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Authors: Harry Kemelman

Tags: #Fiction, #Mystery & Detective, #Amateur Sleuth, #Jewish, #Crime

Saturday the Rabbi Went Hungry (10 page)

BOOK: Saturday the Rabbi Went Hungry
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He smiled. “I’ll take your word for it.”

Impulsively she said, “Forgive me, Rabbi. I’ve been bitchy, haven’t I?”

“A little, and now you’re trying to shock me.”

She smiled. “All right, let’s start again. Ask me any questions at all.”

He settled back in his chair. “All right, why do you want to give him a Jewish burial?”

“Because Ike was a Jew. He never thought of himself as anything else.”

“And yet he never practiced our religion, I understand.”

“Well, he always said there were two ways of being a Jew. You could be one by practicing the religion or just by being born and thinking of yourself as Jew. Was he wrong?”

“No,” said the rabbi cautiously, “but a Jewish funeral is a religious ceremony. Would he have wanted that?”

“I know it can be done by a funeral director, but what connection would he have with Ike? No, this is what he would have wanted. We never discussed it, of course. For himself, he probably wouldn’t have cared. But out of respect for my feelings, I think he would have wanted some kind of ceremony. And what could have any meaning for him except a Jewish ceremony?”

“I see. All right, I’ll perform the service. It’s customary to say a few words at the grave. But I didn’t know your husband. So you’ll have to tell me about him. He was quite a bit older, wasn’t he? Were you happy together?”

“Twenty years, but we were happy.” She thought a moment. “He was good to me. And I was good for him. As for his being so much older – well, I had had enough of the other before I met him. He needed me and I needed him. Yes, I think we had a good marriage.”

The rabbi hesitated and then took the plunge. “I understand his death was due indirectly to his – to his drinking. Didn’t it bother you – his drinking, I mean?”

“That really bugs you people, doesn’t it? Well, it bothered Ike a lot, too. Oh, of course it made things hard sometimes. He lost jobs because of it, and sometimes we had to move and that’s not easy, making new arrangements and finding a new place to live. But it didn’t frighten me the way it might some. He was never ugly when he was drunk, and that’s what counts – more weak and silly like, and would cry like a child. But never ugly and never nasty to me. And it didn’t really bother me. My father was a heavy drinker, and my mother was no teetotaler. So I was kind of used to it. Later on, when he got worse and began to black out – that was frightening, but I was frightened for him because there was no knowing what might happen to him.”

“And did that happen often?”

She shook her head. “The last couple or three years he never touched a drop, except once or twice when he got started and couldn’t stop. I mean, he didn’t drink regularly. He was on the wagon, but whenever he fell off it was all the way. The last time was months and months ago.”

“Except for Friday night.”

“Yes, I forgot about that.” She closed her eyes, and the rabbi was afraid she was going to break down. But she opened her eyes and even managed a smile.

He rose, as if to signify he had finished. Then he thought of something. “Could you tell when one of these spells was coming on?”

She shook her head.

“Can you account for his suddenly starting to drink? Was something bothering him?”

Again she shook her head. “I guess he was always bothered about something. That’s why people drink, I suppose. I would try to comfort him – you know, make him feel I was always there and would always understand.”

“Perhaps you were better for him than he was for you,” suggested the rabbi gently.

“We were good for each other,” she said emphatically. “I told you he was always kind to me. Look, Rabbi, I was no innocent when I met Ike. I had been around. He was the first man I had known who was nice to me with no strings attached. And I was good to him; I took care of him like a mother.”

“And yet he drank.”

“That started before I met him. And I’m not sorry,” she added defiantly, “because that’s how I met him.”

“So?”

“He had holed up at this little hotel where I was working on the cigar counter in the lobby. If he hadn’t been on a bender, how could the likes of me have met a man like him?”

“And you feel you got the best of the bargain?”

“It was the best kind of bargain there is, Rabbi, where both parties feel they’ve got the best of it.”

Chapter Thirteen

“Yeah, this is Ben Goralsky talking. All right, I’ll hold on… Hello, hello… ” At the other end he could hear someone talking, and then he realized the voice was not talking to him but to someone else in the other room at the other end.

“Mr. Goralsky? Ted Stevenson speaking.”

“Oh, hello Ted, nice to hear your voice. Where you calling from?”

“From our offices.”

“On Sunday? Don’t you guys ever stop working?”

“There are no regular hours and no days off for top management in this company, Mr. Goralsky, not when there’s important business to be done. And if you join us, you’ll work the same way.”

Goralsky had an inkling of the purpose of the call, and the implication of the “if” was not lost on him.

“We were going to call you yesterday, as a matter of fact,” Stevenson went on, “but we knew it was your holiday and assumed you would be at your synagogue.”

“Well, as a matter of fact, I didn’t go. I was right here all the time. My father took sick, and with a man that age –”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. How is he?”

“He’s all right now, but for a while it was kind of like touch and go.”

“Well, I’m delighted to hear he’s on the mend. Give the old gentleman our regards and best wishes for his recovery.”

“Thanks. He’ll be pleased.”

The voice at the other end shifted gears abruptly. “We have been somewhat disturbed over here, Mr. Goralsky, over the action of your stock in the last week or so.”

“Yeah, well, Ted, you know how it is. Rumors of a merger get out. We tried to keep it mum at this end, and as far as I know no one here has leaked. But when your crew came down, someone may have recognized somebody in your party – I tell you, when it first got back to me, you could have knocked me over with a feather. But I guess that’s the way it is in these things –”

“No, Mr. Goralsky, that’s not the way it is. We know that there always are rumors preceding a merger, and that can affect your stock. But your stock has climbed so precipitously, we did a little investigating. We inquired among some of our good friends in the market down in Boston, and we learned that the reason for the climb was not the rumor of a merger with us but some new process.”

“Well, that turned out to be a dud, I guess,” said Ben unhappily.

“So we discovered on further inquiry. Of course these things happen from time to time in any R and D program, but if we thought that it was deliberately engineered for the purpose of increasing the value of your stock preliminary to the merger, we would regard that as – er – sharp practice, and would be forced to reconsider the entire proposition.”

“And I wouldn’t blame you Mr. Stevenson, but I give you my word –”

The other cut him off unceremoniously. “We’re not interested in explanations or excuses. What we want from you is… “

When Ben finally hung up, he was dripping with perspiration. For a long time thereafter he sat staring at the telephone.

Chapter Fourteen

The rabbi had intended to go right home after seeing Mrs. Hirsh, but once outside and behind the wheel of his car he found himself driving in the opposite direction, downtown, and presently he was caught in the maze of narrow crooked streets of Old Town. After two turns he got lost and turned up one street and down another in the hope of finding himself on familiar ground; but each time he thought he spotted a house he knew, the road curved another way. Perched on a hill tantalizingly close he could see the town hall which was on familiar territory, yet none of the streets seemed to lead toward it. All the while, he caught kaleidoscopic glimpses of lovely old-fashioned gardens hidden behind charming weather-beaten houses, most of them with a golden eagle over the door lintel, interesting shops of hand-crafters and artists, and most fascinating of all, the ship chandler’s shop with its windows stuffed with fascinating gear – brass compasses, coils of nylon rope, bells, curiously shaped nautical fittings of mysterious function, and, incongruously, a pair of stout rubber boots.

Suddenly he found himself on an extremely narrow street which had cars parked on both sides and traffic going in both directions. He slowed down to worm his way through and his car stalled. Horns blared behind him as he twisted the key viciously; the only response was the high-pitched whine of the starting motor. As he pumped the gas pedal in vexation, a voice at his side said, “You’ve probably flooded it, Rabbi.”

He looked up and was tremendously relieved to see Hugh Lanigan. The local chief of police was wearing a sport shirt and chinos, and under his arm he had the Sunday paper.

“Here, let me try it.”

The rabbi set the brake and moved over so that the other could get in. Whether because those behind recognized the chief or they realized the offending driver was in genuine difficulty, the blaring horns stopped. The chief pressed the accelerator all the way to the floor, turned the key, and miraculously the motor caught.

He grinned at the rabbi. “How about a drink at our place?”

“I’d love one. You drive.”

“All right.” Effortlessly Lanigan threaded the maze between oncoming and parked cars, and when he reached his house he ran the right wheels up on the sidewalk to obstruct as little of the road as possible. Opening the gate of his white picket fence he marched the rabbi up the walk and short flight of steps that led to the verandah. He shouted through the screen door, “We got some company, Gladys.”

“Coming,” his wife shouted back from inside, and a moment later appeared at the door. She was dressed in slacks and sweater and looked as though she had just finished helping her husband with the lawn. But her white hair was carefully combed and her makeup was fresh. “Well, this is a pleasant surprise, Rabbi Small,” she said and held out her hand. “You’ll join us in a drink? I was just fixing Manhattans.”

“That will do very nicely,” said the rabbi with a grin.

“I can’t help thinking,” said the rabbi, as she left to prepare them, “that on the few occasions I have called on you it always starts with a drink –”

“Spirits for the spiritual, Rabbi.”

“Yes, but when you dropped in on me, I always offered you tea.”

“At the rate I was coming around it was just as well,” said Lanigan. “Besides, I was usually on business, and I don’t drink during business hours.”

“Tell me, were you ever drunk?”

The chief stared at him. “Why, of course. Haven’t you ever been?”

The rabbi shook his head. “And didn’t Mrs. Lanigan mind?”

Chief Lanigan laughed. “Gladys has been kind of high herself on occasion. No, why would she mind? It isn’t as though I’ve ever been really blind drunk. Always it’s been on some special occasion where it’s kind of expected. Why? What are you getting at?”

“I have just been to see Mrs. Hirsh –”

“Ah-hah.”

“And I’m just trying to understand. Her husband was an alcoholic, and that’s something I haven’t had much experience with. We Jews don’t run to alcoholism.”

“That’s true, you don’t. I wonder why.”

The rabbi shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know. The Chinese and the Italians also have low incidences of alcoholism, yet none of us are teetotalers. As far as Jews are concerned, all our holidays and celebrations involve drinking. At the Passover feast, everyone is expected to drink at least four glasses of wine. Even the young children partake. It’s sweet, but the alcoholic content is there nonetheless. You can get drunk on it, but I can’t remember any Passover when anyone did. Maybe the very fact that we do not forbid it enables us to enjoy it in moderation. For us, it doesn’t carry the joys of forbidden fruits.”

“In France, I understand, they drink wine as freely as water, but they have a lot of alcoholism there.”

“That’s true. I don’t suppose there’s any single explanation. There are certain similarities among the three groups that do encourage speculation. All have a strong family tradition that might provide a sense of security other people may look for in alcohol. The Chinese, especially, feel about their elders somewhat as we do. You know, we have a saying that other people boast of the beauty of their women; we boast of our old men.”

“Well, that might apply to the Italians, too – respect for elders, I mean, although they seem to lean more toward the mother than the father. But how does that help?”

“Simply that the embarrassment of being seen drunk might act as a deterrent in societies where elders are greatly revered.”

“Possible,” Lanigan said judiciously.

“But there’s another explanation – and here we share a similarity with the Chinese. Their religion, like ours, emphasizes ethics, morals, and good behavior; and like us they attach less importance to faith than you Christians. This helps to keep us from being guilt-ridden.”

“What’s faith got to do with it?”

“In Christianity, it’s the key to salvation. And faith is not easy to maintain at all times. To believe is to question. The very act of affirming implies a doubt.”

“I don’t get it.”

“We don’t have that much control of our minds. Thoughts come unbidden – unpleasant thoughts, awful thoughts – and if you believed that doubt could lead to damnation, you’d be apt to feel guilty a good part of the time. And one place you might find solace would be in alcohol.”

Lanigan smiled easily. “Yes, but any mature, intelligent person knows how the mind works and discounts it.”

“Any intelligent, mature person, yes. But how about the immature?”

“I see, so you think one reason Jews don’t become alcoholics is because they don’t have guilt feelings?”

“It’s a theory. I’m just speculating idly while waiting for a drink.”

“Gladys,” Lanigan bawled. “What are you doing in there? The rabbi is dying of thirst.”

“Coming.”

She appeared with a tray of glasses and a pitcher. “You can replenish your glass whenever you’ve a mind to, Rabbi.”

BOOK: Saturday the Rabbi Went Hungry
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