile at Ellen.
     "Of course she is coming with us."      Pinchas’s deep
voice resonates through the car, though he doesn't turn
around.     "It is the month of Adar, the time when our people
celebrate Purim, and Jews are absolutely required to be
happy.     What choice does she have?"
     Art chuckles and shifts the station wagon into gear.
"Don't take him too seriously," he advises Ellen, who is at
that moment considering jumping out before the car picks up
too much speed.     "Relax."   Art’s voice is so bright and
merry that Ellen actually feels herself sink back onto the

vinyl seat.     "We'll have a good time."
     As if to prove his point, he and Pinchas begin to
sing.     Though the songs are in Hebrew and Ellen doesn’t

understand the words, she can tell they are songs of joy.
Sophie leans toward Ellen and reaches out her hand.      For a
moment Ellen thinks that Sophie is going to pat her on the
head, but she gently pulls the bandanna off and whispers,
"Only married women cover their heads."
     Despite the kindness in Sophie's voice, Ellen feels
judged.     How could she be the right person for Pinchas when
she doesn't even know such a simple thing?
     The service is held in a cafeteria in the basement of
a religious school.     Streamers and bunches of helium
balloons attached to chairs and tables can't hide the
linoleum floors, concrete walls, and fluorescent lights.
Ellen expected a synagogue with dark wood, velvet, and
stained glass.     She sits with Sophie behind a partition,
surrounded by women in clothing as drab as Ellen's.       The
women hold books in their laps, quietly mouthing or
mumbling words the men are chanting on the other side of
the screen.     Children in costumes run around the room,
trying to reach the balloons.     The girls are all dressed as
Queen Esther in a variety of frilly dresses and glitter
crowns.     The boys' costumes are more varied.   Two are
dressed as Batman, one as a clown.     Several are Mordecai
with white cotton beards attached to their chins.

     The reading is long, and the only words Ellen
understands are the names of Esther, Mordecai, and Haman.
Of course, she knows the story by heart because at her

parents' synagogue the Megillah was read in English.        Now,
as she listens to the unfamiliar chanting, Ellen realizes
the story is a fairy tale, much like the tales Pinchas and
Art told after dinner.     The beautiful Jewish girl Esther is
chosen from among the women in the kingdom to marry the
king.     When the wicked Haman convinces the king to murder
all the Jews, Esther's uncle Mordecai discovers the plot
and helps Esther to save her people.     Ellen looks around at
the little girls with their glittering crowns.     Who
wouldn't want to be Esther — beautiful, brave, and wise?
     Restless, Ellen gets up and walks around the room,
smiling at the children when they twirl their noisemakers
to drown out the awful name of Haman.    Along the wall,
tables are laden with platters of three-cornered cookies
filled with prunes, apricots, and poppy seeds.     Ellen walks
from the back of the room down the row of tables and stops
just at the point where she can see past the partition.
Glancing back at the women, she meets Sophie's eyes.       The
shake of Sophie's head is almost imperceptible, tiny enough
for Ellen to ignore.
     On the other side of the partition, the men are
gathered in a tight group around a scroll on a table.       Most
of them are dressed in dark suits and hats.      All of them

have beards.    One is wearing a bear costume.   As they
chant, their bodies sway, touching each other.     Ellen
searches for Pinchas and sees him near the back.

     There's something in the room that Ellen wants,
something she can almost reach out and touch, yet it's
forbidden to her.    When Pinchas looks up and sees her
watching, she expects him to be angry.   She's not supposed
to be there.    Probably, women are not even allowed to look.
But Pinchas’s face splits in half when he smiles, and out
of each half sparks of light escape and dance in the air
between them.
     When the reading is over, everyone gathers around the
tables.    Children, ignited by the combustion of sugar and
excitement, are waiting for the announcement of the best
costumes.    Like the first Esther, one girl will be picked
from among the others.    This is a night when dreams can
come true.    One man is pouring Schnapps into paper cups.
He hands a cup to Pinchas who throws his head back,
swallows in one gulp, and holds his cup out to be refilled.
     "If we were in New York," he says between gulps,
"everyone would be drunk and dancing in the street."
     "Even women?" Ellen asks.
     The silence is awkward.    Sophie clears her throat.
     "All right, mostly the men," Pinchas concedes.    "But
there's no Jewish law that says women can't drink
Schnapps."

     Behind her, Ellen hears clapping.    She turns around in
time to see the best Queen Esther receive her prize.    It's
a small box wrapped in tissue paper.    What's in it, Ellen

wonders.    What can a group like this give a girl who wants
to be queen?
     When she turns back, Pinchas is telling Art that he's
going to the bookstore.    He's not tired, and he wants to
look at the new books that came in Friday.    Art offers him
a ride, but Pinchas says he’d rather walk across the river.
     "All right then, Ellen," Art says.    "I guess you're
stuck with us old folks.    If you're ready — "
     "I'll walk with Pinchas."   Ellen feels disapproval
hovering in the air, and she looks directly at Sophie when
she says, "Unless that's forbidden."
     "I suppose it's up to Pinchas," Sophie mumbles.
     Pinchas throws his head back again and laughs.      Ellen
has lost count of how many times he has refilled his cup.
Is he drunk?
     "Go get your coat," he shouts.    "It's Purim.   We
should all be dancing in the street!"


     True to his word, Pinchas dances through the streets,
waving his arms, stamping his feet, and singing wordless
melodies that are both cheerful and haunting.    Ellen
follows more slowly, mesmerized by the graceful sway of
Pinchas’s body.

     "You know what's wrong with people in Boston?" Pinchas
calls out to her.   "They're all Puritans.   Even the Hasids
are Puritans."

     Ellen laughs, though she's not even a little drunk.
"Why don't you live in New York?" she asks when she catches
up with him.
     "Did you know I grew up near here?" Pinchas asks, as
if that explains everything.
     "Sophie told me."
     "Because I grew up here," Pinchas continues, "I
recognized the river when I saw it in a dream."
     "A dream?"    Ellen wants to tell him that she doesn’t
believe in dreams, but then why is she here?
     Pinchas does not seem to hear the sarcasm in Ellen’s
voice.   "I dreamt that I was walking alone in a forest," he
tells her.   "Through the trees I glimpsed a woman walking
ahead of me.   She was enveloped in the most exquisite light
that radiated from her hair, her clothing, her hands.       I
followed her, longing to see her face, but no matter how I
hurried, I could never get any closer.      The woman led me
out of the forest and I followed until we came to a river."
     Pinchas is weaving a tale, as magical as the ones he
told at Art and Sophie’s house.      "On the other side of the
river was a city.    I watched the woman float over the
river, but there was no bridge and I could not cross.       I
could only stand on the bank as she wandered along the city

streets until she disappeared."
     "So you came to Boston to look for her?" Ellen asks.
     Pinchas nods.     His lips part, teasing Ellen with the

promise of something more, but he changes his mind and
begins to walk again.     They have almost reached the river
when Pinchas says, "There's one thing I didn't tell you
about the dream.     The woman in the forest was you.    I never
saw her face, but it was you.       I knew it the moment I saw
you at Howie's party.     I recognized you from the light that
shone from your eyes.     I know this sounds crazy, but you
must believe me.     It was you."
     For one startling moment Ellen believes him.       She
closes her eyes and turns around once.      The sensation of
her body turning makes her giggle.     She opens her eyes and
sees Pinchas watching her, but she can’t read his
expression.     Spreading out her arms, she spins, slowly at
first, then faster and faster until she is dizzy.       Her head
is light, and she understands why Pinchas seems to be
drunk.     The world is spinning out of control.   She steps
toward Pinchas, wanting to feel his arms around her, his
lips on hers, wanting to be chosen queen.      But the world
tilts, and she loses her balance, stumbles, almost falling
onto the pavement.     When she reaches for Pinchas, he steps
away, and at the last instant she catches herself by
holding onto a streetlight.     She stands there, hugging the
lamppost, breathless, shaken.     The danger of enchantment,

she realizes, can only be seen when the spell ends.
Falling against the hard edge of reality, a person can
shatter.

     "I’m not the woman you’re looking for."       Ellen walks
away quickly, ashamed to have been taken in by dreams and
fairy tales.    He's drunk.   That's all.   In the morning he
won't even remember this night.
     Ellen steps onto the bridge that crosses the river.
Though no stars shine in the city, the moon appears through
a break in the clouds, almost full, visible in the open
space above the water.
     "Ellen."    Pinchas calls to something buried deep
inside her, and it is that small, neglected thing that
turns around, despite Ellen’s intention to keep walking.
     Pinchas is leaning against the railing of the bridge,
staring at the moon.    "There's a Hasidic tale about a poor
tailor who weaves a garment for the moon," he says.      "No
one else can figure out how to do it because the moon is
always changing size.    But the poor tailor weaves the
garment out of fabric made from the moon's own light.
Because it's made of light, it grows and shrinks as the
moon changes."
     Ellen tries to understand with her heart, not with her
mind.   The story has something to do with her, though she
is not yet sure what it is.
     "When I’m lonely or afraid," Pinchas says.     "I think

of that story.    I think of each of us warmed by our own
light, the light reflected from a power greater than
ourselves."

     Ellen leans over the railing and sees the moon’s
reflection in the murky water of the river.      Reflected too
are the shapes of her body and Pinchas’s.      The river is no
longer frozen.    Spring will come soon.   A slight breeze
ruffles the surface of the water, spreading ripples that
extend between the three reflections.      Ellen continues to
stare into the water until she discerns the faintest
glimmer of light shimmering from her own reflection.      She
glances back at Pinchas, grateful for what she has seen.
There will be no tender kiss to transform her into a
princess, like in the fairy tales of her childhood.    Yet,
there is magic in this night, and Ellen can be queen.