Chapter Thirty-Three
In spite of the yarmulke. Inspector Ish-Kosher was not a religious man, but he was strongly traditional; he had a distinct image of what a rabbi should look like, and Rabbi Small did not fit it. A rabbi should have a beard and wear appropriately dark and somber clothes, preferably black. Rabbi Small was beardless and wore light-gray summer trousers and a seersucker jacket. At the very least, a rabbi should not go uncovered; Rabbi Small was hatless. Ish-Kosher could not help feeling a little antagonistic as he motioned the rabbi to a seat.
The inspector thumbed through a folder on his desk and then looked up and said pleasantly, "A little while ago we made an inquiry at your apartment house to see if anyone there was expecting a visitor on a certain night. You were not at home, but your neighbor. Mrs. Rosen, said you had just arrived that day. late that evening, in fact. She said you were a rabbi from America. And vet, the little card in your letterbox saves only David Small. Are you a rabbi?"
"Yes, I am a rabbi."
"Then why doesn't the card say Rabbi David Small?"
"Because here I am not a rabbi."
"And yet a doctor coming from America would probably keep his title on his letterbox." said the inspector.
"The two cases are not the same. The doctor probably could practice in an emergency, in an accident for example."
"This shows great delicacy on your part. Rabbi. Just what kind of rabbi are you?"
"I am a Conservative rabbi. I am the rabbi of a Conservative temple in America."
"The training is different for a Conservative rabbi than for one of ours?"
"No. not really." Rabbi Small said. "The emphasis is a little different, but the work itself does differ. Many of your rabbis here perform largely legalistic functions. Our work is rarely legal. Most of the time it is concerned with the emotional and spiritual health of the congregation we serve."
"I see." The inspector smiled suddenly. "Just to clear up and complete our records, were you expecting someone the night you arrived?"
"No. no one that I can think of."
Ish-Kosher made a note in the folder, closed it, and leaned back in his chair. Again he smiled pleasantly. "You are here on a sabbatical from your congregation?"
"No. I wouldn't call it a sabbatical. I took a leave of absence for a few months."
"Ah, on vacation. And what do you do. Rabbi? Do you go sight-seeing? Are you perhaps studying at the university?"
"No. I'm not doing much of anything; just taking a vacation, resting."
"From your arduous labors with your congregation?"
He was smiling, but there was also a tinge of sarcasm in his voice.
"Something like that." said Rabbi Small good-naturedly. "It appears that you are not only taking a vacation from your congregation and your work. Rabbi, but even from the religion you profess."
"What do you mean?" said the rabbi in surprise. "If you refer to my not going to the synagogue every Sabbath—"
"I am referring to your going on the Sabbath to see someone about buying a car. specifically one Benjamin Memavet, whose apartment was bombed and who died as a result."
"How do you know I went to buy a car?"
"Please. Rabbi." said Ish-Kosher reproachfully, "I ask the questions."
"I had an appointment with my friend. Dan Stedman, and he had made another with his son. He was anxious for me to meet him. so I agreed to come along."
"But he was going to buy a car. to conduct business— and on the Sabbath. Again I ask. what kind of rabbi are you?"
The antagonism was now unmistakable. Rabbi Small smiled faintly. "As a rabbi, like all rabbis. I give these matters more thought than does the average layman like yourself." he began patiently. "Adherence to the traditional religious practices like covering the head or even observing the Sabbath according to the strict rabbinical code, these we do partly out of habit, partly because people expect it of us and perhaps to set an example to others in maintaining rabbinic tradition and rabbinic authority. I don't think anyone who has given the matter any thought actually thinks that God requires it of man or is pleased by it. According to Isaiah. 'I am full of burnt offerings.... it is an abomination unto Me. saith the Lord. Your new moons and your appointed seasons, my soul hateth.' That's putting it rather strongly, but it suggests how the God of Isaiah at least might view conformity and religious conventions in general."
"The God of Isaiah!" Ish-Kosher was outraged. "Tell me. Rabbi, do you believe in God?"
"I suppose as a police officer you'd like a yes or no answer."
"It's a difficult question," the rabbi went on easily, "since it involves three variables—"
"Variables?"
"Of course. You ask if I believe in God. Do you mean at this moment in time, or the I of yesterday. or the I of three years ago? And what do you mean by 'believe'? That's another variable. Do you mean in the same way that I believe that two and two make four? Or the way that I believe that light travels a certain number of miles per second, which I myself have never seen demonstrated but which has been demonstrated by people whose competence and integrity I have been taught to trust? Or do you mean in the sense that I believe that there was a man named Washington who won independence for the American colonies from Britain, or in the sense that I believe there was a man named Moses who did the same thing for the Jews from Egypt. If you think about it, you'll see that there are many more forms of belief, and all of them a little different from each other. And finally, the third variable— God. Do you mean a humanlike figure? Or an ineffable essence? One who is aware of us individually and responsive to our pleas for help? Or one who is so far above us that He can have no interest in us? Or any one of the other conceptions that men have had over the ages? But speaking more generally. I suppose I have the feeling of belief and certainty some times and lack it at others, just as you do, or the Chief Rabbi, or the
Pope for that matter."
Ish-Kosher stared at his visitor. Then he regrouped his forces, as it were, and said stiffly, "I did not bring you here for theological discussions—"
"I have been wondering why you did ask me to come."
"Memavet made an appointment with your friend Stedman for later Saturday evening. I want to know if he kept it."
"I didn't see Mr. Stedman later, but I remember his telling his son he had no intention of keeping the appointment. He did not want to appear overeager. Is that all?"
"That is all. Good day to you."
"My passport. You have it on your desk."
"Oh, yes. Here it is." Ish-Kosher handed the booklet to the rabbi and remained standing for some little while after the rabbi had left, his fingers drumming a light tattoo on the desktop.
Chapter Thirty-Four
The rabbi had not overlooked the fact that somehow the police had learned of his presence at Memavet's. They must have been told either by Dan or Rov. If as seemed unlikely, Memavet had made some notation of his later meeting and the police had found it, the name referred to would certainly be Stedman. There was no reason for Memavet to have noted his name as well, since he was obviously not interested in buying a car. It was unthinkable— well, almost unthinkable— that the information had come from Dan. since he had pooh-poohed his suggestion that they report to the police. But if he had changed his mind and gone after all. would he not have called him first? And if he had not, then it could only have been an oversight or because for some reason he wanted to get him involved. And what reason could he have for that? His brother-in-law was perhaps interested in the job at Barnard's Crossing and he was acting out of a sense of mistaken family loyalty?