"Of course." said the rabbi and held out his hand to wish him the traditional Gut Shabbos. "And how is your mother, Mr. Mandell?"
"Oh, she's fine, well, I mean, she's no different."
"She seemed to be in good spirits when I saw her yesterday," said the rabbi.
"Oh, well, that's during the day. It's in the evening when her asthma seems to act up, then she gets sort of tired and drowsy. I think maybe it's from the pills she takes, she has to go to bed right after dinner. If she sleeps through the night, that's fine. But sometimes she gets up in the middle of the night, and she's like disoriented, she can't catch her breath, and she can't find her medicine. It's kind of frightening."
"Is that so? And yet she always seems pretty good when I come to visit her."
"Well, it's during the day, and she's expecting you, so she gets herself up for it. But we never leave her alone at night, and by the \vay, Rabbi, don't think we don't appreciate it, your coming to visit her regularly."
The rabbi smiled. "That's all right. I have her on my list of regulars." He nodded toward the clock at the rear of the sanctuary. "You planning to say a few words. Mr. Mandelf?"
"Oh sure." With some trepidation, although outwardly resolute, herb Mandell advanced to the lectern in front of the podium, he waited a moment for the buzz of conversation to stop and then began the little speech he had written and carefully memorized. "As chairman of the committee. I want to welcome you in the name of the temple Brotherhood." He hoped that those who were here for the first time would enjoy the service and draw spiritual strength and comfort from it. Further he hoped that they would make a habit of it and come every Friday night. Quite at ease now, he even ventured a mild joke not in his prepared text, saying he hoped they would not think it was male chauvinism of the Brotherhood sponsoring only one service for every three that were sponsored by the Sisterhood. "It isn't that we think we can do the same in one that they do in three. It's just that we're new at it, and we want to learn from them." No one laughed, but he thought he detected a smile or two, anyway, they wouldn't be likely t laugh right in the sanctuary, would they?
He ended by announcing. "The cantor will now chant the prayer. How goodly are thy tents. O Jacob."
Sitting there on the podium, in full view of the congregation, he felt the responsibility of demonstrating deep interest in the proceedings, so during the chanting he followed the text in the prayerbook, his finger moving along the line as if to make sure that the cantor did not skip a word. From his vantage point he was able to note such interesting phenomena as that Mr. Liston had a facial tic, that Mrs. Eisner whispered almost continuously to the women on either side of her, and that Mrs. Porush was dozing. But he still managed to preserve his air of great attention. Later, when the rabbi got up to give his sermon, herb made a point of nodding every now and then in agreement or appreciation.
Just as the rabbi was bringing his sermon to a close Henry Maltzman arrived, looked around guiltily, and then, an uneasy smile on his face, slid into a seat in the rear. From the podium Herb Mandell frowned in disapproval, he decided that he agreed with Howard Jonas that it wasn't right for the president of the congregation to come late to the service, and so late! It was quarter past nine and tha service would be over in a few minutes, he found himself watching Maltzman and once their eyes locked. It seemed to him that the president nodded slightly and smiled approvingly? derisively? He could not be sure.
Afterward, in the vestry at the collation, he saw Maltzman several times, moving about among the congregation, although Maltzman waved to him, he made no effort to approach him to congratulate him, as Mandell thought he might. In fact, it almost seemed as though he were trying to avoid him.
Nevertheless, it had been an exhilarating evening for Herb Mandell. When he got home, his first words were, "I wish you could have been there, Molly. Everything went off just right."
"Oh Herb, I'm so glad for you."
"I'm sorry you had to stay home with Mother, maybe we should have tried to get that woman Mrs. Slotnick recommended."
"That's silly. You'd have to pay her nurse's rates." "Yeah, Did Mother give you any trouble?"
"She slept like a baby, and I didn't mind staying home. I had that report to do for the bank."
"How'd you make out?"
"Oh, I finished it," she said, motioning toward the desk.
21
SATURDAY MORNING, GORE STOPPED OFF AT MOLLY'S HOUSE before going to Jordon's. When she admitted him, he asked eagerly, "What did he say when you gave it to him?"
"I didn't give it to him." said Molly. "I didn't see him, the house was dark when I got there."
"Why, what time was it?"
"A little after I spoke to you, that was around half past eight."
"He must have gone out. What did you do with the report?"
"I didn't want to leave it in the mail slot. I brought it back with me, that was right, wasn't it?"
"Oh, absolutely. I'll take it up to him now."
She handed him a manila envelope and watched expectantly as he riffled through the typed pages.
"Beautiful,” he said. "I really appreciate this. Molly."
"But it doesn't balance."
He ran an expert eye down a column of figures. "Here it is,” he announced, pointing. "This is an asset, not a liability. You sure I marked it L rather than A?"
She flipped open the file. "This one? You want me to make the correction on my typewriter? I can x it out and—"
"No, don't bother." He made the correction in pencil. "I'll show it to him to explain what held it up."
From Molly's he drove directly to Jordon's house, as he turned in at the gate, he heard an automobile horn, seemingly from the direction of the house. It grew louder as he drove up the driveway, and sure enough, there was a car parked in front of the door. It was Martha, her face contorted with rage as she pushed down on the horn button on the steering wheel.
He got out of his car and approached her. "What's going on? What's the matter? What's the racket for?"
"Oh, it's you, Mr. Gore." Her face relaxed, and she even managed a shamefaced little smile. "There's a month's wages due me. I knocked on the door and rang the bell but there's no answer, the old bugger must have seen it was me and won't answer out of spite. I'd like to put a pin in the bell like we used to do when we were kids on Halloween."
"He's probably gone out."
"No, look at the door. It's not pulled to, he wouldn't leave it like that if he weren't in. You can just push it open."
He walked to the door, as she got out of the car to follow him, he stabbed at the bell button. Sure enough, he could hear it ringing inside.
"See, the bell is all right. You can hear it, can't you?"
He nodded and pushed the button once more, they waited, and she said. "I'll bet he's watching and waiting for me to go away."
He shook his head impatiently and then, with sudden decision, pushed the door open and stepped in. Martha was right behind him. It took a moment for their eyes to adjust from the bright morning sunlight to the dim light of the room, somber with its curtained and draped windows.
It was the buzzing of a large bluebottle fly that drew their eyes to the figure of Ellsworth Jordon lying back in his recliner as though asleep. But there was an ugly wound at the base of the forehead, right between the eyes, from which the blood had trickled down both sides of his nose to the corner of his mouth.
Martha screamed. Gore pressed his lips tightly together and managed to repress the urge to retch.
"He's hurt,” she moaned. "The poor man is hurt. Why don't you do something?"
"Shut up,” he snapped, without moving, he looked around the room, noting a broken medicine bottle, the fragments of a shattered light bulb, the torn canvas of the oil painting of Jordon's father on the wall.