by Daniel Stern
He stepped into a vacant phone booth and gave the operator the number. Lorraine answered, “Hello.”
“Hello, Lorry. John.”
“Oh, I’m glad you called.”
“Why? Anything wrong?”
“No. No. I’m just glad you called, that’s all. Are you finished with your work?”
“Yes. I finished up yesterday. It went very well.”
“Then you can be home tonight if you fly.”
“Well, no, that’s why I called. Max Kaufman called me here. You remember the Kaufman house I did out in Indiana? Well, he wants me to stop off and take a look at what they’ve done with it and also stay a day or two.”
“John, I want you to come home tonight.”
“I thought you’d say that.”
“Of course I’d say that. You’d think with things the way they are between us that you’d be afraid to leave me at home alone.”
“Lorry, dear, anytime you get the urge you just go right ahead.”
“Don’t try me too far, John. Come on home. You can visit them some other time.”
“No, I’m going. I’ll call you from the Kaufmans’ and let you know when I’m coming home.”
“Any one of these times may be the last time, John. Don’t you know that? Any one of them.”
“Lorry, I’ve grown so used to your threats that I’m anesthetized. You’ll have to try something new.”
“Maybe I’ll try leaving you.”
“All right, Lorraine. All right.”
He expected the click to come when it did, exactly on cue. And it was as if he had deliberately given her the cue to hang up. He hung up too and turned to go when the phone buzzed.
“One moment for your overtime.”
He waited and finally deposited all the change he had, hung up again, walked away swiftly and left the hotel.
He stood on the corner bathed in a garish smear of neon and laughed. He was thinking of Elly and the crazy hope that stirred him whenever he thought of her. Once two years ago they had touched each other, and since then he had, as if it were a parting gift she had given him, the feeling that somehow she was the way out. He could never leave Lorraine, but if one day she would make good on her eternal threat to leave him, what then? Then Elly—Elly who was by now, to Lang, a flutter of ashen hair against a glass wall, a muted cry at the moment of climax, a quality of strength in him, his potent hands, their continual convulsive opening and shutting, for at least one instant, stilled in fulfillment.
Lang crossed the street. He was carrying his overcoat and he slung it over his shoulder now, feeling the way he felt when sometimes, in deep depression, he went to a cheap, stupid movie, one with no pretensions, and from the mock heroics of the actors derived a peculiar sort of satisfaction, as if he could identify himself with the cardboard figure of the hero. While addressing the architects’ convention in Chicago the spring before, he had suddenly become furiously depressed in the middle of his speech, and thought to himself with sly humor: If only they knew that after I leave here I go to a movie downtown and become a pirate or Robin Hood or a great lover.
But I have no right to think of her. I wonder what she thought on receiving my letter? Hell, it was only two years ago, but of course two years at her age is an enormous stretch of time. To me, just a few houses, trips, fights with Lorraine, lies to myself that I’ll leave her. And now the new lie—Elly. God, what a man will do to prove himself a man! Once with her, and twice with that prostitute in Detroit. Once, too, with Lorraine—and the sarcasm afterwards (Well, congratulations! You’re a big boy now).
No wonder he had blown up that little idyllic island of a few days with the Kaufmans out of all proportion. He had enough objectivity to see that. He had no idea what to expect from Elly. He knew only that he must go. Down the street there was a crowd that drew his unfocused attention. He hung around the edge of it and saw that a car had hit someone. Oh my God, he thought, someone’s hit a child. There was no car there now, so it must have been a hit-and-run driver. He pushed his way into the crowd until he could see the small shape lying amid little ribbons of blood, thinking, My God, a child!
It was a rather small dog that was still moving convulsively. Lang turned away, feeling that he had in some way been betrayed. Before his unseeing eyes the long evening and then the night stretched out its lonesome, deceptive arms.
All afternoon Alec had been annoyed at something and unable to place exactly what it was. Now, as they entered the high arch of the synagogue, he realized he hadn’t wanted to come to Shule at all this evening. But the evening before Yom Kippur was one of the most important services and he knew Rose would make a fuss if he declined to attend. Screw all this, he thought, thinking how paralyzed he had been since coming home and how much freer he had felt in L.A. with Annette. This was only a visit, but to keep it a visit one needed a central point to which to return. That had been Annette, but now—
Carl Warschauer stood at the door and Elly was not sure what she would say to him. Carl, however, spoke first.
“How’ve you been, Elly?”
“Fine. Do you know Jay Gordon?”
“I don’t think so. How are you? Happy New Year!”
“Happy New Year!” Jay replied.
“Aren’t you giving a, concert at the Kaufmans’ home tomorrow night? I’ve heard about you.”
“Thank you,” Jay said. “I’m sorry I didn’t get a chance to meet you on Rosh Hashana, but I enjoyed the music very much.”
“See you later,” Elly called and propelled Jay through the door.
Jay took an immediate dislike to Carl. There was something about a youngish man wearing the black robes that troubled him—he couldn’t quite adjust to the idea. Only when he was seated did it occur to him that this was the man Elly had been kissing when he and Alec had arrived.
Max offered Jay and Alec the prayer shawls. Jay accepted his, but Alec shook his head and turned away. Max stared at him for a moment and then shrugged. The cantor began his chanting and Alec was filled with focusless hatred. He wanted to stop his ears. Why are we born with this or that? he thought. Why don’t they shuffle us at birth like a deck of cards: this one Jew, this Catholic, this—? A little old man, whose prayer shawl seemed to envelop and almost hide him from sight, walked up the five steps to the Ark where the scrolls of the Ten Commandments were kept. He pulled the tasseled cord and the curtain opened. Everyone stood. Alec was the last to stand. Little by little, everyone was seated again and the old man, who had a scraggly beard covering his chin, began to call out names which were echoed by Carl standing on the raised dais near the front of the synagogue. As he called each name, a man, usually elderly, stood up and walked to the front of the Shule and up the five steps to receive from the old man, who was the shamus, a great scroll, rolled up and covered with an embroidered velvet bag. It was a slow process and Alec’s attention was wavering when he heard the man in the pew behind him say, in response to his name being called, “I haven’t got the strength.”
People turned to stare, Alec among them, and saw a skinny man, not quite as old as Max in all probability, shaking his head and repeating: “I haven’t got the strength. No strength.”
Then Alec heard what seemed to be his Jewish name called. He turned to Max, whispering, “What did you do that for?”
“It’s an honor,” Max replied. “My brother back home for the holidays. You deserve it.”
“What for? For being a good boy? For—?”
“They’re waiting,” Max said. “What do you want I should say? That you haven’t got the strength?”
Alec stood up, the blood roaring like an ocean in his ears. He took the scroll from the old man and was amazed how heavy it was. The old guy behind him had known the limitations of his strength. Alec took his place in line. Max shuffled in behind him, and after him, Harry, his red face flushed from the exertion. The whole family, Alec thought. Isn’t this too goddamned charming! The Kaufmans on parade. The cantor wailed and the line began t
o move. Alec was surprised (although he had seen it happen before) when people leaned over as he passed them and, touching the tips of their prayer shawls to the scroll he carried, then touched them to their lips. He, Alec Kaufman, was carrying a holy object! How would Annette feel if she were sitting up there beside Elly and Rose? Would she perhaps feel proud, to see him thus honored by what was, for better or worse, his religion? A little child, neatly dressed in a blue suit with long trousers, ran out from a pew and touched the tip of his miniature taleth to Alec’s scroll and was caught up by his father instantly.
Alec looked up and saw Elly smiling down at him. She waved on catching his eye. He tried not to smile. Then as he was nearing the front of the Shule, having made a complete circuit of the room, and hearing behind him Max mumbling and singing, and behind him Harry singing loudly along with the cantor, he felt within him at the same time a rage welling up through his throat and a great fatigue, as if he had been fighting for so long that it had suddenly become too much for him, and he trembled. His legs were weak and he seemed to have no sensation in his arms and his open eyes were covered with a kind of blackness.
When he saw again, he was leaning against one of the pillars on which was painted a scene of life in the Holy Land, and the scroll he had been carrying was being lifted from the floor by Max and some man he had never seen. The buzz of the synagogue was a different one now; a curious murmur suffused the air, and Alec knew he had almost fainted. And he had dropped the Torah. What did that mean? He was sure it was a major sin. His mouth was dry and he wanted a drink of water badly, but when Max whispered, “Are you all right now?” he nodded his head, not trusting himself to speak. They replaced the Torah in his arms, settling it securely, and then they moved on, the cantor picking up his mournful refrain. Alec moved as in a dream. He looked up and saw Elly’s face swimming at him, a concerned look in her eyes, and he tried to smile but couldn’t. When the shamus accepted the scroll from him, Alec’s arms still felt the weight. He sat down heavily in the pew. After a few moments Max and Harry sat down.
“You’re not feeling well, Alec,” Harry said in a nonquestioning voice.
Alec shook his head. He felt nauseated and his body was sticky with sweat. Max gestured to Harry to be quiet. People were staring at them. Women were hanging over the railing of the balcony to see Alec.
Carl came over and asked, “Are you feeling all right?”
“Yes, I’m okay now,” Alec replied. He was afraid that he would not be able to control his voice but he had no difficulty talking to Carl.
Carl smiled comfortingly at him. “You know,” he said, “in olden days you would have had to fast for a certain time. You’re lucky, you see. You’re too skinny to fast.”
He was almost painfully anxious to put Alec at his ease, and everyone could see it. Alec stared straight at the wooden-backed pew before him in which some child or perhaps an adult had carved his initials, W. M. Finally he smiled and said, “Thank you. Thank you, rabbi.”
Carl smiled and returned to his place on the platform. Suddenly, feeling a surge of nausea, Alec rose swiftly and ran from the synagogue.
Going home later that night the family debated what to say to Alec (he had not returned and they assumed he had gone directly home). Elly was for leaving him alone and saying nothing about his embarrassment. Rose said, “Treat it like a joke.”
“Some joke,” Max said, “dropping the Torah on Erev Yom Kippur.”
“All of a sudden you’re so religious! So he got sick. If you’re sick, anything’s allowed.”
“Then why not treat him like you would anyone who was sick?” Jay suggested.
This was agreed on as a tentative course of action. When they arrived home they found Mimi crying in the chair near the door.
“What’s the matter?”
“What happened, Mimi?”
“It was Mr. Alec. I only asked him how he was and he snapped at me and when I asked him if he wanted a cup of coffee he told me to go to hell.” She subsided into tears again.
“Where was Justin?” Elly asked.
“Out fixing the car.”
“Well, stop crying. He didn’t mean it. He’s been sick.”
“He looked bad. That’s why I offered him a cup of coffee.”
“It’s Yom Kippur, Mimi. We fast on Yom Kippur.”
“Not everybody. Miss Elly doesn’t. Sometimes Mr. Kaufman doesn’t. How am I supposed to know who is and who isn’t?”
“You’re absolutely right, Mimi,” Max said. “Go on into the kitchen and wash your face and you’ll feel better…. Where’s Alec?”
“In his room.”
Mimi got up and ran to the kitchen.
In his room, Alec lay on the bed and, having made his decision, was feeling better. It’s amazing, he thought, how even a stupid decision like this makes me feel better. Gives me the illusion of free will, I guess. Making decisions was like giving up liquor—you did it slowly, one little decision and then another and before you knew it you were making a noise like a man. He rolled over and hopped off the bed. He should apologize to Mimi for being so nasty to her. He should be grateful to her for the clue to his decision—offering him that cup of coffee was what had done it. He combed his hair and went out to face the family.
They were waiting for him in the living room as if his entrance had been announced. They asked him if he was feeling better and he said yes he was, whereupon Rose made Mimi’s mistake and suggested a bite to eat.
“No thanks,” Alec said, “I’m fasting.”
They stared at him.
“You mean, for Yom Kippur?” Harry asked.
Alec shook his head. “No. At least for Yom Kippur—it will be the first time for me, you know—but I think for forty days and forty nights. I seem to have read somewhere that that was the penalty for dropping the Torah.”
There were a few laughs but Elly said, “Really, Alec?” and he turned to her and clasped her head in his hands, saying, “Really, baby. I think so.”
“But why, Alec, why?” Max cried.
“Because—I don’t really know why. I just know I have to and that when I thought of it, it was like a sudden peace after what I’ve been going through.”
“Just because of a girl …” Harry began.
“Don’t talk about her, Harry,” Alec warned. “Don’t even mention her.” Harry subsided.
“You can’t fast for forty days, Alec. Nobody could live,” Rose said in a softer voice than anyone had known she possessed.
“I’m going to try, Rose, that’s all. I’ll decide then when I want to stop, if I do. Tomorrow’s the Day of Atonement. Well, I’ll atone for all of us. All of you think back and decide if even forty days would be enough for all our cruelties, or sins, if you like. I’m no superman. If this marvelous feeling of decision I have now wears off, you may find me stuffing myself in the kitchen one morning. For Christ’s sake, somebody has to suffer—it may as well be me.”
“Alec—” Jay moved toward him—“I want to talk to you.”
Alec backed away from his friend. “Not now,” he said. “I’m going to sleep now. In the morning. I’m exhausted. Good night all.”
As Alec was leaving, Max said in a loud clear voice, “Let’s you and I have a cold bite of something, Jay. You don’t fast do you?”
Then Alec was gone and Jay said, “Not right now. Perhaps later.”
“I don’t feel hungry either,” Max confessed. “I thought maybe—”
“Yes, we know what you thought,” Elly said, “but it’s no use. Let’s each one of us decide who’s responsible for what. Come on, Jay.”
Later, at the door as he was leaving, Harry said, “Sarah will be worried. I’d better go…. Listen, Max. I still say you did the right thing. This won’t last. He’s mad still, that’s all.”
“Thanks, Harry. I don’t know. We’ll see. I might not come to Shule tomorrow. You go.”
“Yeah, we’ll go. Good night. Don’t worry. Be well.”
“You too
, Harry. Be well.”
From her room, Elly and Jay watched Harry walk toward the garage.
“You’d better go,” Elly said.
“All right, darling. Good night.” He kissed her quickly and left
In the morning Elly was amazed to find her mother in the kitchen preparing breakfast. On other Yom Kippurs Rose had always let Max take his own breakfast rather surreptitiously, since she fasted and he did not.
“What are you doing, Mom?”
Rose straightened up and glared angrily at her daughter. “If Alec is going to be so crazy, then no Yom Kippur for us. Let him be the only one in the house who fasts. The rest of us will eat.”
“That’s not a bad idea. So where’s Mimi?”
“Decorating the house for the party tonight.”
“You mean the concert?”
“Concert-party. You know.”
“I don’t know if Jay will want to play now.”
“I invited everybody already. He has to. Besides, it’s really better for Alec if we just ignore the whole thing.” Rose wiped her face with her flowered apron. “Tell me, Elly dear. How do you feel about him? Jay, I mean. You like him?”
Elly nodded mutely. She was feeling the familiar terror growing again.
“You think maybe he’s serious? Huh?”
“Leave me alone.” A pause. “I think so.”
“And how about you?”
Elly sat down at the table and bending her head onto the cool plastic tablecloth began to cry. Rose threw down the dish towel in her hands and rushed to Elly. “What’s the matter, baby?”
“Don’t call me that,” she said, sobbing.
“All right. I understand,” Rose said, misunderstanding completely, thinking her girl wanted to be considered an adult, unaware of the fact that “baby” was Alec’s term for her, and of the responsibility which Elly felt—seeing Uncle Alec dead from starvation, herself the cause; knowing, as she saw each terrible vision, that it was childish, and yet none the less terrified by it.
