The Elected Member

by Bernice Rubens

  ‘Don’t you want to go home?’ Rabbi Zweck said helplessly.

  ‘This is my home,’ Billy said. ‘It’s used to me here. It provides for me, and towards it, I have no obligation.’ Rabbi Zweck looked at George, and felt something of his own heartache in the father’s helpless stare. ‘But why should he stay in this place?’ Rabbi Zweck said angrily. He was not really putting the question he had meant to ask, he was just protesting against the cardinal sin of the father’s blind acceptance. ‘Why he should stay? Why? What’s the matter with him?’ he panicked. He was worried that Norman would catch Billy’s submission. Surrender was contagious. He wanted Billy’s discharge as much as he wanted his own son’s. ‘What’s the matter with him then, he should stay so long?’ There was a pause. Billy looked at his father. and stretching out his hand, he touched his father’s arm, and drew him towards the bed. Billy could endure his own unhappiness, but not the burden of his father’s misery. ‘Any day now, they’ll find a cure for it, won’t they, Dad. They’re experimenting all the time. I’m an old guinea-pig, aren’t I, Dad.’ He punched at his coat sleeve, and laughed. ‘You wait,’ he said, suddenly cheerful, ‘come next Christmas, and Mum’ll have to find someone else to provide for her stall.’

  ‘That’s right son,’ George said, ‘come Christmas, and your mother’ll go a-begging.’ He joined in with Billy’s laughter, playfully punching him back.

  ‘Now, now, you lads,’ Billy’s mother turned back to the bed, ‘stop it, George, or you’ll make him too excited.’

  George stopped it. Both he and his wife knew the out-come of excitement. Excitement was a euphemism they shared for one of Billy’s ‘turns’, and even Rabbi Zweck, heard in the word a faint ring of threat and fear. Rabbi Zweck and Billy’s made to change places, and in their crossing, the woman pulled Rabbi Zweck aside: ‘Don’t worry,’ she said to him, ‘they’ll get him off the pills here. In no time. I wish it was as simple with my Billy.’

  Rabbi Zweck sat down in the chair by Norman’s bed. He’d had his answer. Although he didn’t know the nature of Billy’s illness, he knew that it was not the same as Norman’s and he thanked God for it.

  ‘Bella,’ Billy’s mother called over. Rabbi Zweck was displeased with the woman’s familiarity. ‘Come over,’ she called, ‘George, show the young lady the wallet Billy made for you.’

  Bella was obliged to go over and Rabbi Zweck found himself alone with Norman.

  ‘You finished with that lot?’ Norman said. While his father had been over at Billy’s bed, and Bella had been devoured by Billy’s mother, he had felt like a host, ignored, and a terrible sense of isolation had overcome him. Again he had the sudden urge to get out of the place, despite the security of a fortnight’s supply. They were all mad in here, and he would become like them. He wanted to go home. They had to get him out of there. Rabbi Zweck saw tears in Norman’s eyes. He leaned over and whispered, ‘A nice boy, that, er, Billy. A very nice boy.’

  ‘Pop,’ Norman said, ‘I want to go home. Please take me home.’ His tears were running freely now, and Rabbi Zweck looked frantically to Bella for support. ‘I’ll try,’ he said feebly, ‘but you give it a chance. A few weeks,’ he dared.

  ‘I can’t, I can’t,’ Norman said. ‘I-et me come home. And Auntie Sadie’ll look after me. I’ll come off the drugs. I promise you.’ He held his father by the shoulders. ‘I promise,’ he said, ‘you must take me home.’

  ‘I’ll see, I’ll see,’ Rabbi Zweck said.

  ‘Yes, but see now. Go and see the doctor now.’

  ‘Bella, Bella,’ Rabbi Zweck called, angry that she was not to support him. ‘Bella, come over. He wants to go home,’ he said helplessly, as she reached the bed.

  ‘Please, please, Bella,’ Norman cried, ‘take me home. Please. Tell them to let me go.’

  Bella looked at her father. Each depended on the other to remain firm. Rabbi Zweck would forgive Bella for keeping him in this place, and likewise Bella would forgive her father. But both of them wanted him home, but both knew that he was committed, a month at least, that’s what the gentleman with the briefcase had said. Yet neither dared tell Norman.

  ‘Try a few weeks, a month,’ Rabbi Zweck spelled it out. ‘After a month you come home, you hear,’ he raised his voice, ‘better or no better,’ he said to the ward in general. ‘You come home. Enough of this,’ he said. ‘A month, then home. I promise.’

  ‘Why a month?’ Norman cried.

  Bella was afraid that he had guessed at his sentence. A month was a word with an undeniable legal ring. ‘Three, four weeks,’ she said casually. ‘We’ll see how it goes. I promise you, me and Poppa, we’ll take you home.’

  ‘Please, please,’ Norman begged.

  Rabbi Zweck looked at the ward clock. Whatever the time, he had to get away. He had to get back to Norman’s bedroom. There was no time to be lost. Of one thing he was certain. Norman had to get out of this place. But in order to care for him at home, he had to find his source, he had to cut it off once and for all. ‘We must go,’ he said suddenly.

  Why?’ Norman demanded.

  Rabbi Zweck could think of no reason, acceptable or otherwise. ‘We must go,’ he repeated.

  ‘You’re running away, aren’t you?’ Norman said.

  ‘Of course not,’ Bella said quickly. ‘It’s a strain on Poppa. You know it is, Norman. We’ll come again. Soon,’ she added.

  ‘Don’t put yourself to any inconvenience,’ he said. He slid down between the sheets, displaying his distress, so that they could hold the image of his agony as they left the ward. He wasn’t going to make it easy for them. But Rabbi Zweck didn’t look at him. He knew that what he would see, he could not bear. He started to walk away.

  ‘Goodbye, Pop,’ he heard. Norman’s voice froze him where he stood, and he turned and went back to the bed. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said, kissing him. ‘I’ll arrange, I’ll arrange. You’ll be home. Auntie Sadie will come. You’ll be better: He turned away quickly, and made his blurred way out of the ward.

  Outside in the tea corridor, he waited. He hoped that Bella would stay and comfort Norman for a while. He sat at one of the tables opposite the little room where only yesterday, Norman had been admitted. Now the door opened, and the nurse, who had then comforted him, came out and approached the table. ‘He’s a little better, today,’ he said.

  Rabbi Zweck smiled feebly.

  ‘You mustn’t let it get you down,’ the nurse went on. ‘Next time you come, bring him some outdoor clothes. He might feel better, dressed. Peck him up a bit.’

  ‘No,’ Rabbi Zweck said. He hadn’t meant to sound so decisive. But a suit of clothes in this place was out of the question. He was not going to have his son settling in, moving in bag and baggage to a place like this. ‘No,’ he said less firmly. ‘The day he comes out, I’ll bring the clothes.’

  The nurse went back to his room, and came out again. carrying Norman’s dressing-gown. ‘You can take this home,’ he said gently. ‘We provide them here.’

  Rabbi Zweck took the garment without a word. The nurse patted his arm and went off down the corridor. Rabbi Zweck held the gown at arm’s length. It looked bequeathed. the sleeves still rolled up, as if lately inhabited. Rabbi Zweck folded it quickly on his lap. Idly he felt in the pocket. A crumpled handkerchief and a scrap of paper. He pulled the paper out. It was folded into a neat square. He tried to fight off that same surge of nausea that he had felt while rummaging the drawers. The empty gown looked innocent enough, yet here he was, going through the pockets, as if his son were dead. But it might contain a clue. ‘Who knows?’ he muttered to himself. He spread the paper on the table and unfolded it. ‘Basement Flat’, it read, and underneath there was an address and a telephone number. Across the bottom of the paper was written in his son’s handwriting, ‘Not Fridays’.

  Rabbi Zweck folded the paper quickly and put it in his inside pocket. He patted his waistcoat with supreme confidence. ‘The murderer,’ he muttered to himself. He was overjoyed with his
find, but he had to keep it from Bella. He himself would follow the clue. He would find the man at the end of that telephone number, he would ‘No no;’ he said to himself. ‘Let me just find him, that’s all. I should only find him and stop him. Just stop him.’ He patted his find again. ‘Murderer,’ he whispered, but he smiled gently, for having found him, he had already half forgiven him.

  Now he was impatient for Bella to join him. He had to get home and start his enquiries. Occasionally, a visitor would leave the ward, slowly at first, and then with relief. with quickened pace, out of the building. Billy’s parents came out into the corridor and did not look back to the ward. His mother held the plastic lampshade above her head, like a trophy. They nodded to Rabbi Zweck as they passed. ‘see you next visit,’ George said. The man shrugged his shoulders helplessly. He wanted it no more than Rabbi Zweck, yet he knew that a-further meeting between them was inevitable.

  Bella came out shortly afterwards. ‘Don’t worry,’ she said, almost before she reached him. ‘I’ve told him we’re going to get him out. He’s calm now. Poppa,’ she said going closer to him. ‘This is no place for him. We must get him home. He’ll go mad in there.’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ Rabbi Zweck said. ‘We will, we will. First we find where he gets them. Then we bring him home.’

  ‘But we’ll never find out,’ Bella said.

  ‘We will, we will.’ He was sorely tempted to divulge his latest clue, but he felt a certain excitement about it. which at the moment he didn’t want to share. ‘We will, we will,’ he said again, and Bella wondered at her father’s conviction.

  They walked to the bus-stop in silence. Rabbi Zweck told himself that he would go out that evening to the address on the paper, but where, he wondered, would he tell Bella he was going. He would have, God forgive him, to make up some story. Bella, on the other hand, was indulging in her own secret, and wondering how she could replace the shop money before her father noticed it was missing.

  Billy’s parents were already waiting at the stop. As he approached them, Rabbi Zweck saw that Billy’s mother, her face buried in a large handkerchief, Was weeping uncontrollably. At her side, George stood bewildered, holding the lampshade till she cried herself out. Then when the bus arrived, he gently guided her inside. Rabbi Zweck followed them. He recollected the woman’s tiresome behaviour in the ward, but now he saw it as a token of strength. He put his hand on the back of George’s coat as they walked to their seats. George turned and nodded an acknowledgement. ‘It’s the strain,’ he said. ‘It’s the constant worry of it all.’ ‘I know, I know,’ Rabbi Zweck said. In tzorras he needed no lessons.

  Chapter 11

  Rabbi Zweck got off the bus at the beginning of the park. It was already dark, and the nature of his adventure and his unfamiliar surroundings, both frightened and excited him. He turned up the collar of his coat, and looked furtively about him. A passer-by might have thought that the Rabbi was acting out his own private fantasy of private detective. He padded along the pavement, keeping close to the wall. Occasionally he repeated the address to himself. A hundred and three was a good walk ahead, a hundred and three houses to be precise, since the road was a one-sided dwelling one. He hoped that the man would be at home and that his business was not restricted to the day-time. He could have phoned of course. But when he’d thought about it, he didn’t want to warn the man of his coming. He would catch him red-handed, unawares.

  He had not prepared his reason for going out, and when Bella asked him, as he was buttoning his coat, he was astonished at how easily the lie had come. ‘Mrs Golden invited me. This morning in the shop. I should go for supper. But I said, after supper I should come. Why should I eat with Mrs Golden when in the house we have plenty.’

  He was over-elaborating, and he was aware of his miserable performance. It was a story that was easily checkable. He hoped Bella wouldn’t believe it, but would trust that his journey, wherever it was, was necessary. She had smiled at him and helped him on with his coat. She knew that his journey had something to do with Norman, but she was angry that Norman had reduced her father to lying on his behalf. Where would it all end? When Rabbi Zweck had gone, she had stood watching him over the well of the staircase. She shuddered at the thought of how involved they had both become in her brother’s madness. How they had become knowing receivers, as it were, from a thief. That she had allowed, even encouraged Norman to take the shop money, knowing full well why he wanted it. That her father, perhaps even now, was negotiating to get Norman out of that place, when they both knew that it was for his own good that he should stay there. They could not bear to make him miserable, though if she were honest, it was her own pain and her father’s that was unsupportable. And so they had both entered Norman’s derangeable. And so they had both entered Norman’s derangement, making it workable, tidying it even, making it all ‘nice’. They were equally guilty. She knew in her heart. it was better for strangers to look after him. Her answer over the years to Norman’s sickness had been that he was doing it on purpose to drive them all crazy. She had to be angry with him. It was the surest hold on her own sanity. If a mind wavered, it was best to keep the kin at bay.

  Rabbi Zweck stopped to check the number of the house he had reached. Twenty-five. He still had a long way to go. He reckoned that he had already walked at least twice the length of his own home block, and that encompassed at least thirty houses. But none of the terraced houses in his neighbourhood had the luxuries of spacious front gardens and side-entrances. Where he lived, neighbourliness was not necessarily an act of friendship; it was something that was geographically inevitable. Here, he wondered whether it existed at all.

  When he’d left the flat, his mood had been angry, and he was determined to punish his son’s ‘upplier. But now, as he neared the house, his eagerness for battle diminished. He was conscious too of his own frailty, and his complete ignorance of the world he was about to enter. And even if he could stop up this source, he reflected, what guarantee was there that Norman wouldn’t find another? Perhaps it would be better after all to leave him in the hospital, but the thought of Billy and all the other meshuggoyim once again determined Norman’s release. ‘Ach,’ he mumbled, ‘any way is bad. Out, in. Is both terrible.’

  At last. he arrived, panting a little, ‘at number one hundred and three, and he stopped outside, gripping the gate to steady his trembling body. ‘Forgive me, forgive.’ he muttered as he made his way down the steps to the basement.

  There was a light behind the door. There was someone at home, and Rabbi Zweck hesitated before ringing the bell. He looked up the main steps and could barely see the main street. He felt trapped and frightened. Almost without realising it, he pressed the bell as if to beg admission to his fear and the opportunity to deal with it. The door opened as an automatic response to the bell. He hesitated. Admission was too easy. He would have wanted to be denied, so at least he could have protested from the very beginning. As he hesitated the door closed.

  He paused to think before ringing the bell again. But what was there to think about. He had to do it, and get it over with, and the less thought, the better. Any kind of consideration would have been an impediment. What he was doing was irrational and unlikely to lead to anything fruitful. But he had to it. He had to make just one positive gesture, even if only for his own sake. All he had donated to the situation, was his own heartache, an ingrowing pain that fed on its own turnings.

  He pressed the bell defiantly and put his foot ready for the opening door. He was inside before the door had swung its full width, and he walked forward along a narrow corridor. The corridor itself was in darkness, but at its end Rabbi Zweck could see a blaze of light that spread over a wider area. A flight of carpeted stairs sprouted from the centre of the room, and faded into blackness as if it led nowhere. He looked about him. There were two small tables spread with magazines. and large ceramic ashtrays. Scattered around were hard-backed chairs.

  Since he was waiting for the doctor. he decided that he would sit
down, and he hoped that eventually someone would come and see to him. He grew impatient, afraid that he might weaken and slip out the way he had come. He gripped the arms of the chair, holding himself down, trying to rehearse the beginning of what he would say.

  ‘Doctor, is about my son,’ he tried. Yes, that would do; he would settle on that. It was a polite introduction, an apology for whatever abuse should come into his mind. He refrained from rehearsing further. ‘Doctor, is about my son,’ he repeated to himself.

  He heard footsteps that seemed to come from the black height of the stairs. Now it was his turn, and he made to get up from his chair. A man’s legs came through the darkness, and as they descended, Rabbi Zweck saw a slightly built figure, rather younger than he had envisaged for a doctor, fair-haired, dishevelled, and obviously in a great hurry. His haste spurred Rabbi Zweck to his feet, and without meaning to, he blocked the man’s path to the other corridor …. ‘Doctor, is about …’ Rabbi Zweck began.

  ‘I can’t help you. I don’t live here,’ the man said hurriedly. He was dodging Rabbi Zweck’s timid barrier.

  He was obviously anxious to get away. He slipped past him. ‘I don’t live here,’ he shouted back from the corridor, as if this were the main piece of information he wanted to put across. Rabbi Zweck heard the flat-door slam, and the man running up the steps to the street.

  He sat down again and waited, glad of the respite, and already weary from the false start. He was tired. The long walk from the busstop was beginning to throb in his legs. He closed his eyes, shutting out the distaste and fear of what he was doing, and gave himself fully to the fatigue that slowly overcame him. He knew he was going to sleep, but he didn’t care.