The Golem of Hollywood

Chapter twenty-nine

He called his father to tell him about the trip.

Sam said, “No.”

Jacob stuttered laughter. “Excuse me?”

“You can’t go. I can’t allow it. I, I — forbid it.”

Jacob had never heard his father like this before. “Abba. Seriously.”

“I am serious,” Sam said. “Do I not sound serious?”

“I’ve got a job to do.”

“In Prague.”

“What, you think I’m lying to you?”

“I think there’s no reason for you to have to travel halfway around the world.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s my call to make, not yours.”

“Wrong,” Sam said. “Wrong. Wrong.”

“I’m not asking for permission.”

“That’s good,” Sam said, “because I’m not giving it to you.”

“What’s gotten into you?”

“You can’t do this to me.”

“What are you talking about? I’m not doing any—”

“You’re leaving me.”

“You’ll be fine. I spoke to Nigel. He’ll be by every day.”

“I don’t need him,” Sam said. “I need you, here.”

“What aren’t you telling me? Are you sick?”

“I’m speaking, as your father—”

“And I’m telling you, as a grown man, that this is not a negotiation.”

A wounded silence.

“I thought you’d be excited,” Jacob said. “Home of the Maharal.”

Sam did not reply.

“Look,” Jacob said, “I’ll drop by later, all right? Right now I’ve got to go.”

“Jacob—”

“I have a ton of stuff I need to do. I’ll see you later.”

He hung up before Sam could object.

His passport was a few months shy of expiration and bore two stamps from the previous decade: a winter jaunt to Baja, a last-ditch attempt to repair things with Renee; another to Paris, same deal with Stacy, more expensive, equally unsuccessful.

Per Mallick’s instructions, he used the white credit card to book his flight and hostel.

It went through.

Maybe they had a list of preapproved purchase categories — travel, for instance, but not food. Long as he wasn’t paying.

He went off to pack, delaying going to Sam’s until the late afternoon. He wasn’t in the mood for an argument, and the abrupt shift in his father’s personality had him worrying about the possibility that Sam might be losing it, too.

He found a spot on the street behind Nigel’s red Taurus, a broken-down bundle of nonmoving violations.

“Consider yourself warned,” he said, stepping onto the patio, where Nigel stood holding a full trash bag. “Again.”

Nigel grinned. “The Lord is my shepherd.”

“Fine if you drive a sheep.”

Nigel’s smile widened until nothing remained of his cheeks; he began to laugh, a gold cross bouncing on the trampoline of T-shirt stretched between massive pectoral muscles.

“I’m not kidding,” Jacob said. “Each of those infractions is like a two-hundred-dollar ticket.”

“Which one should I handle first?”

“The taillight, and the windshield, and the bumper, and—”

Nigel clucked his tongue.

Jacob said, “The taillight. That’s what’s going to get you pulled over.”

“Yakov,” Nigel said, enunciating the Hebrew name with his usual glee, “I don’t need anything extra to get pulled over.”

Driving while black. End of debate. Jacob glanced at the trash bag. “You need a hand?”

“Taking this out and I’ll be on my way.”

“I’ll walk you to your car.”

As soon as they were out of earshot of the apartment, Jacob said, “How’s he doing?”

Nigel seemed confused by the question. “Could use a haircut.”

“You haven’t noticed anything weird, though.”

“Like what?”

“Anything. Mood changes.”

Nigel shook his head.

“And you’d let me know if you did.”

“Most definitely.”

“I’ll be back in a week, tops,” Jacob said. “Promise me you’ll keep a close eye on him. I know you will, but I need to say it again so I can feel better about leaving.”

“Don’t you worry. He’s a strong one.”

Jacob felt it unnecessary to point out that Sam didn’t buy his own groceries; Nigel did, as well as take in Sam’s laundry and shuttle him to any destination beyond a half-mile radius of the apartment. A deeply religious Evangelical, Nigel held Sam in awe, and he took his assignments seriously, although how they had come to be his remained a trifle unclear. For a man who worked at a lumberyard, he had extremely soft hands. That made a great deal more sense when you learned the lumberyard was owned by none other than Abe Teitelbaum.

Nigel put the trash bag in the curbside can. “He has that light within him.”

“Too bad I didn’t get any.”

Nigel smiled. “Take care of yourself, Yakov.”

“Thanks. Since we’re on the subject of light?”

“Yes?”

“Taillight.”

Sam had his magnifying spectacles on, the ones that made him look like a mad scientist. Books smothered the dining room table.

“I still can’t see why it’s necessary to go all the way there.”

“This guy wouldn’t talk to me otherwise.”

“What makes you think he’ll talk to you in person?”

“He implied as much.”

“But what if I need to get in touch with you?”

“Call my cell.”

“It’s too expensive.”

“Call collect.”

“Too expensive for you.”

“I’m not paying. Give it up, Abba.”

“I do not approve.”

“I understand.”

“Does that mean you’re not going?”

“What do you think?”

Sam sighed. He plucked two softcovers from the nearest pile and slid them to Jacob. “I took the liberty of pulling these for you.”

Jacob picked up a guidebook to Prague. “I didn’t know you’d been.”

“I haven’t. But where you can’t go, you can read.”

The guidebook had to be a quarter century old, minimum. Jacob scanned the table of contents and saw a chapter devoted to traveling in Soviet bloc countries, including a subsection titled “Bribes: When and How Much?”

“I’m not sure this is current.”

“The important stuff stays the same. Don’t take it if you don’t want. The other one I know you’ll like.”

Jacob recognized the cover art immediately: the lurching ogre that had sent him fleeing into his mother’s arms. He’d forgotten the title, if he ever knew it.

“Thanks, Abba. Not sure how much pleasure reading I’ll do.” He was thinking of the file from Aaron Flores, arrived that morning, occupying the front pocket of his carry-on.

“There’s the plane ride.”

“I was hoping to sleep,” Jacob said. Sam’s evident dismay led him to add, “I’m sure I’ll appreciate it when I’m jet-lagged and up at two in the morning.”

Sam said, “That was your favorite book, when you were little.”

Mine, Jacob thought, or yours? He nodded, though.

“I was thinking about how we used to read together, when you were very small. Most babies, they come out smushed. They barely look human. That wasn’t you. You... you had a face, a — a substance, to you. Fully formed, from the womb. I looked at you and I thought I could see the future, read all the days, even the ones that hadn’t been written yet.” He paused. “And I would read to you, and you would listen. I would read the words and you would look up at me, like a wise old man, and you wouldn’t stop looking until I said, ‘The End.’ I must’ve read that book to you five hundred times. You didn’t like to sleep, so I would tie you inside my bathrobe and read to you till the sun came up and we said Shema.”

He paused again. Cleared his throat. “Those were good mornings.”

Sam abruptly removed his spectacles and tapped the book twice. “Anyway, I thought you might enjoy it.”

“Thanks,” Jacob said. He was picturing himself as a grown man, tied inside his father’s robe, pressed to his bony chest. It was both creepy and comforting, as was the revelation that Sam had been reading him the tales since before he could remember. “You want me to bring anything back for you?”

Sam shook his head. Then: “As long as you’re there, though.”

“Yes?”

“Visit the Maharal’s grave. Place a stone for me. Not if you’re too busy, of course.”

“I’ll find the time.”

“Thank you. One more thing,” Sam said, reaching into his pocket. He pressed some money into Jacob’s hand. “For tzedakah.”

It was an old custom: giving a traveler charity money to ensure his safe passage. When one was engaged in a good deed, no harm could befall him, and charity, in particular, preserved one from death.

Allegedly.

Jacob ironed out the bills, expecting a couple of dollars, seeing instead two hundreds.

“Abba. This is way too much.”

“How often are you in Prague?”

“I don’t need two hundred. One’s fine.”

“One for the way there, one for the way back. Remember: you’re my messenger. That’s what protects you. The kindness, not the money.” He reached for Jacob’s neck, pulled him in for a scratchy kiss. “Go in peace.”