That Day the Rabbi Left Town (17 page)

“For one time. We'd have to run it every day to do any good. That's three hundred a week. Where are we going to get that kind of money?”

“From old man Kent, that's who.”

“Well, I'm not asking him.”

“So I'll ask him. I should think he'd be glad to do it for you. You're his only relative, he said.”

“But we've borrowed from him so many times.”

“Ah, a hundred, a hundred fifty, a couple hundred.”

“Yes, but …”

“Look, if I showed him how a little loan—that's all it is, is a loan—could make life easier for us, don't you think he'd be interested?”

Lorraine Bixby shrugged.

“Look,” he urged, “it's the day before the Thanksgiving vacation. He won't be making notes, or thinking about what he'll say to his next class. He'll be free to talk to. I could invite him to come and have Thanksgiving dinner with us.”

“You mean you'll drive in on a day like this?”

“No, I'll take the train in. You might need the car to do some shopping for tomorrow. I'll just walk down to the station and take the train to North station. And I can take the streetcar from there. If the trains are running, then the streetcars will be, too.”

“If you think it will do any good …”

“What harm can it do?”

“All right. What time will you be getting home?”

“Couple of times when I went to see him in the late afternoon or early evening, he asked me to have supper with him. And then we might sit around and talk. So. I could be home pretty late.”

He went into the back room to change from his whites to his street clothes. She took the opportunity to open the register and remove the day's receipts, leaving only what might be needed for making change. When some minutes later, he came out in his street clothes, he strolled over to the register and pressed the Change key to open the cash drawer. He stared at the contents and then turned to her. “What happened to the money we took in this morning?”

“Oh, I deposited it,” she said easily. “I didn't want it lying in the cash register over the weekend.” From past experience she knew that when he ventured into Boston, he was apt to visit his buddies in the North End to gamble and maybe even fool around with girls.

He took out his wallet and riffled through the bills it contained. “Oh, well,” he said, “I can always hit the old man for twenty-five or fifty if I should need it. Don't wait supper for me.”

Chapter 25

Thanksgiving Day was clear but cold, with a brisk wind that would gust every now and then, raising a cloud of powdered snow. As promised, the rabbi and Miriam were met at Swampscott by Al Bergson, sitting in his car, bundled up, the motor running to keep the heater going.

“Have you been waiting long?” asked Miriam anxiously.

“No, just got here a couple of minutes ago,” said Bergson. “The trains seem to be running on time. I'll take you to your place first so that you can put up the heat. I hope you didn't shut it off.”

“No, we turned the thermostat way down,” said Miriam, “but we didn't shut it off.”

“If you had, you might have had a pipe or two burst. I had Billy shovel off your steps and sidewalk. He was free because, of course, they called off the Barnard's Crossing–Swampscott game. Guess all games in the area were postponed or called off. Can't play where the field is covered with a foot or more of snow. Believe me, Edie was pleased even though Billy wasn't. Even when the weather is perfect, she's so nervous and fidgets until the game is over. Afraid he'll break a leg or something. Even when he is sitting on the bench, she's afraid he'll catch cold. Ah, here we are. Not a bad job. You folks go on in and put up the thermostat. By the time you get back after dinner, your house will be nice and warm. I'll wait out here.”

“Won't you come in?” asked the rabbi.

“No, David. I'm under strict orders from Edie to bring you right over. She said, ‘When you bring them home to turn up the heat, don't go in because Miriam will be sure to make tea.'”

Miriam laughed. “Well, I did bring tea bags with me. All right, we'll be right out.”

“You'll have something to drink, won't you, David?” Bergson suggested when they arrived at the Bergson home.

“Shouldn't we wait for the Seligs?”

“Oh, he doesn't drink anything stronger than wine, and I suspect precious little of that; just what's necessary to make
kiddush
. Probably thinks it will affect his wind or his muscles or something. He's a very health-conscious guy.”

“I'll go help Edie in the kitchen,” Miriam said, and left the two men to themselves.

“How's he doing?” asked the rabbi. “Getting along all right with the congregation?”

“You know how these things are: The younger men like him fine, while the older ones think it's undignified for a rabbi to be seen jogging in sweatpants, or even wearing jeans while he works around his house. And the women resent his wife not coming to Hadassah meetings or participating in the activities of the Sisterhood.”

“But they knew she wouldn't when they hired him.”

“Sure, but they don't have to like it. And then there was this Peeping Tom business.”

“What was that all about? I didn't hear anything about a Peeping Tom.”

“Your friend Lanigan listed it as trespass on the police blotter, and that's how it was reported in the press. Very decent of him. But the story got out. You know how things are in a small town. Seems the rebbetzin was home alone one evening while the rabbi was at the temple. She sees someone peering in at her bedroom window through a crack under the shade. So she calls the police and the cruiser comes up and arrests this guy, who it turns out was some dirty old man who was on his way to visit Selig's neighbor on Evans Road.”

“So do they think she shouldn't have called the police?”

“No, but the feeling is that if she acted like a rebbetzin, it wouldn't have happened. Ah, here are the Seligs now.”

At dinner, Rabbi Selig sat beside Billy and engaged him in conversation about football, commiserating with him over the postponement of the game with their traditional rivals. He told of a game his college team had played with
their
traditional rivals and which his team had won by the Statue of Liberty play.

“What's the Statue of Liberty play?” asked Billy.

“Oh, don't you know it? The quarterback, instead of crouching over the center, stands back a couple of yards, so the opposition expects a pass. Then when the center throws the ball to him, he reaches back like he's going to throw a pass.” He got up out of his chair to demonstrate the stance. “But the ends, instead of running forward to receive it, run around behind him, and one of them grabs the ball out of his hand.” He resumed his seat. “See, the two ends crisscross and both act like they've each got the ball. You can only use it once in a game,” said Rabbi Selig. “You try it a second time and they kill you.”

Edie Bergson asked about the Small children, and Miriam explained that Hepsibah was celebrating Thanksgiving with her in-laws in Michigan and Jonathan was having dinner with his fiancée's folks.

“The same thing happened last Passover,” said Rabbi Small sadly.

“Don't fret, David,” said Edie Bergson. “In a few years they'll be coming back, perhaps with children.”

The talk was general, about the community, the temple, and Windermere, as platters of food were passed from hand to hand. When at last coffee was served and Edie passed a plate of cookies to Rabbi Small, he shook his head and said, “I have no room, Edie. That was some meal.”

“She had to make an extra effort,” said Al Bergson. “She was serving two rabbis.”

“There's something particularly Jewish about Thanksgiving dinner,” Rabbi Small remarked. “When we
daven
we usually give thanks or we praise God for the good things He's given us. We have very few petitionary prayers, and those are usually for the people as a whole, as when we pray for rain or dew or for our return to Jerusalem. And it is sinful not to enjoy the food and the good things He offers us. We don't go in for asceticism.”

“That's an interesting point,” said Rabbi Selig. “Do you mind if I use it in my sermon tomorrow night?”

“It will give me pleasure if you do,” said the older rabbi.

Although Miriam had insisted that they probably wouldn't be able to eat for a week, Edie Bergson had pressed a parcel on her as “a little something you'll want before you go to bed.” And the next morning as the rabbi recited his morning prayers, she took a brisk walk to the neighborhood grocer to get the few things they would need for breakfast. Dinner, the Sabbath meal, they were going to have at the Bergsons'.

It was while they were having their second cup of coffee that the doorbell rang, and there was Chief Lanigan when she opened the door.

“How did you know we were back?” asked the rabbi.

“David, David, how many times do I have to explain to you that I have to know what's going on in the town. I assumed you were coming back when the men in the cruiser reported your sidewalk and steps had been shoveled. I knew Miriam wouldn't be able to prepare Thanksgiving dinner with all the stores closed, and you certainly were not going to go to a restaurant. So that meant that you'd been invited by someone, and they'd arranged to have your place shoveled so you'd be able to get back here without having to plow through snow.”

The rabbi nodded. “That's right. We had dinner at the Bergsons'. He's president of the temple, you know.”

“I know. And your successor, Rabbi Selig, was there, too.”

“And how do you know that?”

“His car was parked outside the Bergson house.” He sipped at the coffee Miriam had automatically set before him, and said, “You know a Professor Kent at your school, David?”

“I've met him.” Then, “Tell me, Hugh, did you just drop by to say hello or are you into something?”

Lanigan chuckled. “Mostly to say hello, but there was a little incident that kind of interested me. I tried to keep it quiet and I had it reported on the blotter as a case of trespass, but actually Mrs. Selig reported that she'd spotted a Peeping Tom peering in at her bedroom window.”

The rabbi nodded slowly. “Yes, Al Bergson told me about it.”

“Did he tell you that Rabbi Selig went to see Miller the next day and told him if he saw this Professor Kent on his property again, he'd punch him in the nose or throw him over the hedge?”

The rabbi shook his head.

“Well, he did.”

“I'm sure he was just joking. Did Professor Miller take it seriously?”

“I don't think so, but his mother evidently did. It seems a strange thing for a rabbi to say even as a joke. Would you ever have said something like that, David? I mean when you were a young man? When you first came here?”

“No-o, I don't think so.”

“I don't think you would have,” said Lanigan. “And I don't think Father Joe Tierny, our pastor, would either. But his curate, Father Bill, might. And do you know why? Because he works out at the gym. He works out with those machines and lifts weights just as your Rabbi Selig jogs. You get caught up in physical culture, and you're apt to think of physical solutions to problems.”

“Perhaps you're right,” said the rabbi with a smile.

Sunday saw a marked rise in temperature and the snow began to melt a little. Sergeant Aherne was behind the wheel of the cruiser, with Officer Ben Otis, who was nearing retirement, on the passenger seat beside him. As they came to the sign at the foot of Rabbi Selig's driveway that marked the town's limits, Otis said, “Pull over to the sidewalk, will you?”

“What for?”

“I've got to take a leak.”

“Jeez, this is the third time we've stopped. You have to go a lot.”

“It's these pills the doctor gave me, supposed to be good for my blood pressure.”

Aherne brought the car to a halt and Otis jumped out and hurried behind the signboard. A moment later, he called out, “Hey, Tim, c'mere a minute.”

“What's up?”

“Look.” Otis pointed to a patent leather shoe and a stockinged foot rising from it.

Aherne knelt and with gloved hands began pulling at the snow. The outline of a body was clearly visible, albeit covered with snow. He uncovered the head. “Jeez, that's the guy who was peeping in the window in the house up there.”

“He must have slipped and fallen, struck his head, and then been buried by the falling snow.”

“Yeah, could be. Look, you wait here and I'll call in to the station house.”

Chapter 26

“You're sure it's the same man you saw on the porch on the house up there?” asked Lanigan.

“Oh, that's the fellow, all right,” said Aherne.

“And you brought him to the Miller house on Evans Road?”

“That's right.”

“All right. Go on up there and bring Miller down here.” Then turning to the photographer, he said, “Take some pictures away from the body.”

“Away from the body?”

“Yeah. Stand right under the ledge and focus on the triangle. I want to show that the snow there is smooth, fallen snow. The snow under the ledge is plowed snow. I want you to show that.”

“Got it.”

Lanigan stood beside him, suggesting various shots he wanted him to take.

From the road came a blast from an automobile horn. Lanigan called to the cruiser, “You got Miller with you? Bring him up here.”

To Miller, wearing a stocking hat, a heavy muffler around his neck, his feet encased in overshoes, he said, “You know this man?”

“It's Professor Kent, Malcolm Kent, Clark Professor of Literature at Windermere.”

“You don't seem surprised to see him here like this.”

“The officer told me why you wanted me.”