Rabbi Gabrielle's Defiance (39 page)

The timing of Gabby's decision couldn't have
been worse. Gina McQuire's article in
The
Post
fueled gossip in Washington's Jewish community, as it
no doubt did among Koreans. Chuck Browner's antenna picked up
rumors that she failed to hear. People speculated that troubles
with the Board of Directors would eventually translate into her
dismissal from her pulpit. Some who favored conspiratorial theories
speculated that the board intended to cover its embarrassment about
her political ambitions by trumping up charges related to role
models and ethnic solidarity. How, these unidentified voices asked,
would the normally conservative leaders of the synagogue regard a
marriage between their rabbi and a Korean Baptist?

***

A second week passed without word from Kye.
She wrote him additional emails and sent none. Her thoughts kept
running into each other. When younger, she and her giddy
girlfriends believed that love with the right man could overcome
all obstacles. A rash of bitter divorces and among their friends
knocked the stuffing out of that adolescent fantasy. Further, in
the course of her career, Gabby had witnessed hundreds of failed
marriages, the majority of which she knew to be badly flawed from
the very outset. Instead of sending such rambling thoughts to Kye
,she deleted them one after another. Poignant messages she composed
and recomposed dissipated into emotional drivel.

With Asa in California, Gabby spent long
hours at the synagogue, fulfilling the duties of two rabbis.
Normally spunky, she became withdrawn, slow to enter into
conversation with others and then for only brief periods. Chuck
observed her emotional tailspin and camped protectively nearby,
resisting an urge to ask questions to which he knew there were no
answers. His contribution to her therapy was to keep her occupied
and her schedule of meetings full.

From the vestibule of her office, he studied
her examining the Fire Marshal's Report on the Morgenstern
accident, printed on orange-pink paper, matching he thought, the
hue of flames in a blazing conflagration. This was not the first
time he had seen her with it. Though he made no sound, she felt his
presence and lifted eyes lazily over the rims of her reading
glasses. "
Neu
?"

"I'd like to invite you to dinner with the
sexiest fag in Washington," he replied.

Smiles seldom occurred these days, but she
worked one onto her cheeks, punctuating the dimples he found
alluring. "So what's in it for me, besides good food?"

"Good company."

"The best," she returned, falling into their
natural badinage. "But I don't know how long I'll be here tonight.
Asa was supposed to be returning this afternoon, though I haven't
heard from him yet. He'll want to hear about the meeting in
Baltimore."

"Sounds like he's hit the jackpot in
California."

"I think he's been smitten by the Golden
State."

"That will end your sabbatical, won't
it?"

She nodded her agreement by letting her eyes
fall back over the report.

"And there goes my fantasy as secretary to a
congresswoman."

She ignored the remark and drew his attention
to what was on her desk. "I'm trying to understand firemen's
jargon. Listen to this:
equipment involved as
source of ignition, form of heat of ignition, type of material
ignited, form of material ignited, act or omission origin of fire,
main avenues of fire spread, type of material most responsible for
fire spread, act or omission most responsible for fire
spread
… it goes on an on. I never thought fires could be so
complicated."

He stepped forward to sit in a Naugahide
interview chair opposite the desk. "Why do you care? Have you found
something?"

"A couple of things. First, according to this
report, the fire started in the Morgenstern kitchen. Flames from
newspapers ignited grease on a kitchen table and spread to the gas
range. From there, they jumped to painted walls. An inspector found
Asa's menorah. Because it was caked with melted candle wax he drew
the conclusion the candles had burned wildly, transferring flames
to the newspapers."

"Sounds like you're not certain," Chuck
said.

"I'm not. Remember the photo of Asa in his
office. When I originally saw Asa's menorah I thought to myself,
why the hell doesn't he clean off the surplus wax. Instead, he let
it cake up from year to year until it looked like one of those
Chianti bottles used for candle holders in inexpensive Italian
restaurants. What's important is that melted wax doesn't build up
evenly under the eight candles. Because we start each of the eight
nights with the
shamash
and add an
additional candle each successive night, there's more residual wax
under the
shamash
and first candles than
the rest. Over eight days of Chanukah, eight candles are lit in the
first holder, seven in the second, six in the third and so on. When
the inspector examined Asa's menorah, he noticed lots of excess wax
and concluded that the flames burned wildly. That often happens on
the eighth night when all nine candles are burning simultaneously,
but not during the first few nights. Think of eight candles burning
side by side. They develop so much heat they burn erratically. If
there's a draft fanning the flames, ignition is even faster."

"So the marshal
was
right."

"Wrong, Chuck. The accident didn't happen on
Shabbat
, December 17th. And it wasn't the
eighth night or even the third night of Chanukah. The 17th was the
first night. If the Morgenstern girls were following lessons from
the religious school, they would have been burning only the
shamash
and the first candle. The melted
wax the Marshal believed to be from this year actually occurred
years before, residue from
previous
years.
The picture from Asa's study proves it."

"That doesn't prove either the
shamash
or first candle didn't start the fire."

"That's right, but it makes one think twice
about the marshal's judgment, now doesn't it? Maybe a jury will
take that into consideration."

"If you're right, what
did
start the fire?"

"Don't know for certain. I read someplace
that most home fires start in kitchens because that where there are
multiple sources of fuel. It was Sabbath so it could have been the
Shabbat
candles. This report says that two
silver candle sticks were discovered, both in the kitchen area. I
found a note in the addenda that all pertinent items removed from
the fire were being stored at the Fire Department's Forensic
Laboratory. It gives identification number for the menorah and the
silver candle sticks." She fumbled through notes attached to the
documents. "Yes, you see," an upbeat expression of discovery spread
over her face, "The bin number is 8875; the carton number
9765-09."

"Where does all this lead? Who cares whether
the fire started from the menorah,
Shabbos
candles or the pilot flame from the kitchen range?"

"That's just the point. Asa admitted to
teaching the kids about lighting Chanukah candles. He lent the
Morgenstern girls his menorah, caked with years of unburned wax,
which they took home. But he didn't teach them blessings over the
Sabbath candles. That was probably done by one of the religious
schoolteachers. And we don't know if these teachers did or didn't
warn their children about lighting matches. My guess is that they
did. Teachers are trained to be cautious. But what's important is
that there's no proof they
didn't
issue
warnings. This bites at the nub of the case against Ohav."

"Very speculative," he added. "Are you
thinking there's no merit in the lawsuit?"

She rose from behind the desk and withdrew
glasses from her nose in a meditative manner, like a college
professor lighting his pipe. "That, my sexy fag, I don't know.
Merit is in the eye of the judge or the jury. But if a jury buys my
logic, that would be disastrous for Tybee, leaving her nothing for
her suffering, medical and educational expenses."

"So a settlement is better," he added.

She smiled widely, half-nodding. "You said
it, friend, not me. For the time being, keep my speculation to
yourself."

"Were I to reveal your thoughts, Rabbi Gabby,
they'd send a paddy wagon here within the hour. Now how about
dinner? I know you like Asian food. Chinese, Thai, Japanese,
Korean? You name it."

Asian food sounded appealing, but words
slipped from her lips before being censured. "Anything but Korean,
please."

He squinted his confusion.

She decided not to explain and said, "I can't
go until I finish reading this report. Call the Fire Marshal's
Office and find out where the Forensic Lab is located and how I can
examine articles taken from the Morgenstern home. They must be in
the public domain."

"Playing detective again, are you?"

"No. Just curious. There's a silly notion
tickling my brain and I want to check it out."

***

No communication from Kye fed Gabby's
depression. His phones at
Politicstoday
were now disconnected as well as his mobile phone. She cycled a
host of
what-if
scenarios through her
mind, though the rational part of her brain told that the exercise
was hopeless. Not one inclined toward fatalism, she found herself
slipping into its grips, assuming full rather than partial blame
for the rupture with Kye.

Asa's return to Washington proved to be
something of a relief, if for no other reason than she was no
longer required to fulfill his duties. He slipped back into his
previous routine, immediately inundated with calls and visits,
letters, email, and daily meetings. Though Gabby was eager to hear
about his adventures in California, they couldn't find free time
until after
Shabbat
services, when they
planned a walk around the Jefferson Monument at the Tidal Basin, to
Gabby's mind, Washington's most picturesque spots.

The spring afternoon was exceptionally warm.
Hordes of tourists, most of whom had missed the famous cherry
blossoms in early April, patrolled a narrow path encircling the
Tidal Basin. The white dome of Jefferson's memorial reflected on
the pond, dotted by colorful, two-man cycle boats. And inside, in
the form of a statue far larger than life, stood Thomas Jefferson,
peering imperiously at the nation he, with the help of other
visionaries, founded.

"So," she took Asa's arm as if they were
strolling lovers. "I expected you to explode with joy. How many
musicians are commissioned to write music for major orchestras? I
don't reckon that happens very often. Did you fly down to Los
Angeles?"

"For two days. The L.A. Symphony put me up at
the Bel Air Hotel and wined and dined me. People make fun of
Hollywood, but people there take the business of entertainment
seriously."

"I hope they offered you oodles of money
because you're worth every penny and then some additional shekels
because you're also a damn nice fellow."

He chuckled and curled his lips into a wry
contortion. "Better than Ohav Shalom, if that's what you're
thinking."

"Take the money and run, friend. This is your
opportunity to make a name for yourself. Thousands of people will
hear your music."

"You know I won't do that, at least not until
you've returned from your sabbatical."

"But this is a dream come true," she stopped
walking and turned, forcing him to face her.

"And what about
your
dream of running for Congress? Why does mine take priority over
yours?"

"Because I've haven't one tenth of the talent
for politics you have for music. You can make your dream a reality.
But scratch my skin and you won't find a politician. The truth is,
I don't even like politics. For a couple of months, I caught
Potomac fever and became delirious. From my frustrations, I saw a
greener field. When President Talisman wrote me I momentarily
believed not only that I could win, but that I was far more
important than I am and that I had more to offer the public than I
do. Eventually, I came down to earth for a good look. Talisman was
only trying to further his own political interests. He would have
written the same letter to just about any Democrat foolish enough
to run against Toby Ryles. Your friend Gabby isn't very good at
anything but being a rabbi."

"I still must stick around until the
Morgenstern trial is over. It's going to force me to spend a lot of
time in Washington. If I can concentrate, I'll do some composing
here."

They resumed walking, sometimes dodging
children who clustered beside the water to throw bread at mallards
addicted to human table scraps.

"What does Anina say about your success?"

"All she can think about is me becoming
successful in the movies."

"When you leave, will she follow?" Gabby
asked.

"We haven't talked about that. Besides, I
don't expect to be gone long."

"You're hot now, Asa. Opportunities that are
real now may evaporate in the future. As much as I would love you
at Ohav Shalom, you've got to be practical. The board has never
appreciated your skills. They've made you into the
kapporah
for our Morgenstern tragedy. As far as I'm
concerned, you owe Ohav Shalom nothing. And as for me, I'll find a
substitute. There are plenty of good rabbis to serve in the
nation's capital. Go, Asa. Go, please. Reuben is my guru in matters
of music and you know what he thinks about your work."

"I won't leave you holding the bag."

"I'll manage. I've got some pretty neat
people to work with."

"What's new with Kye? Anina faxed me the
piece about you in The Post. I know people are talking about a
relationship."