That Day the Rabbi Left Town by Harry Kemelman Page A

books she had used in grammar school and perhaps high school. He picked up a copy of Macbeth , and was leafing through it, trying to read the penciled notes in the margins, when she returned carrying a tray, with two cups, each containing a tea bag, and a plate of cookies.
    â€œYou don’t use a teapot?” he asked.
    â€œToo much work,” she answered.
    â€œYou don’t have any help?”
    â€œNo. I like to do for myself. If I didn’t keep house, and cook, what would I do all day?” She noticed the book in his hand and said, “That’s Shakespeare. Would you like to borrow it?”
    It occurred to him that if he borrowed a book from her, it would be an excuse to come again to return it, so he said, “Yes. I’m not familiar with this edition.”
    â€œSo take it.”
    â€œI’ll bring it back tomorrow.”
    â€œAll right.”
    â€œLook, I have a class that ends at four o’clock. Why don’t I come tomorrow and I’ll make tea for you, English tea, in a teapot with milk.”
    â€œOh, that would be nice.”
    As they talked over their tea, he could see that she was not very bright, and he began to realize the enormous possibilities her simplicity offered.
    The very next day, shortly after four, he presented himself at the Clark house with the book he had borrowed under his arm, and in a bag, a tin of English breakfast tea and a ceramic teapot. When she opened the door in response to his ring, he said, “I’ve come to return your book and to make you a cup of real English tea. You have milk, haven’t you?”
    â€œYes, I have milk. Come in.”
    She stayed by his side in the kitchen as he explained, “The water must be bubbling furiously. That’s important. And then it must steep for seven minutes. Then you just add a dash of milk to the cup. That absorbs the tannin, you understand. Now, if you’ll go into the study, I’ll serve you your tea.”
    She sipped cautiously at the cup he set before her. “Oh, that’s good,” she exclaimed.
    â€œIt’s the way tea should be made,” he said.
    As they drank their tea, she prattled about friends she had grown up with and what they were doing now, about charitable organizations she supported because they had always been supported by her father and grandfather. And he listened, every now and then throwing in a sentence or two to encourage her to go on. He stayed until almost six and then left for a bite of supper, after which he went to a singles bar and picked up a woman whom he induced to come home with him.
    He came almost every day and occasionally stayed for supper. She expected to see him every day, and on one occasion when he explained that he would not be able to come for tea since there was an important departmental meeting that he had to attend, she said, “Then come for lunch. I’ll expect you.”
    It was while he was having lunch that he heard the postman push the mail through the slot. He went to the front door and picked it off the floor, then brought it back to the table. It consisted mostly of advertisements, of course, but there was one envelope that looked important and he remarked on it.
    She opened it and said, “It’s an invitation. I get them quite often.”
    â€œAnd don’t you go?”
    â€œSometimes. Oh, this one is from the Sloans. He was a partner of my father in some deal. This is for the evening of the twenty-fourth.”
    â€œAre you going?”
    â€œHe’s just been appointed chairman of the Arts Commission. I don’t like to go without an escort, especially in the evening.”
    â€œI could take you.”
    â€œIt’s formal.”
    â€œWell, I have a dinner jacket, you know, a tuxedo.”
    â€œAll right, if you don’t mind. We were awfully close to the Sloans at one time. I’ll be able to see a lot of people I used to know, but it might be awfully dull for you;