The Day the Rabbi Resigned (13 page)

Margaret shook her head. “She didn't say anything, just that she had to run along, and she left.”

“Wanted to discuss it with your uncle first, I suppose.”

“That's what I think.”

“I'll know soon enough. He's coming to the dinner.”

As he drove to Breverton, he considered the situation. There was no doubt in his mind that Agnes would tell Cyrus. Well, let her. He had made a bargain with Cyrus: he would marry his niece and in exchange he would get tenure. He had kept his part of the bargain. That it had not turned out as expected was not his fault. He had done only what was natural. He would insist that Cyrus keep his part of the bargain. And he could, he told himself. She wanted a separation and a civil divorce. He was not sure what was required for the Church-approved separation, but he was certain that his cooperation would be necessary for the civil divorce. He would demand tenure as the price of his cooperation.

When he arrived at the parking lot of the Breverton Country Club, he noticed that the needle of his gas gauge was on Empty. It was obviously not his day; first Alice pushing him out of her apartment so early, then finding that he had no money in his wallet, then Margaret telling him about the visit of her aunt, and now an empty gas tank. He tried to remember what the car manual had said about the number of gallons of gas remaining when the needle touched Empty. He was sure there was enough to get home on, especially if he went by way of Pine Grove Road. But how long had it been on Empty?

Back in the house on the Point, Agnes was telling her brother of her visit to their niece. “I know things weren't going well almost from the beginning. When they'd come here, she'd always call him Victor.”

“Well, that's his name, isn't it?”

“A young bride, you'd think she'd call him ‘dear' or some pet name. Not even Vic, but always Victor, as though she had just met him.”

“It's probably just a temporary falling out,” he urged.

“With a bolt on the bedroom door that she must have hired a carpenter to put on? And all his things in the guest room?”

She went on and on, blaming Cyrus for having pushed for the marriage before they had really got to know each other. Finally, he said, “Look, I'll drive up to Breverton with him and find out what it's all about.”

But when he phoned, Margaret told him that Victor had already left.

“Okay,” he said to his sister, “so I'll see him at the dinner and I'll get it straightened out. Maybe I'll drive home with him, and that will give me a chance to talk to both of them.”

“But you were planning to just have a drink and then leave.”

“So I'll stay for the dinner and leave when it's over. I'll have him drive back in my car, and then he can run up there tomorrow with Peg and retrieve his.”

Miriam had persuaded the rabbi to go to the late movie. They were already out the door when the phone rang. As the rabbi turned to go back, she said, “Let it ring. They can leave a message on the answering machine.”

“And I'll be wondering all through the movie who it was,” said the rabbi as he hurried back indoors. He talked for a few minutes and then rejoined Miriam, waiting impatiently at the door.

“It was Simcha,” he announced.

“He called from Chicago?”

“No, from Gloucester. He'd been to the wedding.”

“Oh. I thought he had decided not to go, since we hadn't heard from him.”

“Well, he didn't want to call on the Sabbath. He'd thought to call us early Sunday morning. But one of the guests is driving down to Boston tonight right after the wedding feast, and he told Simcha that he goes right by Barnard's Crossing. So Simcha thought maybe his friend could drop him off here, that is, if he could stay over. Of course, I told him he could. He can use Jonathon's room.”

“What time is he coming? Does that mean we can't go to the movie?”

“He figures, or his friend figures, he can come by around half past ten. That's about the time we get out of the movie. So I suggested he have his friend drop him off at the Donut Shop in the Mall, and we'll pick him up. If we get there before him, we'll wait. And if he gets there before us, he'll wait and we'll be sure to be along shortly.”

“But doesn't the Donut Shop close—”

“Not until midnight on Saturdays. He can have a cup of coffee, and we'll be along, probably before he finishes.”

20

From the number of cars in the parking lot, Victor judged that he was among the later arrivals. He parked his car and hastened across the lawn to the steps that led up to the wide veranda that surrounded the clubhouse. The evening was warm, and a few of the guests were standing around leaning against the railing, drinks in hand. As he mounted the stairs, one or two nodded to him, but he had no inclination to stop and talk. All the way to Breverton he had been thinking of what he might say to Cyrus Merton. If Merton were to ask him outright about the bolt on the door, he might laugh it off and explain that such was his ardor that he and Peg felt it was the only safe way to curb it during the period when she was vulnerable, and that he would be sharing the bedroom with her once her infertile period began. Or should he tell him straight out that the marriage was a failure and that Margaret was planning to get a civil divorce? Or would Merton pretend not to know? Or would he wait until after church tomorrow, perhaps when they were both there for dinner? Or would …

A large double door, now standing open, led to a comfortable lounge with overstuffed leather chairs, and just beyond was the main dining room. On one side of the lounge was a small anteroom which served as the coatroom, and opposite was a small alcove where the bar had been set up. Although some were sitting about in the lounge, and a group was clustered around the bar, Victor could see that the majority were already seated at the tables in the dining room, or wandering around looking for a place to their liking. At a table in the middle of the room, he saw Alice Saxon, and beside her was his colleague and rival, Mordecai Jacobs. Victor Joyce felt that he badly needed a drink.

His ticket had a section at one end that could be torn off along a perforated line and exchanged for one free drink at the bar. He proceeded to make the exchange without delay.

“Whiskey. Scotch,” he ordered.

“Right. Water? Soda? Ice cube?”

“Nothing. Straight.” The depression caused by the sequence of the day's events required the treatment of whiskey undiluted. He tossed off his drink in a couple of swallows and felt a little better. He would have liked another drink, to sip at slowly, but his wallet was empty. He wandered about the room for a few minutes in the hope of seeing someone he knew well enough to ask for a loan, but the one or two possible were engaged in conversation and it would have been awkward. Noticing that the bar was at the moment free of customers, he strolled over. To the barman, who was idle, he said, “Look, I forgot my wallet, but I'd like another drink. I'll—”

“You know I can't, Professor,” said the barman reproachfully. “I'm not allowed to cuff drinks, the same rules as the taverns.”

“Oh sure, I understand.”

He noticed Alice Saxon was seemingly alone; at least, Jacobs was not in evidence. He hurried over to her table, and when she looked up at him, he asked jokingly, “Where's your boyfriend?”

“The men's room, I suppose. Why? Do you want to see him?”

“Why didn't you tell me you were driving up with him?”

“Because I wasn't. I came up with Arlene Winsor. And I'm going back with her. I didn't want to sit with her because she is sitting with a couple of people from her department, and they talk French half the time. Oh, there's Cyrus Merton just come in.”

He turned around and saw that Cyrus had spotted him. He waved, and Cyrus smiled and beckoned to him. “Look, I'd better go and talk to him. How about tomorrow? If I come in town, can we have dinner together?”

“Give me a ring in the afternoon,” she said, “and I'll see how I feel then.”

He hurried over to where Cyrus was standing, just inside the dining room. He felt much better, almost euphoric. His jealousy of Mordecai Jacobs appeared to be groundless, and he was sure Alice Saxon would meet him tomorrow for dinner, and what was more, Cyrus was smiling in a most friendly fashion as he approached.

“I thought we'd drive up together,” said the older man, “but Peg said you'd already left.” No hint that he was aware of a rift or a disagreement between Victor and his niece.

“Yeah, well I always come up to Breverton by way of Pine Grove, but this time I decided to go by the state road. I knew it was quite a bit longer, so I started out earlier. Say, how are you fixed for money? I meant to cash a check this morning, but I forgot, and I don't have a dime on me. And I'm low on gas.”

“Sure.” The old man drew out his wallet and held it open to him. “Take what you need.” There were two fifty-dollar bills, three tens, and, in a separate compartment, several ones.

“All right if I take the tens?”

“Help yourself.”

“I'll pay you back—”

“Anytime, my boy, anytime. But look here, if you're low on gas, why not plan on leaving your car here, and I'll drive you home. Then tomorrow you can drive up with Peg in her car and retrieve yours.”

“Oh, I'm sure I've got enough gas to get home on, but all right.”

At this point Professor Gates, who was the chairman of the Dinner Committee, came hurrying up. “Oh, there you are, Mr. Merton. We're about to begin, and you are sitting at the head table.”

“Oh, all right.” To Victor he said, “I'll see you later. By the way, where are you sitting?”

Victor looked around, and said, “Oh, I'll sit here,” and pulled out a chair from the table where they were standing, where the dining room adjoined the lounge. It was farthest from the head table and behind a pillar, and out of sight of the occupants of the head table, which was probably why it was still vacant.

“Okay, I'll see you after the dinner,” said Merton, and allowed himself to be led away by the chairman. No sooner had he gone than Victor made his way to the bar. He ordered a double whiskey, and slapped one of the bills Cyrus had given him on the counter.

“Wine is being served at the tables,” said the barman.

“I can't stand the stuff,” said Victor. “Put an ice cube and a thimble of soda in it.”

When he returned to his seat, he found that soup had already been served to his table. He tried a spoonful and then pushed the plate away. “Whew, that's hot,” he remarked.

“It is a little peppery,” said the occupant of the next seat.

“Well, I'll stick with something cool,” said Victor, and sipped at his drink. He sat back and looked about him. He knew none of the others at his table. He had seen them about in the corridors and in the faculty lounge, of course, but he knew none of them by name. They were all in mathematics or the sciences, and he could not understand what they were talking about most of the time. But he was content.

He toyed with his salad, and finding that the dressing was sharp, he alleviated it with sips from his drink. Before he had finished, he noticed that his glass was empty and went back to the bar for a refill. There was a good deal of wandering about during the salad course, and he, too, did not return immediately to his table. He circled the room, nodding to the occasional greetings of those who knew him, but glancing frequently at the table where Alice Saxon was seated with Jacobs. Once, he came near the head table, and spotting Cyrus, he raised his glass in greeting. Cyrus smiled and waved to him.

By the time he was ready to return to his seat, he noticed that more than half of his drink was gone. He made his way to the bar.

He held out his glass and said, “Top it off, will you, Jack?”

“I'll have to charge you for another drink, Professor.”

“Of course.” And he slapped another bill on the counter. And because the bartender had filled it close to the brim, Victor held it out in front of him like a lighted candle and set it down carefully when he reached his table before he sat down. It occurred to him that quite suddenly his luck had changed and Fate was moving things in his favor. How things had changed in a few short hours! He had thought he'd lost Alice to his rival, Jacobs, and now he had practically arranged to spend Sunday evening, and maybe the night, with her. He had thought that his arrangement with Cyrus Merton was all over. He had expected him to be angry, that he would demand an explanation. And here he was as friendly as could be, suggesting that they ride home together. Cyrus had even given him money.

In the glow of the whiskey, and the new situation in which he found himself, he toyed with various possibilities. Suppose he were to leave now and drive home. If Peg were immersed in TV, or were up in her room, he might be able to swap his car for hers, which he was sure had plenty of gas, and then he could come back before the dinner was over. He was sure he would be able to persuade Alice to tell her friend Arlene that she had changed her plans, and then let him drive her home. In which case he would of course spend the night with her. Or he might drive to Lynn, to an all-night gas station—he was sure he had enough gas to reach it—fill up there and drive back to Breverton for Alice. He chuckled.

“Something funny?” asked his neighbor.

“I just thought of something.” What he had thought of was that it would be the cream of the jest to make use of Merton's money to take Alice Saxon to bed. Or for that matter, on the alternative plan, to use Peg's car for the same purpose.

The waitress brought the main course, roast beef, and asked if he wanted red wine or white.

He dismissed her with a wave of the hand. “No wine,” he said. “Can't stand the stuff.” Then noticing that his glass was empty, he made his way to the bar for a refill. He returned with his glass, set it beside his plate, and began to eat.