Harry Kemelman - Sunday the Rabbi Stayed Home

And nothing.

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.

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.

He wanted to talk the matter over with someone before seeing Miriam, but there was no one in town with whom he felt he could talk freely and openly unless it was—he could not help smiling—Hugh Lanigan, the pleasant, red-faced Irish chief of police. They had an honest, long­standing relationship, maybe, he thought wryly, because neither had anything to gain from the other. It struck him in a situation of this sort, where everyone in the congregation was on one side or the other, how isolated the rabbi was. Of course, there was Jacob Wasserman, who, as a sort of elder statesman of the congregation, tended to be above factions. They had always liked each other, and he respected the older man’s judgment and understanding. Impulsively he drove to his house.

Mrs. Wasserman was a motherly woman, who, when she saw who it was, urged him—even taking him by the arm—to come in, come in.

“It’s all right, Rabbi, so the rugs will get a little wet,” she said, as he scraped his shoes against the coco mat.

“Who is it?” her husband called from inside. “The rabbi? Come in, Rabbi, come in. It must be a serious matter to bring you out on such a night. But I’m happy you came. Lately I haven’t seen so much of you. It’s not so easy for me to get to the minvan these days. You know how it is. If the weather is not so good I stay in bed a little longer. Becker is here with me. He had supper here tonight. If it’s private you want to talk, he can keep my wife company in the kitchen. I wouldn’t be jealous. But if it’s temple business, then maybe you’d like him to hear, too.”

“Yes, I think it might be a good idea.” said the rabbi.

The old man led him into the living room, and his wife followed them. “Look, Becker, I got another visitor,” he called. Then to his wife. “So why don’t you get the rabbi a up of tea?”

“I have just seen Mr. Gorfinkle,” said the rabbi and told them what had transpired. He expected the news to come, frankly, as something of a bombshell. Instead, the men were surprisingly unmoved.

“You mean he threatened not to renew your contract in the fall?” asked Becker, as if to make sure he had all the facts straight.

“No. that he would recommend it be terminated now.”

“He can’t do that; you’ve got a contract. Besides, that’s something that the full board has to vote on.”

“So they pay him the remaining money,” said Wasserman with a shrug, “and if Gorfinkle has a majority, what difference does it make if it comes before the full board or not?”

The rabbi expected Becker to react belligerently. Instead, he looked at Wasserman and said, “Shall I tell him?”

Again the old man shrugged his shoulders. “What would be a better time?”

“In a way. Rabbi.” began Becker, “it’s funny you coming here tonight. You see, today Meyer Paff came to see me. It looks as if there’s going to be a split in the temple. And Paff wanted me and Wasserman to join him.”