“Maybe he would identify her,” suggested the rabbi.
Chapter Fifty-Seven
His car is in the driveway?… Good, then he’s home.”
“Now, how do you want us to work it, Chief?” asked the Boston detective.
“Just drive along, and when you come to the house, stop,” said Lanigan. “Keep your motor running, just as you would if you stopped to ask someone for directions. Madelaine will get out. The house will be on her side. Keep your coat buttoned and push the collar up, Madelaine. That’s fine. Put your head down a little. That’s right. Then you just go up and ring the bell. When the door opens and he answers, you let him get a good look at you and ask how to get onto the road to Boston. Nothing to be afraid of. The worst he can do is slam the door in your face.” He turned to the policeman. “You just sit tight unless you see something unusual.”
“Like what?”
“Like anything different from the way a man normally would behave if somebody asked him directions. We’ll be behind you, but we’ll keep out of sight. If we see you get out of the car, we’ll come a-running. All right?”
“Check.”
The two cars began to move, Madelaine Spinney and the policeman from Boston in one, Lanigan and Jennings in the other. When they reached Tarlow’s point, the woman got out and walked up to Begg’s house. She rang the bell, and a moment later the door was thrown open. “Yes?”
As instructed, she raised her head from her coat collar. The two stared at each other.
“You!”
The policeman moved rapidly toward the house.
Chapter Fifty-Eight
It was late in the afternoon, and Miriam watched with some concern as her husband paced the floor. Every now and then, he would pick up a book and try to read, only to put it aside and resume his pacing.
“Don’t you think you ought to go over to the temple, David, just to see if everything is all right?”
“No. I’m staying home until I hear from Lanigan. Somebody will be there to check, the cantor or Brooks or maybe Mr. Wasserman.”
Whenever the phone rang, he ran to it. Most of the calls were indeed for him, but he answered as briefly as possible, fearful that Lanigan might be trying to reach him. Finally, when it was almost time to go to the temple to begin the seder, Lanigan called. The rabbi listened for a moment and then smiled. “Thank you,” he said, “and thank you for calling me.”
“Is it all right?” Miriam asked when he hung up. “Can we go now?”
“Yes, we can go now.”
The baby-sitter had been there for half an hour, waiting for them to leave so that she could turn on the TV. Miriam gave her some last-minute instructions and went out to the car. When the rabbi came out a minute later, she saw that he was carrying the tape recorder he used to dictate letters, presumably so that he could tape the proceedings. She was mildly amused at his sudden sentimentality.
When they arrived at the temple, the members were still milling around, looking for place cards, talking, trying to shift from the table they had been assigned to another where their friends were. The tables looked festive, with snowy white tablecloths and gleaming silver, and the long head table had a magnificent floral centerpiece. Drawn up to the head table were armchairs, each with a pillow to lean on in accordance with the prescribed ritual, and beside each armchair, ordinary chairs for the wives. In front of the rabbi’s place were the required three matzoth covered with a napkin and the seder plate, with its egg, shank bone, bitter herbs, green herbs, and its two little dishes, one for horseradish and the other for the mixture of chopped nuts and apple.
Those at the head table were already seated, and before taking his place, the rabbi went to each one for the customary greeting and handshake.
“In good voice. Cantor?”
“Fine, Rabbi.”
Mr. Wasserman looked old and frail swallowed up in the huge armchair reserved for the chairman of the Ritual Committee. He clasped the rabbi’s hand with both of his.
“Always I like to have the seder in my own house, but this year my children couldn’t come. And besides, sometimes for the good of everybody…”
Gorfinkle had been covertly watching the rabbi’s progress down the line. When he approached him, he rose and formally offered his hand.
“Stu planning to go back to school tomorrow?”
Gorfinkle shrugged. “He was hoping to, but I haven’t heard from Lanigan yet. Maybe he’ll call tonight.”
“It’s all right. He can go.”
“And the others?” asked Gorfinkle eagerly. “They too.”
Emotion welled up into Gorfinkle’s eyes. “That’s wonderful. Rabbi, just wonderful. I don’t know how we can ever thank you.”
The rabbi circled the table and took his seat. He looked out across the crowded room and waited for the last person to find his seat.
When he saw that the waiters had filled all the wineglasses, he nodded to the cantor, who rose and. holding his glass high, began to chant the benediction over the wine.
The men at the head table left the room for the ritual washing of hands, and when they returned, the rabbi dipped a sprig of parsley in a dish of salt water and recited the benediction over the fruits of the earth.
He uncovered the matzoh and removing the egg and the shank bone from the plate, passed it to Mr. Wasserman, who recited the Holachmanya, “Lo!, this is the bread of affliction which our ancestors ate in the land of Egypt; let all those who are hungry enter and eat thereof; and all who are in need come and celebrate the Passover…”
Once again the wineglasses were filled, and the rabbi nodded to the principal, who was seated at one of the round tables with the family of the youngster who was to ask the Four Questions. Morton Brooks whispered to the child, who stood up and in a childish treble began to recite: “Ma nishtanaha layla hazzeh…”
When the child finished, the rabbi placed on the table in front of him the tape recorder he had kept on the floor beside his chair. “The English translation was to have been given by Arlene Feldberg,” he announced, “but unfortunately. Arlene came down with the measles. However, we wouldn’t want her to miss her portion.” He pressed the switch—but it was his own voice that came through the machine, saying, “Sincerely yours. Make an extra copy, will you, Miriam?” This was followed immediately by the thin, reedy voice of the little girclass="underline" “Wherefore is this night distinguished from all other nights?” Weeks of coaching by the principal were reflected in the slow, stilted reading of the lines. “All other nights we may eat either leavened or unleavened bread, but tonight only unleavened.”
The rabbi looked down at Miriam. “You see.” he whispered. “I can bend a little.”
“And it works.” she whispered back.
“Why may we eat only bitter herbs… dip our food twice… eat while leaning?” Mr. Wasserman plucked at the rabbi’s sleeve, and he leaned over to hear what the old man was saying. The tape recorder whirred on. “…beg off from that dinner, will you. Miriam. Fib a little if you have to.” It was the rabbi’s voice.
There was a roar of laughter from the assembled company, and Miriam hastily reached forward and shut off the machine. The rabbi blushed and said. “We will now read in unison…”
Dinner was served, a traditional festive meal, beginning with gefilte fish and chicken soup. As soon as it was over, a number left, pleading that their children were tired and falling asleep at the table, but most stayed on for the rest of the service with its prayers, benedictions and ceremonial songs. At last the fourth cup of wine was drunk, and the president announced. “The order of the Passover is now accomplished and prescribed according to all its laws and customs…” and then all called out in loud and joyous voices the traditional fervent hope expressed for centuries by Jews all over the world at the end of the Passover service: “Next year in Jerusalem.”