Gorfinkle shrugged. “I’m sorry. Rabbi.” he said smoothly. “That’s Stu now, and I have to go.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Wilcox, his collar unbuttoned, his tie unknotted, the ends hanging loose, sat back in his armchair, his legs resting on a hassock, at peace with the world. He could tell from the way it started that this was going to be one of those all-the-time-in-the-world trips, where time slowed down to a deep, throbbing rhythm. He could hear the slow, steady movement of the gears inside his watch. And then, as if in accompaniment, he heard the pealing of the doorbell, a deep, insistent throbbing. He rose to his feet to answer. It was no simple motion, but a whole series of adventures in which each part of his body, each member, played some significant role, like a complicated army maneuver, or like a ballet in which his arms and legs, his hands, his fingers all had separate roles. All had to move at their appointed time. And although it seemed that the act of opening the door and admitting his visitor and then going back to his easy chair was a matter of hours, he had no feeling of exhaustion from this tremendous effort. The figure in the chair before him grew larger and larger, like an inflating balloon. And then smaller and smaller and then once again larger. And yet this shifting of outline was not alarming in any way. Amusing, rather, especially when he realized it was only the man’s normal respiration he was watching. Thinking about it quite objectively he came to the conclusion that the man must have run up the stairs, because he seemed to be breathing heavily; there were beads of perspiration on his forehead that he could see individually course down from the hairline until they fell into and filled and overflowed a furrow on the man’s brow and then spilled over to the next furrow, and the next, until finally they were dissipated in the hairy jungle of the man’s eyebrow. The man was saying something that he could understand perfectly, but it seemed too utterly ridiculous to merit his attention. Something about having to park his car around the corner. Silly man. Why should that be of interest? And his difficulty in finding the apartment bell. Something about asking a woman which bell it was. What significance was there whether a woman knew which apartment it was or not. The man had a grievance. He understood it. He could understand it not merely in his mind, but it registered as waves of resentment on his very skin. And it was unpleasant. And he wanted an end to it. He spoke from a great distance, explaining for the silly creature. And it seemed that the other understood, for he rose from his chair. Not a bright person certainly. Not with man’s intelligence. No. Nor the intelligence of a dog even. Or even of a much lower animal. Not even the intelligence of a worm. Perhaps a microbe, because instead of going toward the door as he was told he was coming toward him. Ah, he understood at last. The other was taking his leave formally. Should he rise? Should he offer his hand? But the man was reaching forward and taking not his hand, but both ends of his tie. Was this the wav to take one’s leave? Was this a new ceremony? And then he felt the stricture on his neck and then pain and pressure and pressure and pain.
And nothing.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Mr. Carter looked around the table slowly, and his eye came to rest on the empty place on his right. His wife at the foot of the table and his children ranged on either side, the two young boys on his right and the two girls on his left, all sat straight, their hands folded and resting on the edge of the table, waiting for him to say Grace.
“And where is Moses?” he asked.
“He hasn’t come home yet.” said his wife. “He went into Boston to apply for a job, and he may have stopped for a bite. He said he might be late.”
“And didn’t you tell him that I want him here for the evening meal? Doesn’t he know it himself? And if he were detained, couldn’t he call and tell us? Have we no telephone in the house?”
“Oh, Pa.” said his wife, “what’s the sense of fussing at the boy all the time. He might not have been handy to a telephone. Or he might have called and the line was busy. The way the girls use the phone, it’s a wonder anyone can ever get through.”
“I don’t hold with members of a family coming in at any and all hours. This is a family, and it’s going to stay a family. That’s morality. When everyone flies off to wherever, and anyone eats anytime they’ve a mind to and wherever they happen to be, the family starts breaking up. The meal is a sacrament, and everyone who is part of this family is going to take part in it.”
“He might have got caught in the storm.” his wife suggested, “and waited until it ended. Most likely he saw he was going to be late and grabbed a bite somewhere and then went directly to the bowling alley. Come to think of it. I believe Moose said something about their wanting him to come in a little earlier Mondays.”
“Enough.” said her husband. “I will not wait any longer. I will now say Grace. If he comes in after, then he will not eat. I will not allow any member of my family to eat here who has not heard a decent benediction pronounced.”
He looked around the table and saw that all heads were bowed. Then his hands clenched convulsively, and his eyes squeezed shut. For a full minute he was silent, his mind reaching out, out. Then he put his head back, directing his voice to the ceiling. “Dear Lord, we thank Thee for Thy mercy in giving us sustenance to strengthen our bodies so that we may do Thy work, We have observed Your commandments, and on our board there is no creature’s flesh but only the fruits of Thy good earth. If we have sinned in Your eyes, it is because we are weak and lacking in understanding. Forgive us. O Lord, and deal kindly with us.” Then he nodded and said. “I thank Thee, Lord. I am your servant, and I will obey.”
He opened his eyes and looked around him. “Now we may eat.”
The family ate in silence. No one wanted to hazard a remark that might set Mr. Carter off, and all were anxious to get away from the table as soon as possible. Mr. Carter himself sat in moody silence, his eyes focused on his plate. And when the meal was finished and the dishes cleared away, the young people eased out of the dining room quickly.
Mr. Carter continued to sit at his place at the dining room table while he was aware of the noises from the kitchen as his wife and the girls worked at washing the dishes. His wife came into the room.
“It’s still raining pretty hard. Pa.” she said. “I was wondering if Michael were to take the car and ride downtown and see if Moose is around—”
He looked at her, and she found it hard to meet his gaze. “I’ll go out looking for him.” he said.
“Oh, I’m just a worrying old woman. There’s no need for anyone to go. He’ll be along pretty soon—”
The phone rang, and Sharon hurried to answer it. “That’s Moose now.” said Mrs. Carter.
But Sharon returned to report. “It was the bowling alley. They want to know where Moose is and why he isn’t there.”
But Mr. Carter had already got into his raincoat and was striding out of the house. He paused just long enough in the garage to select a length of dowel rod. He whipped it through the air once or twice and then took his place behind the wheel of his car and set the rod carefully on the seat beside him.
Chapter Twenty-Five
The rabbi wanted time to collect his thoughts before going home, to decide what he would tell Miriam or rather how he would tell her. It had started to rain almost as soon as he got into his car, and now as he drove aimlessly through the streets of the town it was coming down hard, striking against the windshield faster than the wipers could swish it away. Every now and then the skies suddenly grew daylight bright, with blinding flashes of lightning followed almost immediately by the crash of thunder. It was frightening and yet, because it suited his mood, exhilarating as well.