Kellerman, Jonathan - Butcher's Theater by Kellerman Jonathan

Author:Kellerman, Jonathan [Kellerman, Jonathan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 1988-07-23T04:00:00+00:00

At four the old man left for his afternoon Torah class and Laura pulled a book out of the case.

“This is a recent translation of Yemenite women’s songs, put out by the Women’s Center in Tel Aviv. My father-in-law would never sing them — he’s probably never even seen them. In Yemen the sexes were segregated. The women never learned to read or write, were taught no Hebrew or Aramaic — the educated languages. They got back at the men by making up songs in Arabic — closet feminism, really — about love, sex, and how foolish men are, ruled by lust and aggression.”

“Amen,” said Luanne.

“This is getting dangerous,” Gene said to Daniel. He rose from the couch, hitched up his trousers.

“My favorite one,” said Laura, flipping pages, “is ‘The Manly Maiden.’ It’s about a girl who dresses up as a man and becomes a powerful sultan. There’s this great scene where she gives a sleeping powder to forty-one robbers, takes off their clothes, and inserts a radish in each one of their—”

“That,” said Gene, “is my exit line.”

“Mine too,” said Daniel.

They left the women laughing, took the children and Dayan down to Liberty Bell Park.

As Daniel came out of the apartment, his eyes were assaulted by the sunlight. He could feel his pupils expanding, the heat massaging his face. As he walked, he noticed that everything looked and felt unnaturally vivid — the grass and flowers so bright they seemed freshly painted, the air as sweet as sun-dried laundry. He looked at Gene. The black man’s face remained impassive, so Daniel knew it was his own perceptions that were heightened. He was experiencing the hypersensitivity of a blind man whose sight has miraculously been restored.

“Some guy, your dad,” said Gene, as they made their way through the field that bordered the northern edge of the park. “How old is he?”

“Seventy-one.”

“He moves like a kid. Amazing.”

“He is amazing. He has a beautiful heart. My mother died in childbirth — he was mother and father to me.”

“No brothers or sisters?”

“No. The same with Laura. Our children have no aunts or uncles.”

Gene eyed the boys and Shoshana, running ahead through the tall grass.

“Looks like you’ve got plenty of family, though.”

“Yes.” Daniel hesitated. “Gene, I want to apologize for being such a poor host.”

Gene dismissed him with a wave. “Nothing to apologize for. Tables were turned, I’d be doing the same.”

They entered the park, which was crowded with Shabbat strollers, walked under arched pergolas roofed with pink and white oleanders, past sand-play areas, rose beds, the replica of the Liberty Bell donated by the Jews of Philadelphia. Two men out on a stroll, two out of many.

“What is this, Father’s Day?” said Gene. “Never seen so many guys with kids.”

The question surprised Daniel. He’d always taken Shabbat at the park for granted. One afternoon a week for mothers to rest, fathers to go on shift.

“It’s not like that in America?”

“We take our kids out, but nothing like this.”

“In Israel, we have a six-day workweek.

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