Harry Kemelman - Sunday the Rabbi Stayed Home

“You fired him?”

He pursed his lips and canted his head to one side. “Just about.”

“Nothing personal, of course.”

“I flatter myself that I handled it pretty well.” said Gorfinkle with a smirk.

Kanter got up from his chair and strode across the room. He turned and glared down his long nose at his brother-in-law. “By God, you nice respectable people can blunder into a situation and foul it up to make the angels weep. You get elected president, and before you have a chance to warm your arse on the chair you start firing people.”

“An organization can’t go in two directions at the same time.” Gorfinkle protested. “If we’re going to make any progress—”

“Progress? Why the hell do you have to make progress? Do you think everything has a balance sheet that has to be matched against the balance of the previous year to show you’re going ahead? What the hell kind of progress does an institution that has lasted a couple of thousand years have to make?”

“If it’s to be a living institution—”

“It’s got to hop aboard the bandwagon, is that it? Civil rights, slum clearance, job opportunities—they’re all in style now and respectable, so all the bleeding-heart liberals and social democrats try to get in on the act. Faugh! You guys make me sick. When did you get to be so goddam liberal? How many blacks have you hired at Hexatronics?”

“I don’t do the hiring.”

“But of course you picket the office of the one who does.”

“I don’t notice any great liberalism in the policy of the Times-Herald, said Gorfinkle drily, “and you run that.”

“I run it for the owners. And I run it their way. Oh, I’m a prostitute, all right.” he added cheerfully. “Most newspaper men have to be. But I don’t fool myself. A prostitute yes, but no hypocrite.”

“Well. I have reason to believe that Rabbi Small is, which had something to do with my decision.” said Gorfinkle smugly.

“Doesn’t wrap his phylacteries properly? Wears his prayer shawl inside out?”

“I had no idea you were so concerned about rabbis and things religious.” said Gorfinkle.

“I’m not, and I hardly know your rabbi. I just don’t like to see people hurt.” He studied his brother-in-law for a moment. “And the effect on the congregation? Have you thought about that?”

Gorfinkle shrugged. “He really has no following, except maybe among the kids, and they don’t count. As a matter of fact, it was the congregation I was thinking of when I had this talk with him. Fact is.” he lowered his voice, “I was trying to prevent a serious split in the congregation. You see, there is this handful of dissidents—the old guard who are opposed to every aspect of our program. Well, they’ll either knuckle under or they’ll get out. If they leave, it doesn’t bother us too much; they’re just a couple of three dozen of them. But if we let the rabbi continue, he might stir up enough opposition so that we could lose a hundred or more. That would be serious.”

“So the strategy is to silence the opposition?”

“What’s wrong with that? Why should we furnish the opposition with a rostrum?”

“Because it’s democratic. The government does it.”

They argued long and frequently loudly; and when, quite late, the Gorfinkles finally prepared to depart, neither man had convinced the other. They said their goodbyes with formal politeness no different from the way any number of their discussions had ended in the past.

Five minutes after they had left, the phone rang and Harvey Kanter answered.

“Barnard’s Crossing Police Department. Sergeant Hanks speaking. May I speak to Mr. Benjamin Gorfinkle?”

“He’s just left.”

“Is he on his way home, sir?”

“Sure. I guess so. What’s this all about?”

“We’ll get in touch with him there.”

“Just a minute. I’m his brother-in-law. Harvey Kanter of the Times-Herald. Was there an accident? Was his place broken into?”

“No. Mr. Kanter, nothing like that.” And the sergeant hung up, leaving Kanter wondering uneasily what he should do.

Sergeant Herder of the Boston Police Department was a man of infinite patience, and he found himself forced to use every bit of it as he dealt with the slattern before him. “Now, look, Madelaine, let’s see if we can get a little cooperation. Remember what I told you: That man knows you saw him leave the Wilcox place, and he might get worried about it and try to do something drastic. Do you understand?”

The woman, her eyes fixed on him as though hypnotized, nodded her head rapidly.

“What do you understand?”

“He might try to do something.”

“What?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know.”

Sergeant Herder got up and walked rapidly to the end of the room. He stood there for a moment, gazing at the wall. Then he came back slowly. “He might try to kill you,

Madelaine, the way he did Wilcox. That’s what he might try to do.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Yes, sir, what?”

“He might try to kill me.”

“Fine. Just remember that. Just keep that in mind. So we’ve got to get him before he has the chance. And to get him, we have to know what he looks like. See?”

“I know what he looks like.”

“I know you do, but we don’t unless you tell us. Now what size man was he? Was he a big man or small?”

“Sort of middling.”

“What color hair did he have?”

“He had his hat on.”

“All right, what color hat was it?”

“Just a man’s hat.”

“Just a hat. Fine. Now Officer Donovan here is an artist. Madelaine. He draws pictures.”

“I know what an artist is.” she said with dignity.

“Sure you do. Now we’re getting somewhere. Officer Donovan is going to show you some outlines of faces, and I want you to tell him which one looks most like the man’s, the man we’re talking about, the man you saw. Understand?”

She nodded.

“Show her one with a hat. Donovan.”

She looked at the outline. “The hat was squashier.” she said.

“How about the outline of the face?”

“Yeah, that could be it.”

“Fine. Now we’re getting somewhere.”

“Just a minute.” said Donovan. He sketched rapidly and presented another outline to her, quite different from the first. “How about this one?”

“Yeah, that could be it.”

“Maybe you ought to try her on the mug shots again.” suggested Donovan.

Herder shook his head in total frustration.

“I’m sure she’d know him if she saw him. She just can’t describe him.”

“By now, I’m not sure she even saw him.”

“It was the same wav with the other one, the football player, but she picked his picture out of the bunch we handed her.”

“Yeah,” He turned back to the woman. “Now, Madelaine, I’m going to show you a bunch of pictures and you tell me if you see him. All right?”

“Sure, Sergeant, anything you say.”

When the telephone rang, Mrs. Carter was sure it was Moose. But there was a strange voice at the other end.

“Mr. Carter, please.” it said.

“Mr. Carter isn’t in just now,” she replied. “Can I take a message?”

“This is the Barnard’s Crossing Police Department calling. Can you tell me where we can reach Mr. Carter? When do you expect him?”

“He went out right after supper.” she said. “Just a minute. I hear a car driving in. Maybe that’s him now. Hold the line a minute.”

She heard the door open and she called out, “Is that you, Raphael? You’re wanted on the telephone.”

He picked up the receiver. “Carter speaking.” he said.