Israel (45 page)

Abe carne into the bedroom. “What are you looking so excited about?” he asked.

“I've decided something.”

“What?” Abe demanded suspiciously. “How to spend money, I bet,” he laughed, kissing the top of her head.

Leah gazed at both their reflections in the vanity mirror. “I've decided that we should have another baby. It's time I gave you your son.”

Abe was touched by Leah's determination to give him a son, but he did not really expect her to get pregnant. After her previous troubles bearing a child it seemed nearly impossible. She was in her thirties, after all, and he was forty-nine. Who knew if he still had what it took?

No, Abe did not believe it could happen, and as the months passed it seemed to him that he was being proved right. He said nothing of his pessimism to Leah, she was so excited, so full of hope. Her exuberance had instilled within him new hope of his own.

He curtailed his drinking during that first month and soon swore it off completely, so that he still had two quarts of vodka hidden in the store behind some fruit crates, even though the monthly deliveries had mysteriously ended. He had thought to pour the vodka down the drain to ward off future temptation, for he was far too full of renewed dreams to want to dull his mind with drink. He ended up keeping the two quarts to remind himself how low he had sunk and how Leah had raised him up.

In October she announced the grand news to one and all at a supper at Sadie and Joseph's apartment. Joseph took one look at Abe's flabbergasted expression and burst
into uproarious laughter. “You didn't know?” he managed to gasp.

Abe wordlessly shook his head while Becky sang “Mama's having a baby,” again and again, ever more loudly as the rest persisted in ignoring her.

“But Leah, it's only been a few months since we started trying—” Abe whispered to his wife, seated next to him at the table.

“So by now we ought to know what we're doing, yes?”

“—Having a
baybee!”

“Becky, please,” Sadie complained, “why can't you sit quiet like my children?” She gestured at her silent brood.

“Are you sure, Leah? I mean—” Abe scratched his head.

“Of course I'm sure.” She threw her arms around him. “Darling, you are exactly the opposite of Job. When bad things happen you accept them without question. When God sees fit to bless us, you shake your fist to the sky shouting, ‘Why? Why?'”

“I hope I get a little sister to play with—Ow!” Becky cried out. “Mama, Aunt Sadie pinched me!”

“This calls for a drink,” Joseph announced. “Abe, a schnapps?”

“Not for me, Joseph, thank you.”

“Mama?” Becky asked plaintively, “why are you crying?”

Later Abe sent his family upstairs to the apartment by themselves, saying that he'd be up after restocking a shelf. He waited until he heard the apartment door click shut and then moved those empty fruit crates. The two quarts of vodka sparkled invitingly. He touched one of them. It felt so cool—

If any man has a right to celebrate it is me, Abe thought. Even pious Joseph said I should have a drink.

But he left the bottles where they were, carefully recovering them with the fruit crates. As he did so he noticed that the wooden boxes' end labels depicted a pink ripe peach the size and hue of the setting sun. Framed within it was a tow-headed, freckled farm boy, mopping his sweaty brow with a red bandanna. Beneath the illustration was the legend: “Thirsty Boy Peaches.”

Abe, his pulse racing and his mouth bone dry with his despicable craving, tittered, a high-pitched, almost feminine sound in the empty, silent store.

I won't dump those bottles, he thought. I'll keep them, as a reminder to be strong. Then he switched off the overhead light fixture and climbed the stairs to his family. He hurried as if there was something in the dark store that might reach out to pull him back.

Leah's pregnancy progressed normally. She helped out in the busy store throughout the winter, only allowing herself to be banished upstairs in the spring, when she began her third trimester.

In May Stefano telephoned the store to suggest that he and Abe get together to discuss a business matter.

“What do you think he wants?” Leah asked after Abe told her of the call. To herself she wondered if this was the start of Stefano's attempt to straighten Abe out. If it was, she was sorry she'd involved Stefano. His help was no longer needed. She could tell Abe had stopped drinking. Then again, she reminded herself, since I went to see Stefano the liquor has stopped coming.

“I hope he doesn't intend to sell the building,” Abe fretted. “Well, we'll know soon enough. I'm to see him tomorrow.”

The next day Abe made the trip across town to Stefano's warehouse. It was his first time there. He arrived
punctually and was greeted by Stefano's partner, who introduced himself as Tony Bucci.

“I've heard a lot about you from Stefano,” Tony said as he escorted Abe through the warehouse complex.

It was almost three months since Abe had touched liquor, and he hadn't missed it until now. Catching glimpses of the men who worked for Stefano made him long for a shot of vodka to steady his nerves. These men were gangsters, he knew, ganefs, like he read about in the tabloids.

Stefano is one too, he mused, a racketeer, but he is your friend and you knew him when, so don't be afraid. If he wants to sell the building it will be sold, for it does belong to him, but be a mensch and negotiate a little money for yourself. There is Becky to think of, and the new one as well.

“I'll get right to the point, Abe,” Stefano began after he'd welcomed his visitor into his office. “Business has been terrific—so good that I've had to divert those monthly cases I've been sending you all these years to a bigger customer. I hope you're not mad at me?”

Abe shook his head. “To tell you the truth I don't do very well with selling it. I guess it's the neighborhood.”

He thought he heard Tony Bucci snicker, but when Abe turned in his straightbacked chair to glance at the man, there was no smile on his face.

“It's not only the hooch that's going good, but the market is climbing and real estate is booming,” Stefano said, pushing back his swivel chair and putting his feet up on his battered steel desk. “With both those things the secret is to buy cheap and sell dear. For instance, I paid chickenshit for the Cherry Street property—”

Abe heard rough laughter coming from the outer office, where the thugs were lounging. Behind him he heard a match scrape and catch and then smelled the pungent scent of burning tobacco as Tony Bucci puffed on a cigarette.
What am I doing here? Abe thought. I feel like I've wandered into the lions' den.

“And now I've got a big chance to make a nice profit on the property,” Stefano was saying, “so I'm gonna sell it.”

“Oh . . .” Negotiate, Abe commanded himself, but his mind had gone totally blank. “I guess I'll lose the store, huh, Stefano? It's a shame. We're doing a lot of business—”

“Forget the store, Abe,” Stefano said. “It's yesterday's newspaper. You can't compete against the chains—A&P, Safeway, Piggly-Wiggly, they're all taking over. I ought to know, I got a piece of a chain of drug stores, and I just became the sole supplier of meat to the Went's Grocerterias outfit. That brings me to what I wanted to talk to you about. Abe, I got a problem. Just like always, I'm in need of your help.”

Lost in dark musing, Abe hadn't been listening all that closely. What will I tell Leah? he wondered. He perked up, however, when Stefano said he needed help.

“Me?” Abe peered at Stefano. “I can help you?”

“He sounds so amazed,” Stefano joked to Tony. “Hell, my friend, I wouldn't be here if it hadn't been for your trust. And now again I'm in a jam and need my pal's help to get clear.”

“Whatever I can do for you, I'll do,” Abe said.

For Stefano, who had encountered so much duplicity in his rise, Abe's sincerity was a novel, pleasant response, one to savor. He looked past Abe, eyeing his partner, smiling faintly as if to say, “See, what did I tell you?”

Tony nodded, thinking, son of a bitch, Stefano was right about this Jew. Tony Gemstones considered himself a good soldier. He recognized the quality of true loyalty in another when he witnessed it.

“Here's the thing, Abe,” Stefano began. “I got the meat plant on Washington, and now that I've got this
contract to supply Went's, things at the plant have got to run smooth. The guy who runs it now can't handle the job. I need somebody who can replace him. Someone I can count on.”

“Me?” Abe gasped. “You want me to supervise the plant?”

“Nah, I already got a good enough supervisor, a guy by the name of Louie Carduello. What I need is somebody to take over as manager—somebody to keep the books, watch over the whole place, keep it running smooth, you know? Maybe I'm imposing on you by asking you to take on the job, and it's probably more than a friend should ask, but I'd sure make it worth your while financially—”

“Stefano, it's a great opportunity. Of course I'll do it.”

“That's fine.” Stefano grinned. “Tony here will handle all the details. We'll start you training gradually. I want you to continue taking such good care of Cherry Street until we find a buyer—”

“I thought you had a buyer,” Abe said, puzzled.

“Oh sure I do,” Stefano replied, “but these things ain't certain until you get the guy's signature on the dotted line. You know how it is, Abe. So I'll want you to keep the store going—keep it looking profitable and busy—until after the building has changed hands.”

“I'll get a neighborhood kid to help out at the market,” Abe said.

“Yeah, sure.” Stefano shrugged, glancing at his gold pocket watch. “Tony and you can discuss the details in his office.” He escorted Abe to the door. “It looks like things are gonna work out real nice.” He shook Abe's hand. “You've probably figured on moving into a bigger apartment anyway. When's the baby due?”

“Month after next.”

“Well, give Leah my best,” Stefano said, “and tell her not to work too hard.”

*     *     *

The fact that Leah would have to work at all weighed heavily on Abe's mind. Tony Bucci suggested that Abe begin his on-the-job training at the packing plant on the first of June. “We'll need a couple of weeks to smooth things out for you,” he explained. Abe didn't argue. He could use these last couple of weeks in May to interview and hire a clerk to help out at the market.

“But we can't trust hired help behind the cash register,” Abe explained to Leah. “I don't know what to do. You can't work in your condition, and I've got to spend at least a part of each day over at the plant—”

“I will work if you need me,” Leah declared. “No harm can come to me. I don't feel nearly as exhausted as I did before Becky was born. The doctor says everything is fine with me. All I'll do is sit behind the counter and watch things. The boy you hire will do all the physical work. Anyway, we have no choice. You can't be in two places at once, right?”

“Maybe Stefano will let me delay the training-—”

“You can't ask him that. What if he decides to hire someone else? No, Abe. He said that he needs you now. You must begin.”

“Then I'll close the store.”

“Stefano said you mustn't. That would make it harder for him to sell the building.”

“All right,” Abe sighed. “There's nothing for it, I guess. You can work, but only sit at the register, yes? Absolutely no lifting or fetching.”

“I promise.”

Abe ended up hiring Mario, the sixteen-year-old son of the Italian widow who lived on the third floor. His nationality seemed like a good omen to Abe, and he hoped the fact that the boy was his tenant—on paper the building belonged to Abe—would help keep him honest. Unfortunately,
it didn't turn out that way. Several times Abe caught the boy stealing cigarettes or orange tonic and candy, but said nothing. An accusation would force him to fire Mario, and if Mario left, who would Abe find who would be any better?

No, I'll just live with the problem until the store is sold, Abe thought. The boy at least makes our customers' deliveries on time, and if he loiters with his friends on the way back I can put up with it. He has a strong back to lift the crates, and that's all that matters.

In truth Abe no longer wanted to be bothered with the store. The future beckoned to him. He looked forward to his afternoons on Washington Street, learning his way around the plant with the assistance of Tony Bucci and Louie Carduello. There was so much for him to learn—who wanted to think about the store?

All the unpleasant symptoms of pregnancy that Leah had so far managed to escape converged upon her with a vengeance in her eighth month. She let Abe know about none of it. He had enough on his mind. Anyway, if she let on how poorly she was feeling he would at once quit his training to take her place behind the counter at the store. She could not let him miss this big chance. Stefano was bending over backward to afford Abe this opportunity. She could not let Abe pass it by. He was going to be fifty years old soon. Even a man as powerful as Stefano de Fazio would be hard pressed to come up with another position so suitable for Abe.

Mrs. O'Malley is such a stubborn old crone, Leah thought. It was July second, a Friday afternoon, and the elderly grandmother had just placed a large order for groceries to be delivered tomorrow morning. There were a few things she wanted to take with her, however, like the ingredients to bake her pies for the Fourth of July holiday
supper she prepared for her large brood. The flour and shortening were within easy reach on a lower shelf.

“I need the baking soda, too, dearie,” Mrs. O'Malley insisted, pointing up at the small cans lining the top shelf behind the counter.