Thursday The Rabbi Walked Out

37

"I DON'T THINK I'VE EVER MET A RABBI BEFORE," SAID BILLY, then with some concern. "Did you come out so that you could pray for me?"

They were sitting on the porch of one of the camp cabins, he sat on the top step, his back against the newel-post, dressed in stained coveralls several sizes too big for him, while the rabbi sat on the railing, the collar of his topcoat turned up against the breeze coming from the water.

"I hadn't planned to." said Rabbi Small, looking off toward the tiny dock against which the police harbor boat that had brought him bumped gently with every wave, the policeman who operated the craft, in a heavy turtleneck sweater, instead of his uniform blouse, lay on his back on the dock, his cap over his face, basking in the rays of the afternoon sun, he rolled over and waved to the rabbi, who waved back, he turned to face the young man again. "Of course, if you'd like me to—"

"Oh no. I mean. I don't care if you do or not." Then lest he appear ungracious, he said. "I mean that if you came out here to pray for me, it would mean that I was in trouble, wouldn't it? Am I?"

"I don't know." said the rabbi. "I came because I heard you were a Jew, and I'm the rabbi here."

"Oh, but I'm not that kind of Jew." "No? What kind are you?"

"Well, I'm one because my mother is. You know, it's what you're bom. My mother's agent, Sol Katz, he's always talking about 'We Jews,' so I asked my mother and she explained that there were two kinds—like Sol, who believed in the Jewish religion, and like us who didn't believe in it but were Jews because we happened to be born Jews. But we were really just Americans, that's right, isn't it?"

"It's one way of looking at it," the rabbi admitted. "Is that what Mr. Jordon thought, too?"

"Oh, we never talked about anything like that." "No? What did you talk about?"

The young man laughed. "Money, mostly, he was always talking about stocks and bonds and how you figure out if they're good stocks to buy, you know, by the financial statement, and land, and houses, and how you go about buying what's going to increase in value. His idea was that money was important because if you had enough of it, you could be independent, and if you were independent, you could say anything that came into your mind, and if you could say anything, you could think anything—"

"Surely, it was the other way around, wasn't it?"

"No." Billy insisted. "That's the way he put it. If you felt you could say anything, then you could think any way you wanted to. But if you didn't feel you could say whatever came into your head, then you tended not to think of things."

"I see, and did you like him?"

"Sure I liked him, and I think he liked me. Course, he didn't ever say so, because—well, because that kind of thing he wouldn't say to your face." He canted his head to one side as he considered. "He was a funny kind of guy. Sometimes he'd seem awfully mean, but you couldn't tell. Like, he'd say nasty things to Martha sometimes, and she'd flare back at him, and he'd just laugh, afterward, he would explain that he did it to let her know she was like part of the family, and not just a servant. You understand?"

"I think so."

"Some things he was very particular about." the young man went on. "like time, for instance, because he said each person had just so much of it and no more, he had this clock on the mantelpiece in the living room, and he'd check it by the radio time signals every day, and if you were late to dinner, say, even if it was only a couple of minutes, he'd glare at you and point at it without saying a word. But you could see he was angry.

"And money. Down to the last penny. Like Martha did the shopping, he'd give her money, and then at the end of the week, she'd give him the tapes from the supermarket, or the other stores, and whatever money was left, and if she was short, even if it was only like three cents, he'd tell her and make her give it to him, and once, when it was the other way, and he didn't happen to have any change on him, she said it was all right, and that made him angry, he said. 'It's not all right,' and went off to his bedroom and fished in his bureau drawer and got the necessary few coins."

"What did he call you?" asked the rabbi.

"He called me Billy mostly. But sometimes when he was a little annoyed with me, he'd call me Sir."

"And when he was greatly annoyed with you?" asked the rabbi, smiling.

"Then he didn't call me anything." said the young man promptly. "He just didn't talk to me. Of course, when he got real wrathy, he'd send me to my room, and if it below his mind, like—like the other night, he'd lock me in."

"And how did you feel about that?"

"Well, the first time it happened, it was because I hadn't written to my mother, and he'd promised her I would, he got all red and worked up and I was afraid he might have a heart attack, he had heart trouble, you know. So I just went into my room. But I was real kind of upset, being treated like a little kid like that. So I thought, what the hell—oh. I'm sorry."

"That's all right." the rabbi said. "Everybody uses the expression these days."

"Well, anyway, I thought, why should I stay here? So I just raised the window and split. See, I promised Mr. Gore I'd help him with his silver stuff, and I didn't want to disappoint him, and I came back the same way, but if he heard me, he didn't let on, then before he went to bed. I heard him turning the key in the lock. So that meant he knew I'd been out, and the next morning it was as though nothing happened, and that's the way it was every time after that." He began to laugh. "Once he kept me locked up for three days, and I went to the bank every day through the window, he even came into the bank one day, and of course he saw me, but he acted as though I wasn't there." He laughed again, joyously. "That was real funny. I'd get home from the bank, and there was my dinner in my room. See, it was like a game between us. I figured out, he couldn't hit me, or withhold my allowance, or anything like that, and I guess he was afraid to yell at me, maybe on account of his heart, or maybe because it might lead to a real fight where we'd say things that—well, that we'd be sorry for."

"Then why did you run off to New York if it were just a sort of game?" asked the rabbi, curious.

The young man sobered. "That was different, that was in front of Mr. Gore, he knew about my going out the window because I told him. It was like a joke. But to do it right in front of him like that. I thought I'd never be able to face him again. You understand?"

"I think so. Tell me, have you informed you mothea about—about what happened?" The young man shook his head.

"Don't you think you ought to, considering that he was an old friend of hers?"

"What for? She might feel she had to come back to take care of me, well, I'm all right, and she's going great over there, so why should she cancel?"

The rabbi nodded, he jumped off his perch on the railing and said. "I’ve got to be going now, but if you come into town. I'd like you to come and see me."

"Sure, why not? Any special reason?" "No-o, but if you should need any help—" "What kind of help?" The rabbi smiled. "Any kind at all."