Thursday The Rabbi Walked Out

9

ELLSWORTH JORDON PACED THE LIVING ROOM OF HIS OLD Victorian house, glowering at the clock on the mantelpiece each time he passed it. Billy was late getting home from work, and he was worried, and annoyed with himself for being worried. By the time he caught sight of him hurrying up the long driveway, his annoyance with himself had turned into anger at the young man.

"Where have you been?" he demanded. "You're late."

Billy was contrite. "Oh, I'm sorry, sir. I missed the bus and I decided to walk instead of waiting for the next one. It was so nice out."

"Don't you know Martha has an engagement for tonight and has to leave early? She mentioned it this morning."

"Gee, I forgot."

"And I am due at the Agathon."

"Gee. I'm sorry. But Martha can leave the dishes and I'll do them."

"Well, we'll see. Wash up now and let's not keep Martha waiting any longer."

They ate in silence. Normally, Billy would have prattled about his day at the bank, but having been reprimanded, he was reluctant to speak. Jordon occasionally shot furtive glances at the boy and wondered at his sullenness, he had reproved him for coming home late, which was his right and duty. But when he had told him to go and wash up, Billy should have realized that in effect his explanation and apology had been accepted. So why didn't he speak? Did he expect him, so much his senior, to make the overture?

Though he continued to glower over his plate, after a while. Jordon reflected philosophically that young people naturally lacked subtlety, that in the few months that Billy had been with him, he had adjusted quite well, that in the evenings and on weekends when they were together, the boy had even proved companionable, albeit in the gauche, awkward way to be expected in the young. To be sure, the boy was graceless and uncertain, but he presumed all young people of that age were, he didn't look you in the eve, and he slouched and was slovenlv in his dress. His glasses kept sliding forward on his nose, and one of the bows was attached by a bit of wire. On the other hand, ha was obedient, even docile, and thank God, his face was not pimpled, and, a positive plus—he seemed to enjoy his work at the bank, where he worked as a teller. Gore had even reported that the customers seemed to like him.

It had been no problem getting him the job. "I’ve got a young fellow coming to stay with me for a while, Larry. I’ve known his family for a long time. I'd appreciate it if you'd give him a job in the bank while he's here."

"How long is he going to stay?"

"Months, maybe a year, maybe longer. For some time I’ve thought I ought to have someone sleeping in."

Lawrence Gore smiled knowingly and nodded.

Jordon frowned, he had a reputation as a pinchpenny, and he knew what Gore was thinking—that rather than hire a companion, he was having Billy come for just the cost of his keep. But he didn't feel it necessary to explain. "And I'd consider it a personal favor. Larry," he went on. "for any kindness you can show him. I don't mean for you to grant him any special privileges that the other employees don't have, but you know, a friendly word of encouragement now and then. I guess he's something of a mama's boy and doesn't have the confidence—"

"Sure, I understand. Ellsworth. Tell you what. I'm starting a class of pistol shooting, he can join and I'll teach him how to shoot."

"Goddammit. Larry, this isn't the Wild West. Use some common sense. Learning to shoot a pistol isn't going to help make a man of him—"

"That's where you're wrong." said Gore earnestly. "I was the runt in my class in high school. Most of the girls were taller than me. Once at a party they rigged it so I had to dance with this big, tall girl, Florence Richardson. My eyes were just about level with her breasts. God, it was embarrassing."

The older man grinned lewdly. "Your face right up against her tits, eh? That might not have been so bad."

Gore grinned back. "Yeah, nowadays it wouldn't bother me, but it sure did then." He shook his head in reminiscent reflection. "It wasn't just with girls, you understand. Being short makes some men assertive, but most people become shy and cautious and withdrawn, well, in college you had to go out for some sport, and I chose the pistol team, figuring it was something where my being short wouldn't matter, and you know, as I learned to handle the weapon. I began to grow."

The older man looked down at him and said. "Not noticeably."

"Yes, noticeably. I didn't get taller, but feeling comfortable with a handgun gave me confidence in everything. It gives you a sense of power, and that makes you sure of yourself. When I won the intercollegiate Regional Championship, I was a giant. You leave the boy to me, Ellsworth. I'll make a man out of him."

Not until Martha came in to serve the main course did Jordon break the silence, and then it was to address her. "Big date tonight, Martha? Somebody special?" he asked jocosely.

"No, just a date," she said.

"Anybody I know?"

"I don't guess so. It's a feller from Lynn I met the othea night when I went bowling."

"Well, don't worry. You'll get out in good time. Just leave the dishes and Billy will do them." There, he thought. I’ve called him by name, that should let him know that I'm not angry any longer. But the young man did not take the hint and kept his eyes on his plate and remained silent.

When Martha came in to serve the coffee, she was already in street clothes. "I'll be going now,” she said. "I’ve stacked the dishes, and the soap powder and towels are on the drain-board."

"Okay, Martha, have a good time." Moodily Jordon sipped his coffee, his eyes abstracted. When he finished, he left the table without a word and went into the living room. Presently Billy joined him there, and Jordon looked up from his paper and asked, "Dishes all done?"

"Yes, sir."

"And put away?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well, that's good, that's fine. You written to your mother yet?"

"I thought I'd do that tomorrow."

Jordon's face darkened. "I promised your mother that she'd get a letter from you every week. I want you to do that right now."

"But I told Mr. Gore I'd be over to help him with the photos of the silver collection."

The answer infuriated the old man. "Well, your mother comes first. You go to your room right now and do that letter."

"Oh fish!" Billy muttered, but he went to his room and closed the door behind him.

Jordon followed him to the door. "And I'm locking you in till you finish,” he called after him and turned the key in the lock.

Through the door he called. "And you'll stay in there until you've written that letter. I'm going to have my regular meditation now, so I'll thank you not to disturb me for the next twenty minutes, after that you can knock if you'va finished and I'll let you out. But I'm telling you that if it's not done by then. I'm going to the club and you'll wait in there until I get back."

He listened for a moment, his ear to the door, but Billy did not reply, he sat down on his recliner for the Transcendental Meditation he was convinced was good for his heart. When the twenty minutes he allowed himself were up, he got out of his chair and tiptoed over to the door of the boy's room, he listened, his ear pressed to the door, but he heard nothing.

So be it, he thought. If this is going to be a test of willpower, we'll see who's the stronger, he went to the front door, opened it and then banged it behind him, then opened it carefully once again and listened, hearing no response, he eased the door closed silently and got into his car parked in the driveway.