Small Favors

"Toilet Paper!" a female voice bellowed. "I need a fresh roll, ASAP!" As though struck by a battering ram, the bathroom door flew open. From his vantage point thirty feet away in the den, seventeen year-old Lenny Berman could see the chunky woman hunkered down on the toilet with a copy of the National Inquirer spread discretely across her broad lap. A pair of shapeless, tan panties nestled around her ankles. "Who's out there? Is that the Berman boy?"

The raucous outburst blindsided Marcie Callahan, caught the girl totally unawares. "Yes, it's Lenny.” Turning beet red, she staggered to her feet. In the hall closet Marcie located a fresh roll of Charmin extra-soft. Her mother unraveled a handful of sheets, positioning the plump roll on the floor next to the bathtub. "Hi, Lenny!" Mrs. Callahan tittered. "You caught me in a compromising situation, if you know what I mean."

The boy, who wasn't sure about social protocol, nodded. Lenny and Marcie were reviewing notes for an upcoming English test. To Kill a Mockingbird - over the past three weeks the class had slogged through the Harper Lee classic. The test was on Friday. A moment later, Marcie returned, her eyes fogged over with tears. "Do Jewish mothers defecate with the bathroom door wide open?"

"It wasn't that bad," Lenny affected a mollifying tone. Actually it was that bad and worse. The woman clearly had no sense of privacy or personal boundaries. Mrs. Callahan wore every vapid emotion on her sleeve like a badge of honor. Privacy was a four letter word with every bit of family business, gossip, scandal and tittle-tattle in the public domain. Scrunched together in a modest, three-bedroom cape far too small for a family with six siblings, the Callahan clan subsisted like bees in an overcrowded hive. The children, even the oldest, were doubled up in bunk beds and the line outside the bathroom at seven-thirty in the morning stretched down the hallway with considerable squabbling and discontent especially from the younger set.

"Since I was a toddler," Marcie seethed, "this is the way my parents act. They run around the house in their freakin' underwear and leave the bathroom door wide open; they belch and fart and do all sorts of gross and disgusting things." She whipped around and stuck her soggy face up under his chin. "Do you know what it's like living in a house like this?"

Lenny was getting frightened. Shutting the door so no one would hear, he put a hand on her arm but she sloughed it off. It's like those goddamn illiterate, dirt farmers in the Harper Lee novel. The Ewell clan… Mayella and Bob. Those inbred, hillbilly morons who don't have a stitch of class or culture or brains or social graces - that's my family, if you care to know. So what do you say to that, huh?" Marcie tilted her pretty-ugly, tear-stained face at a sharp angle. "What do you say to that, Lenny Berman?"
Lenny gawked at the maudlin mess that was his best friend since middle school. She had dirty blond hair cut short, a broad fleshy nose and eyes the color of the Atlantic Ocean on a staggeringly sunny day in late August as viewed from the pearly sand dunes of Cape Cod's Horseneck Beach. Slipping an arm around her waist, he kissed her on the mouth. Nothing tentative, he kissed her long and hard. "I don't care about your debauched family. I’m crazy about you."

It took the better part of a minute for the girl to catch her breath. "What'd you just say?"

"It doesn't need repeating," Lenny muttered. "You heard me right the first time." He kissed her a second time even more insistently. When the kiss was done, Marcie flopped down on the sofa.

Lenny touched the side of her face with his fingertips. "I want you for my girlfriend."

Marcie considered the request. "Yes, I'll be your girlfriend, sweetheart, sex slave… anything you want, but I need a small favor and it's a bit complicated."

After she explained herself, Lenny said, "Okay, that’s no problem. What about Harper Lee and To Kill a Mockingbird?"

"It's been almost five minutes," Marcie observed. "I'm sure my lovely mother is finished moving her bowels; we should be able to study without further distractions."

Yes, I'll be your girlfriend, sweetheart, sex slave… anything you want, but I need a small favor. After the flurry of kisses, Marcie Callahan told Lenny that she desperately needed to understand how 'normal' families functioned. Lenny tried to explain that all families were dysfunctional, but she wouldn't hear it. The Jewish holidays were the following week. She wanted to spend time with a family that neither belched nor farted, people who didn't have to tie a string around their index finger in order to remember not to do gross, lewd and disgusting things when they crawled out of their simian cave each morning.

Later that night after supper, Lenny approached his mother as she was clearing the table. "There's this girl from school, Marcie Callahan."

Lenny's sister, Elsie, wandered into the room. Dark-haired with a pear-shaped physique and wide, mannish jaw, she was a year younger. "Yes, a girl from school," Mrs. Berman repeated absently.

"Could I bring her to Passover Seder?"

"Who is this girl?"

"Marcie Callahan… she's in my English class."

"A frumpy blonde with a family of knuckle-dragging buffoons right out of the stone age," Elsie interjected. "The father stops by here at least once a week."

"How's that?" Mrs. Berman placed a chafing dish in the sudsy sink and turned to face her daughter.

"Mr. Callahan drives the town garbage truck," Elsie elucidated. "An older brother got suspended for bringing liquor to a high school football game last year."

Lenny cringed. This was vintage Elsie. Given the choice to say something nice or run serrated bread knife across Marcie Callahan's guileless throat, she always opted for the latter. "Marcie gets good grades and is president of the French club."

Elsie made an ungracious, snorting sound through her beaky nose. "Better hide the silverware and anything else of value."

"A disadvantaged child joining us for the holidays," Mrs. Berman weighed the request. “Consider it a mitzvah, an act of charity."

"She's not disadvantaged, at least not in the way you're thinking."

"If she earns good grades," Mrs. Berman continued, "the girl shouldn't squander her potential. She needs to expose herself to enlightened values."

"Expose herself?" Elsie erupted in another fit of shrill laughter. "Such an interesting choice of words!"

Mrs. Berman began scrubbing the chafing dish with a dishrag. "Just have Marcie's mother call to confirm and I'll set another place at the Passover table."

Just have Marcie’s mother call… Would Mrs. Callahan be calling on a cell phone from her strategic vantage point in the bathroom, door ajar and latest edition of the scandal sheet spread across her mountainous thighs? Later that night after her shower, Elsie padded into her brother's bedroom. Her fresh-washed hair was wrapped turban-style in a crimson towel. "The Callahans… they're trailer park trash, the whole lot of them. They got no class, no pedigree."

"Dogs have pedigree," Lenny corrected. He was lying on top of the sheets reading near the end of To Kill a Mockingbird where townsfolk, intent on lynching the black man, Tom Robinson, converge on the jail.

"You damn well know what I mean," Elsie hissed. "Her freakin' father drives a garbage truck. Why are you hanging around with the likes of her?" Lenny stared at his sister. Elsie was the sum total of everything Lenny detested in a person and it was his great misfortune that, by some sardonic quirk of fate, she was his sibling. "Can you keep a secret?" Elsie lowered her voice several decibels. She snugged the towel wrap more firmly on her wet hair. ""Joel' and Miriam are getting divorced."

"What?" Joel was their older brother. After completing his residency at medical college, he married Miriam Rabinowitz, an intern and was living in Upstate New York.

"They been fighting like lunatics. The marriage is over, kaput… fini la comédie.”

"They've been together less than a year!"

"Well, the novelty wore off, and now they hate each other's crummy guts. There was a horrible fight and Joel gave her a black eye. The police came and removed him from the condo. Dad had to send money so Joel could rent a room at the local motel until he finds more permanent lodgings."

"When did he hit her?"

"I dunno. Over a month ago… maybe two. What's the difference?"

"How come nobody told me?" Lenny ignored the question.

"Because you're an asshole who invites trailer park trash to the Jewish holidays, that's why."

"They're not coming for Passover?"

"Only Joel. The folks will make up some tawdry excuse… say that Miriam's sick with a sinus infection or that she flew to India to visit the Dali Lama or some other mindless nonsense. Whatever you do, don't mention anything about the missing sister-in-law. Just act like everything's normal… hunky dory." Without further elaboration, Elsie adjusted her ruby red turban and shuffled noiselessly from the room.

Joel and Miriam Berman’s wedding reception the previous summer was held in the Georgian Ballroom of the Boston Park Plaza Hotel. The ritzy landmark boasted floor-to-ceiling windows, two-story Baccarat crystal chandeliers and white glove service. Prior to the fancy-schmancy wedding, the female entourage attended a complimentary private menu tasting and bridal tea with ivory, floor-length linen and matching napkins. Lenny heard about it second hand from Elsie who went absolutely gaga over the extravaganza.

But the proverbial train ran off the rails several days later at the gazillion-dollar wedding reception when an electric transformer at a substation several miles away blew, effectively shutting down the air conditioner. Temperatures in the ballroom soared to ninety degrees. The bride, a petite dark-haired sparrow of a woman, stormed about the lobby in her wedding gown and floral tiara, threatening to sue the hotel. Pretty but in an oddly nondescript, bland sort of way, an obdurate petulance lingered about the cupid bow lips. As the woman aged and became more settled in her ways, the harshness might gain the upper hand, but for now she was a pint-size package of feminine perfection.

“This is the happiest day of your life, Miri darling.” Rabbi Hurwitz, an emaciated man with a wispy beard, tried to calm the bride. “Baruch Ha’Shem! Baruch Ha’Shem! Don’t let a minor inconvenience spoil the sacred moment,” he cooed.

Baruch Ha’Shem! Praise God! The man was in the habit of repeating the salutary phrase over and over when he was unable to contain his emotions. Rabbi Hurwitz grabbed her left hand, raised it to his lips in a theatrical flourish and kissed the bulbous diamond on her finger. “B’Tabaat zu, art mikoodashet li.” “With this ring,” the rabbi translated, “you are sacred unto me.” He wrapped his arms around the despondent bride. “Baruch Ha’Shem! Baruch Ha’Shem! What you do is this; you concentrate on all the happiness, all the nachas and glick that awaits a new bride and forget about the silly air conditioning.” The rabbi threw in a few more Baruch Ha’Shems! for good measure and kissed the newly-minted Miriam Berman on either cheek.

The hotel lobby grew silent. Miriam took a step back in her designer wedding gown purchased from Priscilla’s of Boston. The Melissa Sweet, one shoulder, silk Garza gown with ruched waist and clusters of beaded floral appliqués on the bodice had cost well over five thousand dollars. “Enough already with the Baruch Ha’Shems!” Miriam screeched. “I want the fucking air conditioning fixed, or I’ll have the maitre d’s testicle on a platter!” The rabbi sighed, shook his head and hurried away without further conciliatory remarks. Fifteen minutes later an emergency generator in the basement of the building got the air conditioner, which was on a separate circuit, running again. As the temperature in the ballroom gradually settled back into the low seventies, Miriam was transformed – in true Jekyll-and-Hyde fashion – from bride-from-hell to blissful newlywed.

Following the wedding, the couple honeymooned on an island off the coast of Greece. “What a firecracker!” Lenny's father chuckled the following morning at the bridal brunch. “The maitre d's testicles on a platter,” he repeated Miriam’s vulgar threat, and the guests howled, hooted, jeered and laughed hysterically. Even Elsie considered her new sister-an-law’s gauche antics priceless. But now that Joel had assaulted his wife and been thrown out of the house without even a year of marriage to show for the lavish wedding, Lenny didn't know what to think

"How are Joel and Miriam doing?" Lenny asked in the morning before leaving for classes.

"Good," his mother replied. Did he detect a slight tightening of the vocal cords, causing her tone to drift upwards in pitch? "Why do you ask?"

"I dunno. He hasn't called in a while."

"Well he's busy with his medical practice and new wife," his mother replied.

What new wife? He beat her up. The police came and evicted him from the goddamn, luxury condo! "So he's coming for Passover?"

"They're coming," his mother corrected. "By the way, I spoke to Mrs. Callahan."

"Yes, I know."

"Such a sweet woman!" Mrs. Berman, who was repotting an aloe plant that had outgrown the decorative ceramic bowl, looked up. "A bit intellectually limited but a perfectly decent sort." She sprinkled water over the vermiculite. "Not all goyim are dreck."

"There are a few things you need to know before coming to Seder," Lenny cautioned. "Let's begin with the Botox smile." They were sitting in the living room of the Callahan house. Marcie had three older brothers and twin sisters so there were constant throngs of young people traipsing through the house at any given moment. Initially, the bedlam stood Lenny back on his heels, but over the years he had become inured; at a deeper level he may have actual begun to look forward to his regular visits.

Were the Callahans tacky? Yes. Were they loud and crass? Absolutely! Were they kind, boorish, fun loving, ignorant, gracious, ill-bred and welcoming? Well, yes again. Just the other day, one of Marcie's older brothers, who played defensive end on the varsity football team, tiptoed up behind him. The muscle-bound goofball cuffed him playfully on the side of the head with the flat of his hand. "There's pepperoni pizza in the kitchen, but you better hurry 'cause it's going fast." Lenny glanced warily at the husky teen. There was nothing mean-spirited in the physical act. It was just the way the Callahans were - direct to the point of raunchy inappropriateness.

"The Botox smile," Lenny repeated. "When you first arrive at Passover Seder, you will notice everyone smiling nonstop as though they just returned from the gates of heaven or a plastic surgeon."

"You're not even remotely funny," Marcie replied sourly.

"The reason for the euphoria," Lenny ignored the remark, "is they're all covering for my brother's marital problems. Nobody's supposed to know any of this so we 'pretend' everything's peachy keen."

"Will Joel's wife be there?"

"No, Miriam will not be coming for Passover and don't mention her name or draw attention to the fact that my brother is alone."

"And I thought my family was weird!" Marcie patted him sympathetically on the wrist. "What else?"

"My sister Elsie has a vindictive streak and will assault you with an endless barrage of catty remarks. It's what she lives for. Don't take it personal."

"Anything else?" Marcie was beginning to look frazzled.

"Yes, one last thing: Goyim, non-Jews, are grossly inferior. It's their manifest destiny to never quite measure up. Essentially pagans and idol worshippers, they drink to excess, cheat on their spouses and their morals are so badly flawed as to be virtually non-existent."

"What about your brother and his foulmouthed, estranged wife?"

At the opposite end of the claustrophobically small house, Mrs. Callahan was hollering for someone to fetch a fresh roll of toilet paper; out of the corner of his eye, Lenny caught sight of one of the twins bolting down the narrow hallway. "Oh no," he shot back flippantly, "that doesn't count. Joel and Miriam are the exception that makes the rule."

"Well then," Marcie replied, "I'll see you tomorrow night."

The following day at Brandenberg High School, Lenny cornered Marcie in the school cafeteria as they were sitting down for lunch. "My brother's bringing Miriam to Seder."

"But I thought -"

"Apparently they reconciled and are trying to salvage their shitty marriage so try to act normal."

"I don't get it."

"Nobody's supposed to know my brother beat his wife up or that they were living apart."

"I thought Jewish men didn't hit their wives."

"Just try to act normal, that's all."

"That's the second time you told me," Marcie observed soberly.

"Told you what?"

"To act normal."

Marcie arrived for the Passover Seder dressed in a blue frock and low, patent leather heels. Before the ceremony began, Mrs. Berman explained the symbolism of the various delicacies spread across the dining room table. "This mixture of apples, nuts, wine and spices," she pointed to a small bowl, "is called charoset . It reminds us of the mortar the Jewish slaves made in their building for the Egyptians." Next to the charoset was a dish of parsley to be dipped into salt water, representing the tears of the Jews exiled from their ancestral homeland. "When we dipped the greens in the water," Mrs. Berman explained, "we share in the bitterness and suffering of that Biblical time.

Baruch atah Adonai,
Ailochenu melech ha'olem…

Once Lenny's mother had finished explaining the symbolism, Mr. Berman recited the blessing for the wine. Twenty minutes later after reading the Four Questions, the ritual Passover meal was served. As appetizer, a glistening heap of gefilte fish was passed around along with a separate dish of horse radish. Mrs. Berman and her daughter-in-law shuttled the steaming platters of baked brisket, steamed beans, potato and lokshen kugels from the kitchen.

"This is absolutely heavenly!" Marcie waved her fork over the tsimis. "What are the flavorings?"

"Sweet potatoes," Mrs. Berman replied, "carrots, a dozen or so pitted prunes, raisins, brown sugar and cinnamon. The concoction is simmered in a cup of orange juice for the citrusy tartness. Some people substitute diced pears and apricots along with a large sweet onion."

Lenny surveyed the room. Mr. Berman, who drained several glasses of Manischewitz wine before the ceremony got under way was feeling no pain whatsoever. Joel looked constipated. Sitting to his left, Miriam exuded a glacial, haughtiness. Whatever joy she might have felt lost traction, degenerating in diffuse indifference. She was clearly attending the family gathering under protest. Acting like she was hopped up on amphetamines, Mrs. Berman was talking nonstop, and Elsie was just plain old Elsie.

Around eight-thirty, Lenny approached his mother sorting leftovers in the kitchen. "I'm walking Marcie home."

"Such a lovely girl! I'm so glad she came." Mrs. Berman seemed overwrought, almost manic with relief that there had been no unpleasantness. Nobody mentioned the maitre d's testicles, Joel's fisticuffs or Miriam's predilection for obscenity-laced temper tantrums. It was like the Jewish version of the Emperor's New Clothes except none of the Bermans got to prance about au naturel.

"Are Joel and Miriam getting divorced?"

"Bite your tongue!" Mrs. Berman hissed. "Why would you suggest such absurdity?"

Lenny was dead tired. He felt like a bit player in an off-Broadway theater production after the final curtain had descended and the actors rushed off to their respective dressing rooms to shed costumes and makeup. "I'm gonna walk Marcie home," he repeated, ignoring the question.

"If there was some misunderstanding between your brother and his new wife," his mother spoke a bit too quickly, running all the words together in a frenetic heap, "it's all in the past now and everything's back to normal."

Elsie lugged the last of the dirty dishes into the kitchen, setting them on the counter before drifting back into the dining room. "No it isn't," Lenny blurted. Mrs. Berman eyed her son nervously. "It's getting late. I gotta take Marcie home."

When they were two blocks from the house, Lenny pulled up short. "I'm sorry about the Passover Seder."

"It's not your fault," Marcie noted. "Not everyone can have a perfect family like mine." She grabbed his face in both hands and kissed his mouth. "We're probably going to spend the rest of our lives together."

"Yes, that's fairly obvious," Lenny held her close. Somehow the endemic heartache he associated with his own cracked-egg-of-a-family, merged; it comingled and morphed into a sublime presentiment. "But we will need to create a new world order, a community of like-minded individuals."

Marcie paused a moment, considering the task at hand. "Something midway between Scout, Jem and Atticus Finch."

"With a smattering of Boo Radley thrown in for good measure." Lenny nuzzled her cheek with his lips.

"Yes, I totally forgot about Boo." Her arms snaked up behind Lenny's shoulders, holding on for dear life.