Monday the Rabbi Took Off (18 page)

“You probably are.”

“But I’m his father.”

“Biologically, ” said the rabbi. “Your son treats you like a stranger because you are a stranger.”

They stopped at the curb for the traffic light to change. Stedman waited until they had crossed before answering. “But what am I supposed to do? I see him doing all sorts of foolish things. Am I supposed to see him make mistakes and not interfere? As near as I can make out. all his friends at the university are Arabs. When I suggest that he cultivate some of the Jewish students, that his present associates might be unwise or even dangerous, he only gets annoyed with me.”

“Just as you’d be annoyed with him if he presumed to criticize your friends.”

“There’s a difference.”

“Not much, really, and none in his eyes.” The rabbi shrugged.

“So what’s the answer?”

“There might not be any. at least not the kind you hope for. If you think of him as a stranger, as a young man whom you’ve met but whom you have no claim on5 after a while you might get to be friends.”

Stedman spread his hands, pleading with the rabbi to understand. “But I want to help him. I want to help him shape his life, influence him. steer him in the right direction.”

“Well, as a friend you might be able to.” The rabbi could see that Stedman was disappointed and that his advice was not likely to be taken. They walked along in silence for a block, and then suddenly Stedman seized his arm and pointed.

“There, that could be the answer.”

The rabbi looked about, but saw nothing unusual.

“That sign: Memavet Auto Brokerage Agency. When I first came. I told Roy I was planning to get a car to tour the country, and I invited him to come with me to pick one out. Come to think of it. he was pretty enthusiastic about that.”

“And you think if you got a car. that would do it?”

“Rabbi, unless you know how kids feel about cars, you don’t know kids. Do you mind stopping in for a minute? This place advertises in the papers. I’ll just see what the deal is and what sort of cars they have to offer.”

It was a repair shop with several disemboweled cars being worked on. In one corner, near the window, was a flat-topped desk, untidy with dusty papers, with a cardboard sign set in a wooden holder: MEMAVET AUTO BROKERAGE AGENCY. An elderly mechanic with a beard approached them.

“Mr. Memavet?”

The mechanic pointed to the desk. “You want the Memavet Agency? That’s it.” He pointed to the desk. “Memavet is not in. He’s been out sick a couple of days.”

“Isn’t this his place? Isn’t there somebody else I can talk to?”

“No. We got nothing to do with Memavet. He just rents the desk space.”

“Oh.” Stedman was disappointed.

“You wanted to see him about a car. maybe? Buying or selling?”

“I’m interested in buying, but –”

“So go to see him at his house.” the bearded mechanic said. “It’s all right. Sometimes, even when he’s well, he stays home for a few days. The same business he does here, he can do there.”

“Well I thought I’d look at his stock and^-“

The mechanic laughed. “He has no stock. He doesn’t work that way. You tell him what you want, and he tries to get it for you. He’s a crazy old man, but I’ll say this for him. he knows cars and he’ll give you a good buy.”

“In what way is he crazy?” the rabbi asked. “Is it because he gives good buys?”

“Your young friend is a joker.” said the mechanic. He went on to explain. “He’s crazy because his mind works funny. He’s had troubles that he’ll tell you about at the drop of a hat. But who hasn’t had troubles, especially in this country? Take his name: Memavet. ‘From death’ – is that the name a sane man would choose?” He shrugged. “But he knows cars, and he’s honest. If he sells you a car, he’ll tell you exactly what condition it’s in, and you can believe him.”

“Well, maybe I’ll call him.” said Stedman. “Do you have his phone number at home?”

“He doesn’t have a phone yet. He moved into a new place. There’s a public phone in the lobby of the house, just outside his door, but I don’t know the number. But you don’t have to phone him in advance. Just go to see him. He’ll be home, all right.”

“Well, if he’s sick –”

“He’s got a cold. Believe me. he won’t mind.”

“Well –”

“Here.” said the mechanic, “take down the address: Number One Mazel Tov Street. It’s a new street that runs off Shalom Avenue. You know where Shalom Avenue is. don’t you?”

“Yes, I know Shalom Avenue,” said Stedman.

“So this is a new street running off the avenue. It’s a block of apartments. You can see him anytime – today, tomorrow, the day after –”

“The day after is the Sabbath.” said the rabbi, smiling. “So? The Sabbath means nothing to him.”

“Are you going?” asked the rabbi when they left the shop. “Is it within walking distance?”

“Every place in Jerusalem is within walking distance. I don’t know. I’ll have to think about it.”

The day started for Miriam much as usual, except that her morning sickness was a little more acute, and as a result, the common sounds of the morning which she thought she had got used to were more than normally irritating: the noise of cars and trucks shifting with a great grinding of gears – their house was on a slight hill – the ozzereth across the way thwacking at rugs spread over the railing of the porch with a large bamboo carpet beater – seemingly the only way of cleaning rugs in Israel – the ozzereth in the apartment above sloshing buckets of water on the stone floor and then sweeping it with a squeegee where it gurgled down the drain – presumably the only way to clean a floor – while her mistress was already preparing the noonday meal, the main meal of the day, by chopping something in a wooden bowl, where every stroke of the chopper was transmitted through the bowl to the table to the floor and thence to the ceiling above Miriam’s head – seemingly the only way to prepare a meal.

And because this was one of the mornings when her husband had decided to go to the synagogue for the morning prayers rather than recite them at home, he was not there to complain to, and worse, was not there to help ready Jonathan for school.

And Jonathan had been cranky. Normally, he went to school with Shaouli. a child in the upstairs apartment and his bosom friend; but Shaouli had a cold and a little fever, and his mother had announced the night before that he would be staying home today. So Jonathan wanted his mother to walk to school with him. She had refused since it was only a block away and involved no street crossings, and he had finally set off alone but not without complaining, and it was a further aggravation.

And it took time, precious additional minutes she needed to make a bus to get her to the Hadassah Hospital in time to keep her appointment at the Obstetrics Clinic.

Then Gittel called from Tel Aviv.

Gittel called frequently, usually for some specific purpose – to say she had received a letter from Miriam’s mother, to give her a recipe she had tried and found good, to say she would be in Jerusalem for an hour or two in connection with her work and to make elaborate arrangements for a meeting for a few minutes. But today she called merely for a nice long conversation with her niece before starting work. And Miriam, watching the minutes flit by, had in desperation explained that she had an appointment at the hospital and would have to hang up. She mentioned the hospital on the assumption that her aunt would not have accepted any other kind of appointment as sufficiently urgent to justify cutting short their conversation.

But immediately Gittel was alarmed and demanded to know what was wrong. “Who’s treating you. Miriam? It may be someone I know. If it’s something serious, perhaps I can arrange to have the head of the department look at you.”

Since she was planning to tell her anyway when next she saw her, she told her now over the phone that this was a routine visit to the obstetrical clinic because she was going to have a baby.

“Oh, wonderful! Mazel tov! The best of luck! When will it be? Oh, Miriam, the baby can be born in Israel. When David has to go back to his work, you can stay on here. You can come down to Tel Aviv with Jonathan. And I can take care of Jonathan while you’re having your baby. It will be a little crowded, but here in Israel we can always manage. Miriam dear. If Uri should come home on leave, he can sleep on the divan in the living room, or I can if necessary.”

When Miriam finally managed to break off and hurry to the bus stop, her bus was just pulling away. Then because she was late, she had to wait all morning at the hospital. And then the doctor was annoyed with her for missing her appointment, and neither his English nor her Hebrew was up to an explanation of the events of the morning. He was cold and his manner forbidding, which made it impossible for her to ask him all the questions that bothered her.

It had continued. The bus going back was crowded, and although she got a seat, the young man standing in the aisle near her was eating away at sunflower seeds, cracking them between his front teeth and spitting out the husks on the floor near her feet. It disgusted her, and again because her Hebrew was not good enough to enable her to hold up her end of the argument that would certainly ensue, she did not ask him to stop and suffered in silence. Her relief when he finally got off turned almost immediately to acute embarrassment when a new passenger, moving up the aisle to a seat, saw the husks on the floor at her feet, assumed she was responsible, and glared his indignation at her.

When she got home, she found that her husband had eaten his lunch and gone out. leaving his dishes in the sink. And the water, although she let it run for some time, continued tepid. Then the doorbell rang, and it was Gittel.

“Oh, Gittel!” She embraced her aunt, tears of relief streaming down her cheeks, as she clung to her until she regained control. Only then did she ask how in the world she ever managed to get away.

“Any social worker in Tel Aviv who can’t scare up some business in Jerusalem should be in another profession. Besides, when my sister writes me and asks me what I did when I found out that her daughter was pregnant, am I going to answer that I couldn’t get away?”

She listened to her niece’s recital of the events of the morning, and finding in Gittel a sympathetic listener, Miriam went on. luxuriating in self-pity, to recount whatever had troubled her since her arrival – her difficulties with the language, the new kind of housekeeping she had to adapt to, and even her uneasiness over the change in her husband’s attitude toward his work.

Gittel held up a hand. “David’s desire to leave the rabbinate. I can understand. It is not work for a modern man of ability. And I can only applaud his desire to settle here. I may have misjudged him. But you are about to have a baby, and we must be practical. Your mother is not here, so I must act in her place and advise you as she would. There is the problem of making a living. Your husband cannot simply walk away from his job and his profession. If he wants to leave them and come here, he must make preparation. He must plan and make arrangements. Even if he should find a job here tomorrow, you would still have to go back to the States to wind up your affairs. And much as I would like you to stay here, I’m afraid for this you would have to go. Husbands can’t be trusted to pack furniture, close up a house properly, especially if the husband is a rabbi.” She eased her niece back into a chair and slid a hassock under her feet. Then she placed a chair in front of her and sat down to face her. “So, let us be practical – and methodical. First we must deal with your particular problem. You are in the early stages of pregnancy. What you need is calm, tranquility, freedom from fear and doubt. You don’t need a lot of tests and X rays; you don’t need a specialist who thinks of you only as a line on a chart. What you need is a nice family doctor, a general practitioner, someone who will sit down with you and answer any questions you may have and tell you what to expect from time to time.”

“Oh, that would be wonderful, Gittel, but who do I go to?

Do you know a doctor who –”

“In Tel Aviv I could give you the names of a dozen. Here in Jerusalem – but just a minute – my friend Sarah Adoumi, the doctor who’s treating her. Dr. Ben Ami. he’s been wonderful, a real old-fashioned doctor. When he comes to see her. he’s never in a hurry. He sits down to a cup of tea with them afterward. Maybe it’s good for him. too; he’s a widower or a bachelor, in any case alone. He even got them their present apartment because she mustn’t climb steps. He’s that kind of doctor. Give me the phone book… . Ah. here he is. Dr. Benjamin Ben Ami. 147 Shalom Avenue. I’ll call him.”

“Maybe I ought to talk to David first.” Miriam suggested doubtfully.

“What do husbands know about these things, especially a rabbi, Dr. Ben Ami? I am a close personal friend of Sarah Adoumi. I would like to make an appointment with you for my niece. You can see her now? Excellent. I’ll bring her right over.”

The Jerusalem Cafe in the Old City is not far from the Damascus Gate. Thousands of tourists pass its open doors daily, but few venture inside. A couple, tired and anxious to escape from the hot sun. to sit and rest over a cup of coffee or a glass of orange juice, might halt momentarily and look in, but probably would decide against it and hope for another place farther on. It is obviously not intended for tourists.

The radio is tuned up to a deafening pitch, interminably playing melancholy Arab music in a minor key. In the dimly lit rear there is a pool table with several Arab youths usually playing, every stroke accompanied by noisy exclamations.

A number of plain wooden tables are scattered over the remainder of the room where some sit drinking coffee and smoking and others play at cards. To one side is the cashier’s desk. He twists his head to listen better as the customer tells what he had. makes computations on little slips of paper, and then puts the money in the table drawer and offers change from little stacks of coins he keeps on the edge of the table. He is respected because he handles money and can figure rapidly and because he is also the owner. Just beyond his table, there is a sink where the dirty dishes are washed by his son. who is also the waiter.