Monday the Rabbi Took Off

Chapter Twenty-Three

They met as usual in the hotel lobby, before going up to dinner at the Artist's Club, and the first thing Roy said was. "I got an exam tomorrow, so I'll have to leave early." On the other occasions, he had made similar announcements— that he was tired and planned to get to bed early; that he had an early class the next morning or a date later that evening— any excuse to leave immediately after dinner. Each time Dan had been disappointed and even a little hurt, but had been careful to give no indication of his feelings. He felt it was important that Roy feel he had complete freedom. He was determined not to play the role of the heavy-handed father. "If we're to be friends." he told himself, "he's got to want to see me the same way I want to see him."

He had tried to get Roy to talk about his studies with little or no success. "Courses, like courses in the States. You get one prof that's interesting, you're lucky. The time passes a little quicker. Most of them just cover the ground."

He had tried telling him about his own work, interviews he had taped, his methods of procedure. It drew little response.

He had tried to ask about Roy's friends and even offered to have one or two join them for dinner.

"Well, most of the kids are pretty busy."

"I don't need to make any special preparation. Give me a call."

"Yeah, I'll keep that in mind."

Deciding that perhaps Roy interpreted his interest as interference in his affairs, prying, tonight he was determined to keep the conversation in neutral channels and take his lead from his son. They walked to the restaurant in silence, and only when they arrived did Roy finally say, "This is not a bad place, you know."

Dan agreed, saying that considering location, service, quality of the food, he found it as good as any place in Jerusalem.

After some discussion of the menu, they ate in silence for the most part. When they were served their dessert and coffee, however, Roy ventured, "I called you last night, and they said you'd gone to Tel Aviv."

Dan wondered if he resented the trip. "Yes, I went down for a couple of days. Bob Chisholm was having a little party. He's head of the AP office down there." Roy did not appear to be interested, but Dan continued if only to fill the vacuum of silence. "I took the sherut down and when we arrived. I called the Sheraton to see if they could let me have a room for the night. They were full, of course— they always are— but I got hold of Phil Bailen, the manager, and he said he'd fix up something. So that way I was able to stay down there for a couple of days."

"M-hm."

"It's quite a town." Dan continued. "There's no telling who you'll run into. When I got to the hotel late that night, after the party, who do I see but Alfred Northcote? He's with the BBC, and when I was stationed in London a couple of years ago. I used his digs because he was off to Spain at the time."

"Uh-huh."

"It didn't surprise me either. You know, between the time I registered at the desk and the time I got into the elevator I met three different people I knew. I had just finished registering when Colonel Girande, whom I met in Paris, oh, six or seven years ago. spotted me and came over and we chatted for a few minutes. And while we were talking, Bob Chisholm— the one that gave the party— he joined us. Then while I'm waiting for the elevator. I hear somebody calling. 'Meestaire Stedman' and I turned around and it was Olga Ripescu. The minute I saw her, I remembered her, and remembered her name, too. Some years ago I did a story on the Rumanian Ballet. Most of the story was devoted to the premiere danseuse and the choreographer and the manager, of course. But I also talked to some of the young people who had just joined the troupe, and one of them was this girl. Olga Ripescu. Well, she had come with the ballet and now she was the premiere danseuse. And she had remembered me after all that time."

"Fantastic!"

Dan didn't know how to read the remark, so pretended not to notice. "There's a party at the American Embassy next week," he went on. "I was invited. I could wangle an invitation for you if you'd care to go. There's usually a number of pretty girls on hand from various diplomatic and government offices."

"Jewish girls?"

"Most of them."

"I see." said Roy. "You'd like me to meet some Jewish girls."

"From what you’ve told me, it might not be a bad idea." his father observed. "Yes, I'd like you to meet some Jewish girls and Jewish boys."

"That's what I thought. So you're still trying to run my life," he said bitterly.

"Well, isn't that what fathers are for?" Dan said, trying to keep the conversation light.

"No one has a right to interfere with somebody else's life. I'm an individual, and I’ve got a right to live my own life the way I want to. I aim to pick my own friends and do my own thing." The young man spoke with passion.

"Look. Roy, do we have to quarrel every time we meet?"

"Just don't try to steer me, and everything will be just fine. That's all. just don't try to steer me." He got up from the table. "Uh, look, it's getting late and I've got that exam."

Back in his hotel room. Dan Stedman went over the evening in his mind. What's the matter with these young people? Anything you say, they give their own special interpretation. How do you talk to them so they'll listen and respond in a reasonable, adult way?

He was reminded of a line in a letter he had received only that morning from his sister in Barnard's Crossing. "... although he was here more than six years, he was never very popular and has no real backing in the congregation except for the young people, most of them still in their teens, who seem to like him— and they don't vote in temple elections."

He searched in his desk drawer for an earlier letter in which she had given him Rabbi Small's address.