Rabbi Gabrielle's Defiance (40 page)

"I haven't seen or talked with him in weeks.
He's disappeared. He hasn't called, written, or emailed. It doesn't
matter what people whisper behind my back. That's all history
now."

"You're fond of him, aren't you?"

"Very."

"Any chance of you two getting it together
again."

Her eyes turned cold and her lips parted only
a sliver. "I would like that, but it's not the cards I hold in my
hand. I can't find him and you can't have a relationship with a
phantom, now can you?"

To change the unpleasant subject, she asked,
"Do you think Anina will go to California. There must be many
opportunities for plastic surgeons there."

"If you ask me, I'd say no."

"Then she's a fool. Men like you don't come
around often. Ask me, I'm the world's authority on such things.
Only a foolish woman would let you slip through her fingers. If I
were six or seven years younger, I'd be tempted to make a pass at
you myself. I'd probably have to chase you around this pond to get
you, but I'd give it one helluva try."

"Thanks, Gabby. The truth is that were I six
or seven years older, I'd probably be chasing you."

***

Pastor Norman Woo, in denim jeans and a
cotton sweater, rose to greet Gabby at the door to his study at the
Korean First Baptist Church with a collegial handshake and a smile
of extraordinary teeth. A well-groomed, handsome man in his early
fifties, he squired her to an expansive wooden desk, neat as one
would expect of a Fortune 500 CEO. The bookshelves behind appeared
as orderly as its librarian, immaculately stacked according to book
sizes not subjects, the smaller on top rows, the larger on lower.
It stuck Gabby that what this order saved in space it probably lost
in efficiency. She wondered how one would ever find a book not
categorized by subject or author.

Reverend Woo remembered her from the picnic
for several reasons: she threw a wicked baseball and was the only
female Kye Naah had ever brought to a church gathering. What he
didn't share was that women of the sisterhood had long since ceased
introducing Kye to eligible women, believing him to be a confirmed
bachelor. Gabby's presence at the picnic kindled a bonfire of
renewed speculation.

Woo spoke in a guttural Korean accent,
thought in idiomatically perfect English. During opening chatter he
bemoaned his church's isolation. Koreans were by nature an insular
people quite content to keep to themselves. But that, he
acknowledged, was not the American way and they should adopt a more
open attitude toward the culture around them. Besides, such
insularity was costly. Their neighbors had much to teach,
particularly Jews who are steeped in the Old Testament. When Woo
retrieved from his bookcase a Korean translation of
Bellum Judaicum
,
the Wars of the
Jews
, written by Josephus Flavius in the first century of
the Common Era, Gabby was impressed.

"I've lost touch with Kye, Reverend," she
finally turned their discussion from Josephus to the reason for her
visit. "I know he's had business reverses and I'm worried about
him. He doesn't respond to my email and his phones are
disconnected. I drove over to the offices of
Politicstoday
in Prince George's County, which are now
vacant. The logo is down, along with the neon sign on the side of
the headquarters. There's a big FOR LEASE sign posted outside and
the building is locked shut. Do you know how I might contact
him?"

Woo's eyebrows rose cautiously, a signal of
curiosity. "We haven't seen him in church for over a month now. His
friends came to me a few weeks ago with the same inquiry. We're
also worried. Kye was close to us and it's very strange to leave
without saying something. I can't claim we were the best of
friends, but I think he respected me and I most certainly respected
him. When a member of our church is in trouble, we like to help.
Apparently, he didn't want what we have to offer."

This was not what Gabby wanted to hear. She
had racked her brains for a means of making contact with Kye and
came up short. They shared no friends. She had reason to believe
his associates at the website had scattered when Politicstoday
ceased operations. There was Kye's lawyer, whose name Gabby had
forgotten and, of course, the Bankruptcy Court in the District of
Columbia. But Kye's pastor was a lot easier to approach.

Conversation with Pastor Woo meandered from
their joint disappointment to Josephus Flavius, also a favorite of
Gabby. She told of an article she had written defending his
controversial command at Jotophata during the Galilean campaign
during the first Jewish rebellion against Rome in the year 67 of
the Common Era. Woo read on Gabby's face her distress over Kye.

As soon as he could, he steered the subject
away from Josephus. "Rabbi, I'd be happy to make inquires. As I
said, we're a private people. When Kye didn't contact us, we
assumed he didn't want us to talk about him. Maybe he was
humiliated about what happened to Politicstoday. But he had a group
of friends. I could approach them and gently raise Kye's name.
Perhaps he's in touch with someone."

Gabby lifted eyes that had fallen to her lap
and worked a grateful smile onto her cheeks. "Yes, I would
appreciate that very much. I'm worried about him on many levels. He
was very dedicated to his work and his fellow workers. In some
ways, I bear responsibility for what's happened. This thing blew up
so fast, we really didn't talk matters out. One day, everything was
fine. The next, over… just
over
."

Woo rose not only to take Gabby's hand in
farewell, but to place a compassionate arm on her shoulder,
suddenly looking not like a clerical colleague, but an uncle. "Rest
assured, we're going to do whatever we can. And I'm delighted
you've lit a fire under me. I've let things slide. Now I have a
reason to be proactive."

As she walked to her car in the parking lot,
the sincerity of Reverend Woo's offer provided a glimmer of hope.
She knew that if she kept pushing she'd eventually locate Kye. What
worried her more was his frame of mind once she found him.

***

Cantor Reuben Blass referred to Asa in the
same category as George Gershwin and Aaron Coplin. This hyperbole
set the stage for what was to come. By the time Asa's resignation
letter reached Stan Melkin a week later and was accordingly
distributed to members of the synagogue's governing board, no one
was shocked, though that didn't change the harsh reaction. How dare
Rabbi Folkman unilaterally resign when he had a contractual
obligation to the congregation! And how selfish an act when Ohav
Shalom was facing litigation for which he bore prime
responsibility! Criticism spread rapidly beyond him. Stan Melkin
came under fire for his managerial style, which had, in the eyes of
some members, ineffectively disciplined the staff and encouraged
rabbinical anarchy. Even more irritating, an ad-hoc committee wrote
to the Board of Directors to terminate Gabby's contract if she
attempted to challenge Toby Ryles in the up-coming congressional
election.

"The place is volcanic," Chuck Browner
reported to Gabby when he confirmed a special meeting of the board
to discuss Asa's resignation. "I've never seen so many factions.
Recriminations patter on our tin roof like hailstones. Asa's
bailing out at the right time."

"The season of discontents," she sighed with
an air of omniscience. "One irritation engenders another until
there is nothing but confusion."

"If I may be so bold, Rabbi Gabby, this is
also the time to make your escape, though I wouldn't want to lose
my job. Who needs this shit?"

Her eyes fell over him with compassion.
"Thanks, friend. I know you have my welfare at heart, but oddly,
this is precisely
not
the time for me to
jump ship. This congregation needs continuity more than ever."

"They've treated you and Rabbi Folkman like
you know what. You don't owe anybody anything."

"I didn't select this profession for good
treatment. The raw fact is they're not malicious people. Our
interests collide. I won't find another congregation in the country
where that doesn't happen. And over the long haul, they've been
pretty damn good to me."

"What about the sabbatical you're owed?"

She paused, evaluating Chuck's political
sagacity. Usually, he didn't miss a trick, but this time he had
made a bad assumption. "If I don't run for Congress, a sabbatical
isn't essential. With Asa going to California, there's no way I'm
going to leave this pulpit empty. That's a given."

"Why give up a chance to become
Congresswoman?"

"Because it isn't me, Chuck. You know that.
Everybody does. Until recently, I believed my own propaganda. And
however sick this political system is, Jews don't want me to oppose
Toby Ryles. She's played the political game right and earned their
loyalty. And just for your information, how do you think I might
raise the kind of money it takes to win without
Politicstoday
?"

"Have you heard from Dr. Naah?"

"I've heard from him by
not
hearing from him, if you catch my drift."

"Sorry, Rabbi. Bad luck comes in
bundles."

At lunchtime, she opened her study door to regard
Chuck munching one of his brownbag sandwiches. When he lifted his
chin to acknowledge her, he said, "Tuna. Want some? It's more than
I feel like eating."

"No thanks. I came to ask a favor. When
you're finished lunch, I would like you to accompany me someplace.
I'll drive. If I can't find a parking space, I might want you to
wait in the car so bring something to read."

He started to repackage his sandwich. "Where
are we going?"

"To the Fire Department's Forensic
Laboratory. Fourth and G Streets, southeast. I spoke with
Lieutenant Sampson Turner this morning and he told me everything
taken from a fire is in the public domain so I have a right to
inspect it on the premises. He gave me the name of another officer
on duty this afternoon. Remember that hunch of mine? It's time for
me to have a look-see."

At one thirty, she drove with Chuck south along
Wisconsin Avenue, eventually debouching into Rock Creek Park and
Potomac Parkway, then across Independence Avenue skirting the
National Mall. At Fourth Street, she headed along D to the Fire
Department Laboratory. They were in luck and found a metered
parking space two blocks away. For just such a windfall, she kept a
stash of quarters in the dashboard ashtray.

The Forensic Laboratory reception room buzzed
with insurance clerks checking accident records and phoning their
offices with the results while a cashier behind a glass partition
collected fees for photocopied records and other official
documents. On the third floor, a duty clerk in an olive-green smock
presented Gabby and Chuck with multiple forms and wavers for
signature, then sent them to be photographed for the mandatory
identification badges. Once these formalities were completed, a
female officer led into a cavernous vault encased in chicken wire
with hundreds of uniformed-sized cardboard boxes on steel shelving
from floor to ceiling. A code number on the Marshal's Report for
the Morgenstern fire eventually matched the bin and carton numbers
with two large boxes, each with an inventory list stapled to the
outside. A faint odor of fire smoke imported in the storage boxes
permeated an examining area equipped with steel tables.

In the first of four Morgenstern containers,
Gabby found Asa Folkman's menorah, a bronze base supporting eight
uniform candleholders for standard multicolored candles mass
produced for Chanukah, with an overhanging bracket for the
shamash
– helping candle. It compared
almost identically with the menorah in the photo of Asa's study
that Gabby had brought along, though heat from the fire had
evidentially melted part of the excess wax accumulating around the
base of the candleholders. As expected, there was more wax under
the
shamesh
and where new candles were
introduced on all successive nights of the eight-night
festival.

A second carton produced the Morgenstern's
silver Sabbath candlesticks, both tagged KITCHEN on deglow labels
to indicate where found in the debris. Gabby handled them with
great care so as not to remove a veneer of carbon along the beveled
silver shank. Under a fluorescent fixture, she studied the first
from several angles, hoping to discover evidence that it, rather
than the menorah, might have started the fire. Untrained in
forensics, she felt inadequate for the task. The second candlestick
resembled the first, except that the lip designed to catch overflow
wax at the base of candle was bent approximately forty degrees.
Since it would be relatively easy to repair such damage this struck
her as noteworthy. "Could this have resulted from falling off the
kitchen table?" she asked Chuck. Before he could respond, she
added, "I wish I brought a camera. Please see if someone on the
staff here can take a picture of this."

A few moments later, a young female clerk
trailed Chuck to the table with an electronic camera and a receipt
book to log the charges. Gabby directed her lens upon the bent lip
– requesting a profile shot, then looking from top to bottom, and
two additional pictures as close to the bent silver lip as
possible. While the photographer was there, she ordered pictures of
the menorah and the undamaged Shabbat candlestick. Before replacing
the damaged candlestick into the original storage carton, Gabby
adjusted her reading glasses on her nose and brought it close to
her eyes for a final examination. "Yes… yes… yes," she muttered
without revealing her thoughts.

A department employee arrived to ensure that
examined articles were returned to their boxes and the boxes to
their original positions on the steel shelving.