Wednesday the Rabbi got wet

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

In response to his ring, Leah opened the door the width of the chain and stared at him, then she recognized him. "Akiva!" She closed the door enough to slide the chain off and then, opening it wide, she asked. "Why didn't you call me first?"

"I didn't want to wait. Besides, I was afraid you'd— you'd—"

"Refuse if I had a chance to think about it? Suppose I was having company? Did you think of that?"

"I thought I'd take my chances. I felt lucky."

She led him into the living room, but she was still not mollified. "And they might think I was the kind of woman men could come to see by just ringing the bell. Did you think of that?"

"No, I didn't," Akiva retorted crossly. "I didn't think of anything except that I wanted to see you. Look," he pleaded, "I'm clean-shaven, my hair is cut, I'm all dressed up like a regular square and I wanted you to see me."

"All right. I see you."

"Do you like it?" he asked eagerly.

"It's an improvement. Even if you couldn't spare the time to phone before coming, why didn't you call to say you were going away?"

"I— I left kind of sudden. Something came up. But I'm back now."

"For good?"

"I don't know," he said. "Maybe you heard? My father got sick—"

"Yes. I heard about it. I'm sorry." Leah did not bother to say that she had dropped into the store on the chance that he might be there.

"I'll tell you the truth," he said earnestly. "When I left, I wasn't planning to come back, then my mother phoned to tell me what happened."

"I see, and you changed your style, you shaved because of what I said about beards?"

He was tempted to lie, to say he had indeed done it for her. But what he had appreciated most about their short acquaintance, what he had thought of on the long ride back to Philadelphia and again the many times he had remembered her during the week that followed was the feeling that he could be completely honest and candid with her. So he said, "No, I did it for my father."

"Oh?"

"He's my father," he said. "I owe it to him, Leah. You just kind of suggested you didn't like it, but with him it would bother him that somebody like me, like I was, was operating his precious store, and it's not good for him to be bothered. I owe him that much."

She was momentarily disappointed and yet strangely reassured. "How is he?"

"I went to see him this morning right after I had my hair cut. I was dressed like this, like I am now, he was lying there just looking up at the ceiling and he seemed tired and sort of washed out. I don't remember ever seeing him that way before. But when he saw me, he perked right up and started to give me instructions— on what to do in the store, and I just listened." He saw that she did not understand. "What I mean is I didn't argue with him, I just listened and agreed. You see, it wasn't anything very important. It never was. Just his special way of billing, or putting up merchandise or typing labels." He grinned. "I felt good about it, too, like I'd done a mitzvah."

"And what would your rebbe have said about it?" she teased.

He considered the question seriously. "Well, most of the chavurah probably would tick me off for shaving— those who don't have beards use a depilatory or an electric razor, which is supposed to be all right for some reason— especially for shaving and having my hair cut on the Sabbath and for working on the Sabbath, but the rebbe himself would approve, I think, he's not like the ordinary chasidic rebbe, he's very modem. I know it's all right because I felt good about it. Sometimes, you feel good about something you do for yourself, like lying in the sun, or when you make it with a girl and it's just right, but when you do something for someone else— not just a favor, but something you've got to give up like a sacrifice— then you feel good in a special way."

She asked how long he planned to stay in town and he said, "I don't know. My mother said it would be three months before my father could go back to work. I'll probably be here at least that long. I gave up my apartment in Philly."

"Was your job there so much better than you can do around here?"

"No. I settled in Philly because I'd gone to school there, so I knew the city, and then again. I wanted to be far enough away from home to feel free."

"And now?"

He grinned. "Well, how free was I if my mother could bring me back here with a phone call?"

Leah pressed him. "So you might stay?"

He shrugged. "I might have to— and I might want to."

Aware that his mother would probably not go to sleep until he got home, he left at eleven, at the door, he said, "I'll probably be working every night except Sundays. By the time I get through, it's too late to go anywhere— to dinner or a movie, but I'd like to see you—"

"I don't go out much because of Jackie. You can stop by when you get through if you like."

He had had enough experience to realize how unusual was her honesty. "Expect me," he said.