Stealing Home (13 page)

“Quiet!” He turned back to Joey. “First you get into fights, then you go on a tirade in front of the whole neighborhood, now this. How many times will you shame us? How many?”

Joey said nothing.

Zeyde grabbed him by the arm and marched him into the kitchen. He turned Joey over his knee and spanked him, hard.

Joey didn’t cry.

Then Zeyde did the same thing to Bobbie.

She didn’t cry, either.

The two of them were sent to their rooms.

Joey lay on his side, his bottom stinging, waiting for the summons. Any minute now, he expected to be told to pack his things. And if that wasn’t bad enough, it wasn’t just himself that he’d got into trouble this time, but his friends. Would Zeyde even give him time to say goodbye to them, to tell them how sorry he was, before he shipped him out?

A door opened downstairs – Aunt Frieda home from work. His stomach in a knot, Joey glided to his door, opened it a crack, and listened as Zeyde filled her in on the escapade.

“Oh, dear,” Aunt Frieda said. But to Joey’s amazement, she didn’t sound all that upset.

“Oh, dear?” Zeyde repeated. “Is that all you can say?”

“Well, what should I do? Weep and wail? It was only a silly prank –”

“A prank? To break into a stadium illegally –”

“Oh, come on, Daddy, don’t get carried away. Sure, it’s naughty, but what children aren’t naughty? Didn’t you do stuff like that when you were their age? Steal a pack of bubble gum? Tell a fib?”

“I never broke into Ebbets Field,” Zeyde said righteously.

“That’s because there was no Ebbets Field.”

“Frieda!” Zeyde sounded shocked, and Joey had to chuckle. Aunt Frieda was getting bold in her old age! “But
it’s not just one little prank,” Zeyde went on. “It’s one thing after another –”

“Yes, it is. I’ve been thinking about that. And you know what I think, Daddy?”

“What?”

“
You
make him worse.”

“What!”

Aunt Frieda’s voice faltered, but she went on. “You do. All this spanking and punishing and yelling –”

“Don’t start in with that again, Frieda. At least I know how to discipline a wayward child.”

“Like Becky?”

A pause. “Yes, like Becky!”

“And what did the discipline do, Daddy? It drove her away! I remember when you caught Becky with a face covered in makeup –”

“Like a tramp!” Zeyde said angrily.

“And you yelled and carried on. But did she stop? No! She did worse – started smoking and drinking.”

“That wasn’t my fault!”

“And when she started sneaking out to dances, you grounded her for weeks – so she stayed out later.”

“I didn’t punish her hard enough, that was the problem.”

“No, it wasn’t. The punishing was the problem. It didn’t work with Becky and it’s not working with Joey either.”

“How dare you put the blame on me!” Zeyde shouted.
“The problem is that boy. He’s wild and undisciplined, and he’s getting worse –” Zeyde’s voice broke for a moment, but then he went on angrily, “And if he doesn’t straighten out, I’m sending him –”

“Over my dead body!”

Shocked silence. “What!”

“You heard me.”

“Frieda…”

“I mean it, Daddy. You think about it. Goodnight.”

Zeyde made a little noise of protest, but he didn’t say anything. Aunt Frieda started up the stairs, and Joey quickly ducked back into his room.

Over my dead body.
She’d fought for him! She wanted him! She wouldn’t let Zeyde send him away. Joey fell back on his bed, oblivious to his sore bottom, feeling safe for the first time since he’d arrived.

But then a chill chased away the warm feeling. Aunt Frieda might want him to stay, she might have stood up to Zeyde this time, but everyone knew that Zeyde was in charge. What he said, went. And he had just said:
If he doesn’t straighten out, I’m sending him
–

The fear of not knowing where he might end up went deeper now. Because he really loved it here, loved Bobbie, loved Aunt Frieda, loved his friends, even loved Brooklyn – and he wanted to stay.

And it all might be taken away.

J
oey and Bobbie were confined to their rooms all that day and all of the next. Aunt Frieda brought their meals on a tray, and although she seemed sympathetic, she didn’t let them out. The second day was worse than the first. Joey thought he’d die of boredom. He looked out the window. He rearranged his Yankees cards on the bulletin board. He looked out the window some more. He thought about sneaking out again, but remembering what Zeyde had said, decided he’d better mind his
p
’s and
q
’s.

Downstairs, the radio blared big band music. Above that, Aunt Frieda clanged pots in the kitchen. It was Friday. Shabbas. Joey knew the word now. And the routine – the candles, the chanting, the bread, the wine.

But that was about all he knew. He still didn’t know the prayers. He frowned, remembering how Zeyde had
yelled at him that first Shabbas. At least his grandfather had left him alone on the Shabbases since then. For the last few Fridays, Joey had stood there like a dummy while the rest of them chanted. Zeyde hadn’t yelled; he’d just ignored him.

An idea struck.

Nah, it wouldn’t work anyway.

But if it did, maybe it would change Zeyde’s mind and make him like Joey better.
Maybe,
Joey thought,
Zeyde wouldn’t be too ashamed to take me to
schul.

Joey slipped into Bobbie’s room and carefully shut the door. She was lying on her back, hands beneath her head, staring at the ceiling. She raised her head, brightened. “You’re not supposed to be in here,” she whispered.

“I know, but I’m going crazy,” he answered.

She lay back. “Tell me about it.”

Joey sat on the end of her bed. They were quiet for a moment. Offhandedly, he said, “You know those prayers?”

She raised herself onto her elbows. “What prayers?”

“The Friday night ones.”

“The Shabbas prayers? What about ’em?”

He lowered his eyes. “Will you teach me?”

“You want me to teach you the Shabbas prayers?” she asked, surprised.

“Yeah.”

She hesitated. Joey searched her face for any sign that she was laughing at him. But she wasn’t. “How come?”

“So I… I just do.”

“Right now?”

“Yeah.”

Bobbie grinned. “Sure. Beats staring at the ceiling.” She pushed herself up, sat cross-legged facing him. “Okay, here’s how it goes. Bah-ruch.” She made a noise deep in her throat. “Say that.”

“
Bah-roo-
”

“No, not
bah-roo. Bah-ruch.
”

“
Bah-ruh.
” Joey made a breathy sound at the end of the word.

Bobbie shook her head. “Try again.”

“
Bah-ruck.
”

She rolled her eyes. “Not
bah-ruck.
It’s not a ‘k.’
Bah-ruch.
Use your throat.”

I am!

“Keep your voice down!” she snapped in a loud whisper.

“I am using my throat,” he whispered back.

“You are not. Bah-ruch.”

“
Bah-rugh.
”

“For crying out loud, you sound like a tugboat. ‘
Bah-rugh. Bah-rugh.
’” She imitated a foghorn.

“Shut up.”

She giggled. “Come on.
Bah-ruch
.”

“
Bah-ruck-h
.” He exhaled at the end.

“No! Sheesh, what’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing! Must be the way you’re teaching me.”

“Is not.”

“Oh, never mind.” Joey started to get up. “Who cares about being Jewish, anyway?”

She pulled him down. “Hold on. Here, think of it like this. You got a big gob in your throat and you’re trying to hawk it up.”

Joey gave her an incredulous look.

“Really. That’s what it’s like. A big gob of spit. Come on.
Chgk. Chgk.
” She made a throat-clearing noise.

Joey was sure she was pulling his leg. But she looked dead serious. Tentatively, he made a noise in his throat. “
Hkhh
…”

Bobbie rolled her eyes. “You’ll never get it up that way.”

“
Chk.
” A little louder.

“Come on, a great big gob. Hawk it!”

“
Chgk.
”

“Deeper.”

“
CHGK. CHGK.
”

“That’s it! Do it again!”

“
Bah-ruch. Bah-RUCH. Bah-RUCH.
”

“You got it!”

“
Bah-ruch, bah-ruch, bah-ruch,
” Joey said happily. “What a swell language. You get to make rude noises and you don’t even get in trouble.”

Bobbie laughed. “Okay. Here we go.
Bah-ruch ah-taw ah-do-noy
…”

“Adenoid? Ain’t that something in your throat?”

Bobbie burst out laughing. “Not adenoid, you dummy –”

“Hey, who you calling a dummy?”

“Adenoid,” she repeated, slapping her knee.

“All right, if you’re so smart, what is it, then?”

“
AH-DO-NOY
,” she said slowly. “It means God.”

“Oops.”

She stifled a giggle. “It’s all right. God can probably take a joke.”

“I hope so.”

She taught him the next several words. When they came to “
meh-lech
” Joey said, “Wait. That’s one of those gob ones, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

They continued until Joey learned the final words, “
I’ had-leek nair shel Shabbas.
” He ran through the whole prayer a few times, twice with coaching, once by himself.

“Good,” Bobbie said.

“What’s it mean, anyway?”

“It means we’re thanking God for telling us to light the Shabbas candles. That’s what I’ had-leek nair shel Shabbas means – to kindle the lights of the Sabbath.”

Joey nodded. He wouldn’t admit it, but it made a lovely picture in his mind, Aunt Frieda kindling the lights of the Sabbath with that lacy white scarf on her dark hair.

“Now you got to learn the other two.”

“What other two?”

“The other two prayers, over the bread and the wine.”

Joey groaned. “This is a lot of work.”

“Don’t worry, they’re mostly the same. There’s only new stuff at the end.”

Bobbie started again, coaching Joey through the two new endings, one for the bread, and one for the wine. He practiced, making great hawking noises every time he came to a gob word.

Finally, after hearing him recite all three prayers with no mistakes, Bobbie declared he was ready.

Joey grinned.
Hope it works
, he thought. But he didn’t say it out loud.

Staring at the candlesticks, Joey jammed his hands into the pockets of his good trousers. He’d wet down his hair and tried to tame the curls. He’d put on a clean polo shirt. He’d even cleaned his fingernails.

The smells of roast beef and carrots and potatoes were wafting out of the kitchen, filling the dining room with a delicious fragrance, but Joey scarcely noticed. His heart was pounding too hard.

Aunt Frieda draped the kerchief over her head.
Kindle the lights of the Sabbath,
Joey thought, and relaxed a little. As Aunt Frieda began to sing, and Bobbie’s and Zeyde’s voices lifted to join hers, Joey began, quietly, “
Ba-ruch ah-taw ah-do-noy
…” Hesitantly, then a little louder, “
eh-lo-hay-nu me-lech ha-olam
…”

Aunt Frieda stopped, turned, and looked at Joey.

Had he made a mistake?

But no, a smile was lighting up her face, and it stayed there as she continued, “
ah-sher kiddish-aw-nu b’mitz-vo-sav
…”

Joey smiled back, still singing. Then he noticed that Zeyde was staring at him with a look that Joey couldn’t read. The candles flickered, and for a moment Joey thought that his grandfather’s eyes glittered as if they were wet. Zeyde turned front again and continued chanting.

They finished the first prayer. Zeyde lifted the
challah
and started saying the prayer over the bread. Joey joined in. Then the prayer over the wine.

As soon as the last note faded, Aunt Frieda grabbed Joey. “Joey, that was wonderful! All three prayers, and
perfect, too! I’m so proud of you.” She hugged him – and for the first time, he hugged her back. God, it felt good.

Her arm still around Joey, Aunt Frieda turned to her father. “Daddy, did you hear that? Wasn’t it a wonderful surprise? Aren’t you proud of him?”

Zeyde looked at Joey with an unaccustomed softness in his eyes. Finally a small smile curved his lips. “Very good, Joey.”

“It was fantastic!” Aunt Frieda said. “Did you teach him, Bobbie?”

“Yup. But it was his idea. He learned good, didn’t he?”

“Well, Bobbie,” Aunt Frieda said dryly. “He learned well.”

Bobbie flapped her hand. “Oh, Mama, who cares? He did great.”

Aunt Frieda laughed. “Yes, he did. Absolutely great!” She hugged Joey again. “Now, sit down, everybody, and I’ll get dinner.”

Joey repeated Zeyde’s words to himself.
Very good.
They were the first words of praise Joey had heard from his mouth. And Zeyde had even smiled. Not a grin, not even a big smile, but still, a smile. A feeling of relief swept over him.

But it was more than relief, he realized with surprise as Aunt Frieda came in with a platter of roast beef and
started serving. It was pleasure. He’d made Zeyde happy, and that felt good.

Right away, Joey caught himself. It didn’t mean that Zeyde was proud of him, or wouldn’t still send him away – so he’d better not get all excited.

T
he next day, Joey and Bobbie headed for the vacant lot. Joey, delighted to be freed at last, chattered away about hitting and fielding and pitching – until he noticed that Bobbie wasn’t responding. In fact, now that he thought about it, she hadn’t said a word since they’d left the house. She was marching along in silence, her glove clenched in her fist, her mouth set in a grim line.

Joey stopped, mid-sentence. Maybe, despite Bobbie’s earlier protestations that the Ebbets Field fiasco hadn’t been his fault, she really was mad at him for getting them all in trouble.

Joey risked a glance at his cousin. Her chin was set, her eyes fixed straight ahead. He swallowed. That must be it. And who could blame her? It had been his idea, after all.