Christmas for Joshua - A Novel (15 page)

Dr. Levinson made a visible effort to control his voice. “Your daughter has changed. She now believes that God does care, that He does forbid the things that you do in violation of His Torah, that He will punish you for those sins.”

“
Debra will never stop loving us.” I turned to leave.

Schlumacher held on to my arm. “What about your grandchildren?”

“
Our
grandchildren!” Dr. Levinson came around the table and stood with us in the middle of the deli, surrounded by Orthodox businessmen eating breakfast while reading newspapers or checking their e-mails. He didn’t seem to mind the lack of privacy. “Think about the next generation! There will be births, circumcision ceremonies, Bar Mitzvahs, weddings. How would you feel to be excluded from all family events? How would your daughter feel? Or are you going to ask others to lie to her again and again?”

I found a chair and dropped into it.

“
Christian, please listen.” Schlumacher sat next to me and put his arm around my shoulder. “My heart and soul go out to you. I’m here to help you, that’s all.”

Taking shallow, quick breaths was all I could do.

“
You must think long-term,” he said. “How can you
not
become a complete Jew?”

Barely able to speak, I said, “But I
am
a complete Jew.”

“
Not in the eyes of Halacha, not in the eyes of your daughter and son-in-law, and not in the eyes of their future children.”

“
We’re family now.” Dr. Levinson crouched by my side, his tone pleading. “Our children are starting a family together. And one day, our grandchildren will ask you tough questions: Grandpa, why do you drive on the Sabbath? Grandpa, why do you eat non-kosher food? Grandpa, are you a shaygetz?”

Put One Foot In Front Of The Other

Aaron showed up at Mendy’s without a coat or a hat, his cheeks red and his fists clenched. He pulled me up and guided me out the door. Dr. Levinson and Rabbi Doctor Schlumacher tagged along until we reached Sixth Avenue. Aaron looked over his shoulder and said something in Yiddish, and they walked away.

“Not feeling well,” I said.

He pressed the crossing button repeatedly. “Can you believe these schmucks?”

“I need to sit down.”

“You’re fine.” The light changed and Aaron pulled me across the avenue. “Let’s get back to the hotel.”

The sidewalk was full of people, rushing to work. We made slow progress along the shop windows.

Grandpa, are you a shaygetz?

“
I’m going to be sick.”

“Keep walking.” He lifted my arm and rested it on his shoulder, but he was too short for me to lean on him, or I’d fall over. “Inhale. The cold air will do you good.”

“
They told me—”

“
Screw those black hats!”

“But they’re right. I’ve lost Debra.” I turned away, bent over, and vomited.

Aaron ran into a store and came back with a fistful of napkins. He wiped my lips and chin. “Here. That’s better. Breathe!”

I gagged but kept it down.

“It’s the kosher coffee.” He patted me on the back. “Doesn’t agree with Christians.”

His attempt at humor was endearing, but I was beyond comforting. My knees buckled and I sat on the pavement, my back to the wall of a building as hundreds of men and women walked by, unaware that my world had collapsed. “Go…get Rebecca…”

Aaron crouched next to me. “Come on, get a grip on yourself.”

“We lost…Debra…”

“That’s nonsense. Debra is married, that’s all. She’ll give you grandkids and—”

“They’ll call me…Grandpa Shaygetz…wash their hands…after touching me.”

Black shoes approached us, with thick rubber soles. My eyes rose and I saw dark-blue pants and a heavy belt, loaded with various holsters and pouches. I looked all the way up to see the lovely face of an Asian woman under an NYPD cap.

“Had too much to drink?” She reached for her shoulder communication piece.

Aaron forced me to my feet. “I’m Dr. Brutsky. This is my colleague. He’s not drunk. We just came from breakfast, and he must have ingested spoiled food.”

She lowered her hand. “You sure about that?”

“Feeling better…already.” I forced myself to walk down the avenue.

With each step I felt better. The cold breeze needled my face, and Aaron kept me going. We turned onto Forty-sixth Street and approached the Muse. The bellman saw us and adjusted his red Santa hat with the fuzzy white brim and the top pom, which he tossed from side to side playfully. A taxi stopped at the curb, and his attention was diverted.

At the revolving door, I examined myself in the glass, brushing a few crumbs from my chin and the front of my coat. “Don’t say a word to Rebecca. I need to think about what just happened before we discuss it.”

“Nothing to discuss.” Aaron pushed the door with its rustling wreath. “Forget about these clowns, you hear me? Debra is coming home on Wednesday. We’ll have our own Sheva Brachot party on Thursday plus a whole week to snap her out of all that Orthodox bullshit. Before you know it, we’ll have Mordechai driving her in your convertible to a Diamondbacks game on Sabbath afternoons.”

I nodded, but knew we had no chance against Mordechai, his family, and their tradition-rich world, which Debra had vowed to join as she stood under the chuppah, not even noticing that her father was excluded. Her new world was ruled by Halacha, which branded me a pariah and forbade its adherents from embracing me as a father or a grandfather—unless I succumbed and allowed Schlumacher to launder me into a kosher Jew through the Orthodox conversion process, requiring me to turn my back on my faith, my friends, and my way of life. It was an impossible choice, and the sweet prospect of having Debra and Mordechai spend their honeymoon with us had just turned sour.

My concern for upsetting Rebecca with a report of the breakfast ambush was unfounded. She was seated in the lounge next to a burning fireplace decorated with red-and-white stockings. Flanking her, in matching high-backed chairs, were Mrs. Levinson and a woman I hadn’t met but immediately guessed who she was. The three of them were laughing out loud at something Mrs. Levinson said.

As I approached, their laughter died down.

Rebecca stood. “That was a short breakfast. What happened?”

“Tell you later.” I turned to Mrs. Levinson. “Thanks again for last night’s dinner. It was an enchanting evening. Truly unreal!”

“We enjoyed your piano playing,” she said, pretending to miss my sarcasm. “You’re very talented.”

“My mother made me practice for an hour every day.” I smiled. “Except on Sundays, of course, when I played at our church.”

“
I love Sheva Brachot dinners,” the third woman said, “always so festive and optimistic.” She was dressed in a long skirt and a tailored jacket, her face lightly made up, her glasses frameless, and her stud earrings carried sizeable, flawless diamonds.

“
And you,” I said, “must be Mrs. Schlumacher.”

“Dr. Zelma Cohen-Schlumacher.” She curtsied and smiled with perfect teeth. “You’re very perceptive.”

“Not always. Your husband managed to fool me.”

Rebecca grabbed my elbow. “
Rusty!
”

“
Christian,” I corrected her.

She groaned.

“
Ladies, please excuse us.” I pointed at the ceiling. “Our packing isn’t done yet, and we’re leaving for home in an hour—and not a moment too soon.”

I could feel their eyes in my back on the way to the elevator. As the doors began to close, Rebecca joined me.

A song came from hidden speakers. “
If you want to change your direction—
”

“
There’s a thought,” she said.

“
But I like my direction.” Looking up, I saw my face reflected in the black glass ball that housed the security camera, making my nose appear huge.

“
Put one foot in front of the other,
” the band sang, “
and soon you’ll be walking across the floor.
”

The doors opened on our floor, and Rebecca stepped out.

“
I like where I am,” I followed her. “Why should I cross over?”

I’ll Be Home for Christmas

Christmas week at JFK Airport wasn’t a merry time. The curbside check-in lines were long, and when snow began to fall, Rebecca and I went into the terminal and joined a queue whose beginning was out of sight. We treated each other with the awkward politeness of a couple tiptoeing around a combustible conflict. The hordes of passengers and crew members around us were similarly on edge, being pressed into this anxious bottleneck of modern travel.

Almost two hours later, with our luggage checked in and our shoes off and on at security, we finally arrived at the crowded gate area. None of our friends was flying with us, having made different plans, but it seemed that every New Yorker had decided to leave the winter behind.

My Blackberry chirped. I looked at the display.
Jonathan Warnick
.

It took me a moment to focus.

Mat Warnick’s brother.
VetBestMate.com

I hit the green button. “Jonathan? How are you?”

“Still kicking,” he said, “thanks to you. Sorry I didn’t respond to your Happy Rosh Hashanah call—just had the craziest three months of my life.”

“Welcome to the club.”

“
I heard from Mat that your daughter was getting married. Mazal Tov!”

“
Thank you. How are things in the dating business?”

“We went public on Nasdaq.”

“
Congratulations. Now you can afford a gym membership, yes?”

“
I can buy a gym if I want to, but I don’t have time to exercise. It was the best IPO of the year, and our stock keeps going up. I think your New Year wishes helped.”

“And a bit of your hard work, I’m sure. How’s your lovely wife?”

“
She’s well, thanks. How’re things with you?”

Rebecca rubbed her finger and thumb and mouthed, “Ask him!”

“
We’re fine, but the synagogue is struggling financially, as Mat must have told you. Could use a new AC system, if you’re interested in donating.”

“Actually, I’m thinking of something bigger.”

The loudspeakers announced a series of boarding calls, gate changes, and delays. I sheltered the Blackberry and my mouth. “How big?”

His voice was garbled.

“Hold on!” I headed for the restroom. Inside, I took a position against the wall between the urinals and the wash sinks. “That’s better. Say again?”

“I’d like to give a substantial donation so that you won’t have to waste time worrying about how to pay the bills.”

“That’s nice, but don’t do it for me. I’m just a volunteer. Tomorrow there will be someone else running the board and harassing your brother to fix the AC.”

“Mat told me how you have to beg the members for money to keep the place going. It’s a shame. If I give a good chunk of change, the synagogue will be able to function in perpetuity.”

It took me a moment to digest what he’d said. “That will require a very large sum.”

“How much?”

“Enough to throw off half a million a year in interest.” I chuckled at this pie-in-the-sky.

He didn’t respond.

“I’m kidding. We’ll be grateful for whatever you can give.” I moved aside to let a man in a motorized scooter pass by toward the last toilet stall. “Are you still there?”

“I was just calculating,” Jonathan said. “It’s doable.”

The scooter guy couldn’t drive into the stall. He struggled to get up. I went over and held his arm until he stood and managed to grip the doorframe.

“What if I set up a ten million dollar endowment?”

With the Blackberry switched to my other ear, I asked, “Are you joking?”

The disabled man looked at me, thinking I’d spoken to him, and I pointed at the Blackberry. He raised his eyebrows and closed the stall door.

“It’s not enough? I’ll supplement it later.”

A pilot came out of another stall, wheeled his bag over the tips of my shoes, and contorted his face in pantomimed apology.

“
Dr. Dinwall? You still there?”

“
Ten million dollars?” I used a paper towel to wipe my shoes. “Can you give away that much dough?”

“
My share of the company is worth fifty times that. And I also got a lot of cash out of the IPO.”

The scooter guy passed gas.

Jonathan asked, “What was that?”

“Nothing you should worry about, now that you can afford a private jet.” I relocated to my original spot near the wall.

“Fractional ownership. Best way to fly. Anyway, I’ll have my lawyers draw the necessary documents as soon as you tell me that the board accepts my conditions.”

“Conditions?” The word stabbed my ears, bringing memories of standing against another wall, watching my daughter’s wedding proceed without me. “What conditions?”