The Chosen Page 8

  “What would you be if you didn’t become a rabbi?” Danny. Saunders asked.

  “A mathematician,” I said. “That’s what my father wants me to be.”

  “And teach in a university somewhere?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s a very nice thing to be,” he said. His blue eyes looked dreamy for a moment. “I’d like that.”

  “I’m not sure I want to do that, though.”

  “Why not?”

  “I sort of feel I could be more useful to people as a rabbi. To our own people, I mean. You know, not everyone is religious, like you or me. I could teach them, and help them when they’re in trouble. I think I would get a lot of pleasure out of that.”

  “I don’t think I would. Anyway, I’m going to be a rabbi. Say, where did you learn to pitch like that?”

  “I practiced, too.” I grinned at him.

  “But you don’t have to do two blatt of Talmud a day.”

  “Thank God!”

  “You certainly have a mean way of pitching.”

  “How about your hitting? Do you always hit like that, straight to the pitcher?”

  “Yes.”

  “How’d you ever learn to do that?”

  “I can’t hit any other way. It’s got something to do with my eye-sight, and with the way I hold the bat. I don’t know.”

  “That’s a pretty murderous way to hit a ball. You almost killed me.

  “You were supposed to duck,” he said.

  “I had no chance to duck.”

  “Yes you did.”

  “There wasn’t enough time. You hit it so fast.”

  “There was time for you to bring up your glove.”

  I considered that for a moment.

  “You didn’t want to duck.”

  “That’s right,” I said, after a while.

  “You didn’t want to have to duck any ball that I hit. You had to try and stop it.”

  “That’s right.” I remembered that fraction of a second when I had brought my glove up in front of my face. I could have jumped aside and avoided the ball completely. I hadn’t thought to do that, though. I hadn’t wanted Danny Saunders to make me look like Schwartzie.

  “Well, you stopped it,” Danny Saunders said.

  I grinned at him.

  “No hard feelings anymore?” he asked me. “No hard feelings,” I said. “I just hope the eye heals all right.”

  “I hope so, too,” he said fervently. “Believe me.”

  “Say, who was that rabbi on the bench? Is he a coach or something?”

  Danny Saunders laughed. “He’s one of the teachers in the yeshiva. My father sends him along to make sure we don’t mix too much with the apikorsim.”

  “That apikorsim thing got me angry at you. What did you have to tell your team a thing like that for?”

  “I’m sorry about that. It’s the only way we could have a team. I sort of convinced my father you were the best team around and that we had a duty to beat you apikorsim at what you were best at. Something like that.”

  “You really had to tell your father that?”

  “Yes.”

  “What would have happened if you’d lost?”

  “I don’t like to think about that. You don’t know my father.”

  “So you practically had to beat us.”

  He looked at me for a moment, and I saw he was thinking of something. His eyes had a kind of cold, glassy look. “That’s right,” he said, finally. He seemed to be seeing something he had been searching for a long time. “That’s right,” he said again.

  “What was he reading all the time?”

  “Who?”

  “The rabbi.”

  “I don’t know. Probably a book on Jewish law or something.”

  “I thought it might have been something your father wrote.”

  “My father doesn’t write,” Danny said. “He reads a lot, but he never writes. He says that words distort what a person really feels in his heart. He doesn’t like to talk too much, either. Oh, he talks plenty when we’re studying Talmud together. But otherwise he doesn’t say much. He told me once he wishes everyone could talk in silence.”

  “Talk in silence?”

  “I don’t understand it, either,” Danny said, shrugging. “But that’s what he said.

  “Your father must be quite a man.”

  He looked at me. “Yes,” he said, with the same cold, glassy stare in his eyes. I saw him begin to play absent-mindedly with one of his earlocks. We were quiet for a long time. He seemed absorbed in something/Finally, he stood up. “It’s late. I had better go.”

  “Thanks for coming to see me.”

  “I’ll see you tomorrow again.”

  “Sure.”

  He still seemed to be absorbed in something. I watched him walk slowly up the aisle and out of the ward..

  CHAPTER FOUR

  MY FATHER CAME IN a few minutes later, looking worse than he had the day before. His cheeks were sunken, his eyes were red, and his face was ashen. He coughed a great deal and kept telling me it was his cold. He sat down on the bed and told me he had talked to Dr. Snydman on the phone. “He will look at your eye Friday morning, and you will probably be able to come home Friday afternoon. I will come to pick you up when I am through teaching.”

  “That’s wonderful!” I said.

  “You will not be able to read for about ten days. He told me he will know by then about the scar tissue.”

  “I’ll be happy to be out of this hospital,” I said. “I walked around a little today and saw the people on the street outside.”

  My father looked at me and didn’t say anything.

  “I wish I was outside now,” I said. “I envy them being able to walk around like that. They don’t know how lucky they are.”

  “No one knows he is fortunate until he becomes unfortunate,” my father said quietly. “That is the way the world is.”

  “It’ll be good to be home again. At least I won’t have to spend a Shabbat here.”

  “We’ll have a nice Shabbat together,” my father said. “A quiet Shabbat where we can talk and not be disturbed. We will sit and drink tea and talk.” He coughed a little and put the handkerchief to his mouth. He took off his spectacles and wiped his eyes. Then he put them back on and sat on the bed, looking at me. He seemed so tired and pale, as if all his strength had been drained from him.

  “I didn’t tell you yet, abba. Danny Saunders came to see me today.”

  My father did not seem surprised. “Ah,” he said. “And?”

  “He’s a very nice person. I like him.”

  “So? All of a sudden you like him.” He was smiling. “What did he say?”

  I told him everything I could remember of my conversation with Danny Saunders. Once, as I talked, he began to cough, and I stopped and watched helplessly as his thin frame bent and shook. Then he wiped his lips and eyes, and told me to continue. He listened intently. When I told him that Danny Saunders had wanted to kill me, his eyes went wide, but he didn’t interrupt. When I told him about Danny Saunders’ photographic mind, he nodded as if he had known about that all along. When I described as best I could what we had said about our careers, he smiled indulgently. And when I explained why Danny Saunders had told his team that they would kill us apikorsim, he stared at me and I could see the same look of absorption come into his eyes that I had seen earlier in the eyes of Danny Saunders. Then my father nodded. “People are not always what they seem to be,” he said softly. “That is the way the world is, Reuven.”

  “He’s going to come visit me again tomorrow; abba.”

  “Ah,” my father murmured. He was silent for a moment. Then he said quietly, “Reuven, listen to me. The Talmud says that a person should do two things for himself. One is to acquire a teacher. Do you remember the other?”

  “Choose a friend,” I said.

  “Yes. You know what a friend is, Reuven? A Greek philosopher said that two people who are true friends are like two bodies with
one soul.”

  I nodded.

  “Reuven, if you can, make Danny Saunders your friend.”

  “I like him a lot, abba.”

  “No. Listen to me. I am not talking only about liking him. I am telling you to make him your friend and to let him make you his friend. I think—” He stopped and broke into another cough. He coughed a long time. Then he sat quietly on the bed, his hand on his chest, breathing hard. “Make him your friend,” he said again, and cleared his throat noisily.

  “Even though he’s a Hasid?” I asked, smiling.

  “Make him your friend,” my father repeated. “We will see.”

  “The way he acts and talks doesn’t seem to fit what he wears and the way he looks,” I said. “It’s like two different people.”

  My father nodded slowly but was silent. He looked over at Billy, who was still asleep.

  “How is your little neighbor?” he asked me.

  “He’s very nice. There’s a new kind of operation they’ll be doing on his eyes. He was in an auto accident, and his mother was killed.”

  My father looked at Billy and shook his head. He sighed and stood up, then bent and kissed me on the forehead.

  “I will be back to see you tomorrow. Is there anything you need?”

  “No, abba.”

  “Are you able to use your tefillin?”

  “Yes. I can’t read though. I pray by heart.”

  He smiled at me. “I did not think of that. My baseball player. I will see you again tomorrow, Reuven.”

  “Yes, abba.”

  I watched him walk quickly up the aisle.

  “That your father, kid?” I heard Mr. Savo ask me.

  I turned to him and nodded. He was still playing his game of cards.

  “Nice-looking man. Very dignified. What’s he do?”

  “He teaches.”

  “Yeah? Well, that’s real nice, kid. My old man worked a pushcart. Down near Norfolk Street, it was. Worked like a dog. You’re a lucky kid. What’s he teach?”

  “Talmud,” I said. “Jewish law.”

  “No kidding? He in a Jewish school?”

  “Yes,” I said. “A high school.”

  Mr. Savo frowned at a card he had just pulled from the deck. “Damn,” he muttered. “No luck nowhere. Story of my life.” He tucked the card into a row on the blanket. “You looked kind of chummy there with your clopper, boy. You making friends with him?”

  “He’s a nice person,” I said.

  “Yeah? Well, you watch guys like that, kid. You watch them real good, you hear? Anyone clops you, he’s got a thing going. Old Tony knows. You watch them.”

  “It was really an accident,” I said.

  “Yeah?”

  “I could have ducked the ball.”

  Mr. Savo looked at me. His face was dark with the growth of beard, and his left eye seemed a little swollen and bloodshot. The black patch that covered his right eye looked like a huge skin mole. “Anyone out to clop you doesn’t want you to duck, kid. I know.”

  “It wasn’t really like that, Mr. Savo.”

  “Sure, kid. Sure. Old Tony doesn’t like fanatics, that’s all.”

  “I don’t think he’s a fanatic.”

  “No? What’s he go around in those clothes for?”

  “They all wear those clothes. It’s part of their religion.”

  “Sure, kid. But listen. You’re a good kid. So I’m telling you, watch out for those fanatics. They’re the worst cloppers around.” He looked at a card in his hands, then threw it down. “Lousy game. No luck.” He scooped up the cards, patted them into a deck, and put them on the night table. He lay back on his pillow. “Long day,” he said, talking almost to himself. “Like waiting for a big fight.” He closed his left eye.

  • • •

  I woke during the night and lay still a long time, trying to remember where I was. I saw the dim blue night light at the other end of the ward, and took a deep breath. I heard a movement next to me and turned my head. The curtain had been drawn around Mr. Savo’s bed, and I could hear people moving around. I sat up. A nurse came over to me from somewhere. “You go right back to sleep, young man,” she ordered. “Do you hear?” She seemed angry and tense. I lay back on my bed. In a little while, I was asleep.

  When I woke in the morning, the curtain was still drawn around Mr. Savo’s bed. I stared at it. It was light brown, and it enclosed the area of the bed completely so that not even the metal legs of the bed could be seen. I remembered Monday afternoon when I had awakened with the curtain around my bed and Mrs. Carpenter bending over me, and I wondered what had happened to Mr. Savo. I saw Mrs. Carpenter coming quickly up the aisle, carrying a metal tray in her hands. There were instruments and bandages on the tray. I sat up and asked her what was wrong with Mr. Savo. She looked at me sternly, her round, fleshy face grim. “Mr. Savo will be all right, young man. Now you just go about your own business and let Mr. Savo be.” She disappeared behind the curtain. I heard a soft moan. At the other end of the ward, the radio had been turned on and the announcer was talking about the war. I didn’t want to turn my radio on for fear of disturbing Mr. Savo. I heard another moan, and then I couldn’t stand it anymore. I got out of my bed and went to the bathroom. Then I walked around in the hall outside the ward and stared at the people on the street. When I came back, the curtain was still drawn around Mr. Savo’s bed, and Billy was awake.

  I sat down on my bed and saw him turn his head in my direction.

  “Is that you, Bobby?” he asked me.

  “Sure,” I said.

  “Is something wrong with Mr. Savo?”

  I wondered how he knew about that.

  “I think so,” I told him. “They’ve got the curtain around his bed, and Mrs. Carpenter is in there with him.”

  “No,” Billy said. “She just went away. I was calling him, and she told me not to disturb him. Is it something very bad?”

  “I don’t know. I think we ought to talk a little quieter, Billy. So we don’t bother him.”

  “That’s right,” Billy said, lowering his voice.

  “Also, I think we’ll stop listening to the radio today. We don’t want to wake him if he’s sleeping.”

  Billy nodded fervently.

  I got my tefillin from the night table and sat on my bed and prayed for a long time. Mostly, I prayed for Mr. Savo.

  I was eating breakfast when I saw Dr. Snydman hurrying up the aisle with Mrs. Carpenter. He didn’t even notice me as he passed my bed. He was wearing a dark suit, and he wasn’t smiling. He went behind the curtain around Mr. Savo’s bed, and Mrs. Carpenter followed. I heard them talking softly, and I heard Mr. Savo moan a few times. They were there quite a while. Then they came out and went back up the aisle.

  I was really frightened now about Mr. Savo. I found I missed him and the way he talked and played cards. After breakfast, I lay in my bed and began to think about my left eye. I remembered tomorrow was Friday and that in the morning Dr. Snydman was supposed to examine it. I felt cold with fright. That whole morning and afternoon I lay in the bed and thought about my eye and became more and more frightened.

  • • •

  All that day the curtain remained around Mr. Savo’s bed. Every few minutes, a nurse would go behind the curtain, stay there for a while, then come out and walk back up the aisle. In the afternoon, the radio at the other end of the ward was turned off. I tried to fall asleep, but couldn’t. I kept watching nurses go in and out of the curtain around Mr. Savo’s bed. By suppertime I was feeling so frightened and miserable that I could hardly eat. I nibbled at the food and sent the tray back almost untouched.

  Then I saw Danny come up the aisle and stop at my bed. He was wearing the dark suit, the dark skullcap, the white shirt open at the collar, and the fringes showing below his jacket. My face must have mirrored my happiness at seeing him because he broke into a warm smile and said, “You look like I’m the Messiah. I must have made some impression yesterday.”

  I grinned at him. “I
t’s just good to see you,” I told him. “How are you?”

  “How are you? You’re the one in the hospital.”

  “I’m fed up being cooped up like this. I want to get out and go home. Say, it’s really good to see you, you sonofagun!”

  He laughed. “I must be the Messiah. No mere Hasid would get a greeting like that from an apikoros.”

  He stood at the foot of the bed, his hands in his trouser pockets, his face relaxed. “When do you go home?” he asked.

  I told him. Then I remembered Mr. Savo lying in his bed behind the curtain. “Listen,” I said, motioning with my head at the curtain. “Let’s talk outside in the hall. I don’t want to disturb him.”

  I got out of bed, put on my bathrobe, and we walked together out of the ward. We sat down on a bench in the hallway next to a window. The hallway was long and wide. Nurses, doctors, patients, orderlies, and visitors went in and out of the wards. It was still light outside. Danny put his hands in his pockets and stared out the window. “I was born in this hospital,” he said quietly. “The day before yesterday was the first time I’d been in it since I was born.”

  “I was born here, too,” I said. “It never occurred to me.”

  “I thought of it yesterday in the elevator coming up.”

  “I was back here to have my tonsils out, though. Didn’t you ever have your tonsils out?”

  “No. They never bothered me.” He sat there with his hands in his pockets, staring out the window. “Look at that. Look at all those people. They look like ants. Sometimes I get the feeling that’s all we are—ants. Do you ever feel that way?”

  His voice was quiet, and there was an edge of sadness to it,

  “Sometimes,” I said.

  “I told it to my father once.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He didn’t say anything. I told you, he never talks to me except when we study. But a few days later, while we were studying, he said that man was created by God, and Jews had a/mission in life.”

  “What mission is that?”

  “To obey God.”

  “Don’t you believe that?”

  He looked slowly away from the window. I saw his deep blue eyes stare at me, then blink a few times. “Sure I believe it,” he said quietly. His shoulders were bowed. “Sometimes I’m not sure I know what God wants, though.”