Tuesday The Rabbi Saw Red

CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

Later, Ames joined the rabbi at the apartment.

"I could use a cup of coffee." said Ames. "Seems to me I noticed ajar of instant coffee in the kitchen."

And with the long practice of the bachelor, he scurried about the kitchen, boiling water, rinsing cups, setting the table.T hey were both seated at the kitchen table, their steaming cups before them, before Ames said. "In spite of that Talmudic razzle-dazzle, you must have had some idea of where you were heading, and please spare me your facile explanation to the good sergeant that it was he who first put you in mind of Dean Hanbury. What was it actually?"

The rabbi set his cup down. "From the day I first met her. Millicent Hanbury has been in my mind. I suppose it's our general way of looking at things: the biblical injunction to be fruitful and multiply. To us, the unmarried woman, the spinster, is a tragic figure because she has not had the chance to complete her normal life cycle. In the stetl, the small ghetto towns of Russia and Poland where every girl was required to provide a dowry for her marriage, the poor girl, the orphan, was furnished a dowry by the community so that she would not be condemned to a life of spinsterhood. Even if she was ugly, they managed to pair her off with someone, there were no spinsters in the stetl.""How about bachelors?"

"An occasional one." The rabbi smiled. "They were not considered so much tragic figures as failing in their duty, not pulling their weight, as it were."

"You, too?" In answer to the rabbi's questioning look, he explained. "I’ve got it from my family most of my life— not pulling my weight, not doing my duty. But it wasn't because I remained single; it was because I didn't become a bigshot lawyer. Not fulfilling my potential is the usual remark."

The rabbi smiled. "Well, in our modern system, where you marry for romantic love, it's pretty much a matter of luck whether you marry or not. But I venture to say that in the older system of the arranged marriage, you probably would not have remained a bachelor, and Miss Hanbury certainly would not have remained a spinster, she is too attractive. So I found myself wondering why she hadn't married. Was it for the sake of an academic career?" He broke off as a thought crossed his mind. "You know, the chances are that if you had married, your wife would have seen to it that you became that bigshot lawyer."

Ames chuckled. "Then it's just as well that we don't have the arranged marriage."

The rabbi grinned in sympathy. "Well, shortly afterward I bumped into Chief Lanigan and he told me about Millicent Hanbury, she was a Hanbury, and Hanburys didn't associate with just anyone. But since she belonged to a poor branch of the family, she didn't even associate with those she considered her equals, she couldn't. It was a matter of pride in her family, her upbringing, and it left her emotionally crippled."

"I’ve known similar cases." said Ames. "Yes, I imagine so, well, along comes Hendryx who had left Barnard's Crossing in his early teens, and the Hendryxes were of the same social class as the Hanburys, she had known him, and it's quite possible that in spite of the difference in their ages she could have had a crush on him."

"Or because of the difference in their ages."

"True, and now he comes to her for a job, and he is not married, she not only gets him a job, but manages to maneuver him into the position of acting head of the department."

"He was a legitimate scholar?"

"Oh yes. Nothing outstanding. I gather, but he had a good degree and had even published some."

"Then why was he out of a job when he came to Windemere?" asked Ames. "We backtracked him and found he'd had several jobs in the last ten years or so."

"It could be a matter of personality." said the rabbi. "He was proud and supercilious, given to making snide, cutting remarks. In a lot of places, one's colleagues in the department decide on matters of tenure and promotion, and I'm sure these traits rubbed a lot of people the wrong way— as they did Fine. But I suspect that here at Windemere he at last decided to stay, he was no longer a young man, he was already in his forties, and unless you've made your mark it's not so easy to get a job at that age." Ames nodded. "I'm sure Miss Hanbury assumed they were going to be married. I just can't imagine her— what's the phrase, shacking up?— I can't imagine her just shacking up with a man, her pride wouldn't let her accept so anomalous a situation." Ames agreed. "When we questioned her, she said they were planning to get married as soon as Hendryx got tenure, then she could leave her job, would have to, in fact, because they have a rule here against husband and wife both on the staff."

"Of course." said the rabbi. "And as long as his was a temporary appointment, hers was by far the better job. So if they got married before he got tenure, he'd be the one to go and she'd be supporting him. I'm sure she wouldn't care for that, and neither would he. So it was just a question of time."

"But he couldn't wait?"

"That's what I think." said the rabbi. "Hendryx decided to go for the president's daughter as the quicker and more certain route to his goal, and it worked. But Millicent Hanbury was proud, too proud to permit herself to be used and then discarded." He shook his head reflectively. "I wonder how he was able to manage it, courting one woman—"

"While diddling another?" Ames chuckled. "Oh, married men manage it often enough. It's even easier for a bachelor."