Chaim Potok - The Chosen

I agreed with him that he couldn't have done anything else, but I told him I wished he could somehow get around to talking about it with his father.

'I can't,' he said, shaking his head. 'I just can't. You don't know what torture it was talking to him about organizing a ball team. We just don't talk, Reuven. Maybe it sounds a little crazy to you. But it's true.'

'I think you ought to at least try.'

'I can't!' he said, a little angry now. 'Don't you listen to what I'm saying? I just can't!'

'I don't understand it,' I told him.

'Well, I can't explain it to you any better than I have,' he said angrily.

When we stopped in front of the synagogue where my father and I prayed, he muttered his 'Good night,' turned, and walked slowly away.

My father seemed astonished when I told him what Danny had said to me.

'Silence? What do you mean, Danny is being brought up in silence?' His eyes were wide.

'They never talk, abba. Except when they study Talmud.

That's what Danny told me.'

He stared at me for a long time. Then he seemed to remember something, and his eyes narrowed suddenly.

'Once in Russia I heard something,' he murmured softly, speaking to himself. 'But I did not believe it.'

'Heard what, abba?'

He looked at me, his eyes somber, and shook his head. 'I am happy Reb Saunders knows now about his son's reading,' he said quietly, evading my question. 'I was concerned about all this subterfuge: 'But why can't he talk to Danny about it?'

'Reuven, he has already talked to Danny about it. He has talked to Danny through you.'

I stared at him. He sighed softly.

'It is never pleasant to be a buffer, Reuven.' he told me quietly.

And he would say nothing more about the strange silence between Reb Saunders and his son.

I went straight home from school the next day and spent the afternoon and evening listening to my father read to me from my text-books. At nine o'clock on Monday morning, my father took me to Dr Snydman's office on Eastern Parkway. We were both nervous and silent on the way over. I had taken my school books with me, because we planned to go straight from Dr Snydman's office to the school. Dr Snydman looked at my eye and told me I was fine, it had healed perfectly, I could read now, play ball, swim, do whatever I wanted, just so long as I didn't try to stop a fast ball anymore with my head. My father's eyes were misty when we left the office, and I cried a little during the trolley ride to school. We stood outside the school, my father kissed my forehead and said thank God that it had all ended well, and now he had to go to his class, he had already missed one class today because of the doctor's appointment and the students were probably making the substitute teacher's life miserable. I grinned, then nodded when he told me to go to my class. He went off. As I climbed the stairs to the second floor, I realized I had forgotten to ask Dr Snydman about Billy. I decided I would call Billy later in the week after my exams, and go over to see him.

That was a busy week. The final exams began that Monday afternoon. It was wonderful to be able to read and write again, and I didn't mind it at all that my first reading and writing in fifteen days was being done over final examinations, It was a kind of wild, soaring experience to be able to hold a pen again and look into a book or at a piece of paper with writing on it, I took my exams and enjoyed them immensely.

I didn't see Danny that entire week. He called me on Wednesday night, sounding sad, and we talked for a while. I asked him what he would be doing that summer, and he told me he always stayed home in the summer, studying Talmud. He added that he would probably also be reading Freud this summer. I said I would come over to his house that Shabbat and we could talk some more then, I was busy now studying for finals, and I hung up. His voice had been quiet, subdued, and I wondered if he had been reading any more books on Hasidism.

I took the last exam on Friday morning, and then the year was over; I was free until September. I wasn't worried about my grades. I knew I had done well.

When I came home from school early Friday afternoon, Manya asked me if I was hungry, and I said yes, I could eat a horse, a kosher horse, of course, and she quickly put a lunch on the table. My father came in a few minutes later and joined me. There had been a terrible storm in Europe that entire week, he told me, and it had hurt the invasion, but it was over now, thank God. I hadn't heard anything about it, I had been so busy with my exams.

My father left right after lunch, and I went over to the telephone to call Billy. I found his father's name in the phone book and dialed the number.

'Hello,' a man's voice said.

'Mr Merrit?'

'That's right.'

'This is Reuven Malter, sir.'

'Who?'

'Reuv – Bobby Malter. I had the bed next to Billy in the hospital.'

'Oh, yes. Yes. Bobby Malter.'

'Do you remember me, sir?'

'Of course. Of course I remember you.'

'How is Billy, sir?'

There was a pause.

'Sir?'

'Yes?'

'Is Billy all right?'

'I'm afraid not. The surgery was not successful.'

I felt myself break out into a cold sweat. The hand holding the phone began to tremble and I had to push the phone against my face to keep it steady.

'Hello?'

'Yes, sir.'

'How is your eye, Bobby?'

'It's fine, sir. It's all healed.'

'I'm happy to hear that. No, Billy's surgery was not successful.'

'I'm awfully sorry to hear that, sir.'

There was another pause. I thought I could hear Mr Merrit breathing into the phone.

'Sir?'

'Yes?'

'May I come over to visit Billy?'

'Billy is in Albany with friends of mine. My company has transferred me to Albany. We're being moved out today.'

I didn't say anything.

'Good-bye, Bobby. I'm glad your eye is all right. Be careful with your eyes.'

'Yes, sir. Good-bye.'

I hung up the phone and stood still for a minute, trying to calm myself. It didn't do any good. I went into my room and Sat by the window for a while. I opened a book, stared at it blankly, then closed it. I kept hearing Mr Savo saying, 'Crazy world. Cockeyed.' I began to wander aimlessly through the rooms of the apartment. My hands were freezing. I went, out onto the porch, sat in the lounge chair, and stared across the yard at the ailanthus. Its leaves were bathed in sunlight, and its musky odor reached me faintly in the breeze that blew against the back of the house. Something moved faintly across the edge of the field of vision of my left eye, but I ignored it and kept staring at the sunlight on the ailanthus leaves. It moved again, and I heard a faint buzzing sound. I turned my head and looked at the wooden rail of the porch. A spider had spun a web across the corner of the upper rail, and there was a housefly trapped in it now, its wings spread-eagled, glued to the strands of the web, its legs flaying the air frantically. I saw its black body arching wildly, and then it managed to get its wings free, and there was the buzzing sound again as the wings struggled to free the body to which they were attached. Then the wings were trapped again by the filmy, almost invisible strands of the web, and the black legs kicked at the air. I saw the spider, a small, gray, furry looking spider, with long, wispy legs and black eyes, move across the web toward the fly. I rose from the chair and went over to the web. The fly's tiny black legs flayed the air fiercely, then its wings were free again, buzzing noisily, but its body remained glued fast. I bent and blew hard against the web. It swayed, but remained intact. I blew again, harder now, and the strands seemed suddenly to melt. The fly fell on its back to the wooden floor of the porch, righted itself, then flew off, buzzing loudly. The spider tumbled from the broken web, hung by a single strand a few inches above the floor, then swiftly climbed the strand, scrambled across the top front rail of the porch, and disappeared. I went back to the lounge chair, sat down, and continued to stare at the sunlight on the ailanthus.