Wednesday the Rabbi Got Wet (8 page)

“I got the news broadcast while you were out,” his wife told him. “They said the storm was going out to sea and we’re just getting the edge of it, a kind of backlash, they expect it’ll be over in an hour or so.”

“Whether it’s the real thing or just the backlash, it’s pretty bad. I think I’ll pass up Kaplan’s meeting and stay home.”

His wife was doubtful. “I don’t know, Dan, Al Muntz seemed to think it was important, from what you said.”

“Well, what if they called it off? I’d feel like an awful fool coming there in this kind of storm and there’s no party.”

“Wouldn’t they have phoned?”

“Sure, but they may have called earlier, and we’ve been away all day.”

“So why don’t you call them?”

“Yeah, I guess I will.” He picked up the phone. “No dial tone,” he announced, he tried dialing anyway, but there was no answer, he jiggled the hook and then dialed the operator, he listened intently with the instrument pressed tight against his ear. Finally, he replaced it on its hook. “Out of order. Funny, it was all right a few minutes ago when I called the drugstore, maybe that last lightning bolt hit a transformer, or the line may be down.”

“I’ll tell you what you do, Dan. Drive over there. If the place is all lit up and there are a bunch of cars outside, you’ll know it’s all right and you’ll go in. If it’s dark, or just ordinary lit, and there are no cars, you’ll know it’s been called off and you’ll come home.”

“Yeah, I guess that’s what I’ll do.”

Safferstein carefully tucked the two small manila envelopes, each with its bottle of pills, into the pocket of his raincoat. It was raining now, so he put up his coat collar and dashed out to his car. No sooner had he set the car in motion when a lightning flash momentarily made everything bright as day, a crash of thunder followed immediately, and then the skies opened and the rain came pelting down in large drops that danced on the black asphalt road, a continuous sheet of water coursed down his windshield, and his wipers were powerless to clear the glass, the windshield began to steam up and he put on the defroster, but to no avail, he pulled up under a lamppost and shut off the motor. This can’t last long, he thought.

“Well, that was quick,” Mrs. Cohen said as her husband opened the door and wriggled out of his coat. “The place was dark, huh?”

“I didn’t get to it, there’s a tree lying across the road, right at the corner. I had to back up all the way to Baird Street to turn around.”

“Oh, that big old elm? What a shame! Maybe you ought to call the police and tell them.”

“And how am I going to call them? With smoke signals?”

“What I’m trying to get is a consensus.” Chester Kaplan urged. “Now are we all agreed that it’s pointless for the temple to retain and operate the Goralsky property?”

The response was general and immediate.

“Oh, sure. Who wants to be bothered collecting rents?”

“Or making repairs, or renting a vacant store.”

“You can always get some real estate company to manage it for us,” Abner Fisher pointed out.

“Yeah, and they take ten percent of the gross.”

“Five percent,” Fisher corrected.

“So five percent, and they don’t do a damn thing except collect rents. I know. I’m with you, Chet, that we should sell the property, but can we, according to the terms of Goralsky’s will?”

“Believe me, it’s okay,” Kaplan said quickly. “The will reads – and I’m quoting it exactly – ‘To the temple I bequeath the store block known as the Goralsky Block with the land thereunto adjoining.’ Then he goes on to give the boundaries and then he says – now get this – ‘.., so that the temple may derive therefrom an annual income to help meet the ordinary expenses of operation, or for the purpose of erecting a building such as a religious school or a permanent residence for the incumbent rabbi, or for any similar purpose that will be to the interest and advantage of the temple.’ Now as far as I’m concerned, that last clause does it, we can use the property any way we want as long as it is to the interest and advantage of the temple. Right, Paul?”

Paul Goodman, who was also a lawyer, nodded. “That’s the way I read it.”

“And I’d say selling it and using the money to buy a place for a permanent retreat is definitely to the interest and advantage of the temple,” Kaplan pressed on. “And the time to sell is now, because we’ve got an offer that we won’t see again in a hurry.”

“Well, what I want to know is why is Bill Safferstein offering such a high price for the property?” asked Abner Fisher, who frequently played devil’s advocate to the group.

Kaplan turned toward the questioner, his face full of candor. “I don’t know, Abner, all I know is what I said to some of you already. I was telling Bill Safferstein about the last retreat, he wasn’t at that one, see? The monsignor came down and we got to talking and he said how the church was willing to sell the property. Now, the price he mentioned seemed to me like a steal. I told Bill that for a hundred grand we could buy it and fix it up. So he said, ‘Tell you what, I’ll give you a hundred grand for the Goralsky property.’ I thought he was kidding, but he wrote out a check right then and there for a thousand dollars as an earnest against his offer to buy. Now that’s all I know, maybe that’s his way of making a contribution to the temple.”

“Cummon!” Abner Fisher was derisive. “Billy Safferstein is a nice guy, and generous, but paying that kind of money for a block of crappy stores, and with one of them vacant yet –”

“I got a letter the other day from the drugstore asking for a renewal on his lease,” Kaplan interposed.

“All right, so there’s one good store in the block, but it still doesn’t explain –”

“That’s how Bill operates.” Paul Goodman said. “You ever play poker with him? When his luck is running, he plays it to the hilt. Say., the betting is going a chip at a time, he’ll say, ‘Let’s drive out the buttonhole makers,’ and kick it up five, and he buys real estate the same way. When I was liquidating the Harrington estate, he bid seventy-five grand for the land when the other operators were offering bids in the low fifties. Naturally, he got it, and then he split it up into about a hundred lots and peddled them off for an average of three thousand apiece and made himself a sweet little bundle, after he bought it, I told him he could have got it for twenty thousand less, and you know what he said? ‘I never try to buy a property as cheap as possible, that way you’re in competition with the other operators, they keep kicking each other up and before you know it, you’re paying more than you intended and more than it’s worth. I always figure what a property is worth to me, and that’s what I offer, that way you discourage the competition. It takes the heart right out of them.’”

“Well,” said Kaplan, “all I know is, it’s one hellova good price, and if we don’t take it, we all ought to go see some shrink and have our heads examined.”

“I admit it’s a good price and I think we ought to sell.” said Fisher.

“But I want to know if the place up in Petersville is a good buy and is it the place we want for a permanent retreat.”

“You’ve been up there, Abner. You’ve seen it.”

“Yeah, but I was there on a retreat. I saw it but I didn’t check it over like I would if it were a place I was going to buy.”

“Well sure, Abner, that’s why I’m arranging for a retreat for this weekend. It’ll give us a chance to look over the place, we can decide while we’re up there and then come back and vote on it formally at Sunday’s board meeting.”

“It’ll be a regular retreat?”

“You bet. Rabbi Mezzik will be there, and the rebbitzin to serve the Sabbath meal and bless the candles, then Saturday, we can take a real good look at the place and come to a decision –”

“How about transacting business on the Sabbath, Chet?” Kaplan grinned. “I figure this is holy business, so it’s all right.”

A police cruiser passed, slowed down and parked just ahead of him, the patrolman in a yellow slicker got out and came over, he shone his flashlight through the window.

“Why, it’s Mr. Safferstein? Anything the matter?”

Safferstein lowered his window. “No, nothing wrong, officer. It was just coming down so fast that my wipers couldn’t handle it, and then the windshield got steamed up. I thought I’d pull up here and wait a little while.”

“You want to leave your car here and we can drive you home in the cruiser?”

“No, it’s letting up a little now. I’ll be all right.”

“Anything we can do for you?”

“No, thanks just the same – well, maybe you can at that. I promised to deliver these pills…”

Mrs. Kestler peered anxiously out the window and said doubtfully, “It’s let up some, Rabbi, but it’s still coming down pretty hard. Hadn’t you better wait a while?”

But he was anxious to get to the Kaplan At Home. “No, that’s all right,” he said, “I’ll make a run for it. My car is right in front of the house.”

The rabbi opened the door, momentarily stood in the protection of the porch and then dashed down the stairs and along the front walk to his car, he had intended to get in on the passenger side, which was next to the curb, and then slide over behind the wheel, but the door was locked, as he fished for his keys, a sudden gust of wind shook the branches of the trees, showering him with the water from their rain-laden leaves. Now thoroughly drenched, he remembered that the lock did not work well and required considerable jiggling of the key to open from the outside. In racing around to the driver’s side, he stepped into the deep puddle that had formed along the curb and he uttered an unrabbinic and uncharacteristic oath.

At last behind the wheel, but soaked and uncomfortable, he thought. “I’d better get right home and get out of these clothes or Miriam will have a fit.”

Although the force of the storm had lessened considerably, the rain continued in a heavy downpour. Safferstein had to drive almost to the end of the street before he could find a place to park, a good fifty yards beyond the Kaplan house. But he turned up his collar and, with hands thrust deep in the pockets, he trudged back along the line of cars, arriving at the house, he quickly mounted the steps to the sanctuary of the porch, he paused, listening to the sounds from within. Noticing that the door was ajar, he pushed it open and entered.

Instantly, he found himself in an atmosphere of masculine gaiety and good fellowship, the large reception hall, the adjoining living room and the dining room beyond were full of men standing around in groups, talking, laughing, arguing. When they caught sight of Safferstein, they hailed him jovially.

“Hi, Billy.”

“Hyuh, Billy, old boy.”

“Hey; there’s Bill Safferstein.”

From the tone of their greeting, he suspected that Kaplan had already told them of his offer to buy the Goralsky property and that they approved.

He took off his coat and looked around for a place to put it, there were large piles of coats on several chairs in the reception hall, but since his was wet, he hesitated to place it on top of them.

Kaplan greeted him and then whispered, “It’s all set.” Taking his coat, he said, “It’s wet, I better hang it up in the closet.” Kaplan draped it on a hanger and then pushed the mass of coats along the closet rod and insinuated Safferstein’s. “How’s Mona? She okay now?”

“I went to get her some medicine and the driving was so bad I thought I’d stop here till it lets up a little.”

“You bet. Come and have a glass of beer.”

“Coffee would be better if you’ve got it.”

“Sure. One coffee coming up.”

“Say, can I use your phone?”

“Right there.”

He dialed his house. It was the maid who answered. “Hilda? How’s Mrs. Safferstein?… Oh, good. If she wakes up, tell her I stopped off at the Kaplans because of the storm, and I’ll be along later.”

Mrs. Kestler leaned over the banister and called down to her husband below. “Joe, come quick. Your father – he sounds terrible.”

He ran up the stairs. “Hey, Pa, what’s the matter? You all right?” To his wife he snarled. “Don’t just stand there, dummy. Call the doctor.”

She hurried downstairs, he could hear her dialing and then talking but he could not make out what she was saying, he went down to join her, and she turned to him, her hand cupping the receiver. “It’s the answering service, she wants to know what’s the matter and she’ll notify Dr. Cohen.”

Grabbing the phone out of her hand, he shouted into it. “Look, lady, my father is acting up from some pill Doc Cohen gave him. You get hold of him and tell him to get his ass over here right away. Understand?” He banged down the receiver.

“Oh, Joe, I don’t think you should have talked to her like that. You know, out of spite they can –”

“She better not. I could sue her for everything she’s got down to her panties. You go and stay with him. I’ll wait here by the phone.”

“Oh, Joe, I’m afraid.”

“Afraid? What’s to be afraid of?”

“I don’t know, he looks so – so funny.”

“Go on. I want to be here to answer the phone when the doc calls. You, he could give fifty-seven varieties of crap.”

Reluctantly, she started for the stairs, the phone rang, and she paused.

“Yeah, Who?”

“I’m Dr. DiFrancesca.” said the voice over the phone. “Dr. Cohen can’t be reached. His phone appears to be out of order. I’m standing in for him. What’s the matter?”

“Well, he gave him this pill, and now he’s having trouble breathing.”

“I see. I think we’d better get him to the hospital. I’ll call the police, and they’ll send the ambulance. I’ll alert the hospital that he’s coming.”

“And what happens if he gets worse on the way to the hospital?”

“Well.., well, all right. I’ll have the ambulance stop and get me and I’ll come by with them.”

“Hey, Chet, got an extra one of those maps?”

“Sure, Howard, plenty, help yourself.” Chester Kaplan held out a sheaf of Xeroxed sheets showing the route to the campsite where the retreat was to be held. “Now you’re coming for sure, aren’t you?”

“Would I give you my check for twenty-five bucks if I didn’t plan to make the scene?”

Since the rain had let up a little, many of the guests began to leave, taking advantage of the lull in the storm, with much jovial humor, they moved toward the hall to get their hats and coats.