Newspaper Page Text
HOUR
OF
NEED
By GEORGETTE WEISER
SHORT
STORY
The sun was warm on the porch
of Parents’ Haven and the quiet
afternoon hour was delicately'
punctuated by the gentlest of
sounds. Bees droned in the lilac
bushes, rocking chairs creaked
softly under dozing occupants,
and now and then a newspaper
rustled in a pair of gnarled hands.
The tableau stood at peace, but
there was scant peace in the heart
of David Kappsky who sat in his
accustomed corner of the veran
da. Today, David neither rocked
in his chair nor read his Jewish
paper, but simply stared at the
lilac bushes without really seeing
them.
The door which led to the porch
from the main office within was
suddenly swung open by Mr.
Grable, manager of Parents’ Hav
en, who strolled out among the
twenty guests and wished them
a good afternoon in a manner
which David always described to
himself as ‘sickly sweet.’ David
found the manager unbearable
and would have turned his face,
but Grable had a bent gentleman
with him who wore his curly
white hair like a cap and leaned
on a cane. He must be a new
guest, David thought, a conjecture
which proved to be fact at once
as the smiling Grable began to
introduce the man around. “Mrs.
Greenspan, this is Mr. Aaron Sil
ver. Mrs. Hutter, Mr. Kaye, Mr.
Cohen, this is Aaron Silver who
is joining our happy family. Mr.
Kappsky—’’ Grable and the new
guest had arrived at David’s
rocker.
“A pleasure,” said David mo
rosely, looking up into a pa ; r of
twinkling blue eyes.
Aaron Silver dropped into the
empty chair beside David, and
supported his cane between his
knees. “Thank you, Mr. Grable,”
he said in a musical voice. “I’ll
sit here a while and enjoy the
sunshine.”
Grable bobbed his round, dark
head. “Certainly, Mr. Silver. I’ll
just go in and make the final ar
rangements with your daughter.”
He gave them a mischievous wave.
“See you at supper.”
Left to themselves, David and
Aaron appraised each other from
the corners of their eyes. Aaron
broke the silence. “Vie alt zeit
eir?” he inquired pleasantly.
The question ’ irked David as
did any reference to his recent
retirement from the haberdashery
business or the painful fact that
he had entered the sunset of life.
He twitched in his chair and
angrily crossed his thin legs.
“Seventy-two, if you must know,”
he replied with poor grace. “And
you?”
“Eighty. Also, I’m sorry if 1 up
set you.”
David closed his newspaper and
made an elaborate ceremony of
folding it in half and in half
again. Then he glanced at Aaron
expecting to see an annoyed ex
pression on the man’s face, but
Aaron was smiling and his eyes
were twinkling more than ever.
“I can’t help it,” David said gruff
ly, by way of apology.
Aaron Silver sighed. “I under
stand,” he said. Then he laughed,
a low musical rumble which
seemed to come from his mid
section. “They find ways to make
us live longer and then we have
to live like this, eh, Kappsky?”
he chortled, thereby explaining
the state of David’s heart in pure
and uncluttered terms.
David slapped the folded news
paper on his lap with the back of
his hand. “When my son said
this would be best for me—my
son, a bachelor, travels on his
job—I thought, I suppose it is,
my Sarah is gone already four
years, and my sister Molly too.”
David shifted and the chair
creaked as if to share the vexa
tion of the body it bore. “But it
is not best. I was too active all my
life in my store, with my ideas
for merchandising and advertis
ing and—and displays, until I had
a heart attack six months ago.
When I tell my boy about it he
says, ‘Papa, while you’re here I
know you’re being cared for. If
anything happens to you while
I’m on the road at least you’re
not alone!’ He begs me, ‘Please,
Papa, be satisfied.’ He’s saying,’
‘Please, Papa, be satisfied to be
dead while you’re still alive.’!”
“This is the way it is,” said
Aaron resignedly.
David shrugged with bitterness.
“Maybe. But how long shall a
man sit here feeling old and use
less?”
“But the brochure says, ‘Par
ents’ Haven, where parents may
enjoy the rest they have earned,”
Aaron Silver quoted jokingly.
“Rest, pfui!” David expostu
lated. Part of his venom thus ex
pressed, he leaned back in the
rocker. “What was your line?”
he inquired more conversational
ly.
“I was on the stage.”
David sat up straighter. “Is
that so! My Sarah loved the Jew
ish theater. We went often.” He
stared intently at Aaron’s fea
tures. “But, I don’t think I re
member—”
Aaron chuckled and waved his
old hand. “Oh, well, I never had
a leading part. I just made a liv
ing. I was always the one who
didn’t get the girl!” And Aaron’s
blue eyes sparkled impishly.
David found himself smiling
for the first time in many weeks.
“You didn’t get the girl,” he
nearly laughed. Then, as sud
denly, his mouth assumed its old
straight line. “You mean you
were never famous."
“No,” agreed Aaron. “But will
you believe me that it never mat
tered? I was doing what I loved.
Every night I put paint on my
face and went on a stage to try
to win over a mob of strangers.
I didn’t care that I never became
famous. Honest.”
David digested this in silence
for a while. Then he said, “I al
ways heard there are homes for.
old actors. How come you didn’t
go to one of those instead of to
Parents’ Haven?”
“So I’d be nearer to my daugh
ter,” Aaron explained. “She owns
property out here. But I can’t
live with her because her hus
band thinks that three generations
don’t fit into one house. She can’t
help it, my poor Shirley. She
wants me there but she has to
get along with her husband and
children.”
David nodded understanding^
and as if on cue Shirley came
out on the porch to bid her fath
er good-bye. She was crying.
“Don’t, mein kint,” Aaron begged,
ineffectually patting her arm as
she leaned over him to kiss him.
“Don’t cry, Shirley. Papa under
stands. It’s all right. I’ll be hap
py here. See?” He indicated
David. “Here is my new friend,
Mr. Kappsky.”
“Hello,” said David gravely.
Shirley wiped her eyes with
her handkerchief. “Do you have
children, Mr. Kappsky?” she ask
ed.
“One traveling bachelor son,”
replied David, feeling the wom
an’s hurt as sharply as it were his
own. “Don’t worry. Your papa
and I will be good frends.”
After Shirley had gone and
Aaron had rubbed hard at his
blue eyes, the two men began a
serious conversation. “What about
the others here?” Aaron asked,
and I will be good friends.”
David lifted both hands high
and then let them fall into his
lap. “Who knows? Do they say?
God knows what they keep in
side. Maybe some are miserable
like me. Only Mrs. Hutter, the
woman over there with the hear
ing aid, ever said anything to
me. She told me this is no life
for a woman who never slept
more than five hours a night.
She was a dressmaker with a big
trade.”
“So what routine do you fol
low?”
David shrugged. “Prayers and
15
The Southern Israelite