Thursday The Rabbi Walked Out

27

SINCE RABBI SMALL DID NOT TURN ON EITHER THE RADIO OR TV on the Sabbath, it was not until he arrived at the temple for the evening service that he heard about the murder, the dozen or so who had gathered for the service were a lot less observant of the Sabbath than the rabbi and hence knew all about it. Most of them were listening to Julius Rottenberg who was a maven, that is an expert in matters criminological by virtue of operating a coffee shop just outside the law courts in the neighboring city of Lynn, and who, therefore, was on intimate terms with the district attorney ("coffee and a cruller and heavy on the cream"), the assistant D.A.'s, all the cops and even the presiding judge ("tea with lemon and a little extra hot water. Julius").

"It's the kid, of course," he was saying when the rabbi entered the chapel where they were waiting to begin the service. Fat and bald and normally with a perpetual, eager smile, Julius now showed a fine high scorn for someone who had suggested that it could be some stranger from his past who had shot Ellsworth Jordon.

"Nah," he said with an impatient sweep of the hand. "The police always say that. It gives them an out. See? But it was the kid that did it, he's crazy about guns, all kids are. What do you expect with all these westerns on the tube, and the gang pictures, too, he pinches the gun out of the bank where he works. To hold up somebody, or even to fire it in the woods? Nah. Just to fondle it. To practice a quick draw, maybe, or twirling it around his finger, like the gunmen do in the westerns. So the old man catches him with it and makes him put it down and sends him to his room, then everybody leaves—there was some sort of dinner party—and the old man sits down in his easy chair to grab himself forty winks.

"So they're all alone, and the old man is asleep. So the kid leaves his room to get another look at the gun, to hold it and wave it around, and it goes off. So now he's in for it for sure, so he figures he might as well get hanged for a sheep as for a lamb, so he fires away until the gun is empty, and when he's finished. Ellsworth Jordon is dead."

"Yeah, but why didn't Jordon jump up and stop him. Julius?"

Julius nodded with pompous solemnity. "Good question. My theory is that the old man panicked and froze."

A new arrival announced. "Hey, guys, I just heard that tha cops arrested Stanley." "Stanley? Our Stanley? What for?"

"I don't know, all I heard was he was arrested. Did you see him around today?"

"He wasn't here last night either. Look in the vestry and you'll see all the stuff from the collation, the dirty dishes, they're still on the table."

"You think we ought to clean up?" "That's the House Committee's business."

Throughout the service the rabbi had great difficulty in keeping his mind from wandering, he performed perfunctorily even the Havdala ceremony that divided the Sabbath from the rest of the week. What kept running through his head was that if Jordon was dead, and if Henry Maltzman had been right about him, then the temple might now be able to buy the adjoining land for the religious school.

A little ashamed of his thoughts and his inability to concentrate on the prayers, the rabbi did not stand around and talk with the members of the minyan at the conclusion of the service as he usually did, but excused himself and went right home, he had no sooner entered the house, when the phone rang.

"Rabbi Small,” he announced.

From the other end came a hoarse chuckle. "I figured you'd be getting home right about now. Rabbi."

"Stanley?"

"That's right. I'm down at the stationhouse, and they said I could make a phone call."

"You mean you've been arrested? What for? What's the charge?"

"I think maybe I was a little drunk."

"All right. I'll be down and talk with them."