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Chapter 70-The Kentucky Derby
Copyright 1995
By David Rojay
THE LONG BRIDGE RUNNER
Book One/THE MIDWEST
When Gurion asked to take Daniel to the Kentucky Derby, Dorothy, having repented of her past feelings, readily agreed. There was a day of frenzied shopping to be sure Daniel was properly dressed and although Glenn fretted about the cost, Dorothy knew they could afford it.
Gurion knew this outing with Daniel was foolish. He would spend the trip suspended in reality. Each time he looked at Daniel, he would see Abe. Abe in a new land on a trip with his father. If he tried hard enough, he could even imagine Anna waiting for their return. The festive table set beneath candlelight and her voice saying, "mien menchen, my men".
But Daniel would not cooperate with Gurion's dreams. He talked and asked questions that interrupted Gurion's fantasy and at a roadside cafe he insisted on eating a cheeseburger, a repugnant juxtaposition of cheese and cooked flesh.
"Should I tell him I've thought about going to Israel?" Gurion wondered. "Perhaps he doesn't even know of such a place."
When Gurion knew that Kimberly was unfaithful, he had contacted Eugene Zinov, a Ukrainian from Odessa. Eugene had gone to Palestine in 1935 and now lived in Haifa where he ran a dress factory.
"I live near the B'Hai Temple," he wrote, "with a view of the sea. My diet is a healthy mixture of vegetables, fruits and nuts and pita, humus and falafel. The sun shines every day and the women are beautiful and athletic."
When Daniel fell asleep on the back seat, Gurion began to think about his reasons for thinking of Israel. Was it because of the letter from Werner Fiedler? A letter so full of the Zionist zeal, describing a life so different from Gurion's double existence, an existence that held not only his own world but also the charade world, the one he must exist in-among the ignorant Christians, but also the ignorant Jews of Fairhaven. He was a man out of place and time, lost with only his memories and letters that promised reconnection.
But something had triggered this state of mind. Every Wednesday afternoon since Kimberly's affair, he had driven to Evansville to escape the small town ennui. Evansville was the right size city, not as large and difficult as St. Louis. There, he could relax and be anonymous. He often drank on Wednesday night to a degree which would have created a scandal in Fairhaven; and even more "ver botten," he had visited the prostitutes on High Street. These visits invariably filled him with melancholy and guilt, not only because they reminded him of Kimberly's affair, but also of his loveless life.
Still, the real reason for his journeys to Evansville was to see a psychologist recommended to him by Andrew Klein, a doctor at Evansville Hospital. This young woman, with the German name, Holstein, seemed unsure of herself yet readily proffered advice, which Gurion recognized as being from text books rather than experience. Still, he liked her and looked forward to their sessions which alleviated his depression. She would never have guessed she was more a diversion to him than a doctor; and yet one day after a rather sophomoric remark about suffering, Gurion blurted, "What do you really know about suffering?"
Miss Holstein's throat began to blotch; she coughed nervously. "I know I can't really relate to your trauma, Dr. Gurion, I can only do what I've been trained to do; but sometimes when I'm at a loss about something as you are now, I simply drop to my knees and call on the Lord."
After that, Gurion knew why he could not stay in America.
But today would be different. Since his early days spent at Hoppegarten,* he had loved horses, racing horses. He knew how they had evolved from Arabian steeds and he knew how the Arabs loved their horses and in Bedouin encampments even slept with them.
The favorite in today's derby was Middleground. "When you get to the Derby bet on Middleground; he'll win hands down."
Gurion knew nothing more that this. He would put every other thought out of his mind. He would decide later on whether to go to Cape Cod with Kimberly or not but today, he would find an island of peace in his life, he hoped.
In the late afternoon of that day, when shadows grew noticeably and the first thoughts of coming night were felt, the trumpeter sounded "Post Call". This most difficult and beautiful of fanfares seemed to hold back the shadows but only temporarily as sentiment fell upon the crowd.
One by one the horses left the paddocks slowly prancing toward the gate, the light and the distance turned their motion into a southern dream.
A hush fell as the crowd began to sing, "My Old Kentucky Home". Every heart was dealt a challenge to forget the beauty of that moment.
As Daniel joined in the anthem, he looked up at Gurion whose eyes had filled with tears. He looked afar off into the distance and said, remembering Hoppegarten, "I wonder, I wonder what time it is in Berlin?"
After the race, in the car driving back to Fairhaven, Daniel wanted to inquire about Gurion's words but he did not. They spoke little; Gurion realized the distance between the American child and himself. This would be their last trip together.
*Berlin Racetrack
____________________________________________________________________
Chapters change on Tuesdays and Friday Evenings:
Be sure to watch David Rojay on The Dan and Dad Show each Saturday night at 9:30 on Channel 17. Read A RED STATE HERO by David Rojay on capecodtoday.com. Read Sea Street-David Rojay's blog on capecodtoday.com and finally check out David Rojay on YOUTUBE. For more information, Google "David Rojay".
Check out my Sea Street Blog: "All Gab and No Jab.
At Cape Cod Hip Hop and Jazz, we train you to use your talent. We have classes for boys and girls, children and adults, in hip hop, jazz, and rhythm tap. It's a great way for your kidz to learn new dance forms while having fun. (Barnstable)
A foundation helping kids through community events. Visit our site for events, monthly photos and see how you can help our local kids and their community. (Chatham)
Chapter 69-Spring
Copyright 1995
By David Rojay
THE LONG BRIDGE RUNNER
Book One/THE MIDWEST
Spring came on like a parade; there were crocuses and daffodils and tulips and dogwood blossoms and cherry blossoms and finally the leaves of great oak trees and maple trees and sycamores. The evenings were warm and the rain was warm and the birds sang and the frogs croaked so loud they could be heard on Main Street. People who had been frozen, made love and girls in shorts could be seen, and the Town Band played on the Courthouse green; from the gazebo they played song after song and the throng clapped along until they played excerpts from South Pacific which delighted Kimberly and Gurion and the band director announced that "someone here today actually saw South Pacific on Broadway" and he asked Kimberly and Gurion to stand amidst loud applause.
Daniel was there and "Aunt" Henrietta was there and Molly had come in from Scottsville where the lilac trees were abloom; and Glenn and Dorothy were there sitting in Glenn's parked car. Everyone was there and everyone clapped along to Stars and Stripes Forever.
Not far away, Veterans in the park drilled for Memorial Day and all over town people could hear the band as they worked in their yards or sat on their porches. The air was filled with the smell of cut grass. Life was sweet, thought Daniel as he watched his "cousin", Wendy, walk his way. She was strikingly beautiful in her red shorts and white blouse, her black hair tossing from side to side. Of course, she wasn't really his cousin, she was Cecil Monroe's daughter, the first girl he had seen naked when he was only one year old; and since then she had been his off and on babysitter. She sat down beside him and kissed his forehead and called him "sweetie pie".
Daniel remembered that only one year before, he had been hospitalized in St. Louis-so much pain-but now he sat beside Wendy and smelled her perfume.
In the spring of 1950 the mood of Fairhaven was full of hope. Midwestern towns like Fairhaven did not have the roots of New England villages or southern encampments-these towns sat upon the prairie tentatively, anchored only by faith and optimism. A tornado could blow them away in minutes and the people who lived in them knew that and put their trust-not in history or traditions-but directly in God. Therefore the denizens of these places had to be good and think good and do good. This was the magic of the place. This is why the people who lived there thought they lived in the best part of America-the very center of the universe; and the proof of this was the squeaky cleanness of the place.
Of course, there were the Communists to worry about; they had taken over China and were trying to take over Korea and according to Senator McCarthy, they were trying to take over America; but there were none in Fairhaven-or were there?
The change of weather is a time of migration-a flock of guinea hens returned to Scottsville and the prairie was dotted with Canadian Geese, all the seasonal birds returned. Alligator Gar traveled north in the Mississippi and people were moving too. Gurion and Kimberly had made the decision to spend the summer on Cape Cod. Dr. Boggs would care for most of Gurion's practice with the help of another German doctor named Nurinberger. Glenn would accept an offer from Sam Warner to move to Evansville and become field manager in the Tri-State Oil Company (Indiana, Kentucky and Southern Illinois) and Wendy Monroe would go to Hollywood; she was eighteen and had starred in the high school production of Finian's Rainbow.
When she sang "How Are Things in Glocca Morra?" her sweet soprano tugged at each question in the lyrics-tenderly and with yearning.
Rapturous applause was her reward.
This beautiful daughter of Cecil Monroe had been hired one more time to look after Daniel, even though Glenn said that Daniel was too old for a babysitter. That day she playfully wrestled with him and straddled him while he was on the floor and unzipped his trousers and held him in her hand and pulled her red panties to one side to show a shock of black pubic hair and he felt her come down around him as if she were a tight ring descending and then there was wetness, gushy wetness and tingling and burning and squirting and with the squirting her shrieks of, "Oh, my God, Oh, my God." He could still hear her screams when she was in the bathroom, "Oh, my God, Oh, my God." In the weeks that followed, he avoided her and refused to have her baby-sit and crossed the street when he ran into her downtown; this was the little drama of Wendy and Daniel.
In the weeks after the band concert, Gurion took Kimberly to the Flower Farm in Mill Shoals where they walked through fields of blossoms. "Everything growing here," said Gurion, "was brought out of China by an Englishman named Wilson. He's the botanist that discovered the Regal Lily and he bought out fifteen hundred samples of flowers that grew in the Hung Dwang Mountains. These mountains are the original birthplace of most flowers. For example, rhododendrons-while there are thirty varieties in Europe and America, there are hundreds of varieties in the Hung Dwang."
"So you're telling me that most of these flowers are Chinese flowers?" said Kimberly.
"That's right. Every-day flowers that we take for granted came out of China. Here's a very unusual one," said Gurion as he bent down and showed Kimberly a Mandragora.
While Kimberly studied the Mandragora, Gurion spotted Cannabis growing nearby. "What's that?" asked Kimberly.
"Oh, it's just a weed," said Gurion dismissively; but Gurion read all the literature and he knew that in Jerusalem, Rafael Mechoulam was doing research on marijuana. He had isolated its active ingredient-Tetrahydrocannabinol (THC).
Gurion bent down and showed Kimberly the female component of the plant. "This is where the resin is produced. It's like a byproduct of the plant's sexuality."
Kimberly began to laugh.
"Don't laugh," said Gurion, "that's what flowers are; they're the sexual components of plants. They're beautiful on purpose so that they can attract pollinators--bees and other insects. See here," he said opening a tulip, "the stamens are male and the pistils are female and their allure is nectar."
Kimberly was laughing even harder now. "How do you know all this, Isaac? You have so many little lectures inside of you." And even though she laughed, this quality of Gurion's filled her with warm affection.
Glenn was occupied with a different kind of plant (the post-war popularity of French fried potatoes) and he showed his father how to plant the spuds that would produce the elongated Russet Burbank. "You see, dad," he said, "a machine can slice two dozen super long French fries out of a potato like this," and in order to demonstrate, he took two large Russets into the Reeves' kitchen and sliced them and deep-fried them in melted Crisco. When they had cooled sufficiently, father and son sat down to a feast of French fries and ketchup.
As for Wendy Monroe, she went through all the dresses in her closet (and there were as many as a spoiled girl could own) and picked out just a few-one suitcase full. Things would be different from now on she knew. Her father was against her trip and though she suspected her mother might help her from time to time, there would be no checks traveling from Fairhaven to Hollywood. But in addition to her beauty, she was brave and she took a deep breath standing in front of the mirror. She had, in her purse and hidden in a slender money belt-two hundred dollars. She cupped her hands underneath her ample breasts and looked down and said to them, "If push comes to shove, you little babies will have to come through," and she meant it.
Then she lifted her suitcase and began the walk to the Greyhound Bus Station. It was there that Daniel nearly ran into her. She was too close for him to flee and she sat her suitcase down, walked over and held him in a fierce embrace, kissing his face and his ears and his forehead. "I won't forget you, sweetie pie," she said, "you'll always be my first lover." And then she was gone---and left him standing---all alone---and crying*.
*From a lyric by Roy Orbison
____________________________________________________________________
Chapters change on Tuesdays and Friday Evenings:
Be sure to watch David Rojay on The Dan and Dad Show each Saturday night at 9:30 on Channel 17. Read A RED STATE HERO by David Rojay on capecodtoday.com. Read Sea Street-David Rojay's blog on capecodtoday.com and finally check out David Rojay on YOUTUBE. For more information, Google "David Rojay".
Check out my Sea Street Blog: "All Gab and No Jab.
Chapter 68-The St. Valentine's Day Motorcar-Part 2
Copyright 1995
By David Rojay
THE LONG BRIDGE RUNNER
Book One/THE MIDWEST
After leaving the park, Jake contemplated his next move. He had not seen Cecil Monroe since the day Cecil fired him for hanging out in the pool hall.* Jake was reading a CAPTAIN MARVEL comic book when Cecil seemed to appear from nowhere. "Aren't you supposed to be towing that Buick out to Mill Shoals?" he barked.
Surprised, Jake blurted, "I was just taking a break, Cecil."
"Elmo says you've played half a dozen games," Cecil retorted.
"Well, God-damn Elmo," said Jake shooting eye darts at the old proprietor.
At that Cecil took a stance with his hands on his hips, "What you're saying is 'God-dam me.'"
"Now, Cecil," Jake had said in a consoling tone.
"Jake, don't 'now Cecil' me," said Cecil, "I've got a Goddamn farmer calling me for over an hour and I find you in here. How many times have I pulled you out of this place?"
All the young boys had been listening. Jake looked at them then back at Cecil before he rose slowly and with great solemnity gave Cecil the keys to the tow truck. "Kiss my ass," he said.
So, that was it, Cecil Monroe fired Jake who had been like a son to him.
And Jake had been so humiliated that he could not look back to see the sets of young eyes trained upon his departure. He had been their hero, had been their vision of manhood after pimples, the provider of rubbers and Lucky Strikes and endless bottles of Royal Crown Cola doctored ever so slightly with Seagrams 7. He was the husband of the town's finest-assed little blond. In all of Fairhaven, only he wore a fedora with the élan' of a movie star and he had just been fired right before their eyes.
But time had passed and surely there was no longer any hard feelings; after all, Monroe had practically raised Jake from the time he and his wife, Clara, had taken in Jake's mother, a destitute Indian girl.
Jake was more than surprised when Monroe welcomed him with open arms and went on and on about how nice the Lincoln was, never asking Jake how he came to have such a car. Monroe's son, Junior, was fascinated with the car's automatic windows which he and Daniel ran up and down while Jake went in the house.
"What you got under your jacket?" Monroe asked Jake when he caught a glimpse of the Colt 38.
"Oh, that's my buddy," Jake said as he took the pistol out of the holster.
"Put it back in the holster; put it back in the holster," shouted Monroe, "I don't want any trouble here."
"Oh, it's not loaded," Jake said as he pointed it in front of him and cocked its hammer.
"Put it up," said Monroe in a low, all-business tone, "Put it up."
Jake felt chastised and he hadn't come to see Monroe for chastisement. "Things aren't the way they used to be," he said with a raised voice, "I'm opening a bar in Chicago; it's gonna be first class. It's gonna have mirrors behind the bar and a big chandelier and everything a drinking man could ask for-pickled pig's feet and pickled eggs and hot sausages and punch boards-everything."
"I thought you said it was gonna have class," said Monroe, "classy joints don't have pickled pig's feet in them. When you're talking pickled pig's feet, you're talking blue collar-blue collar guys with dirty fingernails."
Jake had to find an excuse to go before he lost his temper.
Meanwhile, the windows in the Lincoln would barely move after so much battery had been used. That was bad, Daniel realized, really bad and as he stood beside the car he could see that it was recess time in the school yard across the street and there, glowing in the sunlight was Shauna York's blond hair. Daniel wanted to shout at the top of his lungs, "Shauna, Shauna, look at my dad's car," but all that came out of his mouth were squeaky little words that did not carry to the end of the driveway.
And so it was that Jake took his son for a ride in the countryside past fields that had islands of snow, past barns that were illuminated by the slant of winter sunlight.
"You know, son," said Jake, "Cecil's just jealous of me. I used to dance with Clara and we ruled the dance floor. Do you know String of Pearls by Glen Miller? It's got that great trumpet solo by Bobby Hackett. You know, the one that goes ba ba da-- dee da da--da ba da--dee da da--da la la la--da dee."
Daniel smiled a big smile; he had the solo in a book at home and he sang it perfectly in time and pitch. Father and son both laughed at what they shared.
It was a familiar thing-this riding in the car with dad, this riding in the car as dad smoked cigarette after cigarette and listened to KNOX in St. Louis, a station that played Sinatra and big band music.
When they pulled up in front of Dorothy's house, she stormed out to the car shouting, "Where have you been?" and bending down to look at Jake she screamed, "What do you think you're doing; you can't pick him up from school and run off with him for a whole day; don't you know that?"
Jake made no answer and showed no contempt in his eyes; indeed, he smiled a little bit, he was thankful he had escaped this bitch. He hit the trunk release and said to Daniel, "There's something for you back there."
Daniel expected another cap pistol but instead, he saw a small case and he heard his father shout, "Open it up." And he did and it was an Underwood portable typewriter.
Dorothy took note of the typewriter and the car and said softly, "Nice car, Jake."
That was all Jake wanted. He honked the big fat C major sixth horn on the Lincoln and drove away in his St. Valentine's Day motorcar-----------------
*Chapter 8-The Pool Hall
____________________________________________________________________
Chapters change on Tuesdays and Friday Evenings:
Be sure to watch David Rojay on The Dan and Dad Show each Saturday night at 9:30 on Channel 17. Read A RED STATE HERO by David Rojay on capecodtoday.com. Read Sea Street-David Rojay's blog on capecodtoday.com and finally check out David Rojay on YOUTUBE. For more information, Google "David Rojay".
Check out my Sea Street Blog: All Gab and No Jab.
Chapter 68-The St. Valentine's Day Motorcar-Part 1
Copyright 1995
By David Rojay
THE LONG BRIDGE RUNNER
Book One/THE MIDWEST
Valentine's Day was the day that Jake Autrey turned up in Fairhaven. People were stunned; Jake was supposed to be dead. He was "blown to bits in an explosion at his Honky Tonk in Franklin County" according to a front-page story in the Wayne County Press.* But there he was in his blue serge suit, his maroon tie and spit-polished shoes, standing in front of Daniel's homeroom teacher.
He rakishly cocked his gray fedora to one side and said, "Miss Baker, I'm in town for one day only and I'd like to spend it with my son."
Miss Baker wasn't sure he was not a ghost but his charisma won the day. She accompanied him, as he hoped she would, to his Lincoln-the very pinnacle of American auto craft. It all came down to this ................ Not only is Jake alive, but he's obviously successful.
The very first stop was the West End Café where Jake parked his right-side whitewalls upon the sidewalk curb. He took his time getting out of the car so as to be clearly seen. Inside, he placed his traditional order for Daniel "a big cheeseburger, a Coke and some French fries and a Baby Ruth candy bar for desert."
As he ate, Daniel was happy sitting beside his father who introduced him to everyone as "my son." For a time, Daniel was back in the secure world that his father had once made for him. All the old rituals were observed-the straightening of Daniel's cap, the pat on the shoulders and the eternal question, "How's your shoes? Let me see the soles."
As they left the restaurant, Jake asked his son, "Would you like a haircut?"
This was not so much an offer as an excuse to enter the sanctorum of Overstreet's Barber Shop next door.
"Is that your car out there?" asked Charlie Overstreet.
Jake nodded with pride.
Nothing had changed; the barber chair rose up out of the floor with the crank of a lever, the clippers sang their staccato song against a fat customer's neck, the smell of Fitz's Hair Lotion permeated the air and Charles Overstreet, with his artful motions, whisked hair off of the oilcloth bib with a flick of his wrist. All this was familiar and reassuring and made Daniel long for visits to the hair-cutting emporium.
Since her marriage to Glenn, Dorothy had cut Daniel's hair. "There's no point in paying a barber a dollar and a quarter to cut a boy's hair," Glenn said.
It was a short distance from the hypnotic revolving barber's pole to the town reservoir where Jake, upon parking, fetched a chamois cloth from the trunk and began to wipe road dust from the Lincoln's lacquered skin. So many Sundays had been spent there on the grass with the St. Louis Post Dispatch-Jake reading the news and Daniel reading the comic section. They had had donuts and cinnamon rolls with milk for Daniel and coffee for Jake.
"You used to take naps here and snore," Daniel said to his father.
"No, no," said a smiling Jake, "I've never snored in my life."
Daniel broke into pealing laughter, "You snore like a pig, dad, just like a big old fat pig."
Jake patted his son's head. It was time to go, the day would not last forever, so they went next to the City Park. Of course, the swimming pool had been drained for the winter but the small man-made lake offered solace as they sat on a bench atop the slope on its south end and looked at the Lincoln's reflection on the lake's surface.
"It's a beautiful car, dad," said Daniel.
"I know, son," said Jake, "but practically no one in Fairhaven has seen it; they still think of me as a bum."
"Dad, you're not a bum," Daniel protested.
There was an awkward silence then Jake asked, "Son, do you remember the time that a snake almost bit you when we were out here with the Church Social? It was right after a Baptism. I remember eleven people were baptized right over yonder and then everyone starting feeding their faces and I saw a copperhead winding across the grass right to you."
"What was I doing?" asked Daniel with wide eyes.
"You were lying on a blanket under a pup tent and I ran over and put a bullet in that copperhead and everyone was so upset that I had a gun on me and I said to them, ‘I don't give a damn; I just saved my son's life.'------ Those are the kind of things that made me unpopular with the church crowd."
After a moment Jake flashed a mischievous grin. "Son, do you know that Gracie Snodkraft was out here one summer's night skinny dipping with her boyfriend and a little snake swam right up her private parts."
"What happened?" asked Daniel breathlessly.
"Well, I guess the snake was just looking for a warm place to curl up. It didn't bite the girl but she darn near had a nervous breakdown. They said when the doctor took it out she was hysterical."
Jake was telling Daniel stories he had never heard before and somehow this gave him the courage to ask his father, "Why did everyone think you got killed?"
In spite of his dark complexion, Jake's face turned blood red. "Well, son, when you're older-say fourteen or so-I'll explain it all to you, but I don't think you ought to hear about it at this point."
At that, Jake reached in the back seat and from under a blanket retrieved a shoulder holster which he put on and then he retrieved a pistol. "It's a Colt 38," he said to Daniel, "you want to hold it? Point it that way."
Holding the pistol frightened Daniel even though he had pretended to shoot one for years with the cap pistols his father had given him and the rolls of caps that had popped and smoked with each pull of the trigger.
*Chapter 16-The Connolly's
____________________________________________________________________
Chapters change on Mondays and Thursdays:
Be sure to watch David Rojay on The Dan and Dad Show each Saturday night at 9:30 on Channel 17. Read A RED STATE HERO by David Rojay on capecodtoday.com. Read Sea Street-David Rojay's blog on capecodtoday.com and finally check out David Rojay on YOUTUBE. For more information, Google "David Rojay".
Check out my Sea Street Blog: "All Gab and No Jab.
Chapter 67-Provincetown
Copyright 1995
By David Rojay
THE LONG BRIDGE RUNNER
Book One/THE MIDWEST
Provincetown in winter is like an elegant lady without her makeup. Store window displays are absent save for a few brave ones in the face of nor'easters and broken glass. Some wander the streets in summer clothes searching for a warm embrace. Life here is perfidious in this desert of snow. Adams Pharmacy in an Oasis of cheerful faces remembering summer when an old man in drag sings before the Court House-sings songs of Sinatra with a flick of his hair, smiling, bringing happiness. But no street artist painted or drew on the day of Gurion's arrival; there is only silence and solitary figures casting thin shadows from thin light. The house by the sea, on the Truro end of Commercial Street, has glowing yellow windows as Frankel, Ruth, Gurion and Kimberly were welcomed by Keith and Kevin.
"Make yourself at home," said Keith in his broad Midwestern accent.
Noticing this Gurion asked, "Where are you from?"
"Bismarck," said Keith.
"That's a German name," said Gurion.
"Mostly Germans and Scandinavians up there," said Kevin, "in North Dakota," he added for clarification.
Keith was a large man, muscular and imposing. "I was Kevin's teacher back there; now I'm a chef in Boston for the winter. In summer, I'm at the Provincetown Inn. There's a picture on the wall."
The photo taken from a plane showed buildings almost surrounded by water.
"It's the last thing before Ireland," said Kevin.
"Yes, I'll take everyone there in the morning," Keith said.
"And, Kevin, what do you do?" asked Kimberly.
"Kevin's in Med School in Boston," said Frankel.
"I never thought of Boston in terms of Med Schools."
"Oh, my dear," corrected Ruth, "Boston is on the way to being the center of the medical world."
"What do I know?" said Kimberly, "I know Harvard is there."
"And Gardner," said Ruth, "that's where I went to school. Don't ask me to explain, but that's how I met Elliott," she said pointing to Dr. Frankel.
Frankel hugged Ruth and Keith hugged Kevin and Gurion hugged Kimberly, all this with much laughter.
The supper Keith made featured calamari and mussels in Dijon sauce and as a back up (just in case) there were tornadoes du pave, couscous with falafel, and a salad with avocado paste garnished with pimentos. All this followed by an unbelievable lemon crisp dusted with crushed lilac.
After dinner, Kevin mixed manhattans and brought up the subject at hand-a clinic in Provincetown.
Kevin wants to come here after Med School and practice and; of course, indulge his other interest-acting.
Kimberly smiled a wide smile, "I guess this is the place. I know it has a strong theater history-Eugene O'Neill and all that.
Kimberly was satisfied with herself, especially when Kevin said, "My goodness, you've been doing your homework."
"No, no," said Kimberly, "I've known that since my school days. John Reed was here also; and he was very close to Eugene who was very close to his wife, if you get the meaning."
"And," said Kevin with laughter, "they got close in little huts up in the dunes."
"As have many others," said Keith, "Provincetown is all about getting close." Keith made quotation signs with his fingers.
To Frankel's dismay, the conversation stayed focused on the arts.
"Speaking of writers," said Kimberly, "the Cape attracted writers way back-Thoreau was here and wrote about it. And Emerson, of course.
"Hitch your wagon to a star, " said Kevin, "last year I ran into a writer in Hyannis, Jack Carrigon or Carryon, he gave me one of his books; it's in the bookcase."
"Well, of course," said Keith," one very famous playwright comes here and the Provincetown Players are doing one of his plays, A Street Car Named Desire.
"Oh, we saw it in New York at the Barrymore," said Ruth.
"You saw Marlon!" said Kevin holding out the book. "What a piece of beefcake," he said as he made the sign of a pounding heart.
After the laughter, Kevin produced The Town and the City by Jack Kerouac.
"Speaking of Tennessee Williams, by the way, do you know why he's called Tennessee?"
"I know he's from St. Louis," said Kimberly.
"That's right. He went to school there and the Fraternity boys called him Tennessee because of his southern accent." Keith went on to say, "During the summer everyone comes here, everyone. Norman Mailer was up here last year; the guy who wrote The Naked and the Dead.
Kevin made more drinks and as he handed one to Gurion he asked, "What was Berlin like during the Weimar Republic. I heard it was wild."
"It was said Gurion, "as the song says Anything goes. It was a very creative period-theater, film, painting, literature.
"The Three Penny Opera was composed then," said Kimberly
"Yes," said Gurion, "Bertoldt Brecht and Kurt Wiell wrote the opera that gave us, Mackie Messer*
Und der Haifisch, der hat Zahne
Und die tragt er im Gesicht
Und MacHeath, der hat ein Messer
Doch das Messer sieht man nicht
It was wonderful but it all came to an end."
"Ya Vol," said Kevin as he gave the Nazi salute.
"You must remember," said Gurion, "that Hitler was elected. Germans saw him as a savior. He was young and inexperienced, but he gave great speeches-starting out softly then building to a crescendo until he was roaring and he had the crowds with him. He was hypnotic, so very persuasive, and he promised so much-so very much. He kept some of his good promises-the autobahn, the Volkswagen, employment; but unfortunately he kept all his evil promises too-the ones he made in Mein Kampf."
"How was he able to do this?" asked Ruth.
"He started with the Bundestag Fire; it was the destruction of a national symbol and it was an excuse for repression and the assumption of special powers. In the months that followed he secretly had thousands of his rivals killed.
Hitler's genius lay in the fact that he spent vast amounts of time thinking unthinkable thoughts-like how to conquer Europe. He didn't think like a Twentieth Century man; he wanted to be Napoleon."
Gurion's composure failed him at that point and he asked to be excused.
When Kimberly joined Gurion later she said, "They're playing bridge." And after a moment she said, "Let me ask you a question, do those guys play for the other team?"
Gurion did not know her meaning.
"Are those guys what they call queer?" she asked in a whisper.
"They are apparently homosexuals," said Gurion, "don't you remember the question that Kevin asked me about Germany in the Twenties-the questions about Weimar Republic. There was lots of homosexuality in Berlin at that time."
"And that's why you sang that German song?"
"You mean Mack the Knife?"
Kimberly laughed a little laugh of embarrassment.
"In any case, they're apparently homosexual."
"Oh my," said Kimberly, "oh my, oh my."
"Why oh my?" said Gurion, "you have nothing to be concerned about-unless one of them does your hair."
"What does that mean?" asked Kimberly with complete puzzlement."
"Nothing," I was just trying to make a joke."
On their second night on Cape Cod Kimberly and Gurion could clearly see the ocean, see the reflection of the moon on Cape Cod Bay.
In the morning, as they rode up Commercial Street they passed dozens of seaside homes nesting side by side between the street and the beach. The homes on the non-beach side had yards and the vines of summer flowers, especially the wild roses that choked the town in June. These were Victorian houses with balconies and upper porches and occasionally a masthead-one with black hair and one with blond. There were also plaques on the houses with ancient dates. They passed the museum and entered the downtown where inexplicitly the galleries still displayed their paintings-mostly oils with a few watercolors mixed in and in one case, a display of photographs and in another-line drawings. Realism was the rule, veering from precise technique of a classical nature to impressionism. There were copies too-a large copy of a Mary Cassatt oil of a man, woman and child in a boat. The variation of the art was stunning and extended to the avant-garde in the form of abstraction, sculpture and ceramics. Imitations of Calder mobiles hung in one gallery while a bifurcated bicycle stood in another.
They passed various inns and taverns, all shuttered, and the great wooden Town Hall that centered the town. It sat next to a Portuguese bakery where, according to Keith, you could buy Nata, Queijuda, Pasties de Coco and Malassadas to nosh on on the way back.
They passed shuttered fudge shops. The post office on the left was open and Gurion asked for a few minutes in order to mail Daniel his present-a pair of binoculars-Goldcrest-and a book on bird watching that he had bought in New York and had carried with him until now.
Then they passed the aquarium and came to the end of the straight street before it turned left and saw in an upstairs window a bust of Shakespeare. The Coast Guard Station was next and after it the ancient Red Inn and finally at the foot of a hill the Provincetown Inn-the very last building.
Keith had a key to the main doors but Chester, the caretaker, had already unlocked them and had built a fire in the Bay View Dining Room. The long hallway was covered in murals of Provincetown's past including one in the first banquet room that showed the Pilgrims washing clothes after they had landed. A plaque read "The Exact Spot Where the Pilgrims First Landed and Did Their Laundry." The spot was marked by a large eight-pointed star on the linoleum.
The dining room was off to the side of a grand staircase that ascended to an upper mezzanine with chandeliers marching off in columns. Boats could be seen from the window-side tables of the dining room-boats bobbing in the bay in a recipe of colors-blue hulls, red hulls, yellow hulls and one black hull. All this, enlivened by a cacophony of seagulls.
Keith had brought in groceries, had lit a stove in the kitchen and on that stove had cooked omelets with onions, mushrooms and three cheeses. "Plus peppers to give it some tang," he said. He sliced sweet Portuguese bread from the bakery and slathered it with honeyed butter. Cranberry and Orange Juice rounded out this repast.
Just as they finished eating, Chester came in to say hello. He was a man of undeterminable age who wore a craggy face and a large black toboggan. His cherry wood pipe had bayberry tobacco in its bowl beneath burning embers.
"Where are ye from?" he asked Gurion.
"We're here from Illinois," Gurion answered, "but before that Germany."
"And where in Germany?"
"Berlin," said Gurion with a tone of finality.
"The place is in ruins isn't it?"
"I'm afraid so," Gurion answered.
"I know a young fellow who told me about the bombing, a young fellow by the name of Vonnegut. Talked to him last summer."
While this exchange was taking place, a fluffy black and white cat of considerable size darted down the hallway and then came back to the door and carefully, tentatively peeked around the sill.
"Oh, that's Bernard," said Chester, "he's a stray, won't let anyone near him."
"He's beautiful-gorgeous," said Kimberly and Ruth in tandem.
"He's huge," said Kevin."
"Well, I don't know what he eats. He must be living off of varmints. There's nothing for him to eat around here."
At that Kimberly made a meow sound and to everyone's surprise, the cat came into the room and trotted across the floor to her.
"Don't try to pet him," said Chester, "he'll bite you, scratch your eyes out."
But Chester's words went unheeded as Kimberly bent down and picked up the animal and held it in her lap. Not only did Bernard cooperate but he lay his head up next to her breast-her favorite breast, thought Gurion-and looked up at her with such affectionate eyes that she melted into an avalanche of giggles. The cat was not startled by this strange sound; but rather turned his head upward and released a short timid meow.
Kimberly carried him all the way to the front door and as they left looked down at his face and said, "When the doctor and I return in the spring, we'll come and get you. Gurion, give Chester some money for cat food."
And though Gurion looked dumbfounded, he took twenty dollars out of his wallet and handed it to Chester and then Kimberly sat the cat down. It followed her out the door and to the car. When she got in and closed the door and rolled down the window, Bernard looked up at her and exhaled a long, mournful meow.
Chester was standing with amazement on his face. "You know, he's one of those cats that are left behind every year, the Cape and Islands are covered with them-summertime pets for the kids that they don't want to take back to Boston or New York. On Nantucket, lots of folks drop them off at the Vets to be put down. But I'll feed him until you get back; don't worry about that."
The cat was listening to every word as if he understood the conversation and as Frankel's car pulled away, Keith and Kevin, who were going to remain a while longer, waved goodbye and Kimberly thought, "When we get to Boston tonight and get in the hotel, I'll seduce my husband and make love to him all night long." She leaned over and gave Gurion a kiss on the cheek and then turned around to get one long look at the last building in America.
____________________________________________________________________
Chapters change on Mondays and Thursdays:
Be sure to watch David Rojay on The Dan and Dad Show each Saturday night at 9:30 on Channel 17. Read A RED STATE HERO by David Rojay on capecodtoday.com. Read Sea Street-David Rojay's blog on capecodtoday.com and finally check out David Rojay on YOUTUBE. For more information, Google "David Rojay".
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About This Blog
The Long Bridge Runner is the first in a series of five books that are about
everything, and I mean everything.
But more specifically, the first book is about a young boy from the Midwest whose life is saved by a survivor of Auschwitz, Dr. Isaac Gershon.
By David Rojay
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