Doctors (38 page)

“I’m sorry if I hurt you, Barney,” he would preface every move. “I mean, don’t take it personally.”

And Barney, dying to just get the damn thing over with, had to exhort him, “Go, Hank, go for it! Just stick the damn thing in!”

Words he soon came to regret.

When the ordeal was over, their instructor in Internal Medicine said, “You’ll all have your chance to hone these skills, so don’t be worried if you haven’t fully got the knack.”

Indeed, as their experience was soon to prove, aspiring doctors get to draw so much blood during their training that if Count Dracula had known, he would have sold his castle just to gain admission.

Less than half the class went home this last preclinical Yuletide. Had the amount of minutiae they still had to ingest been in the form of sugar, it would have made severe diabetics of them all.

For most the Star of Wonder was not a divine fire in the sky, but the light cast from burning midnight oil.

Once again, Bennett sacrificed his precious study time to go to Cleveland for the holiday.

He could remember the first time Hannah had prepared a
Christmas dinner just for him. She had been so flustered about what to serve and what to do.

“It’s strange and sad, Linc,” Herschel remarked to his eleven-year-old adopted son. “Even before Hitler, Christmas and Easter were often the occasions for pogroms against us. And my father always said how ironical it was—to us Jesus was just a nice Jewish boy who would have hated all these things done in His name.”

“Does everybody know that, Dad?” Linc had asked, uncertain as to whether this was secret information.

“Everyone should know,” Herschel replied. “But most prefer not to—it confuses things.”

“It sure confuses me,” the boy confessed. “I don’t even really understand the difference between Jews and Christians.”

“That’s because we have so much in common,” Hannah interjected. “After all, the Old Testament commands us to ‘love thy neighbor as thyself.’ ”

“That’s a direct quotation,” Herschel added. For as a youth he had been an Orthodox believer and known the Bible practically by heart. “It’s
Leviticus
,
Chapter 19
, verse 18.”

But with time the near-teenage boy’s inquiries were more subtle.

“Dad, if God is just and punishes the wicked—like Miss Hayes, my Sunday School instructor, says—how come He let so many of your people die? How come He let my father …”

“This,” Herschel confessed, “is something that I wondered myself when I was in the camp, when I saw all my relatives marched off—and
most of all
when I survived. I wondered—was God a parent who showed favorites?”

“And did you find an answer?”

“The answer, my boy, is who am
I
to pose the question? I dare not presume to ask God why my brothers perished. I must only live my life by trying to justify His sparing
me.
”

The vestige of his once deep piety was a simple ceremony performed on the eve of Yom Kippur. He lit a candle—just one solitary candle—in memory of those who perished for a reason that was far beyond his comprehension.

And he told Linc, “This flame is burning for your father, too.”

This touched the young boy deeply.

As a final act in Herschel’s brief ceremony, he would intone the mourner’s Kaddish.

The boy was fascinated by the strange, sad language and the fervor that stirred his adopted father as he recited.

“What is that?” he asked timidly.

“It is the traditional Jewish prayer for the dead,” Hannah explained.

Linc thought a moment and then turned to Herschel. “Will you teach me how to say it?”

“I don’t have to teach,” Herschel replied. “It’s right here in English on the opposite page. Look, ‘Extolled and hallowed be the name of the Lord—’ ”

“No,” Linc insisted, “I want to say it in the holy language.”

“That’s rather difficult,” said Hannah, touched by his sentiment.

“Darling,” Herschel corrected her, “that is the one prayer that is always written out phonetically in English letters so whoever cannot read Hebrew can still say it.”

He turned to the final page of his siddur and handed it to Linc. “Come, say it for your father. I’ll give you a little help if you stumble.”

But Linc read it perfectly. “
Yisgadal ve yiskadosh shmei raboh.
 …” And then he yearned to find out what it meant.

Afterwards, when he had read the translation, he had yet another question for Herschel.

“How come there’s no place in the prayer for the dead person’s name? All it does is praise God.”

“Ah,” Herschel replied, “that is because if we remember His name,
He
will remember all the others.”

But growing up in such strange circumstances—at once loving and alien—often caused confusion. Especially after Linc insisted upon modifying his name to reflect his dual affiliation. “Ben” was the perfect compromise, since it not only was short for Bennett, but was the word for “son” in Hebrew.

“Dad, what am I, exactly?” he asked Herschel one day.

“I don’t understand, Ben.”

“Oh, sometimes the guys at school ask me whether I’m Jewish because you and Mom are. And then somebody else will chime in and say that’s impossible—I couldn’t be anything but ‘colored.’ It gets me all mixed up. Now and then I feel so confused I just want to go up to my room and lock the door.”

Herschel pondered this question—and could not find a clear answer. Finally he simply said, “This is America, you can be anything you want.”

*    *    *

“What could he have meant by that?” Herschel asked Hannah when they were in bed that night. “Have there been incidents? …”

She shrugged.

“Hannah, when you look at me like that I know you’re hiding something.”

And then she told him, emphasizing that this was all information she’d inferred from Ben’s behavior and from chance remarks. She sensed there had been words—perhaps even fists. That even in such privileged circumstances their son had encountered bigotry. For
two
reasons.

“Besides, it isn’t just the
goyim
at his school,” she chided. “Your fancy brother and his crowd have been no better. Ben doesn’t get invited to his schoolmates’ Christmas parties
or
to dances at your brother’s temple. When you brought him out last summer to play tennis at Steve’s country club, the members almost had conniption fits. He has no real home.”

“And what are we, I ask you?” Herschel questioned.

“Two old people—getting older. What will happen to him when we’re gone?”

“Are you suggesting we should send him back to Georgia?” Herschel asked facetiously.

“No. I’m simply stating fact. Our son is wonderful. He’s the kindest, most loving child I’ve ever known.”

“But we must prepare him, make him strong—”

“For what?” she asked.

“For being not only black, Hannah, but something of a Jew as well. The world will exact an awesome price for that.”

It was inevitable. Ben’s life in the Landsmann house was a perpetual reliving of the Holocaust. It was in the air; in words both spoken and unspoken.

Once Ben was helping Hannah clear the table after they had eaten in the kitchen.

When she rolled up her sleeves to soak the dishes, he caught sight of the tattoo on her forearm.

“What’s that?” he asked ingenuously.

“Just my number,” Hannah answered, trying to dismiss the subject.

“What’s the number for?” young Ben persisted.

“Let’s put it this way,” Hannah said, “it was the Nazis’ way of keeping track of us.”

“That’s terrible. Why don’t you have some doctor take it off?”

“No, my darling.” Hannah tried to smile. “I have survived—and this I’ll always keep. It was my lucky number.”

Seth Lazarus took a full three days off and went all the way to Chicago.

He felt he was doing well enough in all his courses to be able to sacrifice a few points in his grades to visit Judy. They had arranged to spend a maximum amount of time together while still attending each other’s family dinners.

Mr. and Mrs. Lazarus had differing opinions.

“She’s certainly a looker,” Nat pronounced. “Who would have thought that our little Seth would have come home with Rita Hayworth?”

Rosie was somewhat less effusive. “Do you really think she’s right for him, Nat? After all, he’s such a shy boy and she’s so—well, I don’t know—pushy. I mean, did you see the way she held Seth’s hand? Right in front of his own mother, she holds his hand. I just think this girl is too fast for him.”

“He’s over twenty-one, Rosie. He’s gonna be a doctor. Let him use his own stethoscope to listen to his heart.”

“Are you disagreeing with me, then?”

“When have I ever disagreed with you?”

“Never.”

“Then this is a great occasion, because I definitely disagree with you.”

Judy’s family was considerably less ambivalent. Having assessed his daughter’s beau, Simon Gordon had pronounced in the metaphor of his trade, “He’s twenty-four karats, absolutely.”

“Judy says they all think he’s brilliant at the hospital,” Mrs. Gordon added proudly. “What a wonderful son-in-law.”

“Hey, slow down a minute, he hasn’t even asked her.”

“Listen, on that score there’s no problem. If he doesn’t,
she
will.”

Outside the Lazarus market, Seth and Judy spent a long passionate time in each other’s arms.

“I’ve booked a room at the Sonesta for tomorrow. Do you still want to go through with it?” Seth whispered.

Judy whispered back, “I only wish it had been for tonight,
too. Why don’t we go in the morning so we can take full advantage of it?”

“Okay, sure. I’ll tell my folks I have to take an earlier flight.”

“Very early, Seth. Please.”

She was there at nine o’clock the next day, a radiant smile on her face. Seth put his small suitcase in the trunk of her car. They both waved goodbye to his parents … and drove off in the direction of O’Hare Airport.

It was an odd hour even by the standards of travelers’ hotels. The clerk apologized, “ ‘Dr. and Mrs. A. Schweitzer’—yes, we have your reservation, but we didn’t expect you till this afternoon.”

“His plane came in early,” Judy quickly explained. “Tail winds.”

“Oh,” said the clerk, trained by years of experience to control his facial muscles. “Well, the girls are cleaning Room 209 right now, if you don’t mind waiting.”

“Fine,” said Seth, affecting a deep baritone. (He somehow felt that a Nobel Prize-winning doctor should have a more resonant voice.) “And, if it’s okay, we’ll take our luggage up now.”

They stood outside the open door to the room, impatiently watching two languid chambermaids changing the sheets on the beds.

“Won’t be another minute, folks,” said one of them, with a knowing grin. “You newlyweds or something?”

“Uh, does it show?” Seth asked with a blush in his voice.

“I can guess it every time,” she replied with undisguised innuendo. “When folks arrive here not looking tuckered out from a flight, they’re usually honeymooners. Anyway, we won’t be a second. Just be sure and put the
DO NOT DISTURB
sign on your door.”

Seth was a little nervous, but not frightened. He had admitted to Judy that he was a virgin. And she had been equally candid about her “experience.” A young intern she dated the previous year had persuaded her of his undying love. The affair had lasted as long as his tenure at the hospital, and when he left for Texas he had sent her the female equivalent of a Dear John letter.

“Don’t worry,” she whispered, “it’ll all come naturally.”

“I’m not worried,” he replied. “Anyway, I’ve studied
Love Without Fear.
”

“Honestly, Seth, no book can tell you how wonderful it is.”

“You mean it was so good with that guy?”

She shook her head. “No, darling. But I know it’s going to be beautiful with you.”

They had lunch downstairs in the coffee shop. Seth devoured two club sandwiches and a huge slice of lemon meringue pie.

About halfway through the meal, he began to look pensive.

“Something bothering you?” she asked.

He nodded. “Could we take a little drive, Judy?”

“Sure. Where?”

“You’ll understand when we get there.”

They climbed into her car and Seth, withdrawing a map from his jacket pocket, began to direct her westward. After about half an hour they reached a narrow country junction.

“Seth, we’re in the middle of nowhere. Why are you being so mysterious?”

“There’s someone I want you to see, Judy,” he replied with a curious touch of melancholy. “My brother.”

“I never knew you even had a—”

“Yeah,” he cut her off, “I try not to think about him.”

She drove on as he directed, growing puzzled to the point of apprehension.

Finally, he indicated a turnoff to the right and said simply, “If we’re gonna be close, you have to know everything about my family.”

They parked in the courtyard of St. Joseph’s Home for Children, and a pink-cheeked nun in her early sixties greeted them. “Merry Christmas, Seth,” she said warmly. “I know you’re anxious to visit Howie, so come right along.”

The couple followed her down the corridor, a few steps behind. As they began to climb a wide stone staircase, Judy grew increasingly anxious. “Seth,” she whispered, “what’s wrong with him?”

“You’ll see,” he answered quietly.

The sister pointed to a door. “I’m sure he’ll be happy to see you.” And, as she left, she added, “I’ll be down in the playroom if you need me.”

Seth waited till they were alone and then said to Judy, “I hope this won’t upset you. But you’ll never be able to understand me if you don’t meet Howie.”

Lying on the bed in the cubicle that passed as a room was a man—or a very large boy, it was hard for Judy to tell which—clothed in what looked like a baby’s diaper. To say he was thin would be an understatement. He was emaciated, every rib visible through his pale, translucent skin. He gave the impression of living death. He lay back, his head lolling from side to side, his eyes unfocused, spittle dripping down his chin.