The Queen and I (9 page)

Chapter Fifteen: Zion

Mayor Elmo Baker was busy locking up his home goods store for the evening before heading over to the town hall. This was an exciting time for the citizens of the small town of Zion, New York. Word had spread that a real-life, honest-to-God celebrity was about to join their midst, and word had it that he was going to use his time to write yet another in his long line of successful plays; perhaps, he would use their little town as his muse.

Whatever the reason, Baker had organized multiple town meetings to see to it that the people of Zion made him feel welcome without smothering him. It was important that he was able to gradually coast into life in this small and peaceful town nestled in the crook of one of New York’s Finger Lakes—Lake Keuka to be exact.

He checked the lock to see that it was holding, even though Zion had little to no crime rate to speak of, and he kissed his fingertips and rubbed his brand new mezuzah that he had just recently hung on his doorpost.

All around him, the town of Zion was beaming with excitement and joy at the arrival of Jeffrey David Rothstein. Word had come as quite a shock that a man of his stature and celebrity would choose their out of the way hamlet to take up residence, but Mayor Baker was also confident that their guest would soon consider Zion his new home.

He began walking up what was once called Main Street and was now referred to as Abit El Lane. Most of the streets and cul-de-sacs had been renamed with Yiddish, Hebrew, or historically Jewish names, so that their new brother would feel at home. Surely a man, no less a Jewish man from New York City, would feel honored by the fact that his new place of residence had embraced his culture so deeply and had even gone through the trouble of imposing a town wide observance of the Sabbath.

All of the traditional laws were being obeyed: no handling money, no turning on lights or television, no turning on the stove, and no driving in cars. It was a bit of an inconvenience at first, but they had made due by transforming the town hall into a community bed and breakfast and hired the few citizens who refused to embrace their new culture as house goy.

These were the Christians in the town who refused to change their pork-eating, Christ-worshipping ways and refused to acknowledge that the Messiah had not, in fact, arrived yet. They were hired by the good Jewish people, reformed, of Zion to do household chores during the Sabbath so that the God-fearing, circumcised citizens of the town would not have to break tradition for anything.

As he walked down Abit El, Elmo noticed how the town sparkled with the proud colors of the Jewish people, how every store had an Israeli flag in the window, along with the American, and every doorpost sported a brand new, shiny mezuzah. It had only been a couple of weeks since they had voted to embrace this lifestyle, but this town had truly become a place of Jewish good tidings and
naches
, happiness and joy.

“
Shabbat shalom
, rabbi!” he yelled across the street to Myron Jackson, the town’s new rabbi. He had been chosen for the position because he had scored highest on his home correspondence course rabbinical exam. At first, there were some in the town who felt that it was wrong to have a black man serve as a rabbi, but as Myron had so aptly put it, “Some people said that Jesus was black, so why not a rabbi?”

“Shabbat shalom,” Rabbi Jackson answered.

Elmo smiled as he continued walking toward the town hall. He had not hired himself a house goy, so he spent the Sabbath evenings in the community B and B with the rest of the humble folks who did not still crave their worldly comforts. But what gave him self-satisfying pleasure was the fact that his town had risen above the prejudices that other bad seeds around town had fostered toward the brave and noble Jewish people, the culture that had brought us Golda Meir, Sandy Koufax, and Topol. What could possibly be bad about being Jewish? Every day had to be like a party of gefilte fish, lox and bagels, and enough kugel to choke the evil right out of any anti-Semite.

“Mr. Mayor!” came the cry from across the street; it was Sheriff Pitts. He had just come back from checking in on the old cabin where that schmuck Richard Kearney lived. There was something about that place that didn’t sit right with most people in the town, and they were sure that Kearney was the reason why. That being said, they had wanted Sheriff Malcolm Pitts to keep an eye on the place until Jeffrey Rothstein arrived.

“Shabbat shalom, Sheriff,” Mayor Baker greeted.

“Shabbat shalom, Mr. Mayor. I just got back from the Kearney place, and everything seems to be on the up and up, nothing out of the ordinary.”

This was a big relief for the mayor. He’d been worried ever since he had heard whisperings about strange happenings occurring in the cabin. He had resolved to ignore them as little more than the ramblings of overly paranoid townsfolk, but once Abby Tisch had gotten involved, scaring everyone with tales of specters and ghouls, his fight had only became tougher.

She made it her point to tell anyone who had an open ear that she could prove that not only was the Kearney house inhabited by a presence that was not of this world, but that this same being was making regular trips into the town to spy on them, walk among them, and frequent the local ladies wear stores for fashion ideas for the fall.

It had taken an injunction by the town fathers to put a stop to her fearmongering, and she was ordered to stay at least a thousand yards away from the Kearney house. The last thing Mayor Baker and the town fathers wanted was their newest citizen being spooked, not by this imaginary spirit being, but by the real spook in the community, Abby Tisch.

“No sign of Ms. Tisch today?” Elmo asked, concerned.

“The only sign that anyone may have been there was that a couple of the papers were missing. I was going to head over to Carl’s to see if he forgot to stop by there a couple of times this week.”

Carl Thomas was the local handyman and delivery boy of the newspapers; if any of them had not been delivered, he would be the one to explain why. He was also the resident survivalist in the town. Most people gave him a wide birth due to the fact that his property was known to be booby-trapped, and his arsenal was said to be enough to take out a small country.

“Do we have to worry about him at all?” Elmo asked.

“He’s harmless enough as long as he’s still taking his medications,” SheriffPitts answered.

The two of them walked together for a bit as they admired the surroundings of their peaceful little town that had now been transformed into a bastion of Jewish pride.

“So, how are those singing lessons coming along?” Mayor Baker asked.

Pitts chuckled lightly and said, “If I can’t become a cantor, I definitely have a future on karaoke night.” The two of them laughed at the image that the sheriff had painted in their heads. Of course, he was referring to the singing lessons he was taking in the hopes of becoming the new cantor of Temple Beth Keuka, the cantor being the singer of the prayers during services at the temple. It was a prestigious job and one that he knew he would have much competition for, but he was determined. Ever since his chief competitor, Rufus O’Neal, had burned his vocal cords by doing twenty shots of habanero hot sauce on a dare, it looked like an open run for him and an easy victory on the choosing process by Rabbi Jackson.

“Well, we do certainly have exciting times here in Zion, Malcolm,” the mayor said.

The two of them spoke some more about any possible changes in security or traffic management in the event that their new celebrity resident needed certain concessions for any personal quirks that he exhibited during his long hours of writing. They discussed rerouting traffic at peak hours of the day so that Mr. Rothstein would not be disturbed, and they were already putting buoys out on the lake to divert traffic away from the cabin. Rothstein was going to be the most isolated man in the entire town of Zion, and living as far out of town as he was, he would have nothing but peace and quiet. He would not be able to hear anyone from town, and they would not be able to hear him.

Even the neighbors who lived up the road from him had been asked to take a vacation in the spirit of community pride. They had seized the opportunity to go to Israel and live on a kibbutz for a few months; all of the preparations had been made, and Jeffrey David Rothstein would be completely and utterly alone.

Mayor Baker said his good-byes, entered the town hall, and immediately heard the festive singing of “Hava Nagila” as the town’s folks were celebrating another Shabbas spent together. They truly felt it in their blood that they were Jewish, and only the cruel accident of birth had deprived them the Jewish blood that they felt must have passed through their veins in another life.

They still weren’t sure about what to do in regards to eating on the Sabbath, so they bought enough Chinese food to feed the entire town every Friday before sundown and enjoyed an Oriental feast together.

The evening was spent exchanging fellowship and Jewish song. Sheriff Pitts arrived and entertained the citizens, and the delight was felt by everyone in attendance. They all knew that this was the way that they were meant to live their lives, and when Jeffrey Rothstein arrived, he would be overwhelmed by the feelings of home and family, of tradition and pride.

* * *

Jeffrey David Rothstein dropped his bags on the sofa of his new cabin and turned the lights on to explore his new home. He had only seen pictures of the place online and was now experiencing what it was like for the first time. The place was big; that was his first impression.

He walked out onto the back porch and looked out over the lake; it was beautiful, more beautiful than he thought it was going to be. He saw boats sailing in the distance and noticed the buoys set up.
They must be there for the safety of swimmers to avoid accidents,
he thought.

Inside, the house was filled with the aromas of apple and cinnamon, causing him to think that someone was in the house and they were baking, but upon further examination, he came across wands of incense burning on the fireplace mantel. The real estate agent must have stopped by and lit those to make the place more inviting before he arrived. Judging by how far down they had burned, she must have just left.

Inside the cavernous living room with its cathedral ceiling and balcony looking down from the second floor, he felt almost as if he had stepped into a Hitchcock film or a Stephen King novel, and that at any moment the peaceful tranquility of his surroundings would be disrupted by some demon of unspeakable horror.

He laughed and reassured himself that he was just experiencing the angst that most people suffered when moving into a new home. It was something that he was just going to have to get used to, and he would learn to love his new home. He already felt that this might be just the place he needed to be in to help him with his writing problems.

* * *

He was here! He was actually here in this house. Jeffrey David Rothstein was in his house. The presence could not contain his pure and unbridled excitement at the events that were unfolding before his very eyes.

He was so handsome and looked so intelligent, the ghost just knew that he had to be a smart man of culture and refinement and that he would fall in love with the house and never ever leave. The incense were a big hit he could tell, and that wasn’t even the last of the surprises in store for Jeffrey once he explored his new home a bit more.
Wait until he goes upstairs to the bedroom and spies the master bath; he surely will never want to leave this utopia once he sees all of the trouble I’ve gone to in order to make him feel comfortable.

The ghost was quite proud of himself. He truly had outdone even his designs for the welcoming the he had planned. The bait had been set, and Jeffrey was eating it up; he just knew it. They were going to be best friends.

* * *

Word spread quickly throughout the town of Zion that Jeffrey had arrived at the cabin, and the first thought that went through the mayor’s head was,
How could this be?

They had been very careful to see to it that he was spotted the moment he entered town so that they could give him a proper welcome, but apparently he had entered the area from the north side of the lake. That had to have been it; he went north to come south.

But that made no sense. Why the hell would he or anyone else do that? He must have been worried that he was being followed by paparazzi and wanted to throw them off of his trail. The first thing the mayor would do would be to have the sheriff send some patrols out to hunt down anyone with a camera; that would have to wait until after the Sabbath, of course, since all of the deputies were now Jewish, but the plan was a good one and it would go into effect at sundown.

These celebrities were definitely a strange type, but the mayor thought that this just added to the excitement of the situation.

He smiled when he thought about the welcoming that they had in store for their new favorite citizen; it would be something that he would never forget.

Chapter Sixteen: The Locals

Jeffrey spent a couple of uneventful evenings in his new home, mainly devoted to settling in and seeing to certain modifications to the interior to make it as comfortable as he could. He had always struggled when in a new environment, and this was as new and as big of a shock to his system as he could have possibly asked for.

He had been born and raised in Brooklyn, learned how to conduct his life from those streets and neighborhoods, how to interact with others, and he had learned the rules of fair play. Here, he was as out of his element as you could hope to be in.

There were no forests where he had grown up, the closest thing he had had to a real park was Marine Park and that was little more than a carved-out rectangle of ball fields and a running circle in the middle of the southern tip of the borough. He had never seen wild animals except for squirrels, the occasional stray dog, and the infamous sewer rats whenever he went to Coney Island to visit Nathan’s Famous.

When he woke, it was always to the sounds of the bustling neighborhood, of garbage trucks making too much noise, and of neighbors yelling at their children. You could learn the entire life story of your neighbors in Brooklyn without ever even meeting them; all you had to do was listen for the next argument. You could learn a lot from those shouting matches.

Here in Zion, he was isolated. There seemed to be no one else on the face of the earth as far as he was concerned. There had been no Welcome Wagon, no traveling religious zealots, and not even a visit from the local sheriff or mayor to welcome him to the town. So far, he had to admit to himself that small town living was not what it was cracked up to be.

Even when he enjoyed his breakfast on his back porch looking over the lake, he never had any of the boats or swimmers come any closer than the buoys, and those had been positioned more than three hundred feet away. His new home was an island in the middle of his new community, and it appeared as if he was the only man who had a pass to visit.

The house was even more unsettling. He could not quite put his finger on it, but there seemed to be something off about his new surroundings. He wasn’t sure exactly what it was that left him so unsettled, but when he was here alone and deep in thought, he could swear that he was being watched, even studied. He was certain that it had to be just a little bit of childish fear of the dark and loneliness in his new home, but he could not shake the feeling that someone or something was watching his every move very closely.

About a week after moving in, he decided that it was time to meet the new neighbors and to venture into the town. When he had moved in, he had gone to the northern point of the lake where he had heard there was an upscale food market where he could get most of the delicacies and staples that he needed to survive and to relax with. He had also heard that they had a Jewish deli counter, and he was eager to see what they had to offer. The store was an experience, and for a brief moment, he felt like he was back in New York. But because he had entered his new community from the north, he had not seen the town yet and really had no idea what to expect at all, so he decided that it was time to pay a visit and see what the locals were like.

His cabin was five miles outside of the town, and the road leading in was gorgeous beyond compare as far as he was concerned. To one side, you had a rock face slowly rising to the right, and to the left was a gradual slope down to the lake. The hills were peppered with vineyards producing New York state wines, and apple orchards grew almost everywhere. That, coupled with the glow of the late summer sun, and he truly appreciated the beauty of this landscape.

He was able to see almost immediately what the attraction was to living in a place like this. The only troubling thing was that during the ride into town he saw no other cars, not a delivery truck, not even the mailman. It was as if he was the only person living on a deserted planet.

When he arrived in town, things just got weirder and weirder. He had never seen anything like it, it was as if he had left everything that he knew about reality and stepped head first into a sort of Jewish wonderland. He was wondering where the rabbit hole was that he had fallen down, because this surely had to be a joke.

A huge banner hung above the main street, which was called Abit El Lane, and every storefront was proudly waving the Israeli flag. As he drove further down the main thoroughfare, he passed by the local music supply store and saw a huge sign in front announcing that Klezmer lessons were held on Mondays and Wednesdays. The butcher was sporting the Star of David and a sign that clearly read
“Kosher.” He turned onto Schmaltz Lane and spied the local diner, which was called O’Malley’s Nosh and Nibs
;
this store also sported an Israeli flag and the Star of David in its front windows.

He drove a little further and passed by a used bookstore with a poster in the window that read “Defeat Hamas.” Jeffrey’s head was beginning to spin a little as he felt like he was in an author’s twisted take on Jewish life run amok; there had to be a joke, and he was the butt of it.

He came across the local community theater and was relieved to see that the performance was
Hairspray
; at least that wasn’t Jewish themed. It wasn’t until he examined the marquee a bit further that he noticed it read, “Final Night, Opening Soon:
Hester Street.”

He pulled in near the local coffee shop and got out of his car, looking around and taking in the Jewish utopia that surrounded him at every turn. He entered the store and the sounds of Neil Diamond were playing. The smells reminded him of his bubbe’s house, and the dessert counter was full of hamantaschen, rugelach, and blintzes. There were bagels and bialys, smoked sturgeon and cucumber salad in the deli bins, various styles of flavored cream cheeses, and pickled herring. He felt like he was back in Borough Park visiting his grandmother.

And the Jewish pride was everywhere and shown by everyone. He watched as people of every nationality and race were dressed in conservative Jewish clothing; some even wore yarmulkes. Black and white, Asian and Latino, they all showed their Jewish pride. Jeffrey had no idea what to think about it. He must have been greeted with “shalom” at least a dozen times already and did not know any of these people.

He placed an order for some whitefish salad and a couple of sesame seed bagels and ordered a coffee. He waited for his order and noticed that everyone was staring at him and smiling. They appeared to be giddy at just being in his presence and were afraid to say anything in the event that they spooked him. He felt like he was being examined by everyone in the shop and was getting uncomfortable waiting for his order to be filled.

Jeffrey could understand a bit of their excitement because he was famous in certain circles, but he was not sure why they were so taken by him. True, he was in a community that was not used to celebrities visiting, but he was a small-time celebrity as opposed to most. He chalked it up to the isolated way that these people lived.

But that didn’t explain their homage to the Jewish lifestyle. There was no way that every member of this town was of Jewish descent, and it was almost impossible to think that the entire town had made a concerted effort to either convert to Judaism or put on a show for his benefit. Jeffrey may have been born Jewish, but he was not as radical or extreme in his beliefs as these people were.

He found himself slightly bothered by what he was seeing, but also very intrigued. Here was an entire town that obviously thought that it was Jewish; think of the possibilities. There might be a story here to tell, there might be a play. But he quickly shoved those thoughts to the back of his mind; he had revenge on his mind, first and foremost, and he had to see that to its end.

He made his exit from the coffee shop and was hit with a chorus of “shalom” by everyone in attendance as he left; the sound startled him a bit. He walked to his car and saw the sheriff standing by it. He was wearing all black with white sneakers and apparently had been working on growing in his
payot
, the curls that orthodox Jews wear on the sides of their heads.

“Shalom, Mr. Rothstein,” the sheriffgreeted him.

“How are you, Sheriff?” Jeffrey noticed the disappointment on the sheriff ’s face and followed with, “I mean, shalom.”

The sheriff offered his hand and looked at Jeffrey’s car before asking, “How’s the house?”

“Fine, a little quiet, but pretty good.”

“And your car here?”

“Okay, I guess. Why?”

The sheriffwaved offthe question and answered, “You know, the long drive and the service station said that they haven’t seen you yet.”

This troubled Jeffrey a bit, and he asked, “Have you been checking up on me for some reason?”

“Just doing my job to protect the citizens of Zion,” he smiled. “We Zionists are a close-knit bunch.”

The sheriff ’s use of words amused Jeffrey, and he could not help but chuckle a little and smile at the choice. The sheriff appeared to be puzzled by the reaction and even a little bothered by it.

“Did I say something funny?” SheriffPitts pried.

Jeffrey shook his head and said, “It’s just that you referred to yourselves as
Zionists
when you are actually
Zionites
.”

This thoroughly confused the sheriff, who just shook his head and extended a hand to Jeffrey and added, “Just let me know if you have any problems out there by yourself or any questions about the town.” He smiled and started to walk away when Jeffrey called out to him.

“I have one question. What’s with everyone acting like they’re Jewish?”

This seemed to infuriate the sheriff who replied, “
Acting
like we’re Jewish? Do you
act
like you’re Jewish?”

“No, no, it’s just that …”

“You, of all people, should appreciate the fact that we have been persecuted for over five thousand years!”

“I know, I know; we have had a rough go of things. I didn’t mean to offend anyone.” This was new for Jeffrey. He had never had to explain what he meant without running the risk of being called an anti-Semite before. “I have just never seen a community this dedicated to the Jewish culture before, and that includes Borough Park.”

The sheriff’s eyes went wide, and he quietly asked, “You’ve been to Borough Park? What’s it like? Is it great?”

Jeffrey thought about the questions for a moment and answered, “It’s okay I guess, if you don’t mind overly radical Jewish zealots.”

“Oh, not at all!” Pitts replied happily. “I would love to join them in their fight.”

“Their fight?”

“Against the hordes of rabid goyim surrounding them, trying to destroy the Jewish way of life.”

Jeffrey took one very slow step back as he was beginning to feel that the sheriff was slightly out of his mind, if not misinformed. “Actually, it’s not as bad as it used to be.”

“Well, if they have a place for me to sign up in the fight, you let me know.”

“Oh, I’ll do that, Sheriff.”

Sheriff Pitts smiled broadly in satisfaction and said with delight, “Wonderful! You let me know. Shalom.”

“Uh, yeah, shalom,” Jeffrey answered and quickly turned to his car. He thought that maybe he had been the butt of an elaborate hoax, but after talking to Sheriff Pitts, he was certain that the entire town was all offof their rockers.

He got in his car and headed back to his new home.

* * *

Abby Tisch watched from her bookstore as the new guy in town, a Mr. Jeffrey David Rothstein, spoke with Sheriff Pitts. What they were talking about she was not sure, but she was certain that the sheriff had to have brought her up at least once during the conversation. After all, she had been the only one in the town with the knowledge of what was happening in that house that Rothstein had just purchased. She was the only one who knew that the presence living there was spying on the citizens of Zion, and it was she who knew how to put a stop to it and rid her tiny community of the specter that threatened to destroy them all.

She watched him drive away and knew that she was going to have to pick her moments judiciously. The town was already against her thanks to that terrible Mayor Baker and Sheriff Pitts, but she had just had an encounter with Rabbi Jackson this morning and was sure that he would soon be talking about her as well.

None of this mattered, though, because she knew she was in the right and that her way was the only hope for this town and its salvation. She would either earn the support of the rest of the town, or she would fight this battle on her own; it was her destiny, it was her calling.

She turned back to her book about the legends of vaudeville and thought aloud, “Yes my dear, your time is coming.”