William Kienzle - Requiem for Moses

Koesler interrupted his own thought process by checking to see if Margie Green was finally accessible. The line of well-wishers seemed as long as ever.

What could all those people who knew Green be saying that could possibly comfort the widow-“Thank God the bastard is dead”? That had to be the antithesis of what people say in situations such as this. But what else could they say?

From all Koesler had heard this evening, that sentiment seemed fitting.

And what could he say when, inevitably, it would be time for the eulogy?

Koesler stood, looking toward the widow, lost in unfocused thought, when he became aware that someone was tugging gently on his coat sleeve. He looked down at a very attractive but obviously troubled young woman. He had never before seen her, not in person or in a photo, and yet he was all but certain who she was. “Judith Green?”

Her expression changed to one of mock exasperation. “Cameron, isn’t it? He pointed me out to you, right? I saw you talking to him.”

“Not really. Your name did come up in conversation-but, no, he didn’t identify you to me.”

“I don’t know whether to be pleased or angry. I’m sure he had nothing good to say about me. I can’t be one of his favorite people. But … you could pick me out of this crowd just on what he said about me?”

“Not quite. I could hardly single you out from anyone here. But I must admit I kind of half expected you to come and talk to me. So it wasn’t that extraordinary a guess.”

“Let me assure you, Father, I had no intention of speaking to you until I saw Jake bending your ear. I don’t know exactly what he told you, but I can be damn sure I wouldn’t be happy with it.” Ignoring the priest’s wincing expression, she continued. “Don’t get me wrong: I don’t blame the poor schlemiel. He certainly got the short end of the stick with me. But there’s another side to this story-and more than that. I want you to know my side. For some reason I want you to know. It must be my Catholic upbringing coming back like a hiccup.”

Strange way to refer to all those years of Catholic schooling. Koesler considered her more carefully.

She wore a coat seemingly several sizes too large. He would have to take on faith the opinion of an expert-Jake Cameron-that she possessed a faultless figure.

Her short dark hair fell in bangs above an oval face, giving her a pixieish appearance. This was intensified by thin eyebrows arched as in surprise, a small, pouty mouth, and high cheekbones.

Her expression … where had he seen that expression-and recently?

Of course: her mother. There was a lot of her mother in Judith Green. Though she possessed possibly the most determined expression he had ever seen, oddly, something about the eyes indicated hurting. Despite all that determination, this young woman did not always get her way.

All in all, a very interesting face.

Judith Green. Nothing particularly ethnic in either the name or the face. Technically, of course, she was not Jewish, since her mother was not. Which did not address the contention that had she lived in Nazi-occupied Europe, she would surely have been included in a pogrom beginning with humiliation, leading to a gas chamber, and ending in a furnace.

Koesler found it impossible to quibble with that analysis.

She sighed. “I suppose Jake told you about everything, beginning with my audition for Virago?”

Koesler nodded. He had already heard more than he wanted to know about her short-lived liaison with Jake Cameron. But she obviously wanted to tell him about it. It just might do her some good to get it off her chest.

“That was his fault right off the bat,” she said. “Delusions of grandeur on his part. Whatever gave him the idea that as talented a dancer as I was would perform in his bump-and-grind shop? Good God, I gave him the full shot just to try to discourage him. I kind of hoped he would put two and two together and figure out I was some kind of setup. But the better I danced, the more the dummy just blindly went along with the scam.”

“You mean you didn’t want to get that job?” This was not the perspective he had gotten from Cameron.

According to Jake, right from the start, Judith “Young” had tried-successfully-to delude him into a stupid plot that would end in entrapment. According to Jake, this was a plot hatched by Moe Green in which his daughter had played the central role-and most willingly.

Koesler was now hearing another side of the story.

“I’ll try to be brief as possible, but you need some background.…

“It started when I was fourteen-no, make that ten. There wasn’t much going on heterosexually in a parochial school in the fifth grade. Well …” She adverted to the fact that Koesler’s history included a lot of parochial fifth grades. “…you would know about that sort of thing better than I.”

Indeed. Koesler recalled seeing Do Black Patent Leather Shoes Really Reflect Up? a hilarious takeoff on the interplay between parochial school children, their priests, and, mostly, their nuns, in the ’50s. That era was marked by nuns with rulers measuring hemlines, the distance between dancers, and the depth of decolletage. The evening Koesler saw the play, a woman in the audience was pounding her fists on the back of the seat in front of her and chanting, between howls of laughter, “That’s the way it was! That’s the way it was!”

“Anyway,” Judith went on, “the few times we had socials where we could invite boys, I always had to invite my cousin Morris. Daddy insisted on it. He and Mother disagreed on this-like they did about almost everything.

“I was caught in the middle-as usual. Daddy won their battles most of the time-or, at least he thought he did. Mother always got something out of the war. Watching them-well, it was like meetings between labor and management debating a constant grievance.

“But while mother was salvaging her booty and Dad was walking away relishing his contested victories, I was stuck with Morris. Summer vacation was the worst. That’s when there were lots of parties where Morris and I could get thrown together.

“It’s hard to say what was the worst aspect of Morris-there were so many. I guess the thing that bugged me most was Morris always trying to feel me up. Fortunately, at that age, I was a little bigger and a lot stronger than him. So, every time he tried it, I beat the sh-I beat him up.”

So far, thought Koesler, with the possible exception of parental warfare, the childish relationship of two kids was not all that unusual.

Almost as if she were reading his mind, Judith said, “You’re probably thinking that this sort of family feud was not unusual. But it took on another dimension when I got to high school. I don’t know whether you know it or not, but I attended Catholic school right through to college.

“Even in a Catholic high school, dating could get serious.

“Well, we had a class-I think it was called ethics. It was mostly about sex, and how that was dirty so you were supposed to save it for the one you love.”

Koesler had heard that line many times before. He always found it mildly humorous. In the present context, it was not difficult keeping a straight face.

“It was in that ethics class,” Judith said, “that I discovered something that just might get Daddy out of my hair and Morris away from my chest. It was the first Catholic teaching I ever found helpful.”

THE PAST

It’s called steady dating, Daddy ….”

Judith had cornered her father in his study after the evening meal. It was one of those rare nights when he had dinner with the family instead of arriving home long after his children had been packed off to sleep.

“Steady dating,” Moe repeated absently, as he studied the real estate market in the daily paper.