The Theatre - Kellerman, Jonathan

"Share with me what you've been doing," said Daniel. 'How's the Bethlehem painting going?"

'Dammit, Daniel!" She pulled her hand away. "Why are you being so withholding!"

"Sharing is mutual," he said quietly. "You have things of beauty to share-your art, the home, the children. I have nothing to offer in return."

"Your work-"

"My work is cruelty and blood."

"I fell in love with a policeman. I married a policeman. Did it ever occur to you that I think what you do is beautiful? You're a guardian, a protector of the Jewish state, of all the artists and the mothers and the children. There's nothing ugly about that."

"Some protector." He looked away from her and took a sip of coffee.

"Come on, Daniel. Stop punishing yourself for the horrors of the world."

He wanted to satisfy her, thought of how to begin, the right way to phrase things. But the words spun around in his head like clothes in a dryer, random sounds, nothing seemed to make sense.

He must have sat that way for a long time, because Laura was patient by nature, and finally she got up, looking defeated. The same look he'd just seen on his father's face.

You're a real harbinger of cheer, Pakad Sharavi.

"If you can't deal with it right now, fine. I can accept that, Daniel. But eventually you're going to have to."

"I can," said Daniel, taking hold of her wrist. "I want to."

"Then do it. There's no other way."

He took a deep breath and forced himself to begin.

At twelve-fifteen, feeling freer than he had in a long time, he drove to Lieberman's and picked up the groceries, dancing a verbal ballet with the garrulous shopkeeper in order to avoid discussing the case. His next stop was a florist on Rehov Gershon Agron, where he bought a bouquet of daisies and had them arranged against a bed of leather fern along with a card on which he wrote I Love You,

Battling the traffic, he managed to get to the Dugma school by twelve twenty-eight, just in time to pick up the boys. He idled the car by the curb, searched for Sender Malkovsky's bulk among the group of parents waiting for the children.

The child molester was nowhere to be seen, which was hardly surprising-no way would he be that obvious. Looking for him had been an irrational bit of desperation, but compulsive, like checking under the bed for ghosts.

Two minutes passed slowly and Daniel filled them with speculation, wondering what Malkovsky was up to. If Avi was on him, right now, or back in the Old City, pounding the pavement with the Chinaman. Then he realized he was back on work-thoughts and forced them out of his mind. Replaced them with butterflies.

Mikey and Benny came out of the gate, saw him, and whooped. They tumbled into the car like dervishes, keeping up a steady stream of insults and kid jokes as he headed for Shoshi's school. When he got there, she was just leaving, walking with a group of other girls, all of them swinging the oversized plastic purses that had come into fashion, skipping and laughing, chirping like birds.

She was definitely the prettiest, he decided. None of the others came close.

She passed right by him, engrossed in conversation.

He honked and she looked up-disappointed. Usually she walked home; he'd picked her up as a nice surprise, but could see that she was embarrassed at being treated like a little kid. She said something to the other girls and ran to the car. The butterfly brooch was pinned to her blouse.

'Hello, Abba. What's the occasion?"

"Does there have to be an occasion?"

"You always say walking is good for me."

'I got home early, thought we'd all do something to-gether.'

"What are we doing?" asked Mikey. "The zoo," said Benny. "Let's go to the zoo."

"Are we going to the zoo, Abba?" asked Mikey. "Okay, okay!'

Shoshi glared at them. "Will you both please shut up? The zoo is dumb, and besides, it closes early on Erev

Shabbat.'

The zoo is smart," said Mikey. "You're dumb."

"Quiet, all of you," said Daniel. "Eema will need us to help out in about an hour. In the meantime, we could go down to the park, throw the ball around or something."

Shoshi's friends began walking. She noticed the movement, turned and shouted, "One second!" but they kept on going. Facing Daniel, she said, "Abba, I'm in the middle of something. Can I go?"

"Sure. Have fun."

"You're not mad?"

"Not one bit. Be home by two."

"Thanks." She blew him a kiss and ran to catch up, the purse knocking against one narrow hip.

"Now can we go to the zoo?" asked Benny as Daniel put the car into gear.

"What do I need a zoo for? I've got wild animals right here."

"Rahhr," said Mikey, screwing up his little face and attempting to snarl. "Rahhr."

"Rahhr, me too," said Benny. He curled his hands into claws and raked the air.

Daniel looked at them in the rearview mirror. Little lions, his father had called them. More like kittens.

"Rahhrr!"

"Very fierce, boys. Let's hear it again."

Shabbat felt like Shabbat. A rosy, springtime glow seemed to settle around Daniel from the moment he woke up on Saturday.

He was in synagogue for the beginning of the shaharit services, stayed after services, wrapped in his tallit, listening to a visiting rabbi expound on the weekly Torah portion. He came home at noon, meeting Gene and Luanne as they got off the elevator. They'd brought flowers, a dozen red roses from the shop at the Laromme Hotel. Laura put them in water, next to the daisies. Daniel made Kiddush over a bottle of Hagefen Riesling and everyone helped bring out the food.

They ate themselves drowsy for an hour, cleared the dishes, then returned to the table for dessert and conversation, coffee and arak. Shoshi pulled Gene away for raisin poker, winning four games out of seven before the black man dozed off on the couch.

"Oh, Gene," said Luanne, and continued talking about their tour of the Negev.

At two-thirty Daniel's father came over, wearing his heavy black Sabbath suit, a snowy-white shirt, and a large black kipah embroidered with gold. The children jumped on him shouting "Saba! Saba!," covered his beard with kisses, and the old man pressed pieces of hard candy into their palms. The boys ran off, unwrapping their treasures. Shoshi pocketed hers.

"Abba Yehesqel," said Laura, hugging her father-in-law.

"Leora, beautiful as always!" he said, using her Hebrew name.

Daniel introduced his father to Luanne, cleared a place for him at the head of the table, and brought him the bottle and a glass. When he sat down, Shoshi climbed onto his lap.

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Sharavi," said Luanne. "That butterfly is lovely."

"Saba made Eema's earrings too," said Shoshi, pointing. Laura pushed her hair aside and revealed a lacy silver pendant shaped like a spice box. From the bottom of the earring hung tiny gold flags.

'Lovely."

"My Saba is the best."

Yehesqel smiled, shrugged, and drank arak. Laura left and came back with a box full of jewelry, spread the pieces out on the tablecloth.

"These are all my father-in-law's creations."

"Such delicacy," said Luanne, examining the pieces. She picked up a filigree bracelet set with turquoise and held it up to the light.

"I learned to bend wire as a child," said the old man in heavily accented English. "What a man learns as a child, he remembers."

"My father is being modest," said Daniel. "He's a master of his art."

"Bezalel was an artist," said his father. "He carved the Temple vessels with God's hand guiding his. I am a craftsman. I learn by making mistakes." He turned to Luanne. "We Jews became craftsmen because we were forced to. In Yemen we lived under the Muslims, and the Muslims hated the crafts and gave them over to the Jews."

"How strange," said Luanne.

"It was their belief. They called us usta-masters-but put us under them, on the bottom. Seventy crafts we did: weaving, leather, pottery, baskets, making swords. A craftsman is a good job for a Jew, because it doesn't stop the learning of the Torah. A man makes a pot-when it cooks in the oven, he opens a book and studies. The Muslim understands that-he loves his Quran."