A Narrow Bridge

by J. J. Gesher

  There was a soft knock, not so much a knock as a light kick with the tip of a shoe. Jacob stood and opened the door. In one hand, Langston tried to balance the full plate of food that his mother had prepared. In the other were the electric candlesticks that Mo had purchased at the last minute from the grocery store.

  “I have food for you,” Langston said as he handed Jacob the plate, “from my mom.”

  Langston looked around, noticing that the room was dark. “Were you sleeping?”

  “No. I was thinking.”

  “I don’t know why you won’t come over for dinner. You’re all by yourself on Christmas.”

  “I don’t mind, really.”

  “Well at least you should have a present.”

  Langston placed the plastic decoration on the small bedside table and plugged it in. “Ta-da,” he sang with a flourish of his hand.

  The words Jesus Loves You flashed on and off, filling the darkened room with alternating red and white light, first the red Jesus then the white Loves You, then both together. Langston and Jacob stared at the lights, momentarily transfixed. Langston broke the silence.

  “Uncle Mo told me your name. Can I call you Jacob now?”

  “Sure.”

  “The lights on this thing are cool.”

  “They are. Thanks. And thank your mom for the food. You better get back so you’re not late for dinner.”

  Langston replied, “See you later…Jacob.”

  Jacob closed the door behind him and sat with the plate of food, the blinking decoration illuminating his solitude. As he stared at the colored lights, a powerful image surfaced. Jacob willed the memory to come to life. The red lights became red flowers on a table, the white lights morphed into candles, and there stood Julia, eyes closed, hands circling the flame of the Sabbath candles. Jacob felt whole. He wasn’t alone anymore.

  Jacob longed for these sweet scraps of recollection. He remembered Friday afternoons in Brooklyn, when he’d come home early from teaching. The house would smell of roasting chicken and yeasty challah bread. He’d enlist the kids to straighten and organize their small home. Toys were put in boxes, books returned to shelves. Yossi took out the trash while Miriam set the table. Sarah would wait for him by the piano.

  Jacob would stay in this dream if he could, but the reverie only lasted seconds. He took a deep breath, sipped some water, and switched off the electric candlesticks. He could not possibly be farther from home, from who he was. After so many months, he needed to hear the voice of someone who knew him, someone he loved.

  In the darkness, Jacob made his way to the pastor’s office. He opened the door and picked up the telephone. He was ready to hear his mother’s voice. He dialed and let the phone ring, imagining his mother on the other end. He could see her sitting on the couch in her apartment, surrounded by books, photos of grandchildren, and the knickknacks she had accumulated in a lifetime. Hava answered quickly.

  “Hello?”

  He was tongue-tied. He longed to be with family—the people who knew him in his “real” life, before his world disintegrated.

  “Hello?” Hava demanded.

  Jacob couldn’t bring himself to speak. What could he possibly say? I’m alive…don’t worry. Perhaps she was better off thinking he was gone forever. His old world meant suffocating pain. Breathing came easier here. He gently placed the receiver back in the cradle.

  Jacob returned to his small room and paced. He needed some distraction from these thoughts or he truly would lose his mind. He took his plate and climbed up the steps from the basement. Standing in the dark on the front steps of the church, he could see directly into Rosie’s house. Framed through the window was a bountiful holiday table with people sitting down for dinner. His fear of feeling uncomfortable weighed less than his fear of being alone. He crossed the street.

  Hava shook the can of Pledge and sprayed the piano in Jacob’s living room. She worked the cloth across the surface and took in her distorted reflection. She’d hoped that polishing his furniture would be distracting. Instead, she found herself repeating the Sh’ma over and over again. Sh’ma Yisrael, Adonai Eloheinu, Adonai Echad. “Hear, O Israel: the LORD our God, the LORD is one.” It was the first prayer a Jewish child would learn—and repeat every night at bedtime. When Hava babysat the children, she’d listen to them say it before her final goodnight kiss. The prayer was a requirement, but it was never intended to run continually and obsessively in a woman’s head—of that she was certain.

  The Sh’ma states that Judaism, above all, requires a monotheistic belief—one God. But Hava was at her wit’s end. One God? What God? She kept repeating the prayer because she hoped it would bring her back to believing in something. She might as well have been reciting “Hickory dickory dock, the mouse ran up the clock” for all the comfort her monotonous prayer provided.

  These past few months, she’d sought solace in the counsel of the rabbi, but too often she found herself watching his mouth, nodding as if she were registering his words. Her thoughts were jumbled and incoherent, wandering in ten different directions and nowhere at once.

  Since she’d seen the tape in Detective Rosenberg’s office, she relentlessly played the event moment by moment on her mind’s screen. She saw the explosion again and again, as if mentally viewing the tragedy would somehow change the results. Sh’ma Yisrael, Adonai Eloheinu, Adonai Echad.

  Edmond and his mother brought their half-filled wine glasses from the living room into the dining room, and they all took their places at the table. Mrs. Scott was wearing the most dreadful Christmas sweater Rosie had ever seen: Santa and the reindeer flying over a house, each reindeer with a bell sewn on his neck, so she jingled when she walked. While Rosie appreciated a man who was close to his mother, all that information about his eating and grooming habits had ruined any possibility of a “sweep-me-off-my-feet” romance.

  Rosie sat down and looked at the table, ready to enjoy herself. Mama would have been proud. She had pulled it off—a perfectly set table, fresh flowers, glowing candles. After the obligatory compliments from Edmond and his mother, Mo signaled for the group to join hands in prayer.

  Mo looked at Langston. “You want to start?”

  Langston knew what was expected and began sincerely. “Dear Jesus, this is Langston Yarber, and I want to say thank you for my family, and for the food, and for the super-builder Lego set that I think I’m gonna get.”

  Rosie looked at Langston with an indulgent smile. Tonight she would not correct his grammar. The other guests responded warmly with “Amen.”

  Mo looked across the table to Edmond. “Anything you’d like to share?”

  Edmond winked at Langston, “Thank you, Jesus, for the striped silk tie that I think I’m going to get.” Then he looked at Rosie. “And thank you to Rosie and her wonderful family, who have welcomed the Scotts to their holiday table.”

  Rosie knew they were all waiting for her response to Edmond’s compliment.

  Mrs. Scott piped up. “Heavenly Father, thank you for the gift of my son, Edmond, and for his new job here in Brent. It feels so right to be part of this family at holiday time.”

  Rosie felt the burn of that last hint. She liked Edmond well enough, but he wasn’t pursuing her with any urgency. Hearing his mother’s blatant suggestions felt like courtship by proxy.

  Mo’s benediction was straightforward, impersonal, and yet deeply felt. “Lord, thank you for the blessings of Christmas and for the bounty of food we are about to eat.” He stood to slice the ham. “Now, who wants the end piece?”

  Before anyone could answer, there was a knock. Langston jumped to open the door. There stood Jacob, holding the full plate that Langston had brought to his room. He was still in his work clothes, but he had combed his shaggy hair.

  Langston, genuinely happy to see Jacob, pulled him into the dining room. “You changed your mind.” He looked at his mother. “Hey Mom! Jacob is here.”

  Jacob looked at the startled faces gathered around the table. Mo sto
od carving the meat, while the other guests passed steaming side dishes. The air was filled with the aromas of food, fragrant candles, and pine from the Christmas tree.

  Rosie looked accusingly at Mo. She couldn’t believe that Sam—or Jacob, or whoever he was—had shown up after refusing her earlier invitation. Her table was perfectly arranged, the meal was proceeding smoothly, and now he walked in? Did the man have no manners? While she got up to get a place setting from the sideboard and Mo pulled an extra chair to the table, Edmond introduced himself and his mother.

  Mo patted the added seat neat to him, and Jacob put his plate down. Mo nudged Rosie under the table.

  “I’m glad you decided to join us. You came in time to eat,” she said with forced politeness.

  Langston piped up. “Wait! We can’t eat until Jacob offers his thanks.”

  Rosie tempered her son’s enthusiasm. “Be still, Langston. We don’t want to put him on the spot.”

  Mo jumped to Langston’s defense with a conspiratorial wink. “Sure we do.” He turned to Jacob. “It’s our Christmas custom to go around the table and give thanks. You don’t wanna break tradition.”

  Jacob looked at the candles glowing on the table and the expectant faces of his hosts. Rosie was apprehensive. Was he going to say something embarrassing? Was he going to say anything at all?

  Jacob spoke, “Blessed are you, oh God, who has kept us alive and allowed us to enjoy this season…this shining moment in time.”

  The beauty of his words touched her. This “shining moment in time” was a simple truth for all of them. She studied his face, trying to understand what might be going on behind his clear blue eyes. The stranger suddenly seemed different to her, no longer vacant or passive. She had no way of knowing that Jacob had offered the English version of a Hebrew prayer of gratitude spoken on holidays and special occasions.

  The smell of biscuits burning in the oven brought her back to reality. “Damn!” She jumped up and grabbed the pan.

  “She always burns the biscuits,” Langston whispered to Jacob. “You have to cut off the bottoms.” Langston returned to his sweet potatoes.

  Rosie noticed that Jacob ate everything on his plate.

  After dinner, the guests carried the dishes to the kitchen. Mo rolled up his shirtsleeves and shooed them all away. “I’ve got a system,” he announced, “and it includes y’all gettin’ out of the kitchen.”

  Langston led Jacob into the living room and showed him his Lego spaceship. Jacob sat on the floor and let the boy ramble on about his creation. While keeping up the small talk with Edmond and his mother, Rosie watched Jacob and her son playing on the floor.

  CHAPTER 24

  The rain had been relentless all afternoon and showed no signs of easing. The rising puddles were ankle deep. Rosie stood in the doorway of the main building of Brent High, eyeing the distance to her car in the faculty lot. She’d forgotten her umbrella, and, to make matters worse, she had a stack of essays and no room in her book bag. She tucked the essays inside her coat, took a deep breath, and sprinted for the car.

  The rain pelted her car on the way home. At one point, she had to pull over because the windshield wipers didn’t work fast enough, and she couldn’t see. She hoped that Mo had the good sense to drive over to pick up Langston.

  A few blocks from home, she spotted Jacob walking toward First Baptist. He carried a plastic supermarket bag in each hand, and he was soaked to the skin. She remembered his face at the Christmas table. Rosie pulled over and opened the passenger window.

  “Hop in. You look like you could use a ride.”

  Jacob looked down at the water streaming from his clothes and hair. “Are you sure?”

  “Don’t worry about it.” She leaned over and opened the door. There was a long, awkward moment of silence as Jacob settled into his seat and pushed his matted hair from his face. Rosie quickly filled the air with small talk. “If I didn’t have a leak in my roof, I’d love the rain. It makes me want to go home and curl up in bed with a good book.”

  “Do you read a lot?” Jacob asked.

  Rosie was interested. “Well, you’re making progress. That’s the first time you’ve asked me a question.” She smiled at him. “When I was little, my mother took me to the library every two weeks, and I’d check out a stack of books. I’d usually finish them all before the two weeks were up.”

  Rosie stopped at a red light. The rain fell stubbornly, the wipers beating in a steady rhythm. She stole a side glance at Jacob. “Do you have a favorite book?” It was a question she often used with a troubled student. A discussion of favorite books or movies could lead to a more open conversation.

  Jacob smiled. “I like biographies and memoirs.”

  “Anyone in particular?”

  Jacob nodded. “Teddy Roosevelt, Churchill, Miles Davis, that kind of thing.”

  His face fell, as if he’d admitted some terrible secret. Rosie watched him, not sure how to move the conversation forward. He turned away and looked intently at the road.

  In the silence, the rain pounded the roof. This guy was definitely off-kilter. Those long silences and blank stares indicated a troubled mind. Even a homeless wanderer should have the good sense to find a better place to land than Brent.

  Rosie noticed the water dripping off Jacob’s nose and ears. Self-consciously, he used the back of his hand to wipe off the moisture. A horn beeped impatiently from behind. The light had changed to green. She signaled her apology to the driver with a wave of her hand.

  “I’m sorry. I’m ruining the seat,” Jacob said.

  “It’s only water,” Rosie responded without the usual critical edge to her voice.

  She pulled over in front of First Baptist. As Jacob opened the door, Rosie added, “I have lots of books you can borrow. I might even have some biographies.”

  Their eyes locked.

  “Thanks for the lift,” he offered as he escaped her scrutiny.

  Rosie opened the front door to the sound of a video game filtering in from the living room. She filed away her thoughts about Jacob and turned her attention to home: Langston, dinner, and the damn leak in the roof. She set up a new bucket under the maddening drip and warmed up some stew for dinner.

  Later that night, after Langston was asleep, a new cold front pushed through the already sodden town, bringing heavy winds and another drenching rain. She could hear the steady plinking sound of drops falling in the plastic bucket. She sat at the kitchen table with a cup of green tea and opened her laptop to check Facebook before settling into her tenth graders’ essays on Robert Frost.

  She looked at the recent posts from her friends in Birmingham. Most of them were uninteresting—pictures of meals, homemade cakes, and babies with sunglasses. As she scrolled mindlessly, a message came through from Edmond. Rosie hesitated. She didn’t want to accept his friend request. She wasn’t ready for him to see all those pictures of Langston and his father. She signed off quickly, hoping he’d think she didn’t see his request.

  Rosie meant to correct the essays, but her mind drifted—to Jacob, alone in the church basement as the storm passed. She felt sorry for him. It must be lonely to be down there by himself, hour after hour, with nothing but an old transistor radio to pass the time. Even during daylight hours when he was busy, he was alone. She wondered what it would be like to be the only white face in a tight-knit African American community. She took out a legal pad and wrote down some notes: Jacob (Something), Educated, Good with children, Hard-working. Then she added some questions to the list: City? Carpenter? Handyman?

  Rosie turned back to the essays, forcing herself to finish. She glanced at the list and added a final question: man vs. self? Although she still didn’t know the cause, Jacob’s battle seemed to be internal. His mystery fascinated her. She was Nosy Rosie, after all.

  Before she went to bed, she emptied the bucket in the living room.

  CHAPTER 25

  After nearly a week of rain and gloom, Rosie awoke on Saturday morning to bright sunlig
ht streaming through the blinds. She took in the sounds and smells of home—cartoons in the living room, pancakes on the griddle, coffee in the pot. She dozed for a few more moments, luxuriating in not having to rush through the morning. A loud banging startled her into consciousness.

  She stood at the top of the stairs and shouted down to Mo. “What the hell is that?”

  Mo looked up from the griddle and pointed to the ceiling. “Jacob. He’s fixing the roof.”

  “Did you ask him to do that?”

  “No. He showed up this morning. Maybe he’s psychic.”

  Rosie dressed quickly and went outside. The roof was drying in the morning sun. She watched Jacob pull the worn shingles off and inspect the flashing around the chimney. He was sure-footed, easily keeping his balance as he worked. He had stripped down to an undershirt, which showed his well-formed muscles and athletic physique. For the first time, Rosie noticed that Jacob had a body. Flushed with embarrassment, she felt like she’d walked in on him while he was in the shower.

  He seemed completely absorbed in the repair—competent and confident twenty feet above the earth. She watched him for a few moments before shouting up to him, “You be careful up there.” He acknowledged her with a nod and returned to his work.

  Although he’d been at First Baptist for many months, Jacob still preferred to stay in the shadows as much as possible. He did not seek contact with others, finding he had little to say. A few congregants raised their eyebrows when they saw him, wondering how the church had enough money to pay a second handyman. When the pastor explained that Jacob was working for room and board, they backed off.

  Each week, the sound of the music pulled him to Tuesday choir practice and the Sunday-morning service. The simple harmonies, the passionate voices, and the infectious rhythms resonated in his gut. The music was familiar, even if the lyrics were foreign.