Rabbi Gabrielle's Defiance (35 page)

She looked dubious but knew him to be a good
observer of what he often called "the human beast."

Changing the subject, he asked, "By the way,
did you see the photograph of Asa I found? I put it on your
blotter, but it might have gotten buried. Like you thought, it was
lost in a pile of manuscripts on the windowsill. I hope it's what
you want."

It took her minutes to shuffle through a
stack of envelopes and articles that rose from her desk like a
volcanic upheaval. A glance at the photo revealed it to be
approximate what she recalled – Asa sitting behind his desk in a
business suit, looking a bit scared yet professional, a
shass
, a set of the Babylonian Talmud, a
symbol of Jewish scholarship, piled in utter disorder on the shelf
behind him. She searched for the menorah he lent the Morgenstern
girls. Her memory placed it beyond his right shoulder though the
photo showed it on the shelf to his left. That it was heavily
encrusted in wax was a credit to her memory. She recalled at the
time feeling annoyed by his slovenly disregard for a religious
object, what in a more charitable moment she attributed to his
artistic temperament, aloof and unworldly, with sensitivities more
attuned to sounds and rhythms than artifacts. She recalled his
kitchen sink filled with dirty dishes and his clothing strewn
around his apartment.

Normally, she remained at Ohav Shalom until after
6:30 p.m. in order to complete essential correspondence and plan
for future gatherings. But today she broke away at 5:15, stopping
by Asa's study to say goodnight. That he wasn't there was not
surprising. She took the opportunity to confirm that his
wax-encrusted menorah was not in its customary position on the
bookshelf.

From Ohav Shalom, she drove along River Road
into the countryside to Seneca, Maryland, where she had personal
business at the Izaac Walton Shooting Range. The gun club was
located on a 1,500-acre wild life preserve and managed in trust by
the Izaak Walton League. A memorial to the late Joel Fox, dentist,
ardent gun collector, and hunter, had been erected near the short
.22 rifle range where he once instructed his students from
Anacostia on gun safety. Gabby was aware that it was common for the
memory of a loved one to grow in the mind of a bereaving survivor.
But in her case she assured herself that Joel's memory neither was
un-glamorized by his absence nor idealized by the brutality of his
death. In her case, his memory was far simpler. Joel remained in
her heart because he had given his life so that she might live.
Interpret what happened in the park however you will, but a single
fact returned to haunt her. She was alive and Joel was not.

In the fading light of day, the range was not
in use and she saw no need to apprise the groundskeeper of her
presence. A faint glow emanated from inside the log clubhouse and
smoke from a wood fire wafted lazily from its stone chimney. A
bronze plague donated by the National Rifle Association identified
a nearby granite monolith as a tribute to Joel. A second plaque
adorned a nearby painted park bench, placed there by friends from
his beloved One Shot Hunting Club. Small pools of afternoon rain
had spotted the bench, but Gabby felt no urgency to sit.

Her fingers brushed the coarse granite of the
monolith as though drawing from it Joel's spirit and spoke in a
soft voice to the stone. "Joel, there have never been secrets
between us and I want to tell you about a man I've met. I've always
believed you would want me to find a replacement, as I would have
wished had I died in Fort Stanton Park and you survived me. You'll
always be in my heart, as long as I live. But now I've found a man
you would approve of. He's a dreamer like you, Joel. And these
days, more than ever, I need someone to dream with, someone to feed
my pedestrian mind with ideas I'm incapable of thinking on my own.
Didn't Shakespeare say we're of the stuff that dreams are made
of?"

She paused as the wind rustled leaves in a
nearby laurel oak, restraining moisture in her eyes that neared
tears. "Kye Naah is a wonderful person, Joel. He's a computer nerd,
but has been known to think about other things from time to time.
Perhaps, most importantly, I really care for him. A lot. But I need
your approval. Nothing will be done without your approval,
Joel."

Again, she paused to listen, now gazing at a
stand of dogwoods whose blossoms had just begun to open with
flashes of spring white.

That the wind alone spoke she took as a
substitute for Joel's breath… and his approval.

Later in her car, while inserting into her sound
console the CD recording of Asa's
A Jazzman's
Sorrow
, she continued talking to a ghost. "Listen to this,
Joel. Composed by my associate, who has the talent of a Claude
Debussy."

***

"Do you know Gina McQuire from the Washington
Post?" Chuck approached Gabby the following morning as soon as she
settled into her office.

The name possessed a very familiar ring, but
Gabby failed to identify it.

"She's doing a story on female executives and
would like to interview you. Says she saw you in
From Slavery to Freedom
and was profoundly
impressed."

Gabby had to consider the political
ramifications before accepting. "My politician friends say there's
no such thing as bad publicity. Worse than having someone lambaste
you in the media, is to be ignored by the media."

"Then should I set up an appointment?"

"No. Not until I formally announce my
candidacy, but don't say that. Tell her I'd be happy to talk in
about two weeks when my schedule eases."

Chuck had another matter to discuss. "You
also received a call from Nelson McKesson's office at Dominion
Mutual. He asked if you and Asa could be at the company's Baltimore
offices next Tuesday morning along with Stan Melkin and his legal
team to discuss future developments in the lawsuit."

A fist rose to her lips and her eyes
narrowed. "What future developments?"

He shrugged and tilted his head sideways.
"How should I know? I'm only the appointment clerk. But if you ask
me to speculate, I'd say they're positioning themselves to offer
the Morgensterns more money."

"What makes you think that?"

"Marc Sutterfeld is a killer lawyer. All he
has to do is parade Tybee Morgenstern into court and a jury will
start weeping. Every tear is worth a million dollars."

"If that's true, he'll reject just about any
offer."

"Perhaps not. I've read you don't always
collect everything a jury awards. But in a settlement, the
plaintiff gets cold cash up front. You don't have to wait a decade
before receiving the moolah. Otherwise, no deal."

"Okay, counselor, when do you start law
school? Tell Mr. McKesson I'll be there on Tuesday. I'll discuss
this with Asa."

***

Asa Folkman was conducting a funeral and did
not respond to Gabby's message until late afternoon. When he
finally came to her study, he was dressed in a tailored dark gray
suit with a silver-striped necktie, a torn black funereal ribbon in
his lapel. Gabby credited Anina with elevating Aas's attention to
attire, fashioning a handsome male into an elegant male. Usually a
funeral would drag him into a somber mood, but this afternoon he
seemed unusually chipper.

"I listened again to
A
Jazzman's Sorrow
," she reported, her voice upbeat and
enthusiastic. "And now I understand what Reuben is raving
about."

"It's unbelievable to me, Gabby," he
permitted a smile of pride to spread over his lower face. "Word
spreads like wildfire and so do pirated copies of the CD. A private
foundation in St. Louis called to inquire if I wanted to submit my
composition for a contest. First prize is a very generous
commission to write a full symphonic work. And now the San
Francisco Symphony Foundation wants to fly me there to talk about
scoring
Jazzman
. I've tentatively agreed
to travel west on Sunday afternoon, after Religious School. Monday
is my normal day off. I expect to be back very late Tuesday
evening. I hope that works in your schedule."

So this is why his spirits were so high, she
thought to herself. At that moment, she experienced a premonition
that Asa's agony about his work was coming to an end. Some of her
premonitions were vague and necessarily uncertain. But this one was
strong enough to bet a large sum upon. She felt elevated by being
in the company of a skilled craftsman, one whom Reuben called
a genius
. Still, Asa's timing couldn't be
worse for her race to win a seat in Congress.

"Lawyers for Dominion Mutual want us to meet
with them Tuesday morning in Baltimore. Can you make it back Monday
night?"

"My meeting with the foundation people is
Tuesday morning. What's this Baltimore meeting about?"

"They didn't provide an agenda. Stan Melkin
will tell us. Chuck thinks Dominion wants to sweeten a settlement
offer."

"The best of all lousy worlds," he shook his
head and mumbled. "The synagogue is only covered for ten mil.
They've already offered seven and a half. There isn't much more to
give."

"If we settle, that's an overt omission of
guilt, you understand. It would say that Ohav Shalom acknowledges
its responsibility, which I categorically deny."

"Does it matter, Gabby? The important thing
is to care for Tybee's needs. I feel like a bad smell that
everybody in this congregation wants to be rid of."

"Certainly not me, friend. When you're famous
for writing music, people will flock around like bees to honey. And
when you're an acclaimed composer, the same people who find fault
today will boast that you were once
their
rabbi. People are like that, you know."

"If you think I should postpone my trip to
San Francisco, I will."

She wanted to say yes, but knew it was not in
his interest. His good nature had been exploited too often already.
Since the congregation failed to acknowledge his rabbinical
talents, he owed it nothing. "No, Asa. I want you to go. You
deserve this. San Francisco is everybody's favorite city. If
possible, take Anina and enjoy yourselves. Visit the redwood trees
in Muir Woods and feel how puny things that disturb us really are.
I'll go to the Baltimore meeting. Just let me know your feelings
about a settlement and I'll present them there."

A fist went up to his face and stopped before
his lips, through which he blew air. "Whatever the insurance
company will pay. If I make any money from
A
Jazzman's Sorrow
I'm going to give the proceeds to Tybee's
medical expenses or her future education. That's the least I can
do."

Gabby's sigh was audible. "Keep your money;
you earned it fair and square. In my judgment you don't owe poor
Tybee a cent. It was an accident, not of your making. Let Dominion
Mutual pay the bill. That's why they collect premiums."

"I intend to write a concerto in Janean's
memory."

"That would be lovely, Asa. I'm sure she
would appreciate that. But please, when you do, don't make her
ministering angels weep."

***

A feature profile of Rabbi Gabrielle Lewyn in
Sunday morning's Style Section of
The Washington
Post
caught readers by surprise. Yes, Chuck Browner was
aware that reporters were asking questions about his boss, but that
wasn't unusual. Her part in the televised seder convinced the
paper's editors to run the story earlier than scheduled and
included her picture at the seder, with Kye Naah, a well-known
entrepreneur in Washington's info-tech industry, beside her. The
language suggested but did not state in so many words that he was
her steady beau.

Kye saw the story on Sunday morning before
attending his church on Wilson Boulevard in suburban Bethesda.
Since he had plans to bring Gabby to the church's spring picnic at
Great Falls Park that noon, there was no purpose trying to catch
her at Ohav Shalom. No doubt her congregants were as surprised as
he, though he had no way of evaluating their displeasure.

Members of the church could have agreed to
attend the morning's worship in picnic clothing, but they wouldn't
dare recite prayers and sing hymns to the Almighty in inappropriate
attires. Multicolored athletic bags filled with a change of outdoor
clothing were neatly rowed in the foyer. Despite the picnic,
worship this morning proceeded with the formality and decorum of
any Sunday.

Kye had planned to collect Gabby from Ohav
Shalom and drive together to Great Falls Park, but the Post article
persuaded him to leave a voicemail. Instead of going to her study
they should meet outside on the street. Why add to the
confusion?

Eleven minutes past the hour, Gabby
approached his Ford van from the rear and unlatched the passenger
door and jumped energetically into the seat, exclaiming,
"
Let's went, amigo
. Quick, before somebody
ambushes me."

Turning the ignition, he asked, "What do you
think of your profile? It's a great sendoff for the campaign."

"The paper jumped the gun. I've still got a
few more days before I must let Kyle Carberri know my final
decision."

"You're not thinking of quitting on me, are
you?"

"I can't quit if I don't start. I'm not
trying to be cute, Kye, and I know what this means to you. That's a
major consideration for me."

"How were things at the religious school this
morning?"

"People stared at me as though I were a
Martian. A few said nice things about the seder. They thought it
was a refreshing twist. Others wanted assurance that we wouldn't
repeat it next year."

***

The Potomac River cleaves a steep canyon
between Virginia and Maryland at Great Falls, a seething convulsion
of white water that drops 340 feet in a quarter mile. Spring was
definitely in the air, but puffy cumulous clouds dotted the sky and
a nippy northwestern wind blew along the river. In a picnic area,
members of Kye's church shared the tasks of starting barbecue
fires, setting tables, unpacking plastic containers filled with
ginseng chicken, sticky rice flavored with garlic and
kimchi,
fermented mixtures of radish and cabbage with
hot peppers, onions and heavy salt. Strips of lean beef were
readied for the barbecue to be served with cold
naengmyon
noodles. Foreign zithers and Asian drums
from a portable CD player drown out the roar of the river.