The Dinner Party by Howard Fast

that would replace “The Star-spangled Banner,” an impossible song he disliked, with “America the Beautiful,” a song he had always believed should be the national anthem. Joan said, “Senator, who gives a fuck about what’s in the song? This one is like apple pie and motherhood. You don’t fool around with ‘The Star-spangled Banner.’”
    â€œIt’s an impossible drinking song. Francis Scott Key was a drunk.”
    â€œThat doesn’t win votes.”
    And Sanctuary. Why was it a hot potato? These people coming to dinner tonight were not of his party. He begrudged them the space at his dinner table, but he gave it to them out of respect for his father-in-law. Respect?
    â€œThat old bastard,” Joan Herman had said, referring to his father-in-law, and never one to mince words, “has piss in his blood and ice in his heart.”

THIRTEEN
    W aiting at the local airport for the plane carrying their grandparents to land, Leonard asked Elizabeth whether she ever felt Jewish. It was the kind of question that under other circumstances might have provoked a clever, funny quip. Now it prompted her to stare at her brother for a long moment before she answered quietly, “It’s crossed my mind. Why?”
    â€œWe’re supposed to be Jewish.”
    â€œSo they tell us.”
    â€œHas it ever bothered you?”
    â€œNo. Not really.”
    â€œI’ve never been in a synagogue,” he said. “I mean—when this happens to you, you think about what you’ve never done.”
    â€œWe were in a synagogue once,” Elizabeth reminded him. “No, twice. Once when Daddy spoke at the Temple Emanuel in New York, and once in Newport.”
    â€œThat doesn’t make anything, Liz. You know that. I don’t even know what it is to feel Jewish.”
    â€œI don’t know what there is to feel. I’m sure there must be something. I heard Gramps say that according to Hitler’s definition, if you were one eighth Jewish, you were Jewish and a candidate for the gas ovens. Gramps is I think one sixteenth Jewish, if that means anything. Granny’s father was a Congregationalist or something of the sort. I was never too clear about it. Then Mother would be—”
    â€œThat’s it,” Leonard interrupted. “They’re coming in.”
    On this small county airfield, there was only one rather unimposing airport structure. The planes landed and the movable staircase was rolled up to them. Augustus Levi’s plane was a 727, blue and white with the word MACAMAW painted in large black letters on both sides of the cabin. Macamaw was the name of the engineering and construction company that Augustus Levi’s great-grandfather had put together during the Civil War, building roads and railroads on contract for the Union Army.
    Noticing that his sister’s eyes were beginning to tear again, Leonard said sternly, “None of that, Liz. We have a long, hard day ahead of us.”
    â€œYou’re not going to tell them?”
    â€œNo, no, no. We have to get through this damn dinner party. It’s important to Mother.”
    â€œHow can you be so cool?”
    â€œI’ve been living with it, Sis. You learn to live with anything.”
    â€œAll right. I’m over this one.”
    The plane had rolled to a stop and was now swinging around to approach the installation. As Elizabeth and Leonard entered the airport building from the parking area, Augustus Levi and Jenny entered from the field side. Spotting Elizabeth and Leonard, Augustus strode forward and embraced his granddaughter in a bear hug. His wife moved more sedately to embrace and kiss, first Leonard and then Elizabeth. Leonard had always feared his grandfather’s handshake. It was bone crunching, and he still feared it, enduring it and trying not to wince with pain.
    â€œLet’s look at both of you. Stand back,” Augustus declared.