by Joan Hess
Theo shook his head, now feeling as if he were disappointing Miriam by his inability to answer in the affirmative. Jet lag, he scolded himself, was responsible for this un-Bloomerish behavior, which seemed to resemble pubescent hormonal turmoil. Disgraceful.
Miriam smiled as she pointed at a flight of stairs leading to a balcony and row of doors. “Your room is in the middle, and Dorrie’s is at the end. I imagine you’ll find her in residence. Good luck, Theo.”
“Thank you, Miriam.” He started for the stairs, then stopped to blink over his shoulder. “Will I see you and your husband at dinner?”
“Not unless you and Essie have a great deal in common. I’ve been a widow for twelve years, and I eat in the communal dining hall with the kibbutzniks. The main building of the guest house has a restaurant for tourists and our guests. However, I’d be delighted to give you a tour of the kibbutz tomorrow if you’re interested.”
“Oh, dear, I’m sorry if I’ve alluded to painful memories,” Theo said hastily.
Miriam shrugged. “Please don’t apologize. Many of our kibbutzniks were killed in that war and the others, and the Arabs have yet to apologize. Twelve years is, as I have learned, a very long time.”
Theo felt much as he had when, as a small boy seated before a grand piano in the center of a vast and drafty stage, he had searched the audience for a parental smile of encouragement. An absurd feeling for a somewhat bald widower. Thoroughly amazed, he heard himself continuing, “Perhaps you might join me after dinner for coffee or brandy in the lobby to discuss this proposed tour?”
Her smile was more like a grin. “Why, that would be lovely. Shall we say nine o’clock, Theo?”
He managed a nod and escaped before he compounded his disgrace. Theo had dealt with people all his life over the counter of his florist shop, determining their desires from bridal bouquets to funeral memorials. He had done so with dignity and reserve. He had never stooped to personal comments, even to those who had chosen orchids for a gardenia event. Or vice versa.
He entered the room and centered his suitcase on a small table. The bed looked adequate, the bathroom modern, the air conditioner capable of arctic breezes. Dorrie would have to wait until he had showered and rested, he decided. A card proclaimed, among other things, that dinner would be served between six and eight. With practiced efficiency, Theo unpacked his bag, placed neatly folded shirts and underwear in drawers, and hung creased trousers in the closet. Shoes were placed beneath cuffs in parallel precision. He then set his alarm clock for seven-thirty, took a brisk shower, and collapsed on the bed for a few hours of heavenly oblivion.
At which point the door opened.
3
Theo Bloomer did not sink to uttering expletives, having decided decades earlier they were an indication of both a base mentality and a limited vocabulary. He was therefore quite surprised at the speed with which one such particularly succinct word flashed across his mind.
Firmly dismissing it, he said, “Who’s there?”
The response was an explosvie exhalation and a jangle of keys.
Theo sat up and put on his glasses. The door and entry were not visible from his bed, but he was certain who his visitor would prove to be. “Essie, you may come in,” he said softly, as if speaking to a wounded animal of unknown ferocity.
The head, tilted to a peculiar angle, appeared around the corner. The familiar brown eyes stared without blinking, and the mouth formed a circle of leery indecision. When Theo remained silent, she edged forward and held out an armful of towels. Her black hair hung to her waist, which looked no bigger than Theo’s wrist. Her rib cage was visible under a cotton dress that draped unevenly several inches below her knees. Her feet were large, bare, and dusty.
“Thank you, Essie. You may leave them there if you wish.”
“You can’t use theb there. Supposed to go in the bathroob.” Her voice was flat and adenoidal, as if the words bounced about an echo chamber high in her nose. It was very difficult to understand. He could hear no accent in her statement, only petulant challenge.
“I promise that I shall transfer them to the bathroom later. Thank you for bringing them.”
She unclasped her hands and impassively watched the towels tumble to the floor in an avalanche of white terry cloth. Theo disguised a wince as she suddenly looked up at him. “Why did you cob here?”
“I came to visit my niece, Dorrie Caldicott.”
Essie’s head swiveled as she studied the room. “Not here. Not her roob. Her roob’s down there.” Her head jerked to one side.
“Ah, yes, thank you. After I rest, I intend to locate her roob—ah, room, so that we can have a visit,” Theo murmured. Her unblinking eyes made him uncomfortable, as if she were a gardener and he a hapless clump of crabgrass. Reminding himself of his age—and rapidly declining physical condition—he added, “Is that all, Essie? I was hoping to take a nap before dinner.”
“Fish.”
“I fear I failed to bring the proper equipment, but I do appreciate the suggestion. Now, I would like to—”
“Fish for dinner. I saw it in the kitchen. Left over from last week. Put tobato sauce on it so it won’t smell.” The last came out in an accented, shrill voice. She began to sway back and forth, her painfully thin body responding to an interior tornado, then abruptly jerked herself to a halt. “I don’t like fish,” she announced flatly.
Theo could not halt a yawn. When it had run its course, he blinked leaden eyelids. “Neither do I, any more. I’m going to have to ask you to leave, Essie; I am exhausted.”
“Take a stroll at ten.” No discernible accent, but this time in a low growl that sounded like a man’s voice.
“I prefer a nap at the present, but I will certainly take a stroll later. Good-bye, Essie.” He took off his glasses and watched a blurred shadow waft out of view. The door banged closed seconds later.
Once again Theo sank back for a nap.
The alarm woke him from an unpleasant dream of stewardesses armed with whips and drunken pilots who pirouetted in the aisles. He fumbled for his glasses and managed to shut off the alarm. After a few minutes of befuddlement, he remembered where he was and why. Dorrie Caldicott was busily breaking her mother’s heart and ruining her bridge game, while he wasted precious hours in self-indulgent sleep. The more quickly he cleared up the situation, the sooner he could return to his bungalow and his unattended night-blooming cereus. If only it could wait until he returned.
Minutes later, clad in a light gray suit and somber tie, Theo walked to the last room on the balcony and tapped on the door. Perhaps the whole mess could be resolved before dinner, and he could meet Miriam Adler with an unsullied conscience. And take Dorrie home on the next available flight.
The theory evaporated when his knock was unheeded. Sighing, he walked along the sidewalk to the lobby, bravely opened the French doors, and entered the restaurant. An aroma of fish and tomatoes stopped him in the doorway.
“Oh, my God, Uncle Theo?” Loud, amazed, very much prep school à la Connecticut. “Is that really and truly you? I can’t believe it!”
Theo squinted myopically across an atoll of round white tables to find his niece and namesake, Theodora Bloomer Caldicott, who was on her feet and hopping about like a cheerleader with a full bladder. She looked very much as she had when he last saw her in the Caldicott manor. Her long blonde hair cascaded down her back in artful disarray, and her eyelashes were carefully smudged to achieve an image of startled innocence. She wore her standard outfit: a cotton shirt with a discreet emblem and prewashed designer jeans, chopped off centimeters short of a semipornographic length. Her sneakers, Theo knew, cost more than many an entire floral bill for a wedding.
He hurried across the room before she could shriek another greeting. They hugged for a minute, pleased with each other, then Theo disengaged her and gestured at the three empty places at her table.
“May I join you?”
“Oh, Uncle Theo, of course you can join me. This is such a shock
—it really is! Why on earth are you here? I simply cannot get over it! I am just totally floored.”
He allowed her to continue in that vein as he took a sip of water and unfolded his napkin. There were no other diners in the room; the waitress near the kitchen door seemed unimpressed by the barrage of girlish squeals and giggles. At last Dorrie ran out of protests of incredulousness and gave him a calculating look.
“Mother sent you, didn’t she? I can just hear her: ‘Theo, this is all your fault for corrupting that innocent child with your nasty old stories about those filthy communists.’ She probably tied you up with wire, tossed you in the trunk of the Mercedes, and delivered you to a porter at the airport to be checked straight through.”
“That is a fairly accurate reconstruction, Dorrie. Nadine is perturbed by the situation, and pointed out several times that you are, among other things, an Episcopalian. Some well-meaning bridge player told her that Israel is, among other things, a Jewish state. The information was distressing. Terrorist attacks, bombings, and leftist economic theories were also mentioned, as was your senior year at Wellesley. Charles is two strokes off his handicap; Nadine trumped her partner’s ace at a tournament. I was indeed sent to investigate.”
Dorrie’s blue eyes flashed between thick, curled lashes. “Well, I don’t care about Daddy’s golf scores or Mother’s mortification. They refused to listen to me when I called. All they cared about was the dorm deposit at Wellesley and the back-to-school dance at the club. I mailed Biff a postcard to explain why I couldn’t go with him. I’m not a barbarian.” She emphasized her avowal with a delicate sniff of her upturned nose. The infamous Caldicott jaw inched forward.
“I’m sure you’re not, Dorrie. Despite your mother’s orders, I did not come to drag you home in time for the dance at the country club. If you feel it vital to remain in order to analyze the social structure of the kibbutz, you may do so. Your dorm room may lie fallow this year if you wish.”
“Thanks, Uncle Theo. Now that we’ve cleared things up, what do you want for dinner?” Her voice fell to a dramatic whisper that could be heard across the Dead Sea in Jordan. “The food is not terribly good. It’s what they call ‘kosher,’ which has to do with some law about meat and milk. The waitress literally wigged out when I ordered a simple cheeseburger.”
Theo glanced at the menu. “Not the fish, I think. All the traveling may have upset my stomach. I believe I’ll have a salad and a piece of fruit, and club soda to drink.”
“It’s not even Perrier, Uncle Theo. It’s some local brand with an unpronounceable name. I don’t know how I’ve survived this long.”
“I shall risk it just this once.” He gave his order to the waitress, and listened as Dorrie ordered soup, salad, fish, potatoes, and whatever else she could find on the menu. She was twenty years old, he reminded himself with a bemused smile, and oblivious to exterior pressures when the subject of food arose. Nadine had despaired loudly when Dorrie had munched steadily through all childhood diseases, an appendectomy, and a series of pubescent depressions due to traitorous boyfriends and catastrophic tennis tournaments. He suspected his sister would have preferred a slight and fragile rosebud to an exuberant snapdragon with the appetite of a venus flytrap.
Yet Dorrie was still very much a Caldicott, with a dose of Bloomer blue blood thrown in. The pacifier had been sterling silver, the bibs Irish lace, the petticoats starched, and the hair ribbons neatly bowed. White gloves had been donned without a whimper. Dorrie had been instructed in piano, ballet, ballroom dancing, watercolors, tennis, golf, and all other skills deemed vital for a meaningful life in Connecticut. She had finished her junior year at Wellesley with an admirable gradepoint in her chosen field, sociology. Of all her beaming relatives, only Theo wondered what simmered beneath her gracious smiles and bright chatter.
Now he wondered more than ever.
They ate, or rather Dorrie did, while Theo watched. Essie’s editorial on the fish still haunted him, and even the salad had a suggestive odor of piscatory longevity. After Dorrie had packed in the last bite, he placed his napkin beside his plate and surreptitiously glanced at his watch. Two fifty-three and ticking. It felt much later.
Dorrie giggled at his frown. “You have to add a bunch of hours, Uncle Theo. Do you have a date?”
Theo cleared his throat, willing the blush to stay under his collar. “No, but I did arrange to meet Mrs. Adler in the lounge to discuss a tour of the kibbutz tomorrow. You and I do need to talk, however, and I’m sure Mrs. Adler would not mind if I were to cancel our discussion.”
“A date with Miriam, hmmm?” Dorrie gave him an impertinent smile rarely seen in Connecticut. “That’s okay; I was planning to wash my hair right after dinner. This heat is so barbaric that, if I don’t condition my hair every single night, it just frizzes out of control and I look exactly like Frankenstein’s bride—or worse. We can talk later, or even tomorrow. And you’ll need to meet Judith, too.”
“Miriam mentioned her earlier, but I failed to recognize the name. Who is this Judith, Dorrie?”
“Judith Feldheim. She’s the reason I’m here, Uncle Theo, and the reason I can’t go home. Have a lovely time with Miriam.”
Before Theo could protest, Dorrie tossed her napkin on the table and left the restaurant.
4
Miriam was sitting on one of the sofas in the lobby, talking to a young man whose scowl was almost audible. A second young man watched from behind the sofa. Unwilling to intrude, Theo moved to the bar, now tended by a rotund and rubicund man, and requested two brandies. After he had signed a ticket, he turned back to see Miriam waving for him to join them.
“This is my son Gideon and his friend, Hershel Waskow,” she said, clearly struggling to overcome annoyance. “This is Theo Bloomer, Dorrie’s uncle. He arrived today for a visit.”
Gideon made no effort to respond to his mother’s social cues. His face would have been a study in chiseled male beauty had it not been distorted with sulkiness. His broad shoulders were hunched, and taut muscles were visible under his dusty T-shirt and brief shorts. Even his tousled auburn hair seemed to bristle as he glanced up and snorted a terse acknowledgment of Theo’s nod.
Hershel produced a weak smile above a weaker chin. He was taller than Gideon, but with none of the latter’s physical assurance or sense of muscular density. A curtain of black, oily hair hung over his forehead in an unsuccessful attempt to hide a splay of old pockmarks. His large hands dangled at either side as he ducked his head and muttered something inaudible. A brayish laugh followed.
Theo again nodded, unable to reply to that which he had not been able to hear.
Gideon turned back to his mother. “No one is planning to go anywhere tonight, so there’s no reason to get so damned upset about it. Hershel has a hot date with his rich little Jewish American princess. Ilana’s mad at me because she thinks I’m fooling around with someone else. I couldn’t get away if I had a jeep—which I don’t. But if there’s one more unprovoked attack against one of our shopkeepers, you can forget my promise to stay away from—”
“Gideon!” Miriam interrupted. “Mr. Bloomer has no interest in your political tantrums, nor do I. If you were twenty years younger, your metapelet would spank you and send you to bed. I suggest you work out your difficulties with Ilana, then come by my house later for another talk.”
Gideon stood up and stalked away. Hershel trotted after him, mumbling sympathetically and flapping a hand in an attempt to pat his friend’s shoulder. Theo offered one of the brandies to Miriam and sat down across from her. The brandy sloshed in her glass as she fought to control her hand, but at last she won the skirmish and looked up with a grimace that Theo found appealingly wry.
“Children can be difficult,” she said, “even when they’re twenty-five years old and supposedly capable of mature behavior. I hope you’ll accept my apologies for Gideon’s rudeness.”
“I’m sure he intended no rudeness, Miriam.”
“That hardly excuses it. He’s—he�
��s been under a great deal of stress these days. I had hoped his vacation in Athens would relax him.” She sighed, then took a swallow of brandy. “Actually, he’s been worse since he and Hershel returned.”
“And you have no idea …?”
“Well, he’s obsessively concerned about the political situation in the Administered Territories, as many of the young people are. Those of us who’ve managed more or less to coexist with the Arabs are somewhat more cautious in our dealings with them. There’ve been too many deaths.”
“Then we’re near the Administered Territories?” Theo said, glancing over his shoulder. No silent, heavily armed figure glided through the shadows, but circumspection couldn’t hurt.
“Gideon insists on calling them Judaea and Samaria, but we are very near. You drove through the West Bank on your trip from the airport, and the line is only a few miles to the north of here. Jerusalem is surrounded on three sides. The Gaza Strip is to the west and the Golan Heights are to the north, on the border of Lebanon. The entire country is less than three hundred miles long, so nothing is very far.”
Theo decided to avoid further discussion of the contiguity of hostile neighbors. “Gideon seemed upset over an incident …?”
“He’s more upset about Ilana’s jealousy. She’s very important to him, although he forgets it upon occasion. They grew up together, studied, and stirred up mischief until they went into the army. They also went to the university together, and graduated just a few months ago. ‘Wither thou goest, I will go; and whither thou lodgest, I will lodge.’ If Ilana is a modern-day Ruth, then Hershel and Gideon are my Jonathan and David. The three have been a triple threat since their first day in the children’s house.”
“They were all three reared in a children’s house?”
“It’s on your tour tomorrow,” she said. “All the children are reared together, by the community rather than by their parents. The new mothers stay home with their infants for six to twelve weeks, depending on individual needs. Then the babies are placed with peers in the children’s house so that the mothers can return to work as productive members of the kibbutz. We’re a bit old-fashioned; some of the newer kibbutzim encourage the children to sleep at home until they reach adolescence.”
