The Good, the Bad & the Beagle (8 page)

“Well,” Veronica faltered, “I saw a big wide tree with a lot of shade underneath. Which was weird because I didn’t actually know what a chestnut tree looked like but when I looked it up it looked just like I’d imagined it.”

“Did anyone else research what a chestnut tree looks like?”

“I wanted to, but I was scared it would be cheating?” Melody Jenkins said. Veronica’s cheeks flushed.

“It is never cheating, Melody, to answer questions that are on your mind,” Ms. Padgett said. “Let’s collaborate as a class by exploring this picture.” Ms. Padgett hung a reproduction of a painting by Renoir on the wall. “This is one man’s picture of a chestnut tree. Does it match what you saw in the poem?” The painting was of a riverbank and a large tree. Before she could control herself Veronica’s arm was in the air. What if she was turning into Melody Jenkins?

“Veronica?” Ms. Padgett asked.

“Well, not to knock Renoir or anything, but if I was going to illustrate the poem, I would pick another picture.”

“Why?”

“Because to me the poem is saying there is no end to the tree. The branches, the leaves, the bark, the chestnuts are all the same thing. So when I think of that I think of just one giant tree. Not a landscape. Although I guess that picture could be saying the whole world is connected, which reminds me of Morning Verse. The way it says that the sun and the stars and the beasts and the rocks are all kind of connected inside us.” Veronica had never talked so much in front of a class before in her entire life.

“Excellent!” Ms. Padgett said. “You know, girls, most of us have been saying that verse every day for so long, I wonder if any of us give it any thought anymore. It’s good that Veronica reminds us.” Veronica blushed. Her cup runneth over. Ms. Padgett had complimented her in front of the whole class! But what if the other girls thought she was trying to be the teacher’s pet? She’d never be able to keep the proverbial glass full. Mary would be so disappointed.

Poopularity

After French, Veronica overheard Darcy Brown, three lockers down, telling Becky Shickler how shocking it was that Veronica hadn’t gone to the party.

“I would
never
not go,” Becky said. “Even if I didn’t want to. She must have a death wish.”

Seriously? How could it be such a big deal if she was or wasn’t at a party? Half the kids probably didn’t even know her name yet, and if Sarah-Lisa was the kind of person who liked to embarrass people, Veronica was glad she didn’t go anyway. No, Melody’s prediction of popularity was not in her future.

She put her books in her locker and got her lunch. She dreaded the cafeteria. She obviously wasn’t going to sit with the A Team and Melody had left early for opera practice today. Everyone was already in groups or pairs. There was no spot for her unless she sat with Sylvie, who was at a table alone pulling the spine out of a whole fish.

A voice called her. “Athena wants you to sit with us. She wants to hear about your dog.” Athena waved from across the cafeteria.

Against all better judgment, Veronica followed Sarah-Lisa to the A Team table. She didn’t want to, but she had nowhere else to go.

“Well?” Athena said.

“I got a dog,” Veronica said, but the words came out flat, no cartwheels this time.

“So we heard in social studies. You are such a good citizen for cleaning up after your dog,” Sarah-Lisa said.

“I love dogs,” Becky said. She moved her tray over to make room for Veronica.

“Me too,” Darcy said.

“Is your dog a him or a her?” Athena asked.

“A him,” Veronica said. She caught herself looking at Sarah-Lisa for permission to continue. “His name is Cadbury,” Veronica said finally. “He’s a lemon beagle and he weighs twenty-four pounds and he is white with caramel spots, except he has a dark brown triangle under his front right arm-leg and he has the cutest, softest, most velvety ears in the entire hemisphere.”

Just thinking about Cadbury made the day so much better. She missed him!

“More,” Darcy said.

“Do you have a picture?” Athena asked.

Veronica wanted to throw her arms around her.

She produced a photo from inside her pencil box. It was just on regular paper, not the shiny kind, but still. It was Cadbury.

“He’s darling!” Becky said.

“Ohhh!” Athena said. “Look, Sarah-Lisa!”

“The polite thing to do, Veronica, is at least RSVP,” Sarah-Lisa said, giving the picture right back. She’d barely even looked. “Didn’t your parents teach you anything?”

Blood rushed to Veronica’s ears. She was so mad she believed she had the strength to lift the table, which was bolted to the floor, and actually throw it at Sarah-Lisa.

Darcy and Becky looked a little bit embarrassed, but no one said anything.

Sarah-Lisa, meanwhile, was unpacking the most exotic-looking sushi Veronica had ever seen. She even had red chopsticks that were tapered at the ends and a ceramic dish for soy sauce. Athena, on the other hand, was eating school lunch. Why was Athena friends with her?

Coco Weitzner plunked her tray down. “What did I miss?”

“Not much,” Sarah-Lisa said. She lifted a scallop with her chopsticks and scowled. “Veronica was talking about her dog.”

Veronica’s temperature went up ten more degrees. Maybe Sarah-Lisa would get food poisoning and die.

“Oh. Victoria, did you really get a dog on Friday?”

“Yes,” Veronica said. “But my name is Veronica.”

“Oh sorry. Ooh, I love spicy tuna roll. Can I have one?” Coco said. “What kind of dog?”

Sarah-Lisa held up a piece of spicy tuna roll. “Athena, do you want one?”

“No, I’m good,” Athena said, flashing a smile. “Coco can have it.”

Sarah-Lisa dropped one piece of spicy tuna roll on Coco’s tray. Veronica unscrewed her wide-mouth thermos. Nothing fancy—noodles with butter and tomato sauce—but made just how she liked. She dug in her lunch bag for a fork. Her mother had forgotten to pack one.

“Wow. Is that pasta?” Sarah-Lisa said. Was this another dig? Veronica wondered. “You are so lucky.”

“Veronica, do you need a fork?” Athena said. “Sarah-Lisa’s cook always packs one. Like you need a fork for sushi.”

“Yeah, duh. Here, take mine.” Sarah-Lisa handed over her fork.

“Yeah, duh,” Veronica said. “Mine always forgets one too.” She didn’t mention that her cook was her mother.

“Back to your dog,” Coco said.

“Yes!” said Becky. “Your dog!”

“A puppy?” Darcy asked.

“Yes,” Veronica said. “He’s so cute and I wanted him for months and I love him so much.”

“Athena, do I have something in my teeth?” Athena inspected her friend’s canines before declaring them perfect. Then Athena asked Sarah-Lisa if she had anything between her teeth even though she hadn’t eaten anything.

“Yes. Upper left,” Sarah-Lisa said. Athena rummaged around in her shoulder bag, which contained more beauty products than Veronica could even identify. She pulled out a compact mirror and a toothpick.

Sylvie meandered by the table, a book propped open on her tray next to a pile of fish bones. “Oh, man,” she said, “is that quinoa?”

“According to the lunch menu it is,” Athena said, “but it looks like poop on top of throw up. You want it?”

Sylvie said yes and dug in. Apparently her whole fish hadn’t satisfied her.

“Oh, by the way,” Sylvie said between mouthfuls, “how was your party?”

“My
party
was amazing,” Sarah-Lisa said.

“Yeah. I bet,” Sylvie said with what Veronica thought might be sarcasm. She thanked Athena for the quinoa, curtsied, and walked away.

“That girl is so weird,” Sarah-Lisa said. “What is her problem?”

God and the Cultural Jew

Veronica walked home wondering why there always had to be a Sarah-Lisa Carver or a Cricket Cohen in her life. A person capable of throwing her off balance and making her doubt her own legitimacy. She wanted to feel glorious and confident all the time, like in class when she spoke up and Ms. Padgett praised her.

She told her parents about what a great teacher Ms. Padgett was and about the Randolf traditions of Morning Meeting and Morning Verse. At six o’clock the doorbell rang, the deliveryman was tipped, and Mr. and Mrs. Morgan unpacked dinner while Veronica set the table.

Cadbury was at her heels the entire time. He was clearly the submissive one of the pair, but Veronica knew he wasn’t suffering from feelings of doubt or insecurity. She never sent him mixed messages like Cricket or was mean like Sarah-Lisa. She was a better friend. He knew he was loved, she was sure of it.

“I want to get back to this Morning Meeting Verse business,” Mr. Morgan said. “Marion, did you know about this? Where’s the beef with broccoli?”

“Marvin, we talked about it at the interview with Mrs. Harrison. You were right there, honestly. You are holding the beef.”

Veronica helped herself to Buddha’s delight and settled her feet on top of Cadbury, who was again conveniently located under her chair.

“Oh right. And I thought it was crap then too,” Veronica’s father said. He plunked some beef on his plate. “What happened to the separation of church and state?”

“I’m not in church. I’m in school,” Veronica said. She looked over at her mother and they both smiled.

“What are they teaching her over there?” her father demanded.

“
She
is right here,” her mother said, gesturing.

“I will tell you what they are teaching her, religion disguised as a cockamamy poem,” her father said, stabbing a dumpling with his fork.

Veronica had no idea what he was talking about. She recited Morning Verse in her head. The word
God
wasn’t in it. “What’s the big deal?” she asked. “We’re Jewish, aren’t we?”

“Yes, we are. We most certainly are. But we don’t believe in God,” her father said. “We’re cultural Jews, we believe in Chinese food and
The New Yorker
.”

As far as Veronica was concerned, this explained nothing. “But we celebrate Rosh Hashanah and Passover every year. We sat shiva for Bubby. Are those cultural?”

“Ask your mother,” her father said. “And while you’re at it, ask her why we have a Christmas tree.”

Mrs. Morgan rolled her eyes. It was hard for Veronica to tell how serious tonight’s rant was. Sometimes her father just liked to argue.

“Well,” her mother said, pausing with a piece of tofu between her chopsticks, “I grew up following certain traditions and performing certain rituals. A shiva is a way of mourning. I thought my mother would have wanted me to honor her that way. Passover is a tradition. Rosh Hashanah is a tradition. I don’t really think of them as religious. Passover’s a dinner. We do it at home. I love Passover. Don’t you?”

“I guess,” Veronica said. “But the whole thing is about how God saved the Jews and how God parted the water. God is sort of the main character in the story.”

“You’re right,” her father said. “But it’s just a story. And I don’t believe it to be anything more. And I like the food at Passover. Can I have the … what is that there?”

“Shrimp, Marvin. They are called shrimp.”

“Okay, so, you’re into being Jewish but not into God, right, Daddy?”

“I’m not into being Jewish. I am Jewish.”

“You know, Marvin, my father said there are only two kinds of Jews in the world: the self-hating kind and the anti-Semitic kind.”

“I am not anti-Semitic. I just don’t like to be told what to do.”

“By poetry?” Veronica asked, looking at her mother.

“By meaningless ceremony and ritual,” her father said.

“Marvin. What has meaning to other people may not have meaning to you, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t mean anything. People have the right to make meaning in their own way.”

“Touché,” her father said.

Veronica thought the discussion was over. Her mother had won and since she and her mother were on the same team, Veronica had won also. What a relief.

But her father couldn’t let it go. He had to have the last word. “Honestly, Marion, your mother is rolling over in her grave.”

“My mother rolls over in her grave every time you order moo shu pork, Marvin.”

“Well, she’s a lot more upset about your Christmas tree,” Mr. Morgan said, laughing. Veronica didn’t know what to take seriously, so she started laughing too.

*   *   *

Veronica’s grandmother had called the ten days between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur the Days of Awe and she had taken them very seriously. She prayed. She repented. She forgave all who had wronged her. She sought forgiveness from those she had wronged. She considered how to be a better person in the upcoming year and she taught Veronica how to cast off her sins in the East River. On Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement, the adults fasted and the whole family spent the day in temple. This was the day God decided if your name was going to be written into the Book of Life.

After Veronica’s grandmother died the ritual changed. Mrs. Morgan still reflected and fasted but she skipped the temple part and Mr. Morgan skipped everything.

The only thing that didn’t change was shopping for special High Holiday foods at Zabar’s. Three days before Rosh Hashanah, Veronica and her parents walked into the Upper West Side mecca salivating. The cornucopia of treats waiting inside never ceased to thrill.

“I wish we could have brought Cadbury,” Veronica said. “How much fun would he have sniffing around Zabar’s?”

“He’d be trampled before we made it to the fish counter. Marion, this is insanity. I told you we have to get here earlier. Every year I say let’s get here earlier! What’s wrong with us?” Every year he complained. Complaining had become part of their tradition.

Veronica sampled a Lebanese fig Zabar’s always carried for the holidays.

“How’s that fig?” her father asked. Veronica gave her father what was left of hers and took another. She looked up at the number box. It said
Now Serving 83
. In her hand she held a sweaty
139
.

“Lovey, will you take the list and get what’s on it while Daddy and I wait on this ridiculous line?” Veronica loved that people might think she was at Zabar’s shopping by herself so she happily agreed.