Street Dreams (14 page)

“That’s true.” He looked out the window. “Did you tell him anything else?”

“Not really. I figured you could talk about yourself better than I could.”

He was quiet.

“What?” I said. “That’s not true?”

“Yes, that is very true. But I think you left something out.”

“What difference does it make?”

“None to me. But to your father, I cannot say.”

“If he’s that way, then he’s not the man I think he is.”

“It’s just better to prepare him, I think.”

“Prepare for
what,
Koby? Being black is not a defect. Why should I have to prep my father?”

“To make him feel more comfortable when he meets me.”

“If I say you’re my friend, he should automatically feel comfortable.”

“To make
me
feel more comfortable, maybe?” He fingered the flowers. “I’m not fond of surprises.”

I glanced at him. He shrugged. I felt my stomach drop. “Okay. So maybe that wasn’t so smart. Sorry.”

“It’s all right, Cindy. No problem.”

“You’ve had bad experiences before?”

“Not really,” he said. “I never meet parents … never any reason. Last time was maybe fifteen years ago when I take Aliza Goldberg
to the movies. Her father was a colonel in
Zahal.
” He laughed. “Old feelings. So maybe I overreact.”

We rode for several minutes, one-way chatter coming from the radio.

“He’s a great guy, Koby. I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

“I’m sure you’re right.”

But neither of us was sure of anything.

Dad had a very powerful poker face; it was a necessary component of being a great detective. But knowing him well, I detected
the minuscule rise of an eyebrow. Still, he masked it with aplomb, his smile never wavering. He shook Koby’s hand while inviting
us inside. My father was slightly taller than my date, but must have outweighed him by a good fifty pounds. Daddy looked handsome
in a dark blue suit.

I spoke quickly, doing the introductions. Everyone was nice and polite. It was a stiff moment, but not unbearable. Koby had
good social skills—way better than mine.

“
Shabbat Shalom.
Thank you for having me.” He presented Dad with the wine bottle and held the flowers aloft. “This is for your wife.”

“I’ll go get her. That way you can give them to her. Would either of you like something to drink?”

“I’m fine,” I answered. “Koby?”

“No, I’m fine.”

“Great.” An odd pause. “I’ll get Rina.”

Dad was about to escape behind the kitchen door, but Rina came out before he could go in. She was wiping her hands on her
apron, her hair tucked into a beret. Again I made introductions. Her smile was wide and welcoming.

“Ah, Koby. Yaakov.
Yesh lee Yaakov gam ken. Ma nishma?”

“Beseder gamur.”

“That good, huh? You’re doing better than I am, but I’m always frazzled before
Shabbat.”

“That is the same for women worldwide.” Koby extended the flowers to her. “Thank you for your hospitality.”

“You’re welcome.” She took the bouquet. “I hope you’re hungry.”

“I’m from Ethiopia. I’m always hungry.”

Rina smiled. “When did you emigrate to Israel?”

“It was 1983.”

“Where did they settle you? Near Kiryat Arba?”

“Exactly.”

“I knew that because I used to live in Kiryat Arba. I remember when you all came over. The government recruited us for help.
I ran an
ulpan
for the Ethiopians that summer.”

“You’re kidding!”

“No, I’m not. For all I know, you could have been one of my students.”

“I don’t think so. I would remember.”

“You would have definitely remembered. I was out to here.”

Rina made a pregnant stomach by extending her hands forward. “They gave me the four- to eight-year-olds.”

“I was twelve. Do you remember names?”

“I’ve got to think.” She furrowed her brow. “I remember a little boy named Elias Tespay.”

“I know the Tespays.”

“And someone named Welda.”

“Yoseph Welda?”

“No, it wasn’t Yoseph … Eliahu maybe.”

“Probably one of his younger brothers or a cousin. There were lots of Weldas. I think about sixty of them came.”

“Yeah, you guys were crammed into the housing like sardines. Where did you finally settle?”

“Petach Tikvah. My father remarried, so the housing didn’t improve much. There were ten of us in a three-room apartment. But
at least it was our own apartment.”

“That’s not exclusive to Ethiopians, you know. Everybody’s cramped in Israel. You learn to be a good team player.”

“Or you leave,” Koby stated.

“Gotcha.” Rina held up the flowers. “I should put these in water and check on dinner. I’m actually planning to go to shul.”
She looked at Koby. “Did you want to go to shul? It’s Ashkenaz
davening.”

“No problem. The
beit knesset
I go to—when I go—is Ashkenaz.”

“Which one is that?”

“It is in Los Feliz, near my house. It is Conservative service, but the rabbi has Orthodox background, I think. He’s Hungarian.”

“I’m Hungarian,” Rina said. “What’s his name?”

“Robert Farkas.”

Rina shrugged ignorance. “Lots of Hungarians in this city.” Another shrug. “I should check on dinner.”

“Anything I can help you with, Rina?” I piped in.

“Yes, you can help your sister get dressed. The child is a turtle.” Rina looked at my father. “Are you ready?”

“Yes, I am. Need help in the kitchen?”

“If you’re offering, I won’t say no.” She smiled at Koby, then at me. “See you in a minute.” She took Dad’s hand. It might
have been my imagination, but it looked as though she was trying to calm him down.

“Don’t say a word,” Rina whispered.

“I’m not saying anything!” Decker whispered back. “And you don’t have to tell me how to behave. I am not a racist!”

“I know that.”

“Well, I don’t think you
do
know that. Otherwise you wouldn’t look so damned worried.”

“I’m not worried.”

“Yeah, you are.” He clutched the wine as he spoke. “I’m going to have a wonderful meal with my family, all right? So stop
giving me those looks! And don’t tell me you wouldn’t have had some feelings if it had been Sammy or Jacob bringing home an
Ethiopian girl.”

“As long as she was Jewish, I wouldn’t care.”

“Well, aren’t you the liberal one!”

“Peter, why don’t you make yourself useful?” She handed him the bouquet of flowers. “Put these in a vase and set them on the
Shabbat
table. Then open the wine before you break the bottle.” She stirred a pot of lentil soup. “We’ll let it breathe while we’re
in shul.”

Decker regarded his wife, then looked at the objects in his hands. He set them on the kitchen counter, realizing that his
jaw was clenched. He took a deep breath in, then let it out. Reaching his long arms to the top cabinet, he opened the door
and took down a cut-crystal vase. He placed it under the sink and began to fill it with water.

“Flowers … wine … the man has manners.” He growled out, “More than …”

He left it at that. Rina filled in the blank. “More than Cindy?”

“He’s probably too good for her.”

“She’s a good girl, Peter. She’s gone through hell—”

“I know that, Rina. Stop giving me perspective, okay? I’m not angry. I just don’t know why she didn’t … Forget it!”

Rina checked the meat thermometer in the lamb roast, then turned down the temperature. She opened the refrigerator and took
out green beans. “I’ll put these on the hot tray. That way they won’t overcook. Nothing worse than limp green beans.”

“It smells good,” Decker said quietly.

“What does?”

“Everything.” He turned off the water and planted a kiss on his wife’s forehead. “Thank you for making this delicious meal.
I’m snapping at you. I apologize.”

“I know you’re not a racist, Peter. And I’m not trying to one-up you, okay? It would have been nice if she had leveled with
you. Just to prepare you.”

“Exactly!”
Decker plunked the flowers into the vase. “That’s
exactly
what I meant!” Rummaging through the drawers, he found a corkscrew. “She tells me he’s a traditional Jew from Israel; I get
a certain picture in my mind, that’s all.” He plunged the bit into the cork. “I’m too involved, that’s the problem. It’s her
life.”

“He seems lovely,” Rina said.

“How can you tell that in thirty seconds?”

“He’s got beautiful eyes. They’re windows to the soul. I can just tell.”

“Nonsense, you’re being irrationally optimistic.”

“Peter, he’s Jewish, around her age, and gainfully employed.”

Decker stopped a moment, then shrugged. “True.” He went to work on the cork. “Well, if I say I’m not prejudiced, I guess I
shouldn’t prejudge.”

A moment later, Cindy came in. Decker took in her face, then popped open the cork. He smelled the wine. “Not bad. It’ll be
better after it breathes a little.”

“You like Cabernet,” Cindy said.

“Yes, I do.” Decker smiled but didn’t continue the conversation. Rina tried out a nervous smile. She was so tired of playing
referee, but that seemed to be her lot in life. “Everything okay?” she asked her stepdaughter.

“Just fine. Hannah’s dressed and ready to go.”

“Thank you.”

“No problem.” Cindy was trying to make eye contact with her father, but he had busied himself with flower arranging. “Koby
needs candles.”

“Of course,” Rina said. “Do you want to light, Cindy?”

“Yes, thanks.”

Rina went into the pantry and brought out four tea lights. Decker was looking at his daughter with deadpan eyes.

Cindy said, “I found the baby’s mother, you know.”

“Congratulations,” Decker said. “I should have told you that right away.”

No one spoke for a few moments.

“I’d like to talk to you about it,” Cindy said. “I have some concerns.”

Curiosity flickered in Decker’s eyes, but he kept his equilibrium. “Sure. Go ahead.”

“I don’t think this is the right time. It may take more than a few minutes.”

“Okay. Why don’t you give me a call tomorrow night?”

Cindy knew her father was giving her the brush-off. But she proceeded as if she didn’t know better. “Actually, if you have
time, I’d like to meet with you on Sunday. Could you come out to my place?” She tried a sheepish smile. “I’ll even cook you
breakfast.”

Decker remained expressionless. “I told Hannah I’d take her to the movies.”

Rina said, “There’s a two o’clock show. You could probably make it back in time.”

Decker raised a disapproving eyebrow at his wife. But she was right. If he didn’t back off, he’d deserve what he’d get. “It’s
important to you, Cynthia?”

“Kind of, yeah. I’d really appreciate your help.”

He gave a forced smile. “Sure, honey. Around nine, then?” “That would be perfect.”

“Here you go.” Rina handed her the tea lights. Cindy thanked her and they all left it at that.

W
hen I came back
into the living room, Hannah was seated next to Koby, the two of them turning the pages of an oversize art book entitled
Solomon’s People.
The tome was almost as big as she was. She looked splendid in a lime green dress and matching jacket that magnificently offset
her red hair. She was learning the tricks of being a carrottop at a very early age. “What’s that?”

Koby said, “A book of Ethiopian Jews. I know several of the people.”

“Who?” Hannah asked.

“This lady here,” Koby said. “She was a very good friend of my older brother Yaphet. She married a rabbi and lives somewhere
in the Negev.”

“She’s beautiful.”

“Oh yes, very, very beautiful. I had a terrible crush on her. Alas, my affections were not returned.”

“Then she’s stupid,” Hannah said.

“No, but I thank you for the support. It was more like she was seventeen and I was thirteen, though I was as tall as she.
For an Ethiopian, I am very tall.”

Hannah stared at him. “I thought all Africans were tall.”

“Hannah!” I scolded.

“It’s fine.” Koby smiled. “No, not all Africans are tall, especially North Africans. Most Ethiopians are Coptic Christians
… more like Egyptians than anything else. I just happen to be tall because my parents are tall.” He looked up at me. “Would
you like a hand with the candles?”