Fleabrain Loves Franny (12 page)

Truths of the Universe

F
leabrain loved the Sabbath, or
Shabbos
, as the Katzenback family called it in Yiddish, that venerable old language. Only Great-grandfather Zadie Ben and Fleabrain spoke and understood Yiddish fluently; the rest of the family knew a few words here and there. Fleabrain had learned the language while reading the work of the fine Yiddish poet Rosa Harning Lebensboym, born 1887, died 1952.

And Fleabrain loved when the Katzenbacks invited guests, which always resulted in lively and provocative conversation. That night, the first Friday of 1953, there were three guests besides Zadie Ben, who was visiting from his nursing home: Professor Doctor Gutman, Nurse Olivegarten, and Penny Nelson, Franny's teacher, whose husband was out of town attending to his anthropological affairs.

“This is my first
Shabbos
meal!” said Penny, who wasn't of the Jewish faith.

“Our family is delighted to have you at our Sabbath table,” said Mrs. Katzenback.

One could say that Fleabrain was also a member of the Katzenback family, although only one member of that family would agree. But there they were, he and Alf, at the
Shabbos
table. OK, under the table. And both were praying in their own way, as were the eight humans above them.

Alf was praying that challah bread crumbs and other delicacies would drop to the floor. A stray carrot coin, a fat noodle, or a smidgen of chicken from the soup. Alf hoped Franny and Min would answer his prayers, and they did.

As it should be
, thought Fleabrain.
The old dog deserves those little extras
.

“More, more!” whined Alf.

Fleabrain clasped his hairy front legs together in a prayerful attitude. But he couldn't think of anything to ask for. He had it all! Two best friends (although one was more of a generous host). A warm, hairy bed. The occasional blood feast. Stimulating reading materials. Adventure. His health.

Was there more in life to be had?

He supposed he should give a little prayer of thanks.

But then again, to Whom or What was he praying?

The eight humans had blessed the candles, the wine, and the bread, while praying to something larger than themselves.

Nah. Not for him. Most things on Earth were larger than Fleabrain.

A sudden, brilliant inspiration came to him. Oh, how smart, smart, smart he was! He, Fleabrain, would pray to things
smaller
than himself! Way, way smaller than himself. Molecules. Atoms.
Sub-sub-sub-atomic somethings, singing to him from a faraway place. Because small was great.

He didn't understand it all yet. One day he would, bug it. One day, he, Fleabrain, would discover all the Truths of the Universe! He was so smart, his brain ached.

Fleabrain could hear the humans slurping their soup. Not much conversation during that part of the meal. Everyone was too hungry to discuss intellectual matters.

Now was a good time for Shoe Analysis, a pleasant little hobby of Fleabrain's. So much could be learned by studying eight pairs of shoes under a table.

Pair Number One: Professor Doctor George Gutman's.

Brand-new men's black dress shoes. Old gray socks, a tear at the ankle lovingly darned with teeny cross-stitches. Couldn't the guy afford a new pair of socks to go with the new shoes? Ah, yes. Maybe he finds it hard to replace the old socks because he misses the person who repaired them. At New Shoes' feet was a small black doctor's bag. Does a researcher make house calls? A mystery.

Pair Number Two: Nurse Olivegarten's.

Dangerously pointy, high-heeled blue sling-backs. Silk hose. Toes pointed toward the professor's.

Pair Number Three: Francine's. Oh, Francine!

Patent-leather Mary Janes, Franny's best shoes from Before, which she'd insisted on wearing instead of her ugly orthopedic ones. Nurse Olivegarten hadn't approved.

Pair Number Four: Penelope “Call me Penny!” Nelson's.

Appropriately, red penny loafers, recently spruced up with new heels. Frugal (beginning teacher's and anthropologist's salaries). Optimistic: shiny 1953 pennies tucked into the slots.

Pair Number Five: Zadie Ben's.

Brown slippers. No. Not slippers. Leather shoes with the backs worn down. Also, no shoelaces. Some things were more important than dressing like a Dapper Dan, especially when you were ninety-three years, six months, and four days old. For instance, one's comfort on short, pleasant walks. Reading books. Arriving at meals while the food was still hot. The wisest human in the room.

Pair Number Six: Saint Min's.

Clean white socks. Saddle shoes, white and black. Two coats of white shoe polish oh-so-carefully applied to the saddle shoes' white sections.

Pairs Seven and Eight, at each end of the table: Muriel's and Sammy's.

Men's new size-ten maroon wing tips with tan trim. Ladies' new size-six lime-green pumps with flawed stitching. Katzenback's Footwear's slowest-selling models of 1952, a small personal indulgence after the 1953 models came in.

Now Pumps and Wing Tips got up to bring in the rest of the meal, with the help of Saddle Shoes. Penny Loafers moved to help.

“Sit, Penny dear! Our guests are here to enjoy,” said Mrs. Katzenback.

Patent-leather Mary Janes stayed still.
Oh, Francine. I know you want to help, too
, thought Fleabrain.
Everybody knows you'd help if you could
.

Dinner was served. Alf sighed with happiness as more tidbits—a lump of potato pudding, a slice of turkey, a meatball—began to rain down.

Fleabrain reveled in the conversational tidbits:

The upcoming inauguration of General Dwight D. Eisenhower and Senator Richard Nixon as president and vice president, respectively.

The country's recession and the resulting poor sales at Katzenback's Footwear.

The frightening proliferation of nuclear weapons.

Were there spies in the U.S. government? Was Joe McCarthy's Senate investigation of Communists too vicious?

“Absolutely not,” said Nurse Olivegarten.

“Absolutely,” said Penny.

I agree!
thought Fleabrain.
A witch hunt in Congress!

Saddle Shoes tapped with boredom.

And what about the Cold War between the U.S. and the Soviet Union?

And the Korean War between South and North Korea?

Fleabrain moaned. “Ah, humans! Such folly! So many trials and tribulations! So many wars!”

“Why worry?” Alf replied. “It's beyond anyone's control.”

“Is it, Alf? Does it have to be?” asked Fleabrain.

“Don't ask me,” said Alf, gulping down another meatball.

Fleabrain much preferred the sprightly conversation between Professor Doctor Gutman and Penny about the romantic style of
the German composer Johannes Brahms, born May 7, 1833, died April 3, 1897.

Sling-backs tapped jealously.

“Dessert is served!” said Mr. Katzenback. “From Rosenbloom's!”

Saddle Shoes wriggled with glee. “Chocolate gems!” cried Min.

Then the table was quiet once again, to Fleabrain's great disappointment. Conversation could never compete with chocolate gems from Rosenbloom's. Fleabrain could sense Alf's anticipation, waiting for a few cake crumbs to drop.

Finally, Wing Tips stood up.

“Penny, what you see in my hand is called a
tzedakah
box,” said Mr. Katzenback. “
Tzedakah
is a Hebrew word meaning ‘righteous.' Every Friday evening after the Sabbath meal, my daughters do the righteous deed of placing coins from their allowance in the box. This money is collected for people less fortunate than ourselves.”

“Tzeh-dack-uh. Such a beautiful little box. And what a nice tradition!” said Penny.

Saddle Shoes leaped up and ran to her father.
Clink!
went her coins into the
tzedakah
box.

Mary Janes stayed still.

“Come, Franny,” said Mr. Katzenback. There was a scraping of chairs as everyone moved closer to the table in order to make room for Franny in her wheelchair.

“Oh, Dad. Just bring the box over here,” said Franny.

“All right, darling. Here it is,” said her father.

Clink! Clink!
From her place at the table, Franny dropped her coins into the box.

Sling-backs tapped impatiently.

“If Franny had worn her braces and the proper shoes,” said Nurse Olivegarten, “she could have walked the short distance to her papa. We are all thrilled that Franny has some movement in both feet and, occasionally, in her lower limbs, Doctor Gutman. I'm using Sister Kenny's methods of daily hot, wet packs and strenuous stretching. Soon our girl will be out of her wheelchair completely, just about as good as new. Show the doctor your leg movement, Franny.”

Mary Janes didn't move.

Sling-backs kicked.

Mary Janes still didn't move.

Fleabrain mightily restrained himself from biting one of Sling-backs' ankles.

“Please show him, Franny!” repeated Nurse Olivegarten.

“No, I don't want to right now. But I would like to show him my wheelies,” said Franny. “I do wonderful wheelies.”

Min laughed. “She does!”

“I'd love to see you do wheelies,” said Professor Doctor Gutman.

Mary Janes began to wheel herself from the table. Pumps stood up.

“Franny, we don't want you to tire yourself,” said Mrs. Katzenback. “You need to save your strength.”

“Save my strength for what? I hardly ever do
anything
,” said Franny.

“Wheelies? What are wheelies?” asked Zadie Ben. It was the
first time he'd spoken during the meal. Chewing carefully, not conversing, had been the task at hand.

“Papa, wheelies mean that Franny races up and down the hallway in her wheelchair, then rears up on her wheels,” said Franny's mother. “Now just isn't the time.”

“This is what Franny does?” said Zadie Ben, sounding more surprised than when his family and friends had surprised him with a ninetieth birthday party, taking over almost all of Weinstein's Restaurant except a few booths at the front. “That's something I'd like to do myself,” he said. “Will you teach me another day,
feygeleh
?”

Min giggled, and so did Franny, at the thought of their great-grandfather doing wheelies. Oh, how Franny loved her Zadie! She loved how he called her
feygeleh
. Little bird. He always made her feel as if she could soar, even now.

“Now is the time for schnapps in the living room for the adults, and cocoa for the girls,” said Mr. Katzenback.

At that moment Not-Slippers jumped up, startling Fleabrain and Alf, whose haunches had been resting on them.

“One minute, please, folks,” said Zadie Ben.

“Of course,” said Mr. Katzenback. “Zadie will now say the after-dinner blessing.”

Zadie Ben began to chant in Hebrew. His chanting went on and on and on, quite a bit longer than usual. Only Fleabrain seemed to notice that Zadie was no longer chanting a blessing in Hebrew but was singing a Yiddish song.

Fleabrain's heart filled with sorrow and dread.

The song was describing a Truth of the Universe.

The Yiddish words seemed to swirl around the room. They did wheelies against the walls. They broke into shards of syllables, bouncing from floor to ceiling. Fleabrain saw sparks flashing before his eyes, and his brain ached with the awful knowledge. He lay on his back, hardly breathing. He waved his limbs in distress.

“Fleabrain, my friend! What's wrong?” barked Alf.

“A bit of indigestion,” Fleabrain gasped. “I'll be all right in a moment.”

He would be all right, but only if he kept his knowledge a secret, especially from Francine. Knowing his dear Francine as he did, if she truly understood this particular Truth of the Universe, she wouldn't need him anymore.

Fleabrain didn't think he could bear that.

Poor Fleabrain. Poor, poor, Fleabrain
, the voices sang.