The Sea Beach Line (11 page)

My mother believed the postcard easily enough, but she had cut Alojzy out of her life long ago. Becca, I assumed, felt the same way.

I knew this: three times Alojzy had left me, and twice he'd returned. There should be a third return, to even out the balance. There was never any way to know when Alojzy would and would not appear. There were lots of times he had been gone when he was supposed to be around, and that was a big part of why my mother had divorced him. But then there were other times—like my bar mitzvah—where Alojzy had appeared unexpectedly.

Alojzy had actually helped me prepare for my bar mitzvah, on my Sheepshead Bay visits. Growing up under communism, he hadn't had much religious education himself, but he was fluent in Hebrew, having gone through the military ulpan and lived in Israel for seven years.

Modern Hebrew and Biblical Hebrew are not so different from each other as people will tell you. Hebrew is Hebrew. My mom had agreed to let me bring him an invitation, but he knew as well as I did she didn't want him there, and none of us really pictured him showing up to a family event on Long Island.

My Torah portion was Exodus 30:11–16,
Parshat Shekalim
. It deals with the taking of a census, and how many shekels each person should pay as a tax (it's one-half of a shekel). The portion is about obligations, Bernie told me. Responsibilities. The corresponding haftarah passage is 1 Kings 1:1–17. There's more exciting stuff in there. It tells of Moab's army facing off against Elijah the Tishbite. At Elijah's behest, fire comes down from heaven and consumes one hundred and two enemies of Israel.

“I also,” Alojzy told me during one of these tutoring sessions, a few weeks before the bar mitzvah, “have seen fire come down from heaven and consume enemies of Israel.”

“What do you mean?” I asked. “This was Bible times.”

“Bible times, sure, also Bible land. In Israel, such things continue to happen. 1973, I was called back up and sent up to the Golan. We called in an air strike against the Syrians. I watched through binoculars. It is a horrible thing to see. They should have written that in the book, as well.” I recalled times when he woke up shouting in the middle of the night. Crying out names in Hebrew, moaning in pain. This must be why. He didn't say anything else about the war, and we went back to trying to scratch a passably fricative
chet
sound out of my smooth American throat.

When the big day arrived, I chanted my way through the portion without any great embarrassment. As I stood on the bimah and took that first sip of wine from my shiny new kiddush cup, I caught a glimpse of Alojzy sneaking out the side. I hoped our eyes would meet and he would wink, but he didn't look back. His eyes were focused on the door. The important thing was, he'd come. He'd been there.

All these years later, I still found myself half expecting to catch a glimpse of Alojzy sneaking away. Now I was in his space, very close to him, surrounded by his books and drawings, and yet he still didn't show himself. I couldn't be sure the footsteps I heard passing by the locked storage-unit door weren't his.

The stock half of the space, closer to the door, packed full with boxes of books, contrasted sharply with the hidden living space. The living space felt more like a tiny apartment, but had plenty of books too. Some were probably excess stock that had spilled over from the other side. There were the sketchbooks, of course. A half dozen crime novels by people like David Goodis sat right next to the lantern, and were evidently Alojzy's nighttime reading. Two tall stacks of damaged books also sat by the bed, and there were supplies—X-Acto knives, glue, and so one—on top of them, so presumably Alojzy did some repair work while sitting in bed.

Several radios, two intact and the others in pieces, were piled in the corner, next to a set of screwdrivers. Did he use the radios to listen to the weather? Did he listen to the news at night? Alojzy had always been a keen follower of international events. He had to be, having been at their whim so many times. I tried to imagine his evenings in here as best I could. How long had he been living here? If I'd come six months earlier, instead of sitting in my dorm room, would I have found him here, fiddling with a radio antenna?

Behind the mattress was a plastic chest. Inside were clothing and blankets. I was cold, and pulled out one of his sweaters to wear. Wherever Alojzy had gone, he wasn't able to take all of his clothes. Maybe he'd only been able to take a suitcase or backpack with him. Maybe he thought he'd be back soon and that was all he'd need.

I'd seen Alojzy leave New York in a hurry before, back when he had a van. It was the last time I saw him, and a shameful memory, at that, because I'd failed him. This was three and a half years after my bar mitzvah, when I was sixteen. Alojzy had called, and said he wanted to
come see me in person. He didn't mind driving out to Long Island, but he didn't want to run into my mother at the house. I told him it was okay, I would be the only one around. My mom and Bernie would be gone all day.

He pulled up in his white van. The inside of that van was a lot like the inside of the storage space. He got out of the van and leaned against the side, waiting for me to come to him. He was wearing a Yankees cap, and all his gold chains. When I made it across the lawn to him, he gave me a manly hug.

“This is the house?” He looked over my shoulder with apprehension. He had never been there before. I think the house was bigger than he expected.

“Yeah. We live here. You want to come inside?”

“No. I don't want to go in there.” His family had been taken from him, and relocated to this suburban house. Of course he didn't want to go inside.

“I think they have some Sam Adams in the fridge.” I knew they did, because I'd been pilfering them all day. “If you want a beer?”

“No, not right now. You doing all right, boychik?”

“Sure.” I was confused. Had he driven all the way out into the suburbs just to check up on me? It felt strange to be standing beside him on a green lawn. I associated him with pavement.

“How is Becca?”

“She's good. She's still up at school, until May.”

“Yes. I know. Boston. Boston College.”

“Boston University.” I felt bad correcting him. There was no reason he should know the difference between the schools.

“Yes. Boston University. She is doing well in her studies?”

“I don't know. I guess so.” She always got good grades. She was competitive, and it was important to her to do better than the other kids.

“She has a field of study?”

“A major? Marketing, I think.”

“Marketing? Ah. Advertising. Selling. Smart. She is like her papa.

“Listen.
Takhlis
: I have something going on, out West. Something big. I'm going out there now.” I didn't know what “something going
on” meant exactly. He never told me too much about his hustles. All I really knew was that he made “deals” from time to time, and that he would be flush with cash afterward.

“Right now?”

“Yes. It is sudden. But the situation out there.” It was only later that I realized I never even asked where “out there” was. I knew he went west, but I didn't know what state. “And the situation here. You know, I could use a partner.”

“A partner?”

“
Tak
, road partner, business partner. You interested?”

“You want me to help you?” How could I help him?

“Sure. Who else would I turn to, buddy, except my own flesh and blood?”

“I don't know. I'd like to.”

“Nu?” He needed an answer. Did I want to man up, and head out into the world? “I can't just go,” I said. “I mean, I have school . . .” It was very sunny out. A man was watering his lawn across the street. He eyed the Astro van suspiciously. I really felt as if I couldn't go. Packing my backpack and getting in the van seemed impossible.

“What's that Jew prick looking at?” Alojzy said. He gave the neighbor a hard look. The neighbor turned off the hose and went inside his garage. Alojzy turned back to me and sighed.

He looked sad. Something bigger than the trip was slipping away—a whole part of what I could do and who I could be—but I was scared to grab it. I thought about the moment many times over the years, and that was the only explanation I could ever come back to: fear. The moment passed completely, the two of us standing there silent, and then it was gone.

“Of course,” Alojzy said. “Of course. You should be in school. You are a real good fella. Study hard. Go to Boston University.”

“I'll see you before then.” I was sure I would.

“Of course. I'll see you soon.”

“Maybe I could go with you, if, just in a couple days. If I talked to Mom—” I was already regretting the scene, even as it was still unfolding.

“No. You're right. It was just a thought I had. You should be in school. You don't need to get mixed up in my endeavors.” It was clear to me even then that he didn't believe this, that he was just giving me an easy way to punk out and still save face. But I took it.

We talked a little more. He didn't want to stick around the house for too long, for fear of seeing my mother. We ended up going to the Dairy Queen for sloppy joes, and then he dropped me back at the house. We didn't talk too much while we ate, though at one point he said that if anyone ever came asking about him, it would be best if I just told them that my father was dead.