The Day the Rabbi Resigned (6 page)

A young woman, wearing a white coat and a stethoscope draped around her neck, entered the room. “Mr. Fisher? I'm Dr. Peterson.” She looked at the rabbi. “If you don't mind—”

“I was just going,” the rabbi said. “Good luck, Mr. Fisher.” As he walked down the corridor to his next appointment, he wondered if he had benefited Fisher in any way, or had he merely obeyed the injunction to visit the sick?

8

The next Friday, Victor brought his golf clubs in to school, along with his spiked golf shoes, slacks, a sport shirt, and a windbreaker, in addition to the pajamas, slippers, and bathrobe he had brought the first time. To the questioning looks of his colleagues in the English Department office, as he placed his clubs and suitcase against the wall behind his desk, he said only that he was going away for the weekend. He did not say where he was going.

When he came back to the office at two o'clock, after his last class, he found Cyrus Merton there waiting for him. None of his colleagues was present, however—there were not many classes Friday afternoon—for which he was grateful. Although aware that a special connection with Cyrus Merton might be to his advantage, he did not want them to know just yet.

Cyrus Merton was a slow and careful driver, and it took him almost an hour to drive the thirty miles or so to Barnard's Crossing, even though traffic on the road was light. It was after three when they arrived at the house on the Point, too late to do anything except sit around the house, watch TV, and wait for supper.

The next morning, shortly after breakfast, Victor in his golf clothes loaded his clubs into Peg's roadster and the two set out for Breverton. The Point, a long fingerlike promontory extending into the harbor, was connected to the rest of the town by Abbott Road. Peg drove slowly, and Victor, anxious to get to the golf club, asked, “Do we have to crawl along like this?”

“It's a populated area, speed limit twenty-five miles an hour,” she explained, “and it's patrolled, but after about three miles we come to the state highway.”

“And how far is it then from the Breverton Country Club?”

“Oh, about twenty miles. Once we're on the state highway, we should be able to make it in about twenty-five minutes or half an hour.”

“Your uncle said it was about half an hour from his house.”

“Oh. He was probably thinking of going by way of Pine Grove Road.”

“So why don't we go that way?”

“I don't like to drive it. It's the old road connecting the two towns. It goes back to colonial times, I suspect. It's narrow and rutty and curves in and out between ledge and swamp, and there are trees on both sides so that you can't see more than fifty feet ahead. We can take it back if you like.”

“Yeah, let's plan on it.”

“All right.”

A thought occurred to him. “Look, are there shops in Breverton? I was thinking you might care to go shopping while I play, and we could meet around noon for lunch.”

“I thought I'd go around and watch you.”

“It's apt to be a long walk,” he said doubtfully.

“Oh, they have these little carts, and we could rent one of them and ride around together.”

“They have electric carts, have they? Swell, then you can be my caddy.”

“What's a caddy do?”

“Normally, he carries the clubs. But since we'll be going around in a cart, all you'll have to do is watch and see where my ball lands.”

“I guess I can do that.”

There were not many on the course, and he was able to finish the round shortly after noon. They repaired to the spacious dining room and he ordered a scotch and soda. He drank it while they studied the menu, and then when they gave their orders, he asked for another. Because he thought she looked askance, he explained, “The first one is customary after finishing a round of golf, and the one I just ordered is an appetizer for the meal to come.”

They drove home by way of Pine Grove Road, and when they reached Abbott Road, he marveled at how little time it had taken. “Gosh, you'd think they'd fix that road up. It's so much shorter.”

“I suppose they don't because there's not too much traffic between the two towns, only those headed for the golf club would be apt to use it.”

“That Pine Grove Road looks as though it's probably used as a lover's lane,” he suggested.

She colored slightly and said, “I suppose it is.”

Several times on the golf course when no other players were in sight, and in the car as they drove along Pine Grove Road, he had thought to make a move, to put his arm around her shoulder and then perhaps accidentally let his fingertips rest lightly on her breast. Each time, however, he was able to overcome his impulse, fearful that she might take offense.

As in the previous week, he was taken to the train Sunday to catch the three o'clock train to Boston, but on Cyrus Merton's suggestion, he left his bag and golf clubs behind.

“You'll be coming out next week, won't you? I can pick you up on Friday again.”

Once again, when he reached North Station, he called Marcia Skinner. And once again he went to see her, and once again she got the benefit of his frustration of the two preceding days.

This became the pattern for the next few weeks. Cyrus would pick him up on Friday, and he would be brought to the train on Sunday afternoon, and then spend the rest of the day, and sometimes the night, with Marcia.

Then he caught a bad cold. He managed to get through his classes Thursday, but Professor Sugrue, the head of the department, suggested after a particular fit of coughing and sneezing that he go home and go to bed and plan on not meeting his classes on Friday. He nodded his agreement, and even took a cab home rather than take the usual longish walk entailed.

Mindful that he was expected in Barnard's Crossing for the weekend, and that Cyrus would be coming to the English office the next day to pick him up, he called the Merton home. Cyrus answered. When Victor, in a hoarse voice interrupted by coughing and sneezing, explained the situation, Cyrus asked, “Have you seen a doctor?”

“No.”

“Do you have temperature?”

“I don't have a thermometer.”

“Now you listen to me, Victor. I'm coming to your place tomorrow morning. I'll get there about nine. I want you to bundle up warm, and when I ring your bell, you come down and I'll take you out to Barnard's Crossing where you can be properly cared for. There's a lot of flu around, and we don't want you catching anything serious.”

Sure enough, the next morning, a little before nine, Cyrus rang his bell. He had a couple of blankets in his car, and after Victor entered, he put a blanket around his shoulders and one across his lap.

“Have you eaten yet?” Cyrus asked.

“No, I just didn't feel like it.”

When they got to the house on the Point, he was immediately put to bed. A few minutes later Peg came up with his breakfast, which she fed him as he sat up in bed, his back supported by several pillows which she had brought up before and which she tucked behind him.

“The doctor will be coming to see you soon,” she said.

“Really? I didn't think doctors made house calls anymore.”

“I guess they do when my uncle calls them.”

Dr. Riley came, examined him, and suggested he stay in bed for a day or two. Victor did not mind. He was comfortable and he enjoyed being waited on. Peg brought him his meals and sat with him while he ate. It was after dinner Sunday, as she was removing his plate, that he seized her hand and kissed it. Then, to show that it was not merely out of gratitude, he turned it over and kissed the palm. He felt her stiffen momentarily, but then she relaxed and smiled and took away the tray. When, a little later, she brought up the Sunday paper, again he kissed the palm of her hand. This time she responded by kissing him on the forehead. He was sure if he were to kiss her on the mouth, she would not object, but of course he did not make the attempt for fear of giving her his cold.

In the evening he felt well enough to get out of bed, and came down in his bathrobe to join the family for supper. Cyrus wanted him to stay the week, but he insisted that he had to be back for classes. He did, however, call in Monday morning to say that he would not come in that day but would be in Tuesday, when he had only one class, and that in the afternoon. Cyrus drove him in Tuesday morning.

Back in his own apartment, it occurred to him that Marcia Skinner might have expected him to call Sunday afternoon, as he had on previous Sundays, and he felt he ought to call to explain, if only to ensure their future relationship. He dialed, quite prepared for the phone to ring several times, indicating that she was not at home, in which case he would call the next evening a little earlier. He was not prepared for the operator to inform him that the phone had been disconnected.

The next morning he called her office number. “Miss Skinner is not in,” he was told.

“When do you expect her?”

“Oh, she won't be back here. She's been transferred to the New York office.”

“Until when?”

“Indefinitely. It's a permanent transfer.”

He felt, unhappily, it was an omen that meant that his future would be with Margaret Merton.

9

Peg had gone off with Victor, and Cyrus was alone with his sister. “Well, Aggie, what did Dr. Riley say?”

“He said she was underweight and a little anemic. He prescribed iron pills and said he wanted to see her again in a couple of months. But then I spoke to him privately, while she was dressing. He thought it might be a good idea if she didn't get married right away. He thought she ought to build herself up first.”

“He did, did he? Well, maybe I ought to have a talk with him. These doctors—you come to them for some medical advice, and right away they want to run your whole life. So what did she say to that?”

“Oh, he didn't tell
her.
He said it to me. He said that if the woman is anemic, it's apt to affect the child. Children of an anemic mother are prone to all sorts of birth defects. And from what he knew of her background and education, he rather thought she wouldn't be apt to practice birth control.”

“Because she's a good Catholic? Well, she could use the rhythm method, couldn't she?”

“I suppose.”

“We ought to arrange to have Dr. Riley explain it to her.”

“Oh, she knows about it. It was in her course of sex education at the seminary.”

Cyrus was aghast. “They taught that in a Catholic seminary?”

“Of course. They taught it when I went to school, although I guess they were less explicit than they are now.”

“Have you ever spoken to her about—well, about how she feels about getting married, and you know, about Victor?”

“Yes. She said she was grateful for all we've done for her but that she wanted a family of her own. She said Victor felt the same way, that he was a kind of orphan, too. I asked her what she meant by that, but she didn't want to talk about it. And you know how she is when she doesn't want to talk about something. She just clams up like she hadn't heard you. Do you know anything about it? You said you were going to make some inquiries.”

“Well, I wondered about his folks coming to the wedding. I thought maybe they might not be able to afford to make the trip. They're in California, you know. I thought if that were the case, I would arrange something. You know, offer to advance the money for their plane fare. I'd call it a loan, but I wouldn't expect it to be repaid. Victor told me they wouldn't be coming. So I made some inquiries on my own. I have contacts through the bank.”

“And?”

He hesitated. He was reluctant to answer, although he had known for some time. “Nothing to brag about,” he said at last. “His mother and father were separated when he was about four years old. For ‘separated' you might read abandoned. Then the courts took control because she couldn't or wouldn't take care of him. Given to drink, I understand. Then foster homes until he finally ended up in a sort of orphanage run by the Christian Brothers. He showed aptitude, and they pushed him. They even encouraged him to take a classical course in high school. Then college by way of scholarships, and ended up at Boston College Graduate School on a fellowship.”

“And with that kind of background you want him to marry our Peg?” she demanded.

“Sure. Why not? He's big and strong and handsome, what Pa would have called a ‘big broth of a lad.' And she's small, and from what Dr. Riley says, not very strong. All the Mertons have been runty. Well, with someone like Victor, there's a chance that the kids will be big and healthy. And he's a college professor, too. And he did it all himself. He teaches evening classes a couple of nights a week. That shows character. What's wrong with that? For that matter, what sort of background did we have? Pa was a sweeper for the streetcar company. And Ma did house-cleaning. All of us Irish who came over a couple of generations back were of much the same level. The same with all the other immigrants, the Italians and Poles. That's why they came to America. The doctors and lawyers and big farmers, they stayed in the old country. It was mostly the riffraff that came over. But given the opportunity, we made something of ourselves. And so did Victor. So I'm all for him. The only question as far as I'm concerned is, does she want him? Is she in love with him?”

“Sure she loves him. He's the only man who ever paid any attention to her. In fact, he's practically the only man she's ever known. He's thirty-two and she's a very young twenty. She's been in girls' schools all her life. Yes, they had dances that were arranged by the school, and boys were imported. But I doubt if any of them ever got a crush on her. She's no raving beauty. And we, the only other people she has ever been close to, we approve of him and encourage him. And to top it off, he
is
a big broth of a lad. She'd have to be pretty perverse not to like him.”