“Well gee, rabbi, that’s swell. I’m sure Becker will come across. After all, it’s no skin off his nose. Then that makes everything all right. Look, rabbi, if I said anything that—”
The rabbi cut him off. “Quite understandable under the circumstances, Mr. Schwarz.”
Schwarz was for taking everyone out for a drink, but the rabbi excused himself. “If you don’t mind, some other night perhaps. As I was leafing through those books, I came across a couple of points that interested me. Nothing to do with all this, but I’d like to check them over while they’re fresh in my mind.” He shook hands with the two men and took them to the door.
“Well, what do you think of the rabbi now?” Wasserman could not help asking on the way downstairs.
“He’s quite a guy,” said Schwarz.
“A gaon, Ben, a regular gaon.”
“I don’t know what a gaon is, Jacob, but if you say so, I’ll take your word for it.”
“And what about Abe?”
“Well, Jacob, between me and you, it was mostly Myra. You know how women are about losing a few bucks.”
From the window of his study, the rabbi looked down at the parking lot below to see the three men talking in obvious reconciliation. He smiled and turned from the window. The books on his desk caught his eye. Adjusting the reading lamp, he sat down behind the desk and pulled the books toward him.
2
ELSPETH BLEECH LAY ON HER BACK AND WATCHED THE CEILing slowly tilt, first to one side and then the other. She clutched at the bedclothes as though afraid she might fall out of bed. The alarm clock had awakened her as usual, but as she sat up the vertigo struck and she let her head fall back on the pillow.
The sun slanting in through the slats of the venetian blind gave promise of a perfect June day. She shut her eyes tight to blot out the moving walls and ceiling, but she could sense the sun in a sort of red haze, and at the same time she felt as though the bed were rocking sickeningly under her. Although the morning was cool, her forehead was wet with perspiration.
By an effort of will she sat up again, and then without bothering to put on her slippers fled to the tiny bathroom. After a while she felt better, and came back and sat on the edge of the bed and dried her face, wondering dully if she ought not lie down for another half-hour or so. As if in answer there came a pound on the door and the children, Angelina and Johnnie, shouted, “Elspeth, Elspeth, dress us. We want to go out.”
“All right, Angie,” she called back. “You and Johnnie go back upstairs and play quietly, and Elspeth will be up in a minute. Now remember, play quietly. You don’t want to wake your mummy and daddy.”
Fortunately they obeyed, and she sighed with relief. Slipping on a robe and slippers, she brewed herself a cup of tea and made some toast. The food made her feel better.
She had been having strange symptoms for a while, but lately they had grown worse. Today was the second day in a row she had been sick. When it happened yesterday morning, she had assumed it was the ravioli Mrs. Serafino had given her for supper the night before; maybe she had eaten more than was good for her. But yesterday she had eaten sparingly—all day—perhaps she had not eaten enough.
She might speak to her friend Celia Saunders. Celia was older and should know something she could take for it. At the same time, she realized it would be unwise to detail the symptoms too precisely. In the back of her mind was the fear that possibly, just possibly, her sickness might be due to something quite different.
The children in the room overhead were getting noisy. She did not want Mrs. Serafino to see her until she was fully dressed and had had a chance to put a touch of color on her cheeks. She was even more anxious lest Mr. Serafino see her that way, and she hurried back to her room to dress. Taking off her robe and nightgown, she surveyed herself in the full-length mirror on the closet door. She was sure she did not look any stouter. Nevertheless, she decided to put on the new girdle that was firmer than her old one and held her in better.
By the time she was dressed, she felt her old self again. Just the sight of herself in the mirror, trim in her white uniform, made her spirits rise. Suppose it was the other thing? It need not necessarily be dreaded; she might even use it to advantage. But of course she’d have to be sure, and that meant a trip to the doctor, perhaps this Thursday on her day off.
“Then why the hell don’t you get the rabbi to write the letter to the Ford Company?” demanded Al Becker. He was a short, stocky man with a powerful torso mounted on short, stumpy legs. Nose and chin both protruded combatively and there was a pugnacious twist to his lipless mouth, out of which jutted a thick, black cigar. When he removed it from the corner of his mouth, he held it between the curled first and second fingers of his right hand, so that it seemed like a glowing weapon in a clenched fist. His eyes were dull blue marbles.
Ben Schwarz had come to him full of glad tidings. He thought his good friend would be happy to hear he wouldn’t have to stand the considerable expense of mounting a new motor in the car.
But Becker had been far from pleased. True, it would cost Becker Motors nothing, but it did mean a lot of trouble, perhaps extensive correspondence to explain the matter to the company.
“How does the rabbi get into things like this?” he wanted to know. “You’re a sensible feller, Ben. Now I ask you, is this the function of a rabbi of a temple?”
“But you don’t understand, Al,” Schwarz said. “It wasn’t the question of repairs on the car at all. It was, of course, but—”
“Well, was it or wasn’t it?”
“Well, sure it was, but I mean I didn’t go to him about that. He happened to hear I was sore at Abe Reich so he suggested a Din Torah—”
“A Din who?”
“Din Torah,” said Schwarz carefully. “It’s when two parties to a conflict or an argument go to the rabbi and he hears the case and makes a judgment according to the Talmud. It’s a regular thing that rabbis do.”
“First I heard of it.”
“Well, I admit I didn’t know about it before myself. Anyway, I agreed, and Reich and I and Wasserman—as a kind of witness, I suppose—went to the rabbi, and he worked the whole thing out so that it was plain that neither Reich nor I had been negligent. And by God, if I wasn’t negligent and the driver of the car wasn’t negligent, then the fault was in the car and the company is supposed to make good.”
“Well, goddammit, the company won’t make good unless I say so, and I can just see myself going to them for a job this big with that kind of cock-and-bull story.” Becker’s voice was never soft, and when he was angry he shouted.
Schwarz seemed suddenly deflated. “But there was a leak in the seal,” he shouted back. “I told you about that.”
“Sure, a couple of drops a week. That kind of leak wouldn’t burn out a motor.”
“A couple of drops when she was standing still. But she must have been gushing when I drove. I put two quarts in on my way to New Hampshire. That’s no couple of drops. Now that I know from my own knowledge.”
The door of Becker’s office opened and his junior partner, Melvin Bronstein, came in. Bronstein was a youngish man of forty, tall and slim with wavy black hair just beginning to gray at the temples; deep, dark eyes, an aquiline nose, and sensitive lips.
“What’s going on?” he asked. “Is it a private argument, or can anyone join? I’ll bet they could hear you guys down the block.”
“What’s going on is that in our temple we’ve got ourselves a rabbi who can be depended on to do everything except what he’s supposed to do,” said Becker.
Bronstein looked at Schwarz for enlightenment. Happy to have a somewhat less overpowering audience, Schwarz told his story while Becker rustled papers on his desk in elaborate unconcern.
Bronstein beckoned from the doorway of the office, and somewhat reluctantly Becker went over. Schwarz turned away so he would not appear to eavesdrop.
“Ben is a good customer of ours, Al,” whispered Bronstein. “I don’t think the company woul
d question it.”
“Yeah? Well, I’ve had dealings with the Ford Company since before you got out of high school, Mel,” said Becker aloud.
But Bronstein knew his partner. He grinned at him. “Look, Al, if you turn Ben down you’ll only have Myra to deal with. Isn’t she president of the temple Sisterhood this year?”
“And last year, too,” Ben could not help adding.
“It won’t do our business any good to have her sore at us,” Bronstein said, once again lowering his voice.
“Well, the Sisterhood don’t buy cars.”
“But the husbands of all the members do.”
“Goddammit, Mel, how am I going to explain that I want the company to put a new engine in a car because the rabbi of my temple decided they ought to?”
“You don’t have to mention the rabbi at all. You don’t even have to explain how it happened. You can just say that the seal let go while the car was being driven.”
“And what if the company sends down an investigator?”
“Have they ever done it to you, Al?”
“No, but they have with some other agencies.”
“All right,” said Bronstein with a grin, “if he comes, you can introduce him to your rabbi.”
Suddenly Becker’s mood changed. He chuckled deep in his throat and turned to Schwarz. “All right, Ben, I’ll write the company and see if they’ll go along. I’m only doing it, you understand, because you sold Mel here a bill of goods. He’s the original big-hearted kid, the softest touch in town.”
“Aw, you’re just teed off because the rabbi was involved,” said Bronstein. He turned to Schwarz. “Al would have gone along from the beginning, and glad of a chance to help out a customer, too, if you hadn’t mentioned the rabbi.”
“What have you got against the rabbi, Al?” asked Ben.
“What have I got against the rabbi?” Becker removed the cigar from his mouth. “I’ll tell you what I’ve got against the rabbi. He’s not the man for the job; that’s what I’ve got against him. He’s supposed to be our representative, yet would you hire him as a salesman for your company, Ben? Come on now, be truthful.”
“Sure, I’d hire him,” said Schwarz, but his tone did not carry conviction.
“Well, if you were fool enough to hire him, I hope you would be smart enough to fire him the first time he got out of line.”
“When has he got out of line?” demanded Schwarz.
“Oh, come on, Ben. How about the time we had the Fathers and Sons breakfast and we brought down Barney Gilligan of the Red Sox to talk to the kids. He gets up to introduce him and what does he say? He gives the kids a long spiel about how our heroes are scholars instead of athletes. I could’ve gone through the floor.”
“Well …”
“And how about the time your own wife had him come down to pep up the girls of the Sisterhood to put on a big campaign for a Chanukah gift for the temple, and he tells them that keeping Judaism in their hearts and a kosher home was more important for Jewish women than campaigning for gifts for the temple.”
“Just a minute, Al. Naturally I wouldn’t say anything against my own wife, but right is right. That was a luncheon meeting, and Myra served shrimp cocktail, which ain’t kosher-type food and which you couldn’t blame a rabbi for being sore about.”
“And with all this in-fighting going on, you keep trying to get me to join the temple,” said Bronstein with a wink at Schwarz.
“Sure,” said his partner, “because as a Jew and a resident of Barnard’s Crossing you owe it to yourself and to your community to become a member. As for the rabbi, he won’t be there forever, you know.”
3
THE BOARD OF DIRECTORS WERE USING ONE OF THE EMPTY classrooms to hold their regular Sunday meeting. Jacob Wasserman, as the president of the temple and chairman of the board, sat at the teacher’s desk. The rest, fifteen of them, had squeezed themselves into the pupils’ seats, their legs stretched out uncomfortably in the aisles. A few in back were sitting on the desks themselves, their feet on the chairs in front. Except for Wasserman, the board was composed of younger men, half still in their thirties and the rest in their forties and early fifties. Wasserman was dressed in a lightweight business suit, but the others wore the conventional costume in Barnard’s Crossing for a warm Sunday in June—slacks, sport shirts, and jackets or golf sweaters.
Through the open windows came the roar of a power lawn mower operated by Stanley, the janitor. Through the open door came the shrill chanting of the children in the assembly down the hall. There was little formality to the proceedings, members speaking whenever they felt like it, and more often than not, as now, several at once.
The chairman rapped on the desk with a ruler. “Gentlemen, one at a time. Now what were you saying, Joe?”
“What I was trying to say is that I don’t see how we can transact business in all this noise. And I don’t see why we don’t use the small sanctuary for our regular meetings.”
“Out of order,” called another voice. “That’s Good and Welfare.”
“Why am I out of order?” demanded Joe belligerently. “All right, I’ll make a motion that all meetings be conducted in the small sanctuary from now on. That’s New Business.”
“Gentlemen, gentlemen. As long as I’m chairman, anyone who has something important to say can say it any time. Our meetings aren’t so complicated that we can’t go out of order occasionally. The secretary can always set it right in his minutes. The only reason we aren’t using the sanctuary, Joe, is that there’s no place for the secretary to write on. However, if the members feel that a classroom like this is not a good place for a meeting, we could have Stanley set up a table in the sanctuary.”
“That brings up another point, Jacob. How about Stanley? I don’t think it looks right to our Gentile neighbors for him to be out working in plain sight on Sunday, especially since he’s a Gentile and it’s his holiday as much as theirs.”
“What do you suppose they do on a Sunday? You walk along Vine Street and you’ll see practically every one of them out cutting the lawn, trimming the hedge, or maybe painting their boat.”
“Still, Joe has a good point there,” said Wasserman. “Of course, if Stanley objected we certainly wouldn’t insist. He’s got to work here Sundays because of the school, but maybe it would be better if he kept inside. On the other hand, nobody tells him to work outside. In that respect, he’s his own boss. He can arrange his work any way he wants. He’s outside now because he wants to be.”
“Yeah, but it doesn’t look right.”
“Well, it’s only for a couple more weeks,” said Wasserman. “During the summer, he has Sundays off.” He hesitated and glanced at the clock at the back of the room. “That brings up a matter I’d like to talk about for a minute. We’ve got a couple of more meetings before we adjourn for the summer, but I think we ought to consider the rabbi’s contract.”
“What about it, Jacob? It runs through the High Holidays, doesn’t it?”
“That’s true, it does. That’s the way rabbis’ contracts are always written, so that the temple always has a rabbi for the holiday services. Which is why it’s customary to consider the new contract at this time of year. Then if the congregation decides they want to make a change, they have a chance to look around for a new rabbi. And if the rabbi wants to make a change, it gives him a chance to line up a new congregation. I think it might be a good idea if we voted right now to extend our rabbi’s contract for another year, and send him a letter to that effect.”
“Why? Is he looking around for something else, or did he mention it to you?”
Wasserman shook his head. “No, he hasn’t spoken about it. I just think it might be a good idea to send him a letter before he does.”
“Just a minute, Jacob, how do we know the rabbi wants to continue? Hadn’t we ought to get a letter from him first?”
“I think he likes it here and I think he’d be willing to continue,” said Wasserman. “As for the letter, it’s us
ually the employer who notifies. Naturally, we’d have to give him a raise. I think an increase of five hundred dollars would be a proper token of appreciation.”
“Mr. Chairman.” It was the harsh voice of Al Becker. The vice-president straddled his chair and leaned forward, supporting his heavy torso on clenched fists on the desk in front of him. “Mr. Chairman, it seems to me that with the tough time we’re having, with a brand-new temple and all, that five hundred dollars is a pretty expensive token.”
“Yeah, five hundred dollars is a lot of money.”
“He’s only been here a year.”
“Well, that’s the best time to give it to him, isn’t it, right after his first year?”
“You’ve got to give him some kind of a raise, and five hundred dollars is only a little more than five percent of his salary.”
“Gentlemen, gentlemen.” Wasserman rapped on the desk with the ruler.
“I move we lay the whole matter on the table for a week or two,” said Meyer Goldfarb.
“What’s to lay on the table?”
“Meyer always wants to postpone when it comes to spending money.”
“It only hurts for a little while.”
“Mr. Chairman.” It was Al Becker again. “I second Meyer’s motion to lay the matter on the table until next week. That’s been our rule—whenever something involved spending a lot of money we’ve always held it over for at least a week. Now, I consider this a large expenditure. Five hundred dollars is a lot of money, and the new salary, ten thousand dollars, is an awful lot of money. All we’ve got here now is a bare quorum. I think on a matter as important as this, we ought to have a larger turnout. I move that Lennie be instructed to write to all members of the board asking them to be sure to come to next week’s meeting to discuss a matter of special importance.”
“There’s a motion on the floor.”
“Well, it’s the same idea. All right, I’ll make mine an amendment to the motion.”
“Any discussion on the amendment?” asked Wasserman.
Friday the Rabbi Slept Late Page 3
