Rabbi Gabrielle's Defiance (12 page)

Asa was waiting outside Gabby's study in a soiled
trench coat and heavy black rubber boots. In the passenger seat of
her Volvo, he was silent, lost into an impenetrable solipsism.

Gabby asked several questions which he
ignored. In exasperation, she made a final attempt. "If you had a
piano at this moment, what would you play?"

The question stirred him rather abruptly,
"Oh, don't know. I'd probably just improvise. Nothing too
taxing."

"In a minor key, I presume."

"Why presume that?" he sounded more animated.
"If you believe that sadness requires a minor key, then think
again. I could play you many somber tunes in major keys."

"I wish you would. How I'd love to play the
piano."

"It's tough after adolescence. A Chinese kid
speaks his native tongue effortlessly, but it's nearly impossible
for someone to learn Chinese late in life, particularly to read all
the characters. An early start on the piano helps."

"Easy for you to say, pal. You started in the
crib."

A full parking lot at the First Methodist Church
forced them to hunt for a space on a neighboring residential
street, followed by a walk of several blocks. Mourners in dark
attire milled beside the towering church edifice, greeting friends
and sharing moments of grief. To avoid a cluster on the front
steps, Asa squired Gabby along the edge of the foyer into the
crowded main sanctuary, by then nearly filled, where they settled
into the first empty seats near the rear of the transept.

A few moments later, Asa recognized Angus
Klein, David's and Laura's brother-in-law, urging people not to
clog the aisle. He moved among the bodies with the purposeful
stride of a drill sergeant determined that the funeral begin
precisely as scheduled. Asa and Gabby hunched low in their seats to
avoid being spotted. They managed to stay out of Angus's vision as
he eyes passed over their pew the first time, but their images must
have left an impression because he returned for a second look. As
soon as he recognized Asa, his light complexion turned ruddy. An
artificial smile from Asa failed to soften his scowl. A moment
later, Angus made a military about-face and headed toward the
pulpit, disappearing through a door to the left. At the same
moment, the church organ opened up with commanding volume. In the
choir loft, a female soloist stood, her music folio open in her
arms like butterfly wings, her chin high as she drew in air.

A tap on the shoulder surprised Gabby. She
turned to find an usher leaning toward her from the pew behind, a
grave expression on his sun-wrinkled face, partially hidden in
mutton-chop sideburns. He addressed her, "Rabbi Lewyn, would you
please scoot out to speak with me for a moment?"

In some confusion, she asked herself why
anyone might need her just before the ceremony. There was a remote
chance the family had changed its mind about adding Jewish prayers
to the ceremony, but that she calculated to be quite remote.

An instant later, Angus Klein reappeared
beside the usher, a perpetual glaze of sweat beading his brow. "The
man said he'd like to talk with you, Rabbi.
Before
the service begins, if you will."

Simultaneously, the Right Reverend Claire
Goldwater emerged on the pulpit from the same door Angus had used.
A tall, lean woman, she held herself with ram-rod rigidity in a
gray robe with three parallel black stripes on the arms to signify
that she held a doctoral degree. The female vocalist opened with a
hymn unfamiliar to Gabby, who turned a shoulder to the usher and
Angus, hoping they would disappear the moment the service
commenced.

Angus's voice cut through the music. "You
don't get it, do you, Rabbi? The family doesn't want either of you
here. This is a solemn moment of sadness. You busybodies have
caused incalculable misery already."

Asa's temper propelled him onto his feet.
Gabby attempted to hold him down, but failed to catch his arm
before he slipped into the aisle. Meanwhile, Gabby rotated again to
the rear and said, "Our presence here hurts no one. We have a right
to grieve over Janean's death just like anyone else."

When music failed to drown out the verbal
skirmish, Claire Goldwater gazed through thick bifocals to find a
blurred vision of Asa staring down Angus and daring him to throw
the first punch. Near-sighted, Reverend Goldwater squinted to
clarify the distant blur. "Please, please," she said into the
pulpit microphone. "We need quiet to begin our tribute. I ask all
in the rear to take their seats, please."

"Get out!" Angus Klein thundered, his voice
amplified by the high ceiling of the sanctuary. "David has
specifically asked that you leave immediately. Why do you insist on
remaining where you're not wanted?"

By this time, Gabby had extracted herself
from her seat and drawn alongside Asa. One instinct demanded that
she defend her right to mourn, yet another, that she not disrupt
the funeral. Her response to Angus satisfied neither. "Like the
rest of the people here, we loved Janean. We feel her loss."

"Could somebody please tell me what the
problem is?" Goldwater asked into the microphone, her hand a visor
against strong overhead flood lights as she squinted to see for
herself. "We cannot proceed until we have quiet."

Angus's fist shot forward to snatch Gabby's
arm but was diverted by a firm chop from the bottom of Asa's hand.
He responded with a thrust at Asa's chest. Gabby immediately wedged
herself between the warriors, holding them apart by their forearms.
Looking now over the congregation, she spoke in a voice trained to
project. "Our deepest apologies, Reverend. To you and the
Morgenstern family. We came to pay our respects. But since our
prayers are unwanted, we will leave immediately and recite them
privately. Please, let this funeral continue without us."

Asa's eyes filled with fire. A reaction
drilled into him as a Marine officer dictated that backing down was
both unmanly and unnatural. Yet saner counsel told him that Gabby
was not wrong. Nobody was going to take their cause seriously at a
moment like this.

"Sorry," Gabby called out to the mourners as
she herded Asa toward the foyer. "Very, very sorry. Please accept
our apologies. We never meant to disrupt the sacred."

"Sunnavabitch, who the shit does Angus Klein think
he is?" Asa blurted as Gabby steered her Volvo into traffic, headed
back to Ohav Shalom.

"Policeman of the Western World. Some people
are born law-enforcers. First they take it out on their siblings,
then their associates. I guess he believes he's helping his
brother-in-law in a time of grief."

"It wasn't courteous."

"I'd be off the wall
mishuganah
if my little girl died."

"Why make excuses for assholes?"

"I'm not. Can't say I've ever been thrown out
of a funeral before. Bars and saloons are regular occurrences for
me, but not funerals."

He failed to respond as she had hoped, but
fell into silence.

"I'm losing you, Asa, aren't I?" she said
more as a declaration than a question.

The proclamation seemed to rest in
circulating air from the car heater.

"The lousiest part of the rabbinate," she
responded to her own question. "It's certainly not the profession
we both aspired to."

"No rewards," he suddenly came alive. "Just
knee-kicks in the
kishkas
. There's more
money in doing just about anything. All you get for your efforts
are an occasional compliment. But for the most part, the
congregants offer either indifference or hostility."

In the Ohav Shalom parking lot, she turned
off the ignition and slumped into the driver's seat, waiting for
Asa to get out. "There must be some sunshine for you, friend."

"Maybe for you, Gabby. But all I see are
squalls and thunderclouds. The problem is there isn't much time for
me to make a career change. If I wait longer, it will be too late.
Haven't you thought of leaving?"

Her smile opened, trenching dimples in her
cheeks and for the first time in several days, laughter in her eyes
settled upon him. "Every day, friend. Almost every hour of every
day. It's a recurring dream. I ask myself isn't there something
better to do with one's mortal life. But if there is, I can't think
of it, so I persevere. Day after day, week after week. At least you
can play the piano. I wouldn't be much good at other jobs."

"Bullshit!" he exclaimed, while pushing open
the door and hauling his body onto the pavement.

***

From the steps of the National Archives on
Washington's Mall, you peer down at National Sculpture Garden and
adjacent Ice Rink. Gabby, who made a habit of being punctual,
arrived at the rink a few minutes early. To kill time before
meeting Kye Naah, she ambled eastward along Jefferson Drive, a pair
of white figure skates dangling from her shoulder by long
shoestrings. No matter how often she visited the Mall, she was
moved by the expansive majesty of the capital city and, like many
Americans, enjoyed gazing upon the familiar capitol building with
its majestic white dome, flanked by the House of Representatives
and the Senate. The whiteness suggested to her purity and decency
while a mélange of nearby institutional masonry buildings,
appearing like courtiers to a monarch, conveyed self-assurance and
historic purpose.

Cumulous clouds swept overhead in an easterly
breeze. The air was damp but without precipitation. Spirited rock
music emanating from the ice rink punctuated the growl of motor
traffic on Constitution Avenue. She hadn't been ice-skating since
outings at New York's Rockefeller Square Rink with her old flame,
Tim Matternly. Together, they would giggle and stumble, race and
saunter over the ice as they grooved their strokes to the music of
Viennese waltzes. She often resisted an urge to dial Tim's
Manhattan number. Though they had separated as "good friends,"
there had been no communication between them since his wedding at
St. John the Divine on Fifth Avenue. Her girlfriends were adamant
about dragging into the present lost lovers from the past. They
were right, of course, but she nevertheless missed Tim.

Kye Naah was not in the changing area when Gabby
returned to the rink, now crowded with Sunday skaters. While
standing in line to buy an entry ticket a voice beckoned her from
the ice. "Hey, Rabbi. I already bought a ticket for you!"

Kye sailed across the ice toward the gate,
but was forced to wait behind a group of teenagers before stepping
off the ice onto a rubber carpet to greet her. "Arrived a bit early
to practice up. Don't want to make a fool of myself like I did at
the Greenbrier."

She stripped off a ski glove to shake his
hand. "Consensus has it that I, not you, was the fool on that
mountainside. Looks like you handle yourself pretty well on
skates."

"To stay on your feet you've got to compete
with a mob of frustrated hockey players. The kids insist on burning
up the ice. Slowing them down is like hog-tying a mustang. There's
already been one collision since I arrived."

"Don't the ice-guards help?"

Good teeth flashed from under his upper lip
as he grinned widely. "They're part of the problem. Guess who gets
hired to police the ice? Not figure skaters, I can assure you. When
was the last time you saw a rink guard who wasn't trying to become
a star in the National Hockey League?"

The upbeat music and his good humor conspired
to make her chuckle. "Let me get my skates on and we'll show those
youngsters a little class."

Getting one's sea legs on the ice after a
long hiatus required practice. Mounds of ice flakes left by
previous skaters slowed Gabby's blades, though pain she expected to
occur in her ankles failed to materialize. Kye stayed nearby, his
eyes observing how she favored the outside edge of her blades. A
Mendelsohn waltz adopted for the pipe organ provided the perfect
skating music. Six teenage youngsters on hockey skates moving at
double the speed of the pack forced her to make a series of rapid
directional changes. When other youths cut her off, she dug the
teeth of her figure skates into the ice and came to an abrupt
halt.

Kye braked alongside to commiserate. "You
skate well."

"You look very comfortable yourself."

"Wait until you see one of my Charlie Chaplin
falls. One trip to the ice and the comfort factor disappears.
There's a little space in the center, if you want to practice
turning or figure-eights."

Looking beyond the rink to the white dome of
the Capitol, she said, "Thanks. It's not necessary. I'm quite
satisfied to circle a bit longer and enjoy the view. This setting
is majestic."

He drew himself alongside, their shoulders
touching as they made last-second adjustments to stay in tandem. "I
had hoped you'd say something like that, Rabbi Lewyn."

"Gabby, please. If we're going to run
interference for each other here, you had better call me what most
people do. I'm not fond of titles."

"How about the title Congresswoman Gabrielle
Lewyn? You'd make a great representative, certainly better than the
jokers who inhabit that august house up there on the hill." His
eyes glanced eastward to the House of Representatives. When they
returned, Gabby swerved to avoid a teenage girl who had tumbled in
front, dragging her screaming girlfriend behind. Gabby veered
right, but Kye was forced to a halt by turning his blades parallel
and shearing ice onto the fallen girl. She accepted his hand to
lift her back onto her skates.

Seconds later, Gabby and Kye reunited, this
time skating slower. Unsupervised children, who couldn't be more
than 10, darted from the sides with youthful abandonment. Kye
waited until Gabby was facing the Capitol again before continuing,
"I can make you into a Congresswoman, you know," he boasted.

This kind of talk embarrassed her. "Why, Dr.
Naah, I thought one had to be elected in order to sit in Congress.
I'm sure you're talented, but last I heard you don't appoint our
representatives by fiat."