The Abyss Between Dawn and Night

Hanna and Jake

See you at the funeral.

The party was over, all the guests were gone, and Isidore and Hanna helped their parents negotiate the short distance from the hotel door to the black limousine waiting to take them home. Shmuel, ebony cane held firmly in his right hand, lurched from side to side like a ship in a storm, and Hanna held him by the arm to ensure he wouldn’t capsize. Tova, tall and erect in her simple black dress, followed behind, her gray hair plaited into a braid as thick and long as her arm. Her white collar—her solitary concession to fashion—shined under the lights of the hotel’s marquee.

Shmuel took a long time getting into the limo. He sat down sideways with his feet on the ground and then brought one leg in, pulling it up with both hands. As he attempted to maneuver in his other leg the same way, his face turned beet-red from the exertion and he swore to himself through clenched teeth.

Let me help you, Tateh, said Isidore crouching next to him, grabbing the leg by the calf and lifting it in. Hanna held his ebony cane, absent-mindedly rubbing its silver handle, and once he was fully seated she handed it to him.

Here, Tateh, she said. You two make sure to get a good night’s sleep.

The limo pulled away, leaving a trail of puffy exhaust, and a second stretch limo pulled up to the curb. A uniformed chauffer dashed around it and opened the rear door for Isidore and his family. As Isidore was climbing in, and just before the driver closed the door behind him, he pronounced those words: See you at the funeral.

Or so Hanna thought. She was taken aback. If those had been his words, what had he meant by them? To whose funeral was he referring?

Hanna went back into the hotel and took the elevator up to her room. She unzipped her dress and let it slide down to her feet, and in her slip she went into the bathroom and removed her makeup. Then, with firm, steady strokes, she brushed away the curls and waves of her beauty-parlor hairdo. She looked at herself in the mirror and decided she liked herself better this way, with no makeup, no fancy hairdo, no self-indulgence—the way her mother looked. In fact, if she dared to share her mother’s disregard for other people’s opinions, she’d plait her hair into a thick braid, too.

She was tired, her eyes red-rimmed and her lids heavy, but she knew she wouldn’t be able to get to sleep right away. The energy of the party was still with her, and she’d toss and turn in bed while a thousand thoughts churned in her head.

She sat down on the bed, picked up the phone and dialed her brother Jake’s room; a few moments passed before he answered.

Hello.

You still awake?

I was about to get into bed.

Come over so we can have a nightcap.

Hanna, it’s almost two. I’m flying to London tomorrow morning.

London?

I’ll be exhibiting at a gallery there in a couple of months, and I’m meeting with the owner.

Hanna sighed. Well, I was hoping … I don’t feel like sleeping yet.

"So call your beau du jour."

"What makes you think I have a beau, if I allow myself to use that kitschy expression of yours?"

You always do. Guys are attracted to you like flies to flypaper.

Even if I had one I couldn’t call him at this hour.

You called me.

I knew you’d be awake.

Well, all right, but just for a minute.

She put on a white hotel bathrobe, tying it at the waist, opened the minibar and took out two mini-bottles of J&B. When Jake knocked on the door, she handed him the ice bucket.

Go get some ice.

He still had on the black turtleneck he’d worn beneath his tuxedo jacket, and its tight fit enhanced his biceps and strong chest.

She sat down on the bed, tucking her legs beneath her, as he slumped into an armchair and stretched out his legs.

So, London, she said. What will you be exhibiting, new works?

Mostly. I’ve been painting new oils in a post-abstract style, which means I’m painting stuff people will be able to recognize. Totally revolutionary, he said with a brief laugh. He stroked his brown beard, in which patches of gray had begun appearing of late, and ran a finger along the scar running down his chin. He threw his head back and let his great mass of curly hair tumble down to his shoulders. It’ll be the talk of the town—I hope.

I’m sure it will be. It seems anything you do is the talk of the town. She filled two glasses with ice and emptied the scotches into them.

They drank silently for a minute and listened to the muted sounds of the Boston night: a distant train, a police car’s siren, a gust of wind.

Our brother said something very weird tonight, said Hanna. First we helped Mameh and Tateh into their limo, then he got into his, and as the driver was about to close the door, he said, ‘See you at the funeral.’

Whose funeral?

I have no idea. I don’t even know if I heard him correctly.

Leave it to Izzy to say weird things at weird times.

He stood up, and with his hands on his hips stretched his back. His movements were athletic and self-confident. Hanna was drawn to her brother’s charisma the way a planet is attracted to a star.

I’m sorry you weren’t in the ballroom to hear Tateh’s speech, she said.

It wouldn’t have been right for me to stay.

Hanna understood; it may have been their parents’ anniversary party, but in reality it was Izzy’s show. His intent had been to show off his wealth, his success, and especially his new wife. Jake’s fame and formidable presence could have eclipsed him.

What was the matter with Tateh’s speech? asked Jake.

First of all, he surprised everyone by speaking in Yiddish, so most people couldn’t understand a word he said, and second, the speech was very discombobulated. He rambled from subject to subject, going in circles, and in the end he totally lost it. He just stood there in front of everybody not knowing what to say or what to do. I don’t know if he even knew where he was. It was embarrassing. I had to go up and pull him off the stage.

Jake stood silent and emotionless, sipping his scotch. He then walked over to the window and looked down at Mass Avenue.

Jake’s lack of concern about their father’s frailties came as no surprise to Hanna. Still, she felt sad about it. Not that she expected forgiveness from him but perhaps, after so many years, an accommodation of some sort. She feared Jake might be affected in ways he didn’t expect when their father’s demise arrived.

Jake turned away from the window. It’s late, Hanna. I’d like to get at least a couple of hours of sleep. Are you flying back to New York tomorrow?

Yes, I’ll catch the shuttle—if and when I’m able to drag myself to the airport.

2

The Rabinowitzes

And indeed, three days later they all gathered around the six-foot-deep hole into which, following the recitation of the Kaddish, the casket containing Shmuel Rabinowitz’s remains was lowered and covered with earth.

Shmuel died the night of the party. Tova, sleeping in her room, was awakened at three in the morning by a loud thump. She got up and dashed to her husband’s room, where she found him on the floor making herculean efforts to pull air into his lungs. Tova knelt next to him, and he fixed a desperate stare on her. Suddenly a glob of blood flew out of his mouth, some of which landed on Tova’s nightgown. He took two more labored breaths, and then became still. His eyes remained open.

Izzy had just gotten into bed and, still excited about the party and proud of its success, he was intent on crowning the night with a round of robust sex. He was, however, having a tough time of it.

Izzy, it’s late and I’m tired, Liz whined, turning away from him.

He embraced her from the back and cupped her breasts with his hands. C’mon, Lizzy, a little sex, then we can both get to sleep. Can’t you feel how hard I am? You’re not going to be so cruel as to—

Izzy, enough, get away from me! she snapped.

Lizzy, I need it.

Take a cold shower. She slid away, propped up her pillow and sat up against it. It was fun to meet your brother at the party, she said. I didn’t know whether to call him Jake or Joe. I think he introduced himself as Joe Jones, but I got so nervous when he shook my hand that I’m not sure I heard him correctly.

You won’t have to call him anything. You’ll never see him again.

I can’t get over how different the two of you are. He’s so big and handsome, and you …

Me what? asked Izzy, piqued.

Well, Izzy, you’re kind of a small guy.

And ugly, right?

His complexion is so much lighter than yours, she continued, oblivious or indifferent to how much her words were offending him. People at the table were talking about him, saying how famous he is. You never told me he was so famous.

Can we stop talking about him? I have other things on my mind.

Like what?

Like sex, Liz, sex. You remember what that is? he asked, sliding a hand under the covers and stroking her thighs.

Stop it, Izzy. I’m not in the mood tonight.

You’re never in the mood lately.

The sound of the phone ringing startled him.

Who the heck… He instinctively grabbed his eyeglasses off the nightstand and put them on before answering. Hello?

Isidore? It’s me. Your father just died, said Tova matter-of-factly.

What!?

He’s dead on the floor.

Are you sure?

Oh, yes.

Mameh, call the hospital.

What for? He’s already dead.

How can you be so sure? Maybe they can resuscitate him.

If you saw him you’d know he’s dead.

Call the hospital anyway. I’ll be there as soon as I can.

What happened? asked Liz.

It looks like my father is dead.

He called Hanna. She was wide awake, reading documents related to a merger her law firm was handling.

Hanna? I’ve got terrible news. It looks like Tateh is dead.

What?

I’m on my way to Mameh’s.

I’ll meet you there.

Hanna called Jake. He’d been sleeping for less than an hour, and at first he integrated the ringing of the phone into a dream in which he was painting a canvas while standing in a moving streetcar. The car, empty of passengers or conductor, was rolling through the rubble of a bombed-out city. Bodies lay strewn all over the street, but Jake wasn’t sure they were human bodies. He wasn’t sure what it was he was painting either, whether the scene in the street or an abstract composition of triangles and circles. The streetcar’s bell clanged.

It took him a moment to realize that the sound he was hearing was coming not from the streetcar but from the telephone. Hello? he answered in a slurred voice.

Jake, sorry to wake you. It looks like Tateh is dead. I’m taking a cab to Mameh’s house; you can come with me if you want.

His first thought was, Dammit, I’ll have to cancel the trip to London. The thought shamed him, and after a moment of hesitation he said, I’ll meet you in the lobby.

At the conclusion of the burial, after the family members had taken turns tossing shovels full of dirt onto the casket, the rabbi announced that the shiva would be at Isidore and Liz’s home. Family and guests walked slowly along the cemetery’s gravel pathways back to their cars as a light drizzle moistened everyone’s heads. Gusts of freezing wind swayed the tree branches overhead and whistled like ghosts through the heavy air.

Isidore and Tova walked arm-in-arm in front. He was bent and his eyes were bloodshot behind his thick glasses. Tova, in contrast, marched erect and composed, towering over her son. She’d maintained a calm air throughout the ordeal, and no one could claim to have seen tears come out of her eyes.

Liz, wrapped in a mink coat, walked behind them, together with but keeping a distance from Isidore’s sons. Douglas, the older of the two, was wearing a suit with a black overcoat thrown over his shoulders, and Justin, who only that morning had arrived from Switzerland, where he was at college, was dressed in rumpled corduroy pants and a dirty parka—obviously the clothes he’d traveled in.

Jake walked by himself, his manner distracted, his gaze lost in the distance. When Liz turned around and gave him a tentative smile, he responded with a mechanical nod.

Hanna ran up to him and grabbed him by the arm. "You’ll be sitting shiva with us, won’t you?" she asked.

He shrugged his shoulders. I’ve never been to Izzy’s home.

He’s not going to turn you away, and I expect to see you there.

Hanna knew she was the one person in the world he allowed to boss him around.

That afternoon and evening Isidore’s home looked like South Station during rush hour. The door flew open and slammed shut constantly and cars were parked the length of the block on both sides of the street. Isidore had not shaved since his father’s passing, and his developing beard made his face look haggard and dark. He sat on a low stool, his shoulders hunched and his head bent, and accepted with a nod and a sad smile the condolences of those arriving. Thank you, thank you so much, he muttered.

The visitors then looked for Tova to offer her their condolences, but she was nowhere to be found. Jake stood by himself in a corner with a drink in his hand, and Hanna fluttered around, accepting people’s words of sympathy with a gracious smile. At one point she approached Jake. Where is Mameh? she asked.

Upstairs, I guess, away from the circus.

She ought to be down here.

Let her be, Hanna.

After offering their condolences, people moved on to the dining room to fill paper plates and cups from the buffet spread out on the table: cold cut platters, bagels and rye bread, herring, lox, potato salad and coleslaw, cakes and cookies, soda bottles, and a huge urn of coffee.

With full plates in their hands, six or seven members of Isidore’s synagogue gathered near a window.

Some mansion this is.

Did you expect anything less from Isidore?

I wish I could wander around to see the place. I’ve heard he’s got a home theater, an indoor basketball court, a full gym, a tennis court and swimming pool …

I’ve heard the same thing.

Did he have it built to spec?

I think so, my understanding is that he bought an old house, had it torn down, and had this one built.

Makes sense, you couldn’t find a better location in Newton.

With his money he can do anything he wants.

Even get a pretty young wife.

Isn’t that true! She doesn’t look much older than his sons.

C’mon, guys. Are we gossiping now?

Isn’t that what we always do?

They all chuckled.

How do you like Shmuel dying the night of the party?

I wasn’t totally surprised. He looked like shit that night, if you pardon my French. That speech he gave, wasn’t it wild? Not that I could understand much of what he said. I heard he was supposed to speak in English, but apparently he forgot and delivered the whole thing in Yiddish.

He couldn’t speak English if his life depended on it.

The women stood in a separate group.

Yes, that’s him, Joe Jones, the artist.

His name wasn’t always Joe Jones, was it?

Of course not, he’s Isidore’s brother. His name was Yaakov Rabinowitz.

Why did he change it?

I guess he didn’t want to be known as a Jewish artist—as if he could fool anybody.

I see his name in the gossip columns all the time, always with models or movie stars.

I hear he didn’t discover his artistic talent until after the war, when he was already a grown man.

I also hear he got a Medal of Honor in the war.

There are so many stories about him that it’s hard to know what is real and what is myth.

Is he older than Isidore?

No, four years younger, and Hanna is the youngest.

She’s a lawyer, isn’t she?

Yes, one of the first women to graduate from Harvard Law. She now works for a big Jewish firm in New York City.

Hey Uncle Jake, or should I call you Uncle Joe?

Jake turned around. Swaggering towards him was a youngster with pimples on his face and fire in his eyes. He was tall, only a couple of inches shorter than Jake, but thin as a rail.

Hi, Justin. Either way is fine. How is Switzerland treating you?

College in Switzerland sucks.

How so?

Just look at what’s going on in this country—anti-war demonstrations in every college, marches on Washington, Bobby Kennedy and Martin Luther King assassinated—and me? Living in a bubble in Switzerland, studying with a bunch of pampered rich kids that don’t give a shit about what’s going on in the world.

It’s good to hear you have such strong views, Justin, but aren’t you a pampered rich kid too?

Not by choice. I got a college deferment from the Selective Service System, but I may not go back to college, at least not in Switzerland.

You’ll have to serve then.

No way am I going to Vietnam. I’ll run away to Canada first.

Have you talked to your father about not going back to Switzerland?

Not yet, I haven’t totally made up my mind … he hesitated, but frankly I don’t give a shit what my father says. If I decide not to go back, I won’t go back.

Doug, Justin’s older brother, stood ten feet away staring at them. With a wave of his hand, Jake invited him to join them. He was half a head shorter than Justin and, like his father, he wore thick eyeglasses that rendered his eyes small and opaque. He was still dressed in the suit and tie he’d worn at the funeral.

Hi Doug, said Jake. We were talking about what’s going on in the world. Do you feel as strongly as your brother does about the war?

Doug pushed his glasses up his nose. To be honest, I’m too busy in the business to pay much attention to anything else. Dad wants me to learn the business from the bottom up, so I’m going department by department, spending a month in each; right now I’m working with Marissa in Operations.

Aren’t you concerned about being drafted?

Justin scoffed. He didn’t pass the physical, he said.

You shut up!

There is no shame in that, said Jake.

You fought in World War II, didn’t you? asked Justin.

And got the Medal of Honor, added Doug.

Jake chuckled. It sounds like someone’s been spreading rumors about me.

Hanna took advantage of a lull in the callers’ traffic to visit with Isidore. She settled down, tucking her legs under her, on the living room’s thick carpeting next to Isidore’s stool. She pulled her hair back with both hands and twisted it into a loose braid that, after a few moments, lazily undid itself.

Izzy, after the party, as you were leaving, you said something very strange.

What did I say?

You don’t remember it? You said it as you were getting into your limo.

I don’t remember, Hanna.

You said, ‘I’ll see you at the funeral.’

He pouted, looking like a little boy caught in a naughty act.

Unless I heard you wrong.

No, I guess I did say it.

What did you mean by it?

I don’t know, Hanna. It was a silly remark that just came out of my mouth.

Nothing just comes out of your mouth. Did you know something the rest of us didn’t know?

Not at all.

Maybe you said it because of how confused Tateh was at the party?

To be honest, I thought Tateh was not so bad at the party. Yeah, he got a little confused at the end of his speech, but—

A little? she cut him off.

—but at his age and in his condition, to speak for forty-five minutes straight—I thought it was impressive.

New callers arrived. They offered their condolences and then asked where their mother was. We’d like to offer our condolences to her too.

Gee, I don’t know. Do you know where Mameh is, Hanna?

I’m sure she’s around.

But please, there is lots of food in the dining room. Help yourselves.

So where did that comment come from? asked Hanna, turning back to her brother. Did you have an inkling, a sixth sense that something was going to happen?

Since when do you believe in stuff like that?

You know I don’t, but how do you explain what you said?

"I suppose I used the word you to include all of us—Mameh, Jake, you, Liz, my boys—what other event could possibly bring us all together?"

Jake climbed the curving marble staircase to the second floor. A wide, thickly carpeted hallway ran from left to right, and he counted at least five doors on each side. At one end a solid oak double door stood closed, and he figured Izzy and Liz’s bedroom suite lay behind it. At the opposite end stood a circular sitting room of medium size, paneled in dark oak and furnished with leather sofas and armchairs. Mameh? he called, walking towards it. The lights were out in the room, and although the drapes were open, a mellow twilight pervaded it.

His mother was standing by the window, looking out. The last rays of sunshine cast slivers of light onto the dark waters of the backyard swimming pool.

She acknowledged his presence with a slight nod but kept staring out. He took her hand and held it. The skin felt taut and smooth, and he stroked it softly. He didn’t feel the need to speak, and evidently, neither did his mother.

Jake didn’t know how long he remained silent and motionless next to his mother, holding her hand—a minute, an hour? He’d fallen into a dreamlike state, a state in which he was aware of his surroundings but in which time had ceased to exist; he perceived everything as if through a prism that distorted reality into ghostly images.

As far as Jake was concerned, he could have remained in that state forever, a disembodied state in which he and his mother had become one. He welcomed it wholeheartedly, but he knew that at some point his mother would become separate from him, and he’d have to let go of her hand.

He dreaded that moment. Reality would set in, and they would be overwhelmed by the ominous secrets and riddles that had for so long weighed on them.

At the bottom of the stairs Jake ran into Hanna. I’ve got to get going, he said.

"We’ll be sitting shiva until Friday," she said.

I’m flying to London tomorrow, sorry.

Hanna checked the time on her wristwatch. Marissa said she’ll be here at about seven. Don’t you want to wait for her?

She did? Then I’ll stick around a while longer.

He walked over to the dining room table and picked up a rugalach. He took a bite and, sensing a presence, raised his eyes: Liz, his brother’s wife, was staring at him with a half-shy, half-assured smile.

Hi, he said with his mouth full.

Jake couldn’t help but admire Liz’s beauty. What struck him most powerfully about her was her resemblance to Marissa as a young woman: she had the same sky-blue eyes, cascading blond hair, and high cheekbones. Unlike Marissa, though, who always knew exactly who she was and what she wanted, Liz was more hesitant in her approach.

She looked briefly into his eyes and then lowered her head and fluttered her eyelashes. She threw a leg forward and crossed it over the other, and Jake wondered whether the pose was natural or studied.

You’re a famous painter, she said. You’re always in the news but, believe it or not, I didn’t know until just before the party that you were Izzy’s brother. Isn’t that weird? Is it a well-guarded family secret or something?

I guess Izzy just doesn’t want to talk about me.

I heard your Mom occasionally talk about her son Yaakov, but she never sounded like she was talking about a real person, more like about a child long dead. She seemed scared of her own words. Did I say something stupid? She shrugged. And of course, since your artistic name is Joe Jones, I never put two and two together. She tilted her head sideways and examined him through eyes narrowed to slits. You and Izzy are so different, at least physically. I don’t know you well enough to know if your characters are different too. Her eyelashes fluttered once again. But I’d very much like to get to know you.

I’m afraid you won’t have too much of an opportunity to do that. Izzy and I don’t get together much.

That’s a shame. You didn’t get along growing up?

It goes further than that. There is a lot of history between us.

I’d love to hear it.

Too long a story, too many painful details.

She threw hear head back and shook it to allow her hair to fall over her shoulders. The gesture was both childlike and provocative. Your studio is in New York, isn’t it?

Yes.

I go to New York a lot. I’m originally from Long Island, and I go there at least once a month to visit my parents. Perhaps we could get together for a cup of coffee the next time.

I’ll be traveling to London tomorrow, so I’ll be away for a while.

Well, as I said, I go to New York at least once a month.

I don’t think it’d be a good idea, Liz.

She examined him quietly for a moment. I understand. You’re a big shot artist. You wouldn’t have the time for a dumb blond like me, right?

Right.

She laughed, though her lower lip trembled. You don’t mean that, do you?

Maybe I do, maybe I don’t.

If nothing else I’d like to have the opportunity to show you I’m not a dumb blond.

What do you care what I think of you?

I care—a lot. She opened her mouth as if to say something but seemed to change her mind. Well, she said at last, there is one thing you’ll learn about me: I’m not so easy to dismiss.

She waved goodbye and walked away, bouncing her hips as if to the rhythm of a cha-cha.

Marissa arrived shortly after seven. She wore a knee-length dark dress, stockings, and high heels. She crouched next to Isidore. So sorry about your dad. I still find it hard to believe.

He nodded. I’ve been thinking about him in the past few days, what a tough life he had compared to mine: in prison in Bessarabia for five years, then fighting in World War I and spending time as a prisoner of war—the suffering he went through, the hunger, the cold, the horrors—and then immigrating to this country with a wife and child and working as a peddler on foot for thirteen years. What could’ve been harder than that? Maybe I developed the business, Marissa, but without Tateh’s example I don’t know what my life would’ve been like. He passed the back of his hand over his brow as if to dismiss a disturbing thought. Everything okay in the office?

Everything is running smoothly. Our new store in Stamford is doing surprisingly well.

Isidore’s eyes filled with tears. He took off his glasses and wiped them with a handkerchief. I’m sorry. Don’t pay attention to me. I just can’t stop thinking about what he went through. Tateh’s mother, my grandmother, was killed by the Nazis, did you know that? Tateh never knew exactly how she died, and that was another source of sorrow for him. From a few pieces of information he could gather here and there, it appears that the Nazis rolled into the shtetl in which she lived—the shtetl in which I was born—rounded up all the Jews, took them to a ravine, and massacred them.

How horrible. Do you have any memories of the shtetl?

No, I was four years old when we came to this country. I do have some memories of being on the ship coming to America. I can see images of a big storm, and I remember how scared I was. Mameh was pregnant with Jake at the time. He put his glasses back on. But let’s stop talking about sad things. We ought to be celebrating Tateh’s life, not mourning his passing. Go get some food. You must be starving, coming straight from the office.

Marissa headed towards the dining room.

Hey gorgeous, a voice stopped her.

She turned around and smiled. I can always count on you to make an old woman feel like a debutante.

Old woman? My God, if every old woman looked like you the world would be a much different place.

For lecherous middle-aged men like you.

Jake laughed and kissed her on the cheek. Marissa threw her head back and shook it, unwittingly mimicking Liz’s gesture moments before.

Any word from David? asked Jake.

A cloud darkened Marissa’s eyes. "Of course not. I would’ve told you. It’s been seventeen days, Jake, seventeen days