That Day the Rabbi Left Town (16 page)

“I see. And are you going to the North Shore for Thanksgiving, or is your husband coming into Boston?”

“Oh, I guess I'll go to Barnard's Crossing. Lew is in town on business today and I'll probably drive back with him. He said he'd stop by the English office around four when he gets through. If you're around, come up to the English office; I'd like you to meet him.”

“I'm afraid not,” said the rabbi. “I'm starting out for home right now.”

As the rabbi made his way to Kenmore station, it seemed to him that the snow was falling faster and the wind had picked up considerably. Although much of the sidewalk had been cleared in front of the stores that lined his route, he was glad that he had worn his rubbers, and when he had to cross a street and had to climb over the mounds that the snowplows had piled up, he wished that he had worn overshoes.

The plows were out in full force and Assistant Professor Morris, a new man, watched gloomily from the window of the English office as one of them came lumbering down Clark Street.

“I'm plowed in,” he announced.

Professor Sugrue, head of the department, came and stood beside him.

“I'm sure you can get one of the janitors to shovel you out,” he said.

“Maybe. But even if I did get shoveled out, where would I park?”

“You've got a point there,” Sugrue admitted. “So how will you get home?”

“Oh, that's no problem; I'll take the streetcar.”

In Barnard's Crossing, Rabbi Selig looked out at the white expanse and thought that at last he was going to get a chance to use the snowblower. His wife had put on her fur coat and was now pulling on her gloves.

“You're not going to your class today, are you?”

“And whyever not?”

“Well, you'll have no trouble getting out to the road because it's been plowed, but where will you park when you get there?”

“Where I always park, in the garage half a block away. It's an important class; we're just finishing torts.”

He watched her maneuver her car down the slope of their driveway and then he donned his mackinaw and went out into the garage. He rubbed his hands as he approached the snow-blower. He wheeled it out of the corner where it was kept, to the open door. Then, grasping the wooden handle on the starter rope, he pulled. The engine did not start, but it gave an encouraging cough. He rewound the rope and tried again. The third time the engine started and he listened to its drumroll as he might to a favorite symphony. He pushed the blower out of the garage and into the snow, and he glowed with pleasure and a kind of pride as he saw the white arc of snow that the blower threw up.

The town plow, which had cleared half the road when Susan Selig had driven off, had by this time returned to do the other half and had sealed off the driveway, but Rabbi Selig pushed his blower into the mound, and although he had to pull back and push forward several times, he was able to clear the driveway to the road. When he had cleared a path a car-width wide, he stopped to rest and realized that his hands and face were freezing, so he wheeled the blower back into the garage, satisfied that Susan would have no trouble coming up the driveway when she came home.

Professor Miller's three-o'clock class was used to getting out early on Wednesdays, and this Wednesday he did not disappoint them; he ended the class a good twenty minutes before the hour. He hurried to the English office to get his things. Professor Kent was there awaiting him.

“Oh, there you are, Thorvald. I canceled my four-o'clock. I've got to change for this formal affair up in Breverton, so if you'll hang around for a while, you can drive me up to Barnard's Crossing and—”

“I came in by train and I'll be going home by train.”

“We can use my car, dear boy.”

“Yes, but I have an appointment that I—I can't break.”

“Oh, of course. It's Wednesday and you have an appointment every Wednesday afternoon. And what time do you expect to get home?”

“I don't know,” said Miller as he edged toward the door. “Six or half past.”

“Then perhaps I'll drive up myself. The radio report a little while ago said the main roads have been cleared. Perhaps I'll stop off at your place and visit with your good mother for a while. Then when you get home, you can whisk me up to Breverton in my car, take it back home with you, and then pick me up when the party is over. You can come over for a minute, to do my tie, can't you?”

“Well, just for a minute.”

The phone rang in the Small apartment, and the rabbi answered. It was Bergson, who said, “Look, David, the roads are clear, but I'm guessing that you're reluctant to drive out tomorrow.”

“That's right.”

“The radio reports the State Road is clear, but plan on taking the train. You let me know which train and I'll meet you at the station. Okay?”

“Fine. I'll call you tomorrow morning.”

“By the way, David, we've invited the Seligs, too. Is that all right with you? I mean it will present no problem? You're on good terms with them?”

“Oh, sure. I look forward to seeing them.”

When Sarah McBride entered the English office at a few minutes before four, Professor Miller was obviously on the point of leaving. The phone rang and he picked it up. “For you,” he said, and handed her the receiver.

It was Lew. “Look, sweetheart, I've got to be here for another half hour or so, maybe an hour, so I'll pick you up at your apartment.”

“Maybe I could come and meet you. Are you at the courthouse?”

“No, I'm at the Lawyers' Building on Cornhill.”

“Where are you parked?”

“I didn't drive in. I took the bus. We'll have to take the bus home.”

“You're almost three blocks from the bus stop in Barnard's Crossing, and the snow must be a foot high there,” she objected.

“Yeah, and they're not likely to have plowed Endicott. Look, we could take the train and get a cab at Swampscott station.”

“The last time we took the train to Swampscott, we had to hang around for a half hour or more waiting for the cab we called.”

“You're right. Look, why don't you go on home. Then tomorrow morning, you call me and tell me what train you can come in on and I'll pick you up at Swampscott.”

“Yes, I think that'll be better.”

“Love you.”

When Professor Kent opened the door in response to Professor Miller's ring, he was shaved, had bathed, and was fully dressed except that the ends of his bow tie hung down on his shirt. Professor Miller surveyed him and said, “Very nice. I've only got a couple of minutes. I should think you'd at least try to tie your tie. What if I couldn't make it?”

“It's this tendinitis in my left shoulder,” said Kent. “I can't raise my arm, and when the weather is bad as it is today, I can barely raise it above my waist. But I was sure you'd come by.”

“All right, turn around.”

Kent turned and faced the oval mirror on the wall, and Miller crossed the ends of the tie, pulling them tight.

“A-a-rgh!”

“A bit tight, is it?” asked Miller. “All right, I'll loosen it a little.” He made a loop of one end, and then pulled the other end through to make the second loop. “Now, how's that? That's a pretty good bow if I do say so myself.”

Professor Kent nodded.

It was five o'clock when Susan Selig called her husband. “We're having a short break,” she announced, “and we shall be finishing torts. We always have a little party when we finish a section, and it's my turn. Nothing elaborate, just coffee and doughnuts. So is the driveway cleared?”

“I cleared it right after you left.”

“But a lot of snow has fallen since.”

“So I'll run over it again. Er—how many of you will there be?”

“About a dozen. Why?”

“I mean, how many cars?”

“Oh, five or six. Maybe as many as eight.”

“Then I'd better clear the whole terrace.”

“It's not too much work, is it, dear?”

“No, I enjoy it.”

He hung up and went out to sample the air. It seemed even colder than it had been when he first plowed. He came back in, and this time he hunted about and found a stocking hat and mittens and a woolen scarf to wind around his neck under his mackinaw.

Professor Miller found an empty phone booth and dialed his home. To the answering hello, he said, “Ma?”

“No, this is Ada Bronson, Professor. Your ma is lying down.”

“Is she all right?”

“Oh, sure, she's just resting.”

“Is Professor Kent there?”

“Professor Kent? No, there's no one here except your ma and me.”

“Did he phone?”

“Not since I been here. I came at noon.”

“Then I guess he decided to go straight to Breverton. I'm taking the train home. I didn't drive in today because I had trouble with my windshield wiper. I parked at Swampscott. Tell my mother I'm taking the five thirty-two, so I should be home around six.”

It was almost half past five when Professor Miller was able to phone Professor Kent. It was Mrs. Bell who answered.

“Professor Kent is not here,” she said. “He has a party in Breverton, so I guess he's gone there.”

“Did he get someone to take him, or did he try to drive there on his own?”

“I don't know. He was gone by the time I came.”

“Look, Mrs. Bell, would you take a look in the garage in back and see if his car is gone? I'll hold.”

“All right.” A minute or two later, she picked up the phone and said, “The car is gone, so I guess he set out on his own.”

“I guess he thought I wouldn't get back to him in time. It's pretty rough out there, but the main roads appear to be clear. If he should call back, please tell him I called.”

Then Professor Miller dialed his own number. Mrs. Bronson answered.

“This is Professor Miller speaking. Is my mother there?”

“She's lying down.”

“Well, don't disturb her. Just tell me if Professor Kent has arrived.”

“No one is here except me and the missus.”

“Then I guess he went straight on to Breverton. Tell my mother I'm taking the five thirty-two and should be home a little after six.”

“Yeah, you told me.”

“Oh yes, I did, didn't I? Will you be there when I get home?”

“Yeah, I think the missus would like me to stay on until you come.”

The train was crowded and he had to stand. He did not take off his overcoat, but he placed his briefcase on the rack above his head. The train arrived at Swampscott station on time at 5:55. As usual, there was a sizable exodus, and Professor Miller hurried off with the rest. He went directly to where he had parked his car and was gratified to see that because of the overhang of the roof of the station and perhaps the wind direction, there was far less snow on his car than he had feared.

Standing beside his car, he watched the train pull out. “Damn!” he exclaimed. The man brushing the snow off the car next to his looked at him questioningly.

“I left my briefcase on the train. How long before it gets to Salem?”

The man shrugged. “Three, four minutes. I got a timetable in my car if—”

Miller shook his head. “No. I don't suppose I could get there in time.”

“It will probably be in and out of Salem station before you can get your car brushed off. If you call Baggage at North station in Boston, they'll alert the conductor.”

“Yeah. Guess you're right.”

Arrived home, he asked his mother if Kent had called, and when she said that he had not, he said, “He's probably gone straight to Breverton. I suppose he'll call after the party.”

“Is he having Thanksgiving dinner with us?”

“That was the plan, unless one of his classy friends at the party invites him.”

“Well, I think he ought to let us know.”

“He probably will if he thinks of it. Say, I've got to call North station. I left my briefcase on the train.”

“Oh, not the one I bought you for Christmas, Thor?”

“No, not the attaché case. This is the old one with the torn strap. Look up the number, will you, Ma? I've got to have it.”

Antonio Donofrio stared gloomily out of the window of the Bixby Salon as the snow fell. The phone rang, and Lorraine, his wife, the manicurist, picked up the instrument. A moment later she called out, “Another cancellation, Tony. Mrs. Stephenson. She's the last one. She says the latest weather report is for a blizzard.”

“Yeah, but according to all the earlier reports, that's for the western part of the state. Here, on the coast, they expect a couple of inches at the most. But we've been getting cancellations all day long. That's because we've got so many oldies for customers. I'll bet Hair Beautiful isn't getting any cancellations. He gets a lot of younger women, and they're not going to let a little snow keep them from looking their best on Thanksgiving. What we ought to do is aim for the young ones.”

“And what do you suggest?”

“Fix the place up. Look at it. It looks like a—a barbershop. The place should be painted. We ought to have lounge chairs and magazines, and flowers, and pictures—paintings.”

“That takes money, Tony.”

“Not a helluvalot.”

“Oh, no? Well, for your information, the bakery paid twelve hundred dollars to have their place painted. And they didn't do such a hot job.”

“Okay, so say fifteen hundred. And maybe another twenty-five hundred for some new furniture. That's four thousand. That ain't much.”

“And you think that will enable us to compete with Hair Beautiful? No, Tony, we'll always be at a disadvantage. That's because they're on the main street, and we're on a side street.”

“So what we've got to do is advertise. And get a bigger sign. Maybe even some radio and TV advertising. On local TV, an ad would cost us what? Fifty bucks?”