About the B'nai Bagels (8 page)

For a normal Bar Mitzvah you have to do these things, solo, in public. The rabbi at our synagogue makes a tape recording of your section of the reading, the
haftorah
it’s called, and they lend you this tape player so that you can hear it and sing-along-with-rabbi. I was to be pitied. It’s bad enough not being able to sing, but it’s worse not to be able to tell if you’re flat. And it’s even worse to have a class full of guys who can do both. In public school I always faked it by moving my mouth and having nothing come out, but among other things that that Bar Mitzvah year had brought out in public was my low key, off key voice. Sunday mornings was when we practiced our
haftorahs
. I was considering having mine ghost-sung on tape, but they won’t allow you to plug in any electrical appliances in our synagogue on Sabbath. And my Bar Mitzvah would be then. They always are in our synagogue.

That Sunday Barry had done his usual, sterling job, and Rabbi Hershfield had made his usual observation, “If all of you boys try, you can do as well as Benyamin.” Benyamin was Barry, who was practically a baritone already. Rabbi Hershfield didn’t know about genes, I guess.

Rabbi nodded toward me and said, “Now we’ll hear Moshe. Let’s begin.” Then, as if his eyes suddenly came into focus, he added, “Why did you miss services on Saturday?”

“A virus,” I answered. I was surprised at how easily I did that. Lying in Hebrew School. For just a minute I expected the floor to open and me to drop into the school basement if not someplace lower. Nothing happened, and I looked up at one of the light fixtures to say thanks. Boy, the crazy habits a guy can pick up from his mother.

“What about the Saturday before?”

“It was a twenty-four hour virus.”

“Once a week from sunset Friday until sunset Saturday? Just like the Sabbath?”

“Just like,” I repeated. I felt bad that he believed me so easily. My eyes wandered up toward the light fixture again. I wouldn’t have been surprised if it had lighted up and said
TILT
.

“Do you feel better today?” Rabbi asked.

“Yes, sir.”

“Can you sing?” he asked gently.

“Well, sir, neither of us has thought so until now.”

Rabbi laughed, and so did the rest of the class. Barry and Hersch included.

“Begin,” Rabbi said. He closed his eyes. I think that
closed eyes are the mark of a good listener. When I want to really hear something, I close my eyes and open my mouth. Even for TV. It’s not pretty, but it works.

I did my piece, no better and no worse than usual. I sort of whisper-sing. When Rabbi opened his eyes, he looked as if he were going to cry or change his profession.

“You have not been practicing,” he accused.

“I’ve been practicing. In the shower. I sing in the shower.”

“In the shower? Why there? Why do you sing in the shower?”

“Because, sir, Niagara Falls is not available.”

That got my second laugh for the day. Twice out of Barry, too.

“Moshe,” Rabbi said, “you need help. Why don’t you ask your brother Schmuel to help you.”
Schmuel
is Spencer’s Hebrew name, but you better never remind him of it.

“Yes, sir,” I answered. But I was thinking that it would take more than my brother’s help. It would take divine help. Or a new set of genes. Or both.

Spencer was reading the Sunday
New York Times
when I arrived home. He had his feet—socks on, shoes off—up on the coffee table. And the
Times
was spread around
him like a bunch of bed sheets after a bad night. I stood in front of him waiting for him to feel my presence, the way they always do in books. He concentrates very hard, my brother. He didn’t seem to feel my presence, so I cracked my knuckles. That worked. He lowered the paper; he needed a shave.

“You rang?” he asked.

“Rabbi said that you could help me with my
haftorah
.”

“Memorize. You have to memorize most of it so that it just looks as if you’re reading it.” He began to lift his paper again.

“I’m not worried about the words. It’s the singing. I can’t sing.”

“No one in our family can.”

“But when I sing, it’s annoying. It’s like the drip of a faucet or the sound of a single fly trapped in the rear window of the car. Annoying. You can’t wait for it to stop. How did you get by, Spence?”

“Dad gave me some advice. I’ll see if you can use the same advice. First, I have to hear you sing. Sing something.”

“Here? Now? In front of you?”

“Here. Now. In front of me.”

“What shall I sing?”

“I don’t care. Sing anything. Sing Deep Purple.”

“What’s Deep Purple? I don’t know Deep Purple.”

“So sing ‘The Star Spangled Banner.’”

“Naw. You’ll have to stand up.”

“No, I won’t. You just have to stand up in public. C’mon now sing.
Oh, say, can you…
”

“It’s disrespectful not to stand up if someone is singing our national anthem.”

“It is not. You just have to have a respectful
attitude
. That’s all you show by standing up. A respectful attitude.”

“You sure don’t look respectable with your beard on your face and your feet on the table.”

“I can feel respect
ful
. And I do, unshaven and unshod as I am.”

“I thought horses get shod,” I answered.

“Also people,” Mother called in from the kitchen. You can hear anything everywhere in that house. “Shod is the past tense of shoe.”

“Just checking,” I called back.

Spencer’s head whipped from me to the kitchen door and back again. “Checking on who—whom?”

“Your Aunt Thelma,” Mother called in from the kitchen.

“What’s Aunt Thelma got to do with all this?” Spencer asked Mother through the wall.

“So, Moshe, come help set the table, or we’ll be late
with eating. Your Aunt Thelma comes again!
Da-rum, da-rum, da-rum, dum, dum. Heigh ho! Thelma!
”

I burst into song, “
Oh, say, can you see…
”

Mother walked in from the kitchen, and Spencer jumped to his feet, threw one hand over his chest, clutched the paper with the other, and stood in front of me. Mother’s eyebrows curled into question marks as she looked at Spencer. Then she moved to attention right there by the kitchen door and crossed her heart with the hand holding the wooden spoon.

“
What so proudly we hailed…
” I continued in my tiptoe alto.

They both stood there until I had finished the whole first stanza. Then Spencer said, “O.K., boy, ready for the good word?”

“I’m ready already. I’ve been ready,” I told Spencer.

“I have only one word of advice to give you.”

“Give already.”

“That word is
fortissimo
.”

“Thanks a lot. What’s
fortissimo
? Italian for shod?”

“No, it’s Italian for
loud
. When in doubt, shout. That’s what I’m telling you.”

“I should shout? Everyone will hear for sure how bad I am.”

“But, my dear brother, if you sing loud and clear, it will be easier on the audience. You’re making it doubly hard on them. Hard to listen to and hard to hear. Now, let’s have another stanza of ‘The Star Spangled Banner.’ FORTISSIMO.” And he held up his arms as if he were holding a baton, and he closed his eyes as if he couldn’t bear to both see and hear and not because he was being a good listener.

“I only know the first stanza.”

He opened his eyes only long enough to clamp his hand over them. That’s what Spencer did when he wanted you to know that he was being patient. “O.K. Let’s hear that again. Once more. With vigor.”

“
Oh, say, can you see by the…
” I sang fortissimo. And loved it.

Mother waited until
whose broad stripes and bright stars
before she began applauding. “Fine. Fine,” she said. “Now, if we’re finished with Ted Mack’s Original Amateur Hour, you can come into the kitchen and help me set the table. On the way in you can sign autographs.” As I started toward the kitchen, she added, “We must finish the main course or we’ll be late for Aunt Thelma.”

“Are we having Aunt Thelma for dessert or something?” Spencer asked.

“For dessert your aunt is coming to discuss baseball. She has become very interested. Also she is becoming
very informed. She just read Sandy Koufax’s autobiography, and she thinks she’ll come to practices with us.”

“And I just read a book on child care, so I think I’ll have a baby.”

“Spencer, don’t be vulgar.” And with that Mother lifted her chin and marched back into the kitchen.

T
he following Saturday I went to the projects in the afternoon, and I quietly gave a dollar to Simon; he was supposed to give it to his oldest brother, Julio, who was out of school and working at the Atlantic station. He said that Julio wouldn’t mind buying it for me. It only cost seventy-five cents, but I didn’t have the exact change. I could have asked Spencer to buy it, but being that Spencer had too much to do with my life already, I didn’t want to ask him. The man at the drugstore didn’t keep them on the rack with
Better Homes and Gardens
and all the other magazines; you had to look eligible for the draft before he would drag one out from under the counter and sell it to you. We made arrangements for me to pick it up the following day at the Projects.

I could hardly wait to get there. After Sunday School
I inhaled my lunch and dashed over. I arrived before anyone else was around. Most of the kids including Botts hadn’t finished their lunch after their church. At last one of the twins appeared. I yelled “hi” and then whispered, “Did you bring it?”

The twin said, “Sylvester will.”

We sat and talked a little bit while the rest of the kids were coming out of their apartments. One more twin arrived, and they began choosing up sides. I worked my way over to the other twin and said, “Did you bring it?”

That twin said, “Sylvester will.”

I had thought that I was talking to Sylvester, but at that point I couldn’t be sure, so when I spotted the other twin across the field, I headed right toward him, but got interrupted by Cookie giving me hello for the day. When I approached the twin who I thought was the one who had been across the field, I asked, “Did you get it yet?” and he answered, “Sylvester will.”

“But you’re Sylvester!” I yelled. “I know that I’ve already asked each of you at least once to bring it.”

He smiled and said, “I told you that Sylvester will.”

“You wait right here,” I said, and I set my hands on both sides of him and gave him a little shove downward to try and plant him there before I ran over to the other side of the field to get the other twin. I grabbed the
other twin by the wrist and ran with him back toward where I had left the one who had just said, “Sylvester will.” Only he was gone.

In a voice that was
fortissimo
with anger I said to the twin that I had just brought from the other side of the field, “Give it to me.” And he said, “Sylvester will.”

The other twin came back now and stood there smiling. Grinning like Flipper.

“All right, you guys,” I screamed, “which one of you is Sylvester?”

Cookie came to my rescue. “I guess that today they’ve both decided to be Simon. Sometimes they do that.” Then she walked up to them and commanded, “Smile!” They already were smiling, but they somehow made their smiles even bigger. Cookie pulled one of them by the belt and said, “This is the real Sylvester.”

And both the twins began laughing so hard that they hugged and leaned on each other. You have to be real relaxed to laugh that hard. I wanted my magazine. “C’mon now; give it to me.”

“We’ll wait here while you get it from Julio’s room,” she directed. While they were gone, Cookie taught me how to never get them mixed up again.

Actually, there were only little differences between them. You couldn’t tell who was running the bases. You
had to be up close to tell them apart. And they had to smile, for Sylvester has five incisors on his bottom gum, and Simon has the normal four. If it helps you, remember that Simon has an
o
in it and so does
four
, which is the number of teeth. Sylvester has an
e
and so does
five
(for teeth). Simon and Sylvester didn’t even have different personalities; they both enjoyed mischief, and they were both very good-natured. It was hard to stay angry at them even when the mischief was against you. Also, they enjoyed having each other. Being separated in school is the only being separated they ever adjusted to. A school principal started that in first grade.