No Vacancy

by Tziporah Cohen

  I feel like people are staring at us, at me. Can they tell I’m Jewish?

  I watch as people have their turn in front of the screen. Some take pictures, some point. Others kneel, or just stand totally still, staring at it. I’m too far away to hear if they’re praying.

  When it’s finally our turn Kate pulls me over to the screen. This time when I look up, I don’t see a face. I just see the cracks and the rust stain and the cross-shaped rips underneath. Kate doesn’t say anything.

  We walk off to the side and I turn to watch the couple behind us. They stand with their arms around each other. The man points and traces something in the air. The woman nods and smiles and I see tears roll down her cheeks.

  I turn my head because it seems like a private kind of moment.

  Kate is looking at the couple too.

  We’re quiet as we walk back to the bikes. As we head home, slower this time because of the heat, I can’t make up my mind.

  Is what we did bad or good? Yes, we fooled people, but if it makes them happy and gives them hope and saves the motel and the diner, is that so bad?

  As we pass the gas station, Kate slows down and looks back at me. I shake my head. I’m not in a popsicle mood, even though sweat is dripping down my eyelids.

  As we turn onto the Jewel’s block, I see two police cars parked on the road up ahead. A bunch of people are gathered around the entrance to the parking lot.

  Kate speeds up and I pump to catch up with her.

  I ditch the bike and push my way through all the people milling around, talking in whispers. I don’t recognize any of them and look for my parents or Uncle Mordy or Maria.

  What is going on?

  I hear Dad’s voice and find him talking to a police officer.

  “No,” he says, “I have no idea who would do something like this.”

  Do something like what? I look around for Kate but can’t find her. I try to get Dad’s attention but he holds up his hand to say wait.

  I check out the motel from where I’m standing, the first floor and then the second. A couple of people are standing on the balcony, looking down at us.

  That’s when I see it.

  The Jewel’s sign.

  Dad takes my hand.

  “Come, Miriam,” he says, but my feet are cemented to the ground like they get in the pool. My eyes can’t leave the sign.

  There’s a big black X painted over the e and l in Jewel. In the corners there are black crosses with the ends of the arms bent to the side. I’ve only seen them in books but I know what they are.

  The No Vacancy sign underneath hangs down from one chain, the other side pulled off.

  “Who would do that?” I whisper. My throat is tight and I feel dizzy.

  “I don’t know, Miriam,” Dad says, putting his arms around my shoulders. “I don’t know.”

  I look around at the people, the police officer, at the motel and the full parking lot, and then back at the sign.

  The sign that now says The Jew Motor Inn, with ugly swastikas painted in each corner.

  After the police are done interviewing my parents and taking pictures and inspecting for footprints and other clues, Uncle Mordy finds a big tarp in the storage closet. Kate and Sammy and I watch from Reception as he and Dad cover the sign with it and tie it down with string. Father Donovan walks over from the diner to help.

  Mom comes in and gives me a long hug. “You okay?”

  I’m not, but I nod yes. She busies herself on the computer, ignoring the phone, which keeps ringing and ringing.

  Even Kate is quiet.

  As they cover the sign, the sky gets darker and darker. There’s a flash of light and a big clap of thunder and then rain comes pouring down. Dad and Uncle Mordy and Father Donovan run in. Sammy whimpers and hugs my leg. The lights flicker. I hope we have flashlights somewhere.

  Mrs. Whitley walks over, without yoo-hooing like she usually does, and invites us to the diner. We all scurry over, holding our hands over our heads. The raindrops are so big and coming down so hard they hurt.

  Father Donovan goes to sit in his usual booth and waves us to come join him. Kate goes right over. Mom gives him a stiff smile and heads to the big corner booth with Dad and Uncle Mordy. Sammy’s hiding his face in Mom’s shoulder. Mrs. Whitley is already pouring everyone mugs of coffee.

  I’m not sure which table I want to sit at and stand there feeling like I’m the one who did something wrong.

  Which is kind of true.

  Is this punishment for what Kate and I did? My throat feels tight and lumpy when I swallow.

  Mrs. Whitley comes over to where Father Donovan and Kate are sitting and puts two steaming mugs of hot chocolate on the table. She sits down and motions for me to join them. I look over at Mom and she nods.

  “Feels more like a hot chocolate kind of day than a lemonade one,” Mrs. Whitley says as I sit down.

  Thunder cracks and I jump.

  “I think God is showing his displeasure about the events of today,” says Father Donovan. “Fire and brimstone and all that.”

  Mrs. Whitley’s eyes are watery. “I’m really sorry, Miriam.”

  I’m surprised. “But it’s not your fault.”

  “No, but I feel we all have a shared responsibility for the hate in the world. Your family has been nothing but welcoming to everyone coming to see the apparition, and it makes me sick that someone would do this awful thing.”

  I’m not sure my family has been exactly welcoming. And what would Mrs. Whitley think if she knew what Kate and I did? I feel Kate looking at me but I don’t look up.

  My hot chocolate has cooled off enough to drink but I’m not in the mood for it. I stir the spoon around and around, listening to the clink, clink as it hits the side of the mug.

  I wake up after tossing around all night and look out the window. The rain has stopped and Maria is pulling the tarp off the sign. She’s got the step stool and a bucket and starts scrubbing away at the swastikas with a big sponge. The first one comes off quickly but leaves a gray shadow like a ghost. I watch for a few minutes but don’t go out to help. My stomach aches even more than during a swimming lesson.

  Reception is empty but I can hear Dad on his cell phone in the office behind the desk.

  “No comment,” he says a few times and then hangs up. Mom, on the other hand, has a lot to say, at least to Dad. Neither of them hears the bell or notices me come in.

  “What if it was someone staying here at the motel?” Mom says. “And to do something like that in broad daylight?” Her voice cracks. “Obviously no one tried to stop them.”

  Dad shakes his head. “This kind of vandalism only takes a few seconds. It was probably some bored kids who don’t know any better. And they could be from anywhere.”

  “Give me a break, Daniel. This place is teeming with people who hate us.”

  “For goodness sake, Deb, do you hear yourself? Just because people are Christian doesn’t mean they all hate Jews. Whoever did this disgusting thing doesn’t know us. They’re just ignorant.”

  The bell tinkles again behind me.

  “Ignorant?” Mom raises her voice. “You’re the one being ignorant. Have you read the newspapers lately? And how do you know it wasn’t a guest, or someone who works here? Maria was in charge while we were out.”

  “I am not even going to entertain that.” He sounds really angry now.

  I turn to see who just came in. It’s Maria, still holding the bucket. The water’s black and the sponge is filthy.

  Did she hear what Mom said? Her free hand starts to reach up to her necklace but then stops and drops to hang by her side.

  Mom comes out of the office and sees Maria. Neither says anything. Then Mom rushes past her out the door. The tinkle, tinkle makes me want to scream.

  Maria still doesn’t say anything, just head
s through the room toward the hallway. Some of the water sloshes out of the bucket onto her feet as she goes. Dad comes out of the office.

  “Miriam —”

  I pretend I don’t hear him and follow Maria to the laundry room and watch her dump the bucket into the sink. The dirty water circles around the drain before it gets sucked down with a slurp.

  Does Maria think I agree with Mom, that she could have done it? Or someone else at the motel? I’m glad Anton already left, although I guess Mom couldn’t have accused him because he wouldn’t have been able to reach that high.

  I can’t think of a single thing to say. Not in English. Not in Spanish. I don’t even know who I’m mad at. I guess mostly the horrible person who did that to our sign.

  There’s a big pile of wet towels sitting on the floor, so I start loading them into the washing machine. I close the door to the machine as Maria puts the detergent into the compartment and then we both reach to press the Start button at the same time.

  Her hand gives mine a squeeze. I squeeze back and then run out the door, not wanting to look her in the eyes.

  15

  ——

  It’s been three days since the sign was vandalized. The day after, at Shabbat dinner, Dad looked sad and Mom jumped every time Sammy dropped his spoon or banged on the table. Even Uncle Mordy was serious.

  That night I dreamed that I got locked in the storeroom in the dark and no one heard me calling to get out.

  Dad came when he heard me cry out in bed and sat with me until I fell back asleep. Since then I’ve been having trouble falling asleep, even though I’m so tired.

  Sammy’s super clingy and has been sleeping on a mat on the floor next to Mom and Dad’s bed. I don’t like sleeping alone, even though the door to the outside is locked and the door between the two rooms is open.

  The reporters have stopped calling. Uncle Mordy had someone come and repaint the sign, all professional looking, so you can’t see the shadows anymore. They chose paint the color of red licorice for the letters, and I hate it.

  It’s Monday. Kate’s mom is letting her skip camp today to hang out with me, but it’s still early and she’s not here yet.

  The motel is just as full as always with people coming to see the apparition. But it’s not the same. Before, it felt like everyone was on the same team. Now I feel like I’m dividing everyone into two groups in my head, like at color war at day camp last summer.

  Blue team, red team. Catholic, Jewish.

  The Catholic team is way bigger.

  The best part of color war was the last night when we all stayed at camp until after dark. The counselors made a big bonfire and we cooked hot dogs and made s’mores. Then we all stood in a big circle around the fire with our arms around each other’s shoulders and sang the camp song together.

  In the dark, you couldn’t tell who was wearing blue and who was wearing red.

  Father Donovan’s car pulls into the diner parking lot and I wait a few minutes to make sure he’s not getting a coffee to go. When I go over, he’s at his table with a bunch of papers laid out and a notebook that he’s scribbling in. He’s got his coffee, of course. There’s a water bottle on the table with Catholic Library Association printed on it.

  “Catholics have their own libraries?” I ask.

  Father Donovan looks up.

  “Oh, hi, Miriam.” He looks at the bottle. “Yep. So do Jews. Your people may be called the People of the Book, but the rest of us like to read too.”

  He smiles and I know he’s making a joke, but still, I think, your people? Aren’t we all one people? Why does everyone keep talking about us and them?

  It’s like he reads my mind. “I’m sorry, Miriam. It’s been a tough couple of days, hasn’t it?”

  “Yeah,” I say, my eyes watering.

  “Have time to sit down?”

  I sit across from him but don’t say anything.

  He lets the silence sit there, like it’s part of the conversation. I fold a napkin into smaller and smaller rectangles.

  The quiet somehow makes me feel better. I wonder if this is what it feels like to go to confession.

  I take a deep breath. “Kate and I faked the apparition. Sort of.” I look down at the table so I don’t have to look him in the eyes.

  “I know,” he says gently.

  I look up. “You know?”

  “I met with Officer Mike last week. Someone found this under the scaffolding at the drive-in.” He pulls a Swiss Army knife out of his pocket and places it on the table. The initials B.W. are engraved in the red plastic.

  Brendan Whitley. Kate’s brother. We totally forgot to go back and look for the knife.

  “Oh.”

  “Mike remembered that he saw you and Kate at the drive-in that morning. The morning he noticed the face on the screen. Wasn’t too hard for him to put two and two together.”

  More silence. Then the diner door opens and Kate comes in. “Found you!”

  She sees my face and sits down next to me.

  “What’s up?” she says, looking at me but not at Father Donovan.

  I nod toward the knife.

  “Oh,” she says.

  Father Donovan waits quietly, like he has all the time in the world.

  I bite my lip.

  “We needed to do something to save the motel,” Kate finally says.

  “And the diner, and Maria’s job,” I add. “And when we saw the face at the drive-in …”

  I stumble and Kate takes over. “We know it was wrong, but …”

  Kate stops talking and Father Donovan looks at her and then at me and the corner of his mouth twitches, just a little bit.

  “You trespassed and destroyed property, and you intentionally tried to mislead a whole lot of people —”

  I open my mouth, but he holds his hand up.

  “But I think it’s the face that people believe is the Virgin Mary, with or without the cross. I’m not saying that you and Kate didn’t do something wrong, but as a result, you’ve done a lot of good around here. Officer Mike doesn’t think he needs to report this to his superiors.”

  A whoosh of relief courses through me. Kate takes my hand and squeezes it.

  Mrs. Whitley comes out. She looks us over like we’re a menu, tilting her head first at Kate and then me and then Father Donovan.

  “Don’t worry, Myrna. All’s good,” he says.

  “I guess I’ll have to take your word on that,” Mrs. Whitley says, looking unconvinced. “In any case, I need to borrow my granddaughter for a few minutes. Her mom’s on the phone.”

  Kate follows her into the kitchen.

  I feel so much better, until I remember the sign.

  “Why do some people hate Jews?”

  Father Donovan looks out at the cars in the parking lot for a bit before he answers.

  “Have you ever made assumptions about something or someone but then found out you were wrong?”

  The first thing I think of is the geodes at the Crystal Caverns store, how they look like ugly brown rocks on the outside but are beautiful jewels on the inside.

  Then I think about when we got here and Mom thought that Maria couldn’t speak English because she was from Mexico and had an accent.

  And I think about Dahlia’s big brother, Jonah.

  The first time I met Jonah was a few weeks after Dahlia and I met in kindergarten and I went to her house to play for the first time. Jonah was in the kitchen with Dahlia’s mom. He was waving his hands around and making grunting sounds. It was scary. I thought he was sick or something.

  He wasn’t sick though. He was deaf, and using sign language.

  I don’t tell Father Donovan any of this but I nod.

  “When someone is different from us,” he says, “sometimes we jump to conclusions instead of taking the time to understan
d.”

  I guess it’s the same with Mom and Catholics.

  “Have you been back to the drive-in?” he says.

  I nod.

  “What did you see there?”

  “Nothing, really,” I say, thinking of how I looked at the cracks and the stains but it didn’t look like a face to me anymore.

  “Not the screen. What else did you see?”

  I remember watching the old man and woman standing next to me. I see in my mind how the man traced in the air with his finger and I see the woman’s tears and how they stood with their arms around each other.

  “Well,” I say, trying to find the right words. “I guess I saw faith. And … well … love.” I feel silly saying it, but it’s true.

  Father Donovan smiles. “Yes.”

  “But the swastikas …” Mom may not like Catholics, but she would never do something like that.

  Father Donovan sighs. “Yes, the swastikas.” He takes my folded-up napkin and starts to unfold it. “What you did at the drive-in you did out of love. What someone did to your sign was done out of hate. At its worst, religion can make us hate each other, make us suspicious of people who believe differently from what we believe. But at its best, I believe religion can bring out the good in all of us.”

  He hands me the napkin to wipe my eyes.

  “Be proud of who you are, Miriam, and don’t let any ignoramuses with a paintbrush make you feel otherwise.”

  I can’t talk because of the tears but that’s okay. We just sit there until Mrs. Whitley comes over with a plate of French fries. I shake my head.

  It’s time to talk to Mom.

  Mom and Dad are arguing in their room. I stand outside the door, listening through the crack.

  “We’re not moving back to the city, Deborah. That’s ridiculous. Things are finally getting off the ground here.”

  “So?” Mom says. “We’ll start over, at home.”

  “This is home now,” he says.

  “That stupid apparition. If it hadn’t brought all these people here, this awful thing never would have happened.”