by Jeffra Hays
escapade, no.” Dave was listening. “I appease Hannah, and that’s why we’re here. We attend services on the holidays. Or she drags me on the Sabbath. It’s only to honor her, but I could say that I feel like half a Jew.”
“And if I ask you now?”
“What else would I be? A Jew. Yes.” Benny sucked in his stomach and laughed. “How about one and a half? Is size a substitute, even if I don’t believe in all that other, well, stuff?”
“All the other, as you so eloquently phrased it, crap? If you were a true cynic you would have slept soundly, dismissed it as a trick and laughed it off, but you were irritated. You made the effort, not for your wife but for yourself, to understand. It’s a trick only if you consider faith a trick. I am what you see. Wasn’t there any unusual evidence in the other temples?”
Benny shoved his hands into his pockets and remembered two weeks of guided tours. “You refer to women bearing elephants with eight arms, and blue-skinned playboys and a four-headed phallus?”
“Even if you are not quite accurate, yes, and did you lose sleep over any of those stories?”
“Of course not. I didn’t witness them. Why shouldn’t I sleep?”
“Then why if I float around a bit?”
“You damn half Jew faker! Don’t try to con me!” Benny gasped, grabbed his own chest and felt his armpits soak. “And I’m not supposed to get excited.” He took a deep breath, reached into his pocket for a handkerchief, but Dave only clapped his hands with pleasure.
“Don’t worry, Benny. You won’t have an attack, and the excitement will clear your blood a little. All that cynicism clogs the arteries worse than any roast beef. Think of yourself as one of the elite. Who takes the time and trouble to call at dawn and debate an old scoffer like me? Someone like you, perhaps? Benjamin Holman, a candidate to replace me, a sophisticate with all the credentials.”
“I don’t fall for any of it.” Benny was panting, exhausted.
“Yes, of course you know better than to believe.”
“Better than to believe that your lower half is missing.”
“Ah, Benny, but you do see me as half, despite your probing, your snickers, your logic. You stepped past the typical doubter to examine what you don’t believe, and therein lies your suitability. We need a strong nonbeliever as guide. The others, the believers, accept me without a murmur, but your attempt to explain only brought identical results: no bottom. That, simply, is faith. You simply deny it.”
“Is that what you were – are selling?”
“Call it merchandise. All of it. Has your pain subsided?”
“Only the pain in my chest. The pain in my ass is killing me. I’m worn out. You’ll tease me forever, but I’m going home. Without an answer.”
“Answer! You heard the answer last night! Remember Queen Esther!” Dave looked up, his hands rising as he cried, “For if you are silent now, the deliverance shall come to us from another place, but you shall be destroyed.” He laid both hands on Benny’s sweaty head. “And who knows whether you have come to the kingdom for such a time as this? Benjamin Holman! Benjamin Holman! You are called! Take this tiny congregation from a faded old man and protect it, nurture it, make it once again vibrant and whole!”
Benny grabbed Cohen’s wrists and pushed. Cohen twirled backward, banged his shoulder on the edge of the door, grasped one of the lions for an instant, then slid along the door’s edge and collapsed, face down, on the stone.
He couldn’t see Cohen’s face.
“More pranks, Dave?” Benny waited. “Dave?”
Benny panicked. “Dave! Dave!” he yelled, reached inside the gate, opened the latch and bent over Cohen. “Help! Someone help! Get an ambulance! Help!” Afraid to move him, he ran out and down the steps. The rickshaw was there. “Help!” He waved but there was no driver. He was soaked with sweat. He rubbed the sting in his chest. “Help someone get a doctor!” he screamed to the empty street, and ran back to Cohen.
“Dave?” Benny tried to crouch, to kneel, but couldn’t. He grabbed the brass lion’s head and lowered himself to the stone floor. “Dave?” He let go of the knocker and, supporting his stomach in his arms, walked on his knees, wincing toward Cohen. “Help someone!” he screamed again. Benny dared to press Cohen’s neck. He felt throbbing, but whose pulse was it? Breath clouds a mirror! He had no mirror. He had his glasses! Cohen faced away from him. Afraid to turn Cohen’s head, he moved alongside Cohen, set his right knee just below Cohen’s shirt and crossed to the other side.
“Ayyy,” screamed Cohen. “You’re on my leg! My legs! My legs!”
“Dave! You’re alive!” Benny dropped onto all fours, one hand where Cohen’s left thigh should have been. “What legs?”
“You’re killing me! Ay! You’ll break my bones!”
“Dave I’m sorry!” Benny crawled backwards on hands and knees toward Cohen’s head. “I’m trying to get help. I didn’t mean to hurt you.” He dropped his elbows to the floor and lowered his face to Cohen’s. “God I’m sorry, Dave. I didn’t know you could feel your bottom.”
Benny heard the gate creak open and looked up. Two men were talking in their local tongue.
“A doctor. Ambulance. Telephone. Please hurry!” cried Benny. One of the men walked around, kneeled beside Benny, set his cheek down and spoke to Cohen. Cohen, eyes open, answered briefly and closed his eyes again.
“What happened?” asked Benny as the man stood up and walked around Cohen. “What did he say?”
The man smiled and swayed his chin. “No English.” He conferred with his companion, and both ran down the street.
“I was out of control when I pushed you. It isn’t like me, Dave. I’m overtired, no sleep for two nights.” And that food upset me, thought Benny, all this talk, and Hannah dreading the long trip home, and here was Cohen, moaning on the floor.
This was no trick. Was it?
Benny tried to stand, but couldn’t. He walked on his knees back to the door, grabbed the lion and dragged himself up.
The two men returned with Itzhak. Barefoot, wearing only his dhoti, Itzhak bowed to Benny. “Good morning, and Happy Purim,” he said, and squatted beside Cohen. The four spoke for a moment, then Rachel climbed the steps.
She smiled at him. “Happy Purim,” she said, and crouched beside Itzhak.
“What can I do?” asked Benny. “Itzhak? Rachel? What about a doctor?”
“Please. Sir.”
Benny turned and looked down. His driver was smoking and bowing.
“Sir? You wanted me? Back to your hotel now?”
“In few minutes, yes,” said Benny, and turned back to Cohen. He was standing, or floating, between Itzhak and Rachel, each supporting him under an arm.
“Itzhak sees only a slight bruise on the shoulder,” Cohen said to Benny.
“But you should see a doctor,” said Benny. “Right, Itzhak?”
“No,” Itzhak smiled at Cohen, “David is strong, but he’ll need to rest now if he wants to chant later.”
“Yes,” said Cohen, “I’ll have plenty of time to rest.” His voice wobbled. “Well,” he paused. “Benny, you haven’t answered my question.”
“I’m sorry about all this.” Benny shrugged. “I’m no King Esther. Maybe I see you -- faith or no faith -- as half, but you see too much in me. I’m in no shape,” Benny glided his hands up and down his stomach, “in no spiritual shape to replace you. Tricks or not, I know you’re sincere, so I’ll have to say it’s an honor, and thanks, but I decline. Maybe someone else, but not me. ” Benny wiped his forehead and the back of his neck with his handkerchief and smiled at Cohen. “Already so hot here.”
“Should I give up on you, then?” Cohen asked.
“We have ties at home. Obligations. You understand?”
“Yes, all too well.” Cohen leaned toward Itzhak. “I tried.” He found Benny’s eyes. “You have a flight today and your time is limited. But I want you to know that I tried. This community is doomed, I know. We plan to remain here and die here.”
“Listen, Dave. I’ll talk to Hannah. Maybe we’ll come back again, to visit. I don’t know when, but I’m sure she would like that.”
“Jew Street will be here.” With Itzhak’s help, Cohen turned to go inside.
“You’ll be here, I’m sure. Dave, we’ll be back.”
Hannah was awake, though still in bed. “Out for a walk, Benny? Or did you have an early breakfast? Did you try any of those little rice cakes?”
“Just out for a walk.” He was undressing. “I’ll shower and then we’ll have breakfast, come back to pack and hire a cab.” His pants dropped, he threw his underwear on the armchair and stared at his bare feet. “And no more Megillas this morning. Straight to the airport.”
“You know I never dare contradict you.” She raised her head. “What are you looking at?”
Benny lifted one naked leg to inspect his foot, then climbed onto the bed and stood beside Hannah. The soft mattress sank. She rolled into him, poked a big toe and kissed an ankle.
“Hannah, how do my feet look to you? My toes?”
“How should they look?”
He pointed. “Touch them. Are they fading, do you think?”
“Oh no, my poor Benny. Did you go to see Cohen?”
He dropped to his knees, then lay beside her, raised his left leg and watched his grimy toes wiggle. “I spoke to him, yes.”
“And?”
“You were right about coming here. Maybe we’ll come back.” He sighed, turned to her and smiled.
“Oh, Benny, you must be feeling better. That’s wonderful.” She kissed his cheek. “And did you find your
