Dancing Bear Page 4

  Many years ago, she'd been a good friend of my father's. For nearly four years she'd managed to keep him in the post of chairman of the community's foreign affairs committee. She could never stand my mother, and didn't bother to hide it. My parents had met at Lesley College in Boston, where she went for her MA in education. He was a young promising professor of Semitic languages at MIT. After he gave a guest lecture at Lesley, she started following him around and attending all his lectures, from his appearance before a student forum at MIT to a panel discussion at the local library. After a while he started to notice her, and was inevitably taken by her beauty and brought under the spell of the heart breaking despair and depression that enveloped her even then. After a whirlwind romance, they were married at her parent's home in Israel and came back to live in the MIT faculty apartments. I was born a year later, their one and only son. My mother went back to school to finish her degree, and a short time later she disappeared. When she showed up a month later, she explained that under the pressure of her schoolwork, she felt compelled to take a breather. After that, she'd come and go until I was ten, when she took off and never came back. It was obvious that Allie wasn't too sorry about it.

  When I was a student at Boston University, I often spoke before some of Allie's organizations. That's when she began to call me "darling" and kiss my cheek on public occasions.

  Now she went on talking, wasting time without saying much of anything. The three of us - Eric, Kate, and I - didn't help her and just sat there in silence. Eric puffed his pipe, trying to steal a look at the morning paper. At this hour of the morning, he was usually diving into the finance and sports sections, having already glanced contemptuously at the political commentary. He was dying to get back to his paper, but his Eastern European upbringing would never let him do such a thing.

  Since none of us was interested in small-talk, Allie finally got down to business. "I heard part of the story from Eric, and it looks serious to me, very serious. This woman is involved in a very sensitive business. She's got no place to stay. Someone's already looking into her story, and we don't want to lose control over this case. The consul says we shouldn't touch it, but he has no solution to offer. Okay, we all know he's very limited." I snickered and she glowered at me reproachfully. "I mean he has to deal with a lot of limitations that we don't have." This time I kept silent. Allie considered me one of "them" - the Americans. The fact that I had an Israeli diplomatic passport was of no consequence to her whatsoever.

  "We can help her through our connections with certain institutions without actually dealing with the issue itself, "she went on.

  I knew that Allie's sharp senses told her Kate could be a serious embarrassment to everyone who touched her - the Israelis, the Americans, the Jewish community, and me personally. She must have thought that it wouldn't be wise to toss her out into the street. It would be better to keep her out of sight until things were clearer and all of the complex issues could be ironed out.

  Allie paused for a moment and stared at us. Kate just entered the room and threw a questioning look at me. Allie must have cross questioned her by now. She now turned to her and asked with studied politeness, "Are you Jewish, my dear?" I was amused . Couldn't she see the girl was oriental?

  "Yes," answered Kate, to my surprise. "My father is Jewish and I have close contacts with several highly placed Israelis."

  Allie responded with a dismissive gesture. She wasn't one to be impressed by contacts with Israelis in high places. "I could find you a place to stay with the Hasidic rabbi in Brookline, Rabbi Levi YItzhak. He's a great man, a spiritual man. He sent his whole community to Jerusalem, to Har-Nof, while the poor man stayed here to wait for the coming of the Messiah." There wasn't the slightest hint of sarcasm in her voice. "There’s no one like him for charity, visiting the sick, helping the needy. We could all learn a lot from him. Stay with him for a while. It’ll give you time to make plans and get a little rest. Maybe you'll even become a real Jew, because you know that, by law, you're not."

  Kate didn't seem offended. She listened more or less attentively. Allie was talking to her as if she was a child - slowly, with exaggerated affection, using words of one syllable. But Kate seemed to be in need of some affection. I felt I was about to lose her. I could picture her with a wig covering a shaved head and long sleeves, speaking Yiddish and trailing a long line of kiddies behind her. In her state, she could be tempted by any solution, and the rabbi was one of the easiest.

  "The rabbi isn't political," I said. "I don't think we should get him mixed up in something involving state secrets."

  Allie mulled that over for a few seconds as she drummed her ring studded fingers on the glass-topped table. I watched the dancing lights reflected on the ceiling by her diamonds. She pursed her lips, deep in thought. There was a certain sense to what I had said, although it wasn't entirely true.

  "In that case," she replied, "the best thing would be for her to leave town." Now she sounded like the consul trying to make the whole thing go away.

  I didn't tell Allie that the Israelis were also interested in Kate now. I didn't know if I was doing the right thing. After all, Allie had a lot of experience, but her all-knowing attitude got my goat. I'd tell her sometime.

  "Do you know my house in Cape Cod?" she asked me. "Why don't you take the keys and the girl and head out there? There's a week's supply of food, and within a week we ought to be able to clean up this mess."

  You're fantastic, Allie, I thought. Just great.

  She didn't wait for me to say it out loud. She pulled a gold pen from her purse with an inscription from one of her organizations, tore a sheet from the pad she always had with her, and made a long list of all the electric switches, the water pumps and the closets in the house. Then she tore off another sheet and made a second list of the stores, restaurants and neighbors that could be trusted.

  "Only the regulars are there at this time of year," she explained to Kate, without bothering to ask what she thought of the idea itself.

  So strangers will stand out, I thought. But I liked the idea, so I didn't say anything. The perfect dream house on the beach: a huge front patio, outside showers no more than a hundred yards from the water, the beach, the lighthouse, the seagulls.

  Many years before, when I was very young and my parents were still living together, I spent a few days there by myself - sitting on the edge of the water and letting the waves fondle my feet, sneaking into the room where Allie sat with her friends and listening to their conversations. It was in one of those conversations that I first learned of the psychology student my father had been seen with. "He just can't help it," I heard them laughing.

  When I got home from that visit, my parents informed me that we were moving to Israel. I don't know why they decided to try that. Maybe my father really cared about my mother, and hoped that if she were back in the small town where she had grown up, near her parents, things would be easier for her. But it didn't work. My father couldn't deal with the tedious life in Israel. There too, I found out later, he shared his time with some ladies of Tel Aviv social circles. Within three years, we were back in the United States, and shortly after that my mother took off, leaving us behind.

  After moving from place to place along the west coast, she finally settled in Hampton Court in eastern Canada. The only contact I'd had with her since was a postcard she sent me each year on my birthday. From those postcards, which I didn't bother to reply to, I found out that after some hard times and "scrounging in the sewers of life," as she put it, she eventually found a certain calm and stability in Hampton Court. She shared her life with a Canadian truck driver who had abandoned his family in Winnipeg and who generally looked out for most of her needs. I didn't want to know anymore. I didn't even want to know that much.

  Unlike my mother, Allie had kept in touch with my father over all those years. He even visited her several times at Cape Cod, where she watched silently as he inevitably impressed successive young girls with his fine words and intellec
tual manner. It was in Cape Cod, ten years after I had overheard that scorching sentence in the living room, that Allie sat me down in the very same room and convinced me to return to Israel.

  It was summer again, and we sat opposite each other, talking. I was a lost kid of eighteen who had just finished his first year of college and was feeling very lonely now that his mother was entirely gone from his life and his father preferred the company of girls barely older than him. She, a mature, self-confident woman, knew better than anyone what was best for all of us.

  "If you feel like kicking someone," she said then, "go to Israel and join the army. You'll be getting away from home, doing something for our country, and it'll even make you a man." She convinced me, and I went back to Israel. I never regretted that decision.

  We left by the back door. Eric and Allie walked us out and were taken by surprise by the sight of the cab. I didn't waste time on explanations.

  As we were leaving, Eric placed a comforting arm around Allie's shoulder and for a moment they looked so much alike, and at the same time so different. I wondered what I really knew about them.

  We drove southeast along Perry Road, a long time without exchanging a word. The silence was broken only by the roar of the motor and the sound of the tires on the wet road. The quiet was good for both of us. She closed her eyes and let the wind blow her hair into a halo around her face. I concentrated on my driving, headed toward the Cape, switching lanes from time to time, alternately slowing down and speeding up. I kept my eye on the rear view mirror. There were almost no other cars on the road. If anyone was following me, he must have a pretty bad headache by now. I drove on, leaving behind Boston and my whole world for the past year, a world that had revolved around a single axis: the consulate. I had forty hours until I had to be back at work and before they started any proceedings against me. The thought of taking an infinite break from the world to play in a lost paradise with the woman of my dreams was much more appealing. But I knew that, even if my dream came true, it would only be only for a few days or even a few hours. I glanced in the mirror again. For a second I thought I saw the flashing blue lights of a police car.

  *

  We pulled up at a small mall along the road. I didn't think we needed much. "Don't use your credit card," I instructed Kate, handing her some cash. She didn't object. I went into the supermarket. Allie had said there were enough supplies for a week, but I didn't want to live on canned meat and applesauce for seven days. I was putting the bags in the car when I froze. There was a station wagon parked there that looked very familiar. I remembered seeing it behind me at the Coolidge Corner. It hadn't been there before. Now it was parked right beside my car, with no one inside. I hurried off to look for Kate in one of the two or three boutiques in the mall, all the time searching the crowd for the engineer with the Russian accent and his cohorts. From inside a fancy dress shop I heard Kate's voice muttering uncertainly, "I guess it's okay. It shows off what it should and hides what needs to be hidden..."

  "Absolutely," came a smooth young voice.

  I sped in the direction of the voices and found Kate in an incredible peasant blouse that was extremely flattering. The young salesman stood behind her, staring at her with hungry eyes. I didn't like that. I went over and tapped her on the shoulder.

  "Madam," I said, "Have you found what you were looking for?" She shuddered at the unexpected touch, but quickly regained her composure.

  "One more minute," she said. "I just have to decide about one last blouse." She rose onto her toes and spun around, posturing like a model. For a moment she seemed to have forgotten the fear that had made her a fugitive. "What do you think?" she asked.

  "Perfect," blurted the salesman before I could answer.

  "Wrap it up!" I ordered.

  The salesman glared at me, somehow surprised, and added the blouse to three others, a heavy white sweater and a pair of blue jeans already folded on the counter. "What about the brown slacks?" he asked.

  "Next time," Kate answered, smiling and handing over the cash. "Let's go, David, darling."

  I left the parking lot with the tires squealing and zigzagged back onto the road. No one else pulled out behind me. The station wagon remained where it was. I didn't tell Kate what I suspected. Maybe I was wrong? It would be a shame to spoil her good mood.

  Up ahead of us, a police car was parked at the side of the road. The flashing blue light was very deceptive at night. The patrol car could be anywhere from three to twenty minutes away. I slowed down, and switched into the left lane when we got close to it. The taxi was moving very slowly, and although cabbies can usually do whatever they like on the road, the drivers behind us started honking. They were naturally inhibited by the squad car, but eventually one particularly impatient gentleman in a Honda decided to pass us on the right. Through his window he gave me the finger. That's what I'd been waiting for. I acknowledged his gesture with a nod and a pleasant smile and leaned down on the gas, keeping even with him. Too tired, or put off by the police car, he didn't respond to the challenge and started to slow down. I put my foot on the brake, keeping the cab alongside him, neck and neck, and that's how we stayed, exchanging angry looks, as we passed the patrol car, Kate and I hidden from whoever was in the patrol car - or at least, that's what I hoped.

  Kate followed this slow-motion race in astonishment. She looked very tense, as if she was about to lose control. I bore down on the gas and the cab responded with coughs and wheezes. The temperature gauge was starting to creep up into the red zone. I glanced in the rear view mirror. The stunt hadn't worked. If the Honda driver hadn't taken offense, he could have shielded us from the cops without arousing suspicion. I saw the patrol car move out, hot on our heels. The stunt hadn't worked. The patrol car sped past the Honda and the siren started up with a hysterical whine. Kate frantically covered her mouth with her hand and closed her eyes. I thought I saw her lips mouthing a silent prayer. We passed a gas station on the left, and as if I'd just remembered I needed gas, I slammed on the brake and turned the steering wheel sharply to the left. The cab, an aging Dodge Diplomat that had already seen everything, considered the options of breaking apart and turning over, but finally decided to take up a position on the other side of the road, facing back to Boston and squeezing in between an airplane fuel tanker and a motorcycle driven by a Hell's Angel in full battle dress.

  The patrol car strained to make the U-turn behind me. I raced into the gas station and stopped near the toilets, pulling Kate out of the car after me. She grabbed the two shopping bags at her feet and ran. She dropped one of the bags and for a split second she hesitated, as I pulled her along with all my strength. To hell with the peasant blouse! We ran around the building and found the entrance to the ladies toilet. Hurrying inside, we closed the door behind us. I thanked our lucky stars and Kate's prayers. There was no one else there. In the distance we could hear a train whistle and the rattle of the cars.

  I peered cautiously outside through the tiny window. The patrol car pulled into the station at a crawl and stopped just behind the cab, right opposite the toilets. I could see the sweat on the cop's face. I ducked quickly, pulling Kate down with me. The train whistle blew again. I cracked the door open. About 200 yards away, an endless line of railroad cars was making its way slowly eastwards, toward the Cape.

  The patrolman was sitting in his car talking to his radio microphone. He wasn't one of those heroes who take unnecessary chances. From where he was standing, he couldn't see the door to the toilet, and he couldn't see us as we came crashing out, racing wildly into the apple orchard between us and the tracks, and from there toward the slowly moving train. After an almost endless series of freight cars came a number of flatbeds carrying two tiers of Japanese-made Isuzu vans.

  "Straight from heaven," said Kate, quoting Isuzu's mindless ad campaign showing a van coming down from above. Panting, we leapt onto the flatbed and crawled into the cab of one of the vans. Before we curled up on the floor, I saw the sheriff, who had finally gotten u
p the nerve to approach the taxi cab, run back to his car and grab the radio mike again. He hadn't seen us.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  A half hour later we pulled into a station whose sign declared "South Eastham." That's where Allie's house was. The train didn't stop, so we had to end our journey through the darkness by jumping off. I was surprised to see how deftly Kate landed on the ground. Had she snuck onto trains in her childhood?

  "Welcome to Cape Cod," I said, taking her arm, "a peninsula of sand, fishermen, and dreams."

  "But the train service isn't so great," Kate complained as she leaned on me. We started walking.

  South Eastham goes to bed early. The streets were empty, but it didn't take us long to find Allie's house on our own. It was obviously closed up for the winter. Allie, or, more precisely, her maintenance crew, seemed to be very meticulous. The house was sealed tight, the electricity turned off, and all the water drained out. When the temperature drops below freezing, you can't leave water standing in the pipes. Sooner or later it will freeze and burst the plumbing. Kate looked the house over, pulled her arm out of mine, and with an exuberance I hadn't seen in her before, declared: "Okay, let's get to work!"

  Late that night, the house was livable again. Kate and I were exhausted. I turned on the stove and started grilling some steaks. After repeated attempts to use the phone, Kate finally gave up on the dead line and sat down in the kitchen.

  "I don't know what tomorrow will bring, but today was great," she said. "Last night I slept for the first time, after days of living in fear. And you're all such nice people."