But I didn’t die, because Ezra came in.
“Hey, Grape. What’s up?”
“I don’t feel so good,” I said.
He sat on the edge of my mattress. “What’s the matter?”
“My stomach. It really hurts.”
“Are you drinking water? It’s easy to get dehydrated.”
“Yes.”
“What about sunscreen?”
“Oh, I always put lots on. My mom—”
“Are you homesick?”
I didn’t answer because I didn’t want to cry.
But I started to cry anyway.
“I guess so,” I said.
“Hey, listen. Can I tell you a little story?”
“Sure.”
“When I was a camper here for the first time, I didn’t know anyone, either.”
“You didn’t?”
“Nope, and my stomach hurt a lot.”
“It did?”
“Yup. And then I did something brave.”
“What?”
“I told my counselor. Like you’re telling me.”
“Thanks.”
“And by the end of that summer I had so many friends I couldn’t count them, and I came back here ever since. Now I’m a counselor.”
“That’s cool.”
“Yes, it is,” Ezra said. “And you want to know a secret?”
“Sure.”
He put his hand on my shoulder, and whispered, “I’m the coolest counselor ever.”
I laughed.
“Yup, I am. And you want to know another secret?”
“Sure.”
“One day I’m going to be director of this camp.”
“Really?”
“Yup, that’s how much I love it here.”
“That’s super cool.”
“Yes, it is.”
“Hey,” I said, “I was wondering, since I’m in theater, do I still have to make lanyards?”
“Lanyards?”
“Yeah, because I hate lanyards. I mean, they take forever, and it’s super boring, and I can never remember how the weaving goes, and I have this friend Lou but he’s in New York with his dad, and he’s coming back for court, and the thing is, he loves arts and crafts, especially lanyards, but, well, we tried to trap Bully Jim in a pit but Lou’s finger—”
“My God, Grape, you don’t say a word for two days and now you’re like Charles Dickens!”
“Oh, sorry.”
“It’s all right. Listen, I want to hear about your friend, but now you have rehearsal, don’t you?”
“Yeah.”
“What part did you get?”
“Stupid workhouse boy and stupid bookseller boy.”
“What part did you want?”
“I was hoping for—”
“No, don’t tell me. I bet you wanted the Artful Dodger.”
“How did you know?”
“Your top hat. It’s cool. It’s like something he would wear.”
“Yeah, but Abe got that part.”
“Well,” Ezra said, “you have a choice now, Grape. You can be all bummed out about it or you can do a great job playing the parts you have. Sometimes the small parts matter as much as the big.”
He sounded like my dad.
“But it’s only one stupid song and one stupid line,” I said.
“But that line’s important!”
“Wait, you know that part?”
“Of course. That’s when Oliver goes off on his own to return some books and Bill Sykes kidnaps him. If you don’t say that line, then Oliver never gets kidnapped—”
“And if Oliver never gets kidnapped then Bill Sykes never gets killed!”
“See?”
“I guess.”
“And you know, there’s a lot more to camp than Oliver! There’s swimming and the campout, and the library.
“The library?”
“You’ll see. It’s the most amazing place.”
“Cool.”
“Now hurry. Rachel doesn’t like people being late.”
Rehearsal was super boring. I just sat there and waited for my stupid song and stupid line and watched Abe be the Artful Dodger.
It ruined my day.
And then Rachel the Director double-ruined my day.
“Hey, Grape,” she said, “let me see that hat.”
“You mean my top hat?”
“Yeah, let me see it.”
I handed it to her, and she spun it around. “Hey,” she said, “this is perfect! Thanks, Grape!”
“Yeah, but—”
“Don’t worry. Abe will give it back when the play’s over.”
Then at the end of the first week, Ezra told us to pack plenty of water for our hike to the library.
“In formation!” Abe yelled. “Potato salad is hairy!”
“BOOYAA!”
Oh, no.
I was at the end of the line in clouds of dust, and Ezra was behind me, and it was super hot already and so the BOOYAA!s didn’t last, but I did hear something I didn’t like.
I was wheezing.
And the thing is, I forgot my asthma pills, so I stopped.
“What’s up, Grape?” Ezra said. “Only half a mile to go.”
“Um…I forgot my asthma pills.”
“Okay. Well, how about you ride on my back?”
“Really?”
“Sure.”
He turned his back to me, and I hopped on. The rest of the way he was kind of grunting.
“You—grunt—doing okay, Grape?”
“Yeah,” I said, “hey, that’s a turkey vulture!”
“That’s—grunt—cool.”
“And, look, I can’t believe it, a red-tailed hawk!”
“Hey—grunt…grunt—Grape?”
“Yeah?”
“I can’t—grunt—look up right now.”
“Oh, sorry!”
“But I’ll—grunt…grunt—take your word for it.”
I was still wheezing a little when we got there, and Ezra was covered in sweat, but the thing is, he was right about the library. It was super cool. It was in the shape of a circle and the walls were brown, like it was ancient and new at the same time.
Ezra told us to gather, and when he talked he was super serious.
“I want you to walk inside and, in total silence, walk slowly through the circular hallway. Absolutely no talking! Once you make a full circle, come meet me back here. And remain in silence!”
Even Abe had to listen to him.
Mrs. C, inside the library it was kind of dark, and the round walls were covered in red carpet, and I walked slowly around like Ezra said, and as I did I dragged my finger along the wall, and it was super cool, like being underwater.
Then we gathered around Ezra again.
“Now,” he said, “follow me into the inner chamber, and remain in silence.”
We followed him into this big room with chairs and a small stage, and on the stage was an old man with messy white hair and glasses and a long gray beard and yamaka.
“Cabin B, this is Rabbi Levin, visiting us this summer all the way from Israel.”
“Shalom,” the rabbi said, “thank you for being here with me.”
“Shalom,” everyone said.
“Ezra,” the rabbi said, “did they walk through yet?”
“Yes, Rabbi.”
“In silence?”
“Yes, Rabbi.”
Rabbi Levin looked at us and waited. It was cool because most rabbis talk a lot, and the thing is, they’re usually super boring, but Rabbi Levin wasn’t. He just sat there and looked at us for a while, and when he finally talked, it was like every word was super important.
“Tell
me, children, do any of you know why the library is in the shape of a circle?”
We just stared at him.
“Nu? Ezra, none of these children know why the library is in the shape of a circle?”
“No, Rabbi.”
“Well, children, do you want to know?”
“Yes, sir!” I said.
The rabbi laughed. “Ezra, listen to that boy! Call me Rabbi, please, but not sir.”
“Oh, sorry.”
“The library is in the shape of a circle because God, you see, God has no beginning and no end.”
I raised my hand.
“Yes? What is your name, please?”
“Um…Grape.”
“Grape?”
“Yes, sir!”
He looked over at Ezra. “Grape? What is this?”
“Oh, Rabbi, um…A-nahv,” I said.
“A-nahv? A-nahv?”
“Yes, Rabbi. A-nahv means grape in Hebrew.”
“I know what A-nahv means.”
“Oh, sorry.”
“Ezra, the boy thinks he knows Hebrew better than the rabbi!”
“It’s my adopted name,” I said.
Rabbi Levin kind of sighed. “Okay, then, boy named A-nahv. You have a question?”
“How can God have no beginning? I mean, someone must have created God, right?”
Mrs. C, it was super cool! The rabbi just looked at me and shook his head and kind of frowned and slumped over, and then he smiled!
“That, my little A-nahv, is a question that cannot be answered.”
“Why not?”
“Because it cannot be asked.”
“But—”
“I know, I know. You are going to tell me you just asked it.”
“Um…I did.”
“No, you didn’t ask a question, my little A-nahv.” He looked over at Ezra. “How much time do we have?”
Ezra smiled. “As much as we need, Rabbi.”
Abe’s hand shot up. “But we have rehearsal after rest period!”
“Rehearsal can wait,” Ezra said.
“Tov me-od, Ezra. Very good,” the rabbi said. “Rehearsal can wait.”
Then the rabbi did his not-talking thing, but even longer this time, and he stroked his beard, and then he started talking and every word was super important, and he talked for a long time, and it was like he was talking to himself, and the thing is, I really didn’t understand what he said but I liked hearing him, and at the end he said, “Nu, A-nahv, do you see? You did not ask a question. You made a statement.”
“I did?”
“A-nahv, you argued with God.”
We ate lunch under the pine trees outside the library, and before we left, Rabbi Levin put his arm around me.
“Nu, my little A-nahv? What do you think? Did you like the library?”
“Yes, Rabbi. It’s my favorite thing at camp.”
Ezra laughed.
“Ezra, maybe we have a little rabbi here?”
“Maybe, Rabbi.”
Mrs. C, the thing is, I didn’t want to be a rabbi.
I wanted to be the Artful Dodger.
And even though Ezra was my best friend at camp, and even though the rabbi was nice and super interesting, and even though I was trying not to argue with God, rehearsals were super boring and Abe kept showing off his pocketknife and saying BOOYAA! and I thought there was no way I would last.
Then, after rehearsal one day, Rachel the Director said, “Cabin B, we’ll see you in two days. Have fun on your campout.”
That night Randy told us it was a five-mile hike to Lost Lake, then Ezra went over the rules about not leaving the group, and staying hydrated, and when he says we should walk in silence, we walk in silence.
Abe asked if he could bring his Swiss Army pocketknife.
Ezra said yes.
Abe said BOOYAA!
The other kids said BOOYAA!
“Now pack,” Ezra said.
I started packing, and Ezra came over to me. “Grape,” he said, “remember your asthma pills. Deal?”
“Okay,” I said.
“I can’t carry you five miles!”
“But, Ezra?”
“Yeah?”
“Do I have to go?”
“Yup. You’ll like it up there. It’s beautiful. We’ll swim in the lake and you can get away from Oliver! for a while.”
“Okay.”
“And how about you share a tent with me?”
“Cool!”
Mrs. C, the hike started off terrible. Abe wouldn’t shut up about his Swiss Army pocketknife and he wore my top hat and he did more of his stupid food sayings and more BOOYAA!s.
Finally, Ezra said it was time for silent hiking.
After a while, in the smell of the pine trees and the silence, I started thinking about what the Rabbi said. I guess I thought about it a lot because all of a sudden Ezra broke the silence.
“All right,” he said, “let’s set up tents. Around the fire pit area, but not too close.”
Everyone started unpacking, but I couldn’t stop thinking about what the rabbi said.
“Hey, Ezra?”
He was unfolding our tent.
“Yeah, Grape?”
“If God has no beginning and no end….”
He hammered a spike in. “What’s that?”
“I mean, what the rabbi said.”
“About what?”
“About God.”
“Grape, just give me a sec.”
He pounded a stake, then another, and I followed behind him as he circled the tent.
“The thing is, I don’t want to argue with God, but—”
“Grape, just please, give me a sec—”
And then, Mrs. C, something terrible happened.
“Owww! Dammit, my finger! I smashed my finger!”
Ezra ran around in circles holding his finger.
“Ice pack!” Ezra said. “Dammit! Someone bring the ice pack!”
I sat on a rock and ate my sandwich and wondered why I break all my friends’ fingers and watched Abe showing off his stupid Swiss Army pocketknife until Randy said it was time for swimming.
I told Ezra I wasn’t in the mood for swimming.
Ezra said fine.
The rest of the kids changed into their suits and when Ezra blew his whistle they ran into the lake BOOYAA!-ing, and someone asked Randy to cut an underwater fart and I tried to think about God but it didn’t help, and then I thought about my mom and dad and Lou, and I sat against a big pine tree and made shapes in the dirt with a little branch.
Mrs. C, it was the worst day of my life. I decided to get into my sleeping bag and wait to die.
But as I walked over to my tent, I saw something.
It was my top hat, in Abe’s tent. And inside my top hat was the Swiss Army pocketknife.
Mrs. C, I didn’t think. I just took it and went in my tent and slipped it into my pillowcase and got my swim suit on and got in the lake.
I even BOOYAA!-ed.
After swimming, Abe went crazy.
“Hey,” he said, “where’s my Swiss Army pocketknife?”
“BOOYAA!”
“NOT BOOYAA!” Abe said. “Where’s my Swiss Army pocketknife?”
“What’s the matter, Abe?” Ezra said.
“My Swiss Army pocketknife! It was right here in my top hat. When we went swimming. I left it here, right here.”
“Now, slow down, Abe,” Ezra said. “Try to retrace your steps, and—”
“No! I left it in my top hat! I’m sure of it!”
Mrs. C, it was a miracle. Abe was making normal sentences.
But the thing is, he was getting super panicked. First, he climbed into his tent and started throwing ev
erything around and the tent almost collapsed, and then he started throwing everything out of his tent until there was a pile, and then he got out and lifted the whole tent and shook it.
“IT’S NOT HERE! IT’S NOT HERE! MY SWISS ARMY POCKETKNIFE’S GONE!”
I swear, Mrs. C, he was going crazy.
“Hey, Abe,” Ezra said, “let’s just slow down.”
“My dad will kill me! He said I could borrow it but it was my grandpa’s and if I lose it, he’ll kill me.”
Then, Mrs. C, I couldn’t believe it, Abe just sat down on the pine needles and started to cry, like slobbering cry, and all the kids gathered around him and put their hands on his shoulders and told him it would be all right.
“No, it won’t,” he said, “my dad’s gonna kill me.”
“Okay,” Ezra said, “everyone partner up. Start from here and walk slowly outward. When you hear my whistle, come back. Whoever finds the pocketknife gets an extra s’more tonight.”
Mrs. C, we made a circle and walked slowly, but after a while it started to get dark, and Ezra blew his whistle.
I think Abe ran out of tears, but that night when we made s’mores around the fire, he was still super quiet and sad. He didn’t even wear my top hat. And since he didn’t talk, the other kids didn’t talk, either.
Randy cut a big fart but no one laughed.
When we were done eating, Ezra poked a stick into the fire and said, “Well, Cabin B, here we are…” and then he got quiet, like the rabbi, and he poked the fire more, then he said, “we should be sitting around here telling ghost stories or scar stories, and getting scared and laughing and maybe even going for a night swim, but we’re not.”
Then he got quiet again.
“I could be pointing out the constellations, but I’m not. And you know why?”
Now he really sounded like the rabbi.
I almost raised my hand.
“Because Abe’s pocketknife is gone.”
Everyone had their heads down.
“So, I’ve been thinking that it’s possible that one of you has it.” He poked the fire and the flames shot up. “I’m not saying you stole it, but maybe you borrowed it and forgot to give it back.”
He got up and put some more wood on the fire.
“So, listen. I’m going to make you a deal, and a promise. From now until the very end of camp when you get back on the bus home, if you happen to have Abe’s pocketknife and you bring it to me, I promise you I will not ask a single question. I will simply take the pocketknife and not say a word about it. Ever.”
Grape! Page 13