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Chapter 5
November 1998
Loyola VOICE
Lizzy's Journal ---
So, I'm sitting
on a bench in Audubon Park watching the young joggers and elderly
golfers on this bright fall morning. I'm alive, they're alive,
the Live Oaks are still green. And I am so thankful for it, as
I think back to a story I saw in the Times-Picayune:
"Hurricane
Mitch was one of the deadliest and most powerful hurricanes ever
observed, with maximum sustained winds of 180 mph. Its lowest
barometric pressure of 905 millibars equaled that of 1969's Camille.
Mitch formed
in the western Caribbean Sea on October 22, and after drifting
through extremely favorable conditions, it rapidly strengthened
to peak at Category 5 status, the highest possible rating on
the Saffir-Simpson Hurricane Scale. Due to its slow motion from
October 29 to November 3, Hurricane Mitch dropped historic amounts
of rainfall in Honduras and Nicaragua, with unofficial reports
of up to seventy-five inches. After drifting southwestward and
weakening, the hurricane hit Honduras as a minimal hurricane.
Peak storm surge was twelve feet.
It drifted through
Central America, reformed in the Bay of Campeche, and ultimately
struck Florida on November 5 as a strong tropical storm. Mitch
became extratropical later that day, but it continued to persist
for several days, before losing its identity north of Great Britain
on November 9.
Deaths due to
catastrophic flooding made it the deadliest storms in history;
estimates say over 10,000 people were killed with over 10,000
left missing. The flooding caused extreme damage, estimated at
over $5 billion."
Ten to twenty thousand
people dead? I don't understand how such a thing could happen
at the end of the twentieth century. Was there no radio, no TV?
Was there no warning?
Then I remember
where it happened. Even if the people knew what was coming, where
would they go?
I look around again
at this lovely spot, in a city that is below sea level in some
areas. What if a Mitch came here? I shudder and think no more
about it.
Except I cannot
forget all those Hondurans and Nicaraguans that are no longer
in this world. And the hundreds of thousands without homes or
employment. The children with no parents or schools or food.
I get up off my
cozy bench and go look for the nearest relief center. For if
there is one thing Louisianans know about, it's the results of
a hurricane.
(Published November
10, 1998)
~*~*~
The men of Alpha
Iota sat in chairs against the walls of the main chapter room,
forming a large circle, for a rare evening meeting. The room
was dimly lit, as the overhead lights were not sufficient to
illuminate the space, the window drapes having been drawn closed.
The three main officers of the chapter sat before a candle-lit
table on one end of the room, the medals of their office hanging
from blue ribbons around their necks. The recording secretary
sat poised over his notebook. Sitting next to the table was Dr.
George Katz, the chapter's alumni advisor, and two alumni. A
single chair was placed in the middle of the room, facing the
table.
Chapter President,
Charles Bingley gaveled the meeting to order. "Brother Vice
President, please read to the brothers assembled the letter we
received today."
Henry Tilney rose
from his place at Chuck's right. "Aye, your honor. Brothers,
I have a letter from Brother Thomas Bertram.
"To all
my brothers of Alpha Iota,
As of today,
I am withdrawing from Tulane University to seek medical attention.
I expect this will take some weeks. Hopefully I will be able
to return to Tulane next fall.
I want all of
you to know how much AI means to me. You have all been my friends,
and I'm sorry to have to leave you at this time. I will be thinking
of you, and I look forward to returning as soon as my health
permits it.
Fraternally,
Thomas Bertram,
AI-1998."
Chuck looked at
his fellow officers before turning to the man standing by a doorway.
"Brother Sergeant-at-Arms, bring in Brother Waguespack."
A minute later,
John found himself directed to the chair before the chapter table.
Chuck began, "Brother Waguespack, this meeting has been
called to investigate the incident of October 31 at the Homecoming
Dance. Before we continue, I ask if you are aware that Brother
Bertram has withdrawn from school."
John nervously looked
around before answering. "Yes, I know… I mean, aye,
your honor. He's going to a rehab facility."
Chuck turned to
the side. "Brother George Katz."
"Aye, your
honor."
"'You have
been charged with an important task,'" Chuck read from a
book before him, the metal of his medallion of office gleaming
in the candlelight. "'Do thy duty well, Honored Interrogator,
and bring credit to thy chapter and thyself.'"
George bowed. "I
will." He then turned to John. "Brother Waguespack,
it is the significance of this infraction that has initiated
this investigation. His honor, Brother President, has empowered
me, as Interrogator, to ask you certain questions." He paused.
"This is serious, John, but remember, we are all brothers
here. Just relax, and tell us everything."
John nodded. "Aye,
Brother Katz."
"Brother Waguespack,
do you know what Brother Bertram consumed before the dance?"
"He smoked
some marijuana, I believe."
"Is that all?"
"I saw him
take nothing else." It was both truth and not. John dissembled.
"I think he did take something else, based on his actions.
What that was, I don't know."
"Do you know
where he got the drugs?"
"No, Brother."
Katz turned to Chris
Breaux, who was sitting next to William Darcy. "Brother
Breaux, you were the first to find Brother Bertram in the men's
room, were you not? Please tell us what you saw."
Chris relayed what
happened that night. "When Brother Waguespack returned with
Brother Darcy, he volunteered to bring Brother Bertram home."
"You're a medical
student. Were you comfortable with that?"
"Tom…
Brother Bertram was coming around. Brother Waguespack said he
would watch over him. I was satisfied with that." He thought
Tommy had ingested PCP, but he couldn't prove it.
"Brother Darcy,
do you have anything to add?"
William refused
to look at John. "No, Brother."
George returned
to John. "Brother Waguespack, did you take Brother Bertram
to the emergency room?"
"I didn't think
it was necessary. Brother Bertram slept most of the night and
much of the next day. He was pretty hung over."
A few AIs chuckled,
which drew a glare from Darcy.
John began laying
out the lie he had prepared in advance. "We talked that
Sunday. I told Tom… Brother Bertram that he need to get
some help. He didn't want to go, but I got in touch with his
dad. We, together, got Tommy to change his mind. That's when
he was checked into Greenleaves Rehab."
Actually, John was
terrified that Greg would think Tommy was a liability. He wanted
Tommy to stay, to sober up and get back into Greg's good graces,
but his plans were overthrown when Mr. Bertram paid a surprise
visit. It was he who dragged Tommy to Greenleaves. The grand
that Greg had given him came in handy - John had lost a rent-paying
roommate.
Chris was disturbed
at John's story. He was not an internist - he was studying psychiatry
- but he knew drug interaction, and given the look on John's
face that night, Chris would bet that the man knew a lot more
than he was saying.
George cleared his
throat. "Brother Waguespack, do you use illegal drugs yourself?"
John was ready for
that one. "I've smoked marijuana occasionally," he
admitted, before lying, "on a recreational basis. But never
on school grounds or in the fraternity house." The last
part was true.
"Anything else?"
"No, Brother."
"You understand
that the use of illegal drugs could lead, ultimately, to your
expulsion from Alpha Iota?"
"Yes, Brother.
While it is my opinion that marijuana should be legal, I know
that I could be thrown out of the chapter." He paused dramatically.
"I've chosen to refrain from using marijuana in the future."
"Very good,
John," George smiled. He turned to Chuck. "I have no
further questions, your honor."
"Thank you,
Brother Katz," Chuck said as George took his seat. "Does
the chapter have any questions for our brother?"
William almost opened
his mouth, but paused at Chuck's use of the word "brother."
Yes, John was his fraternity brother, and William had never liked
him. Will knew his power - he had been a very popular and respected
leader of the fraternity. He knew that a five-minute speech from
him would result in John's expulsion from Alpha Iota.
He looked around
the room and saw that John had a lot of friends there. Maybe
the problem is me. Maybe I've got the hang-up. Aren't we supposed
to help our brothers grow? Maybe we need to give him another
chance.
And so the only
man that could have gotten Waguespack thrown out with a few words
kept silent.
"Very well,"
continued Chuck. "Brother Waguespack, the chapter shall
deliberate now. I charge you to leave the room until you are
recalled." Chuck's smile told John that he had few worries.
John nodded and left the room with the Sergeant-at-Arms with
a lighter step than when he entered.
Chuck banged his
gavel. "We will deliberate now. I remind you that only current
members of the fraternity in good standing may cast a vote. So
if you are behind in your dues, pay the treasurer now!"
The laugh his comment drew dissipated any remaining tension in
the room. William, Chris and George watched as the men of AI
put John on probation, the lightest sentence possible.
~*~*~
Emma parked her
Saab in the parking lot of the National Council-Jewish Women
on St. Charles Ave. and entered through the front door. She made
her way through familiar halls towards a large room in the rear.
As she walked, she
remembered how, in years past, her mother would drag her and
her sister Irene down these same halls when they were children,
as she volunteered for yet another relief effort. Africa, AIDS,
Hurricanes Hugo in South Carolina and Andrew in Florida. Now,
in the aftermath of Hurricane Mitch, there was only one place
Emma would volunteer to help - the NCJW. Here, she felt the warmth
of her mother's presence all around her.
"Ah, Emma!
Hello, dear," greeted one of her late mother's friends,
Mrs. Rosen. She rose from a table and took her hands. "Thank
you for volunteering, dear. Edna! Emma's here!"
"Who?"
said an old woman.
"Emma Weinberg
- Ruth Weinberg's daughter!"
"Ruth's daughter?"
repeated Edna Copeland. "Oh, yes - look at you!" The
elderly woman shuffled over. "I haven't seen you in years.
Let me get a good look at you." She cupped Emma's face with
her wrinkled hands. "So lovely. What a shayna punim!
Such a pretty face! Ruthie would have been so proud."
"Thank you,
Miz Edna," smiled Emma.
Edna looked over
her reading glasses. "So, are you married yet?"
Emma turned red.
"Ummm… no, Miz Edna. I'm still in school."
"That didn't
stop me, child," Mrs. Copeland cackled.
Mrs. Rosen saved
Emma future embarrassment. "That's enough, Edna, we've got
loads of work to do. Come along, Emma." The two walked though
the room piled high with sealed boxes to a bank of phones set
on folding tables against the far wall, where three women sat,
talking quietly and taking notes.
"Here,"
Mrs. Rosen indicated a chair, "how much time can you give
us, dear?"
"Just a couple
hours, Mrs. Rosen. My boyfriend is coming over for dinner."
"That's lovely.
I'll be sure and tell Edna." She handed Emma a paper. "Here
is a list of potential contributors." Emma looked at the
relatively short list. "We're looking for dry goods only
- blankets, towels, clothes, bedding, that sort of stuff. These
ladies," she waved at the others, "are collecting canned
food and power equipment."
Emma studied the
list. "When is the deadline?"
"Delta Global
Shipping wants the ship to leave for Honduras by the end of the
week. They will take as many containers as we can fill. We understand
the Hispanic Chamber and Catholic Charities are gathering goods,
as well. Just remember, there's no refrigeration. So no fresh
or frozen foods. And no toys. We need things that will help keep
the people alive. We'll collect books and paper goods and toys
for the next shipload." Mrs. Rosen pointed at another table.
"We have coffee and water. There were some goodies - doughnuts
and Danishes - but they're a bit picked over by now."
"That's okay."
"Emma, you're
a sweetheart. Just dial 9 before the number. Any questions, come
find me."
Emma smiled as Mrs.
Rosen moved over to check on the other ladies. She dialed her
first number. "Hello, I'm calling from National Council-Jewish
Women," she recited the prepared speech. "We're calling
for the Hurricane Mitch relief effort…"
~*~*~
Emma was putting
the finishing touches on her make-up when the doorbell rang.
"I'll get it, Papa!" she called as she hurried down
the stairs, the skirt of her black dress dancing along her thighs.
She threw open the door and found a man standing outside - the
wrong man.
"Doctor George?"
George Katz smiled.
"Good evening to you, too, Emma." As she continued
to gawk at him he asked, "May I come in?"
Emma stepped aside
to let the family friend enter. "Sure…but what are
you doing here?"
George answered
her quizzical look with one of his own. "Dinner? Your father
invited me."
"Papa? Papa
invited you?" She closed the door and marched directly into
the den, a puzzled George following behind. "Papa? Did you
ask Doctor George over tonight?"
Abe Weinberg climbed
out of his La-Z-Boy and extended his hand to their guest. "George
- good to see you, son." As they shook hands, Abe said to
his irritated daughter, "Yes, I invited him over, since
we're making dinner anyway."
Emma's eyes grew
wide. "Papa! You knew I was having…" Emma's
sotto voce was cut off by the doorbell. "There he is!"
She gave Abe one last glare and returned to the front door.
"Umm, Abe…
I seem to have intruded. We can make it another night."
"No, no, you're
my guest, George. Emma's guest has just showed up." George's
eyebrow went up.
"What are you
playing at, Abe?"
Further conversation
was impossible as Emma returned to the room with a young man.
"Papa, I want to introduce Charles Bingley, my friend.
Chuck, this is my father, Abe Weinberg." Chuck gave him
a hearty handshake.
"Shalom!
Glad to make your acquaintance, Mr. Weinberg!" Abe nodded
in return. Mirth mingled with skepticism curled his lip.
"Chuck,"
Emma said, "you know Doctor George, right?"
"Shalom,
Chuck." George started to get a clue.
"George? I
didn't expect to see you here…" Chuck stuttered, "but,
hey, the more the merrier!" Chuck turned back to Emma's
father. "I thank you for having me over to dinner."
He eagerly handed Abe a paper bag.
Abe withdrew the
bottle within and lifted his bushy brows. "Manachevitz?
How…nice - Chuck, is it? Yes, very kind." He let the
wine slip unceremoniously back into the sack. "I'll just
put this aside for later."
George worked hard
not to explode in laughter. Manachevitz - the cough syrup
of table wines? Did the fool think Friday night dinner at Emma's
was a full-blown Shabbat meal? I should have warned him about
Abe's teasing nature, but… oh, what the hell! This is too
good.
"What can I
get you to drink, Chuck?" asked Abe. "I've got this
wonderful Pinot Noir from a little winery I visited in Napa a
couple years back. Can I interest you in a glass?"
"Pinot is Kosher?"
"No, but that's
not going to be problem for you, is it?"
"Umm…
No, of course not. I'd love some, sir."
Emma blanched. "I'll
help you, Papa. Can I get you a glass, Doctor George?" He
nodded. "You two just make yourselves comfortable,"
she said through a tight smile. "We'll be right back."
Seeing the uneasiness
in Chuck's eyes, George thought, At least we'll be more comfortable
than Abe at the moment, that's for sure!
"Papa!"
Emma hissed, as soon as the kitchen door swung closed. "How
could you!"
Abe eyed the cook
stirring the contents of a boiling pot. "Emma - we're not
alone."
"Don't try
to change the subject! Miz Taylor's chewed you a new one more
times than I have! You're not going to get away with this!"
Abe began to open
the wine bottle. "Pass me down some glasses, Princess. Get
away with what?" Abe moved in slow, deliberate, and to the
livid Emma, infuriatingly calm gestures as he twisted the cork
from the bottle.
"Interfering
with my dinner! I wanted you to get to know Chuck," she
said as she passed him the glasses. "And now…Why did
you invite Doctor George?"
"I thought
he'd be a nice addition to the party," Abe said as he poured
the wine. "I thought you liked George?"
"Of course,
I like him - he's like a big brother." Emma sighed. "That's
not the point. Try to be nice to Chuck - please?"
"I'm nice to
everybody, Princess. Aren't I, Miz Taylor?"
The black cook rolled
her eyes. "I ain't getting' in the middle of this. You just
behave yourself, Mr. Abe. I got extra starch and I know how to
use it!"
"I'll be on
my best behavior, Miz Taylor, if only to please you," he
grinned. "Emma, shall we return to our guests?"
The two returned
to the room, Emma still seething. She handed Chuck his wine.
Before she could have a word with him, Abe spoke up.
"So, Chuck,
I take it you're going to Tulane?"
"Yes, sir.
I graduate this year."
"Congratulations.
I've heard so little about you." His glance at Emma
went unnoticed by Chuck. "What are you studying? What are
you planning to do?"
"I'm a business
major. I plan to get into banking."
Abe's eyes twinkled.
Wait for it…
Chuck grinned sheepishly.
"Any contacts you may have in the business would be appreciated,
sir." He drank more of his wine.
George coughed as
Abe wore a sad grin. Jews and banking - oh, Chuck! How many
stereotypes can you hit in one night? thought Katz.
Abe nodded thoughtfully.
"If I hear of anything, I'll let you know. Enjoying the
wine?"
"Oh, yes, sir
- it's great."
"I'm glad you
like it. Allow me to top off your glass."
~*~*~
Dinner was leg of
lamb with pepper jelly, scalloped potatoes and asparagus. As
he sat down, Bingley smiled warmly at the glowing tapers and
pulled something out of his jacket pocket. To everyone's amazement,
it was a yarmulke - a Jewish skullcap.
"Wow, this
looks great, but I'm a little surprised," he said as he
placed the yarmulke on his head.
"What do you
mean, Chuck?" asked Abe.
"I must say
I expected something more like gefilte fish, matzo ball soup
- stuff like that."
"Why would
you think that?"
"I did some
research about Jewish traditions on the internet." Chuck
then noticed that none of the others had on a yarmulke. "Umm…
did I get it wrong? Should I take this off?"
"Not really,
but we aren't so traditional here. Keep on the yarmulke, though
- it looks good on you. Very becoming."
"Papa!"
Emma thought she was going to die. She touched Chuck's hand.
"I'm sorry you misunderstood, Chuck. It was really sweet
of you, though."
An abashed Chuck
Bingley looked at his plate. "It's okay, Emma. Mr. Weinberg,
please accept my apologies. I hope I didn't… I don't know,
offend you."
"Of course
not, Chuck. We appreciate the effort. Eat up. Top you off, there?"
George started to
eat, a little ashamed that he didn't take the effort to warn
Chuck. He didn't like the way Abe was teasing the young man,
who was now looking a little pale.
Abe continued the
conversation. "So, tell me more about yourself, Chuck. Where're
you from? Where did you go to school?"
"Baton Rouge.
I went to Catholic High."
"Who are your
folks? Any brothers or sisters?"
"My mom's Catherine
Bingley. I have a sister, Carrie, at LSU." He took a gulp
of his wine. "Just us."
"I see. Catherine
Bingley - I don't think I know her. What does she do?"
"She's retired.
She doesn't have to work, 'cause of the settlement." Four
glasses of wine on top of his nervousness was starting to have
an effect on him.
"Settlement?"
"Yeah -'cause
of my dad's death," Chuck babbled as he drank more wine.
"My dad was an insurance agent - life, health, that sort
of stuff. Anyway, he was driving along the River Road about eight
years ago when he was hit by a tanker truck from one of the chemical
plants. Thing just blew up. Between all of the insurance Dad
had bought and Mom suing the hell out of the chemical company,
she was able to retire from her paralegal job and move to the
Country Club of Louisiana - a real fancy subdivision outside
of town. Dad had also set up education plans for my sister and
me. So Mom lives in the lap of luxury, Carrie and I get the college
ride of our choice, and I lost my dad."
"Interesting
story, Chuck."
Emma flashed daggers
at her father before turning to Chuck. "Chuck, I'm so sorry.
Were you close to your father?"
"Yeah, kinda.
Dad always meant well, you know, about spending time with us,
but he worked real hard and kept long hours." To Emma's
horror, the wine was making Chuck maudlin. "I wish that
he didn't, you know, work so hard. I wish I'd seen him more."
"At least you've
got your mom," she said. George flinched - he was acquainted
with some of the abusive phone calls Chuck had received at the
AI house from his mother.
"Yeah, I guess
that's something."
Emma's eyes filled
with tears. Dinner was going down in flames. George took pity
on them all and tried a change of subject.
"So, Abe!"
he asked. "Do you think the House will impeach Clinton?"
Emma held her face
in her hands. How much worse can it get?
~*~*~
"How is he?"
Emma asked George as he stood in the doorway of the bathroom,
after the sounds of retching finally ceased.
George turned his
head. "Chuck's gonna be fine. I guess the wine and rich
food didn't agree with him." He turned to his fraternity
brother. "How're you doing there? Want some help up, Chuck?"
More sounds of retching.
Bingley groaned.
"I thought I was gonna die. Aww, Em, I'm sooo sorry…
Ug…ug… Aww jeezze…" He doubled over with
dry heaves. It was a few more minutes before George could help
his inebriated friend up and help him wash his face. He walked
Chuck to the main room, supporting him with an arm around his
shoulders. Emma trailed behind.
"Mister…Mister
Weinberg… I'm sorry for ruining dinner…" Chuck
managed.
"That's quite
all right, Chuck." Abe tried to stand upwind of his sick
guest.
"I just got
over a stomach bug… I guess I should've canceled, but I
didn't want to disappoint Emma. I…I think I ought to go
home, now."
"You'll feel
better in the morning, young man."
"Em… God,
I'm sorry. Oh, but I'm sorry."
Emma wanted to hug
him, but the smell was too much. "I know, Chuck." She
turned to George. "You'll see him safely home?"
George nodded with
a small smile. Soon they were out the door, Chuck still moaning
his apologies.
Emma turned daggers
to her father. "Papa…"
"Now, Princess,
just wait one minute…" Abe began.
"No, Papa,
I will not! I am ashamed of you!"
"Ashamed of
me? What did I do?" He pointed towards the door.
"He's the one who almost vomited on our dinner table!"
"His name is
Chuck Bingley, Papa!"
"I know what
his name is, Emma. Believe me, I know."
"And what do
you mean by that?" Emma asked dangerously.
"Let him bring
his Manachevitz wine and yarmulke all he wants, but he'll never…"
his voice broke. "…never be good enough for you."
"I was right
- this is about Chuck being a gentile, isn't it?! That's why
you had Doctor George here! Papa this is my life…"
Abe's heated retort
died in his throat as Mrs. Taylor came into the room. "Before
I leave," she scolded, "I thought y'all should know
I can hear y'all in the kitchen". Both Emma and Abe looked
like kids caught doing some naughty little thing. "Miz Emma,
you shouldn't talk to your daddy that way. And Mr. Abe, I told
you to behave yourself!" She wagged her finger. "My,
my - what Miz Ruth would have to say 'bout you two if she was
here!" She huffed as she pulled on the coat she carried.
"I'm goin' now - I'll finish cleaning up in the mornin'.
An' if I was you two, I'd get me some sleep before y'all say
something y'all regret for the rest of your lives." She
turned on her heel and marched back into the kitchen.
Abe and Emma eyed
each other warily. "I suppose she's right, Emma."
"This isn't
over, Papa. We'll talk abut this in the morning." With that,
she fled upstairs while Abe Weinberg sat alone in his Chippendale-furnished
dinning room.
~*~*~
"I am SUCH
a fuck-up… I am SUCH a fuck-up…"
George Katz drove
his "previously owned" Lexus through the streets of
Uptown with a sickly drunk Charles Bingley chastening himself
in the passenger seat. Chuck's red Jeep Cherokee remained parked
in front of the Weinberg home. George was not pleased with himself.
He had known for years how mischievous Abe Weinberg could be
and did nothing to give Chuck a heads-up. He wondered why he
did not act to clue in his friend.
Why did I keep
my mouth shut? Am I jealous? Of what? Of Chuck - with Emma? No
- I can't be. I've know her since she was a child! She's like
a sister to me.
Isn't she?
"I am SUCH
a fuck-up… I am SUCH a fuck-up…"
"Hang in there,
buddy - we're almost home."
~*~*~
Emma entered the
kitchen the next morning, and found her father, as usual, at
the breakfast table, drinking coffee over the Saturday Times-Picayune.
"Good morning,
Princess."
Emma returned Abe's
greeting as she poured her own cup. She took a chair across from
him and began, "Papa, we need to finish last night's discussion.
I want to do this now, before Miz Taylor gets here, and I go
over to the NCJW." He nodded. Emma fiddled with the handle
of her cup.
"Papa, what
happened last night hurt me. Chuck is my boyfriend," - Abe
flinched at the word - "and you embarrassed me. You have
no right to treat a nice person like Chuck that way."
"I know, and
I am sorry," Abe said sincerely. "I do hope he's feeling
better."
"I wouldn't
be surprised if he never wanted to see me again."
Abe took a sip.
"That might be for the best."
"Papa! What
is with you? Why are you so set against Chuck? Don't tell me
that it's because of the wine and the yarmulke - you invited
Doctor George over before you even met Chuck. You made up your
mind before you laid eyes on him. Why? Is it because he's not
a Jew?"
Abe sighed. "Yes."
Emma gasped. "I…I
don't believe this! We're not observant - we hardly go to synagogue
more than twice a year! Papa, Irene married a gentile! Do you
feel this way about Tyler?"
"Emma…"
Abe began. He turned away to gather his thoughts. "Tyler's
a good man… a very good man. He loves your sister very much…"
"But he's still
a goy," Emma interjected. "Is that it?"
Abe nodded sadly.
"Yes, he's still a goy." As Emma prepared to explode,
Abe continued, "Emma, please, you must understand…we
are Jews…"
"I know that!"
"Listen, please!
We are what we are. All over the world, we're hated and mistrusted.
Insulted and slighted. Killed and expelled. Even in Europe we
aren't completely safe, or completely accepted. Only in America
and Israel do we control our own destiny.
"In Israel
we have been at war for over fifty years - longer! Our people
- my people, your people - are under constant attack!
The others, the terrorists… they do not want peace. They
want to drive us into the sea. They want us dead! They want to
finish the work begun by Hitler and the Czars!
"But here,
in America, we are the enemy. We're destroying ourselves from
the inside - by intermarriage, by assimilation. The Jew comes
from the maternal line - you know this. But so many of us that
have married outside the faith don't raise their children as
Jews. They treat our heritage like an ethnic group. But being
Jewish is more than that. You must remember what your mother
taught you, Emma!
"Tyler and
Irene - they will not send my grandchildren to Hebrew school.
They'll be lost to us, not join in the long line of Jews who
fought for generations to preserve what your sister has thrown
away. As much as I love Irene- as much as I like Tyler - this
is a hole in my heart. I cannot let you go down this road - not
without talking to you, to see if this is what you really
want."
Emma sat amazed
as she listened to her father's speech. "I didn't know you
felt this way, Papa."
"I know we
haven't been as observant as we should've been. Your mother,
of blessed memory…" he paused as a small smile crossed
his lips, "she was always after me about attending, but
there was always something else to do. A game, a trip… something.
When… when she left us, I… I just couldn't go without
her.
"But that doesn't
mean I'm not a Jew in here." Abe thumped his chest.
"That I don't feel as a Jew. Thousands of years we've been
here, Emma. I don't want us to be the generation that fails all
the others who came before us. Too much blood has been shed,
Emma, too many souls lost."
Abe reached over
to take his daughter's hand. "It is a great responsibility,
being a Jewish woman." He sighed and let a quiet moment
pass. "So, what about this Charles Bingley of yours? Do
you love him?"
"I don't know.
He is my friend, and I like him a great deal. But I'm still getting
to know him, Papa. I haven't thought that far down the road."
"I am sure
he's a good man. A bit earnest for my liking, but I know he means
well. But Emma, can you not find a good man who's Jewish too?
One you can love and respect, and who loves and respects you
in return?"
"It's not like
I've gone out and looked for one. My friends are my friends."
She thought for a moment. "I'm sure there are some good
Jewish men out there, somewhere."
"There was
one in our house last night."
Emma was flabbergasted.
"Doctor George? He's old enough to be my… my…
older brother!"
"Emma, what
is age if two loving people come together?"
"Papa, be serious!
Me and Doctor George? That's too weird!"
Abe smiled. "Perhaps.
But as you see, there are good Jewish men out there. Is it not
as easy to fall in love with a Jew as any other? Besides, think
of how easy the wedding would be. No strange non-denominational
ceremony where everyone is standing on a beach somewhere reciting
bad poetry. And think of all the banking contacts!"
"Papa!"
she giggled in spite of herself.
Abe smiled and squeezed
Emma's hand. "Emma, my not-so-little princess, I only want
what's best for my girls. Your mother always wanted you both
to meet nice Jewish boys who would make you happy and give her
lots of fat grandchildren. Can you try? Can you not do this for
me? For your mother - for our people?"
For the first time
in her life, Emma felt the pressure of being a Jewish woman -
the responsibility. She felt overwhelmed. Bewildered, yet proud.
"I… don't
know, Papa. Let me think about it."
"Emma,"
Abe said quietly with glistening eyes, "no matter what you
choose, know that I love you. I love Irene and I will love you,
no matter who you marry. And I will love my all of my grandchildren."
"I know, Papa,
I know."
They sat quietly,
not knowing what to say next.
Emma broke the silence.
"I have a lot to think about, Papa. But I won't give up
Chuck just because you want me to. I won't let you hurt him again,
either."
Abe lowered his
head sadly, knowing he had lost. "I…see. Do you want
me to call him and apologize?"
"No…I
think enough's been said about last night. I'll see what Chuck
thinks, though. He may think he still needs to apologize to you."
"No, he doesn't."
Emma shook her head.
"I agree, but that's the way it is with Chuck. He's a very
nice person. That's why I like him; that's why he's my friend."
Abe nodded.
She reached over
and squeezed her father's hand. "But I will think about
what you've said, okay?"
"Okay."
Emma gazed into
her father's face before glancing at the clock on the wall. "I've
gotta go. I'll be back by dinner time."
She got up and kissed
the top of Abe's bowed head. With a lingering glance, she let
herself out the kitchen door.
Abe was still at
the table, staring at his coffee cup, a half-hour later when
Mrs. Taylor arrived to clean up.
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