The Court (34 page)

“It's me, Jerry,” he said. “Is Hank well enough to see me for a few minutes?”

“He just got up.” There was cold hostility in her voice, but he couldn't determine whether it was directed at himself or Hank. “Just a minute,” she snapped. He could hear her yelling.

Another phone clicked into life. “Wha?”

“Hank?”

“Yeah.”

“It's me, Jerry. Are you up to seeing me for a few minutes? Your office said you were ill.”

“Yeah. I'm hung over. Bad. This important?”

“It is to me.”

There was a pause. “Jesus, I feel like shit, but come ahead. At least it isn't catching.”

“I'll be there in a few minutes.”

Green retraced his route to his car and drove quickly off the campus and up into the winding streets of his brother's subdivision. The house looked different in the daylight.

Adele let him in, her face a stiff mask of resignation. “He's in the family room,” she said, pointedly not offering to guide him.

He doffed his overcoat and boots. Adele had gone off somewhere else in the large house. He put the boots on a mat and hung up his hat and coat in the hall closet.

Hank lay in rumpled pajamas on a long sofa in the family room. There was a television but it wasn't on. Jerry Green noticed a framed photograph of their father on the wall, along with pictures of Hank and Adele's children in various stages of development.

Hank had a half-full cup on his chest, held in one huge hand. He was unshaven.

“Come in,” he said without opening his eyes. “I just look dead.”

Jerry Green sat down in a large chair facing the sofa. His brother raised his head and opened one eye. “Tied one on last night. No Goddamn reason. Adele was on my ass about something, but then she's always on my ass about something. I really don't mind the hangovers after I've had a real good time, sort of paying the piper. But Christ, when you just sit in your own house getting blitzed, it seems unfair to suffer like this.”

“Can I get you anything?”

“No. This is a Bloody Mary I'm drinking. My stomach isn't rejecting it so it looks like I'll make it. I may not want to, but it appears that way.” He opened the other eye, half raising his head. “If you want some coffee or anything, you'll have to ask Adele. She isn't talking to me.”

“I'm all set, thanks.”

“Well, Jerry, what's your problem? You said it was important.” Hank raised his head and slurped at the cup. The tomato juice left a red ring along his upper lip.

Jerry Green wanted to pour out the whole story, his conflicting emotions and the conflicts of his life, but as he looked at his brother he could see that Hank was still slightly drunk. In his state, Hank's advice would be a very weak reed to lean upon. Suddenly he felt very foolish.

“You might say it's a personal problem.”

“Ah, trouble with your new old lady, eh?”

“That's part of it.”

Hank slurped at his drink again. “Man, that's part of any married man's misery. But you won't get much sympathy out of me. Christ, this is your second marriage. You'd think you would have learned from the first. At least I have that comfort. If I ever get divorced, or if the good Lord in his wisdom swoops down and deprives me of my wonderful Adele, I'll have the good sense not to repeat the mistake. You should have thought of what you were doing. First times don't count, anybody can make a mistake. It's repeating it that's stupid.”

“On that basis, there's a lot of us stupid people around.”

“Oh sure, you can give me that old loneliness horseshit, everybody uses that one, but it's just an excuse. Getting married again is the result of either lust or romance, usually a combination of both. It robs people of their intellect, their moral courage, their basic integrity, and their common sense.”

“You and Adele really must be having a swell time of it.”

His brother smirked. “Won'erful, just damn won'erful. See, I carp at you but I don't have the courage to get out. Ya know why?” Hank was slurring his words.

Jerry Green shook his head.

“Because I'm afraid I'd do the same damn silly thing you did. Shit, some wide-hipped blonde with big blue eyes would make me think I was a young stud again. I know I'd fall for the whole bit: the romance, the sweet talk, the beautiful music that will go on forever. That's a bunch of shit. The music and romance stops pretty damn quick. Nobody in the real world lives that way.” He sipped his drink. “At least Papa had the guts to stay out of it again after Ma died. That's one thing that's constant, at least to me. When I'm in trouble I always think of Pa and his courage.”

Jerry Green said nothing.

“We were blessed with a great father,” Hank continued. “I never really understood how much shit he had to eat as a professor. Christ, it must have been much worse for him, being Jewish.”

“You're Jewish,” Green reminded his brother.

“I mean like it was in the old days. Hell, they called me the ‘Flying Hebe' in high school, remember?”

“Sure.”

“Whoever thought that up meant the tag to hurt. But I turned it around on 'em. I adopted the thing, made it a gag, something to be proud of. It worked out pretty good. But those were different days.

“Being Jewish must have made it tough for Papa.” Hank shook his head and laughed. “That's all changed now. Crap, now half the faculty up here are into some weird religion or other, the other half are flaming atheists. You go to some of these faculty things and you meet everything from nudists to snake worshippers. Yeah, it's a lot looser now.”

“You don't sound as militant as you used to.”

Hank snorted as he slowly sat up. “I think my head's going to explode.” He paused and blinked his eyes. “I'm okay,” he said, mostly to himself. “Yeah, I don't give a shit about that ethnic crap anymore. Big deal. Those of my kids who do get married are going to marry shiksas anyway. We celebrate Christmas now, did you know that? And I mean the whole thing, the tree, Santa, outdoor lights, the works. One of these Decembers I expect Adele will put a stable scene out on the front lawn. If you're looking for the headquarters of the Jewish Defense League, this ain't it.”

Jerry Green thought back to another time.

Hank seemed to read his thoughts. He looked at him. “Hey, that thing when Pa died. I think we were both a couple of flaming assholes.”

Green knew that Hank was coming as close to an apology as he could expect.

“It was a bad time for both of us.”

Hank drained the rest of his drink. “See, I was in Europe. I was doing the whole Jewish bit, first Israel, then the European death camps. You ever see them?”

Jerry Green shook his head.

“Don't. I still have nightmares. Anyway, they have carefully preserved all that shit, the barbed wire, the buildings, the showers, the ovens. We were in Munich when I got your call about Pa being dead.”

“I remember.”

“Yeah, well by the time we got back, everything was over. I expected that, given the religious thing. But I went nuts when you told me you had the old man cremated. It wasn't you, you see, it was I had just come back from seeing those goddamned ovens. It was, well, it was like a horrible thing had been done to our own father.”

Green nodded. “If I had known your feelings, Hank, I wouldn't have done it. Although Pa did leave instructions asking to be cremated.” Both statements were lies.

Hank shrugged. “Hey, what's it all matter anyway? You thought you were doing right, I thought I was doing right, and it split the family in one angry instant. I don't think that was exactly the way our old man would have wanted things to turn out.”

“I agree.”

“I wanted to talk to you about it the other night, but I just couldn't find a way to bring it up.”

Green nodded. “I felt the same way.”

“Good, then that's over.”

“Adele is still angry.”

Hank shrugged. “Listen, sport, she's always angry. You know women. She was in Europe along with me. She didn't trust me there alone. Anyway, the camp thing affected her too. But as you know, women never forgive nor do they forget. That's something I can't change.”

“I can live with it.”

“If we see you once in a while, she'll get over it.”

“Probably.”

Hank stood up. “God, I feel terrible.” He quickly sat down again. He took a cigarette from a pack on the table and lit one. “Before you decide to divorce the broad you married, you ought to bring her here for a visit. I'd like to be able to say that I at least met all my brother's wives.” He grinned. “Any other problems beside domestic?”

Jerry Green shrugged. “You spoke of integrity and courage a while ago. I have a job to do and I suppose it will come down to just that, whether I have basic moral integrity, and maybe even courage.”

Hank laughed. “That's heavy stuff to lay on a drunk.” He blew out some smoke. “But I'll tell you what, Jerry, you can't go wrong if you just follow one rule.”

“What's that?”

“Figure out what our old man would have done, then do it. If there was one person in this wide world who had both integrity and courage, he was it. The older I get, the more I appreciate that. Man, he had to take a lot of crap, and he had to use his noodle, but he just didn't merely survive, he had dignity. Right down to the day he died he had dignity. And courage. I never knew him to be afraid, did you?”

Jerry Green shook his head.

“Anyway, that's your big brother's advice: figure out what the old man would have done then follow his example. You can't miss, believe me.”

Jerry Green saw the conviction burning from his brother's reddened eyes. He meant every word, and believed it. All these years had just increased his faith. Hank had never found out, and it would destroy him now if he knew. He had conferred a kind of saintliness upon the memory of their father.

Jerry Green stood up and extended his hand. “Watch the drinking, Hank, it can catch up on you.”

His brother grinned up at him. “You try being married to Adele for a while, then I'll take your advice.” He started to get up, then sat back down. “Listen, I'd walk you to the door, but I don't think I'd make it.”

“I'll let myself out. If I don't see her, square it with Adele, okay?”

“Going back to Washington?”

“Maybe. I don't know yet. I'll let you know.”

Jerry Green quickly retrieved his coat and boots. He didn't really want to see Adele or have to do any additional explaining. He hurried out to his car and sped away, spinning a bit on the slick pavement.

Hank Green had been in Europe when it happened. Jerry Green had been in Washington. Hank was teaching at Penn State. They saw their father infrequently. Both men believed he had a full life at the university. Green fought the car out of another spin and realized he was going too fast. He felt his eyes fill with tears. He was surprised, he thought he was over it after all these years.

Dr. Connolly had called him in Washington and he had immediately flown home. Connolly had been a lifelong friend of his father's and his personal physician. Green vividly remembered every detail of the room where Dr. Connolly had tried gently to break the news to him, to tell him the actual facts. He already knew his father was dead. A heart attack, Connolly had told him that over the telephone. But it wasn't true. His father was dead all right, but he had poisoned himself. A lonely old man, with practically no teaching duties—professor emeritus was his title—his father had an office, someplace to go, but that was about all. So he had ended it. The note was in his handwriting. “There are no more dreams.” That was all, just five words. Old Connolly had certified the death as cardiac arrest despite the obvious evidence of suicide. Jerry Green, the smart young Washington lawyer, quickly had his father's body cremated, partly to conceal the ultimate sadness of the suicide, but more importantly, to protect Dr. Connolly, who had acted out of kindness.

When Hank arrived the next day, he had gone berserk, and a yelling, screaming fight had ended their relationship as brothers. But whatever neglect their father had suffered, at least now his memory was enshrined forever in Hank's household.

The blare of a horn behind him angrily informed him the light had turned green. He drove on, blinking away the tears in his eyes.

He found it difficult to concentrate. He thought of his brother's advice, what would Pa do? Kill myself, he wondered, instantly ashamed at the thought. He remembered his father, a kind, gentle man with soft eyes. The eyes seemed to melt into the eyes and the face of Regina. Romance was never real, that's what Hank had said—maybe he was right, but he could be wrong too. Then he thought about the dean, and it seemed in his imagination as if his own face was looking back at him. There was a knowing look in those eyes, a look that said I know what you're going to do. But were those his own eyes, or the dean's?

He pulled into his motel's parking lot. He was headed for his room when he noticed that the motel's cocktail lounge was open. He went in, hung up his coat, and took a seat at the small bar.

There was no one else in the place except the young jacket-clad bartender back of the bar.

“Yes sir?” The bartender looked genuinely pleased to see a customer.

“Scotch and soda.”

“Heavy or light Scotch?”

“Heavy.”

The young bartender made a graceful movement with the bottle as he poured the Scotch, a sweeping, theatrical gesture.

“Are you a student here?”

“Yes sir. I'm an English major.”

“Read much Shakespeare?”

“You bet, it's required,” he said, as he deftly added ice and soda to the glass.

“He wrote ghost stories.”

“Pardon me?” The bartender snapped out a paper napkin and placed the completed drink before his only customer. He beamed, pleased with his own professional performance.