“So you want to ask questions, so ask. Sit down, have a cup of coffee; make yourselves comfortable and ask your questions. But no, in my house they can’t ask my son questions. It isn’t big enough? Somebody will maybe disturb them? They got to have my Benjamin should come to the station house with them. There, they’ll ask him the questions. What kind of questions can they ask him there that they can’t ask him in the house? And they’re in a hurry yet. My Benjamin likes to sit with me, especially these last few days when I could come down to breakfast, he likes to sit with me and have another cup of coffee. And we talk-about the business, about problems, what we should do about this customer or that customer. After all, we worked so hard all our lives and there never seemed to be enough time to sit down and have a decent meal, always a bite here and a bite there when there was a minute. And now, when things are better and we can take it easy and Benjamin can go to work a little later, is it wrong, Rabbi? But no, they couldn’t wait. They could barely wait until my Benjamin put on his tie and his coat, so much they were in a hurry.”

“Do you mean that they arrested him? On what charge?”

“The same question I asked them, and my Benjamin too. And they said they weren’t arresting-they were just taking him in for questioning. So if they weren’t arresting why did they make him go? What would they do different if they were arresting? Carry him maybe? I said to them, ‘Gentlemen, you want to ask my son some questions, ask. You don’t want to ask here, only in the station house? All right, he’ll come to the station house. But does it have to be now? It’s Saturday which it is by us the Sabbath. Let him go now to the temple, and later he’ll come to the station house. I’ll guarantee it.’ But no, it had to be right away. So they took him away. So what could I do? I dressed myself and I came here.”

The rabbi took his arm. To the chauffeur he said, “I’ll take him from here.” Then turning to the old man, “Do you feel strong enough to lead the prayers, Mr. Goralsky?”

“If you want me to, I’ve got the strength.”

“Good,” said the rabbi. “Later we can talk.”

The dozen or so men who had come to the service were impatient to begin, but when Goralsky entered on the arm of the rabbi those who knew him shook his hand and congratulated him on his recovery. The rabbi helped him off with his coat and scarf and then, draping a prayer shawl around his thin shoulders, led him to the table before the Ark. The old man prayed in a high, quavery voice which cracked occasionally on the higher notes of the chant; but he made no effort to hurry the service along, waiting each time for the rest to finish their recitations before chanting the line or two preceding the next prayer. At the Reading, the rabbi called him up for one of the portions. He seemed to gain strength as he prayed, and when he began the final prayer, the Olenu, his voice was strong and the thin little old man seemed to the rabbi to be standing straight and tall. He was as proud of him as though he were his own father.

At the end of the service all came up to wish him a Gut Shabbes, and then leisurely strolled out of the temple, as was proper on the Sabbath. But the rabbi detained the old man. “Sit down, Mr. Goralsky. Now we can talk.”

To one of the men who asked if everything was all right, he said: “Perhaps you’ll be good enough to tell Mr. Goralsky’s chauffeur that we’re going to sit here and talk for a little while.”

“You know, Rabbi, I’m a little bothered,” Goralsky said when the man left. “This is the first time that I ever rode on the Sabbath, and yet I led the prayers and you even called me up for a Reading.”

“It’s all right, Mr. Goralsky, believe me. Now tell me, have you notified your lawyer?”

The old man shook his head. “For a lawyer there’ll be plenty time. My Benjamin he also says I should call the lawyers. In the old country, in the shtetl, we didn’t know about lawyers. When we got into trouble-and what kind of trouble? Like opening your store a little too early on Sunday-did we get a lawyer? We went to see people who could help us: somebody who knew somebody or knew a relative of somebody should do a favor. Now, I’m sure the police don’t come down and take my Benjamin to the station house just to ask him he should help them. No, they got it in their minds that my Benjamin had something to do with this Hirsh dying. They must have on him a suspicion.” He gave the rabbi a searching look to see if he would deny it.

“Yes, I think you’re right, Mr. Goralsky.”

“But this is impossible, Rabbi. I know my son. He’s a good boy. He’s big and he’s strong, but a heart he’s got like a girl-so gentle. When we were in the chicken business, he would never do the slaughtering, on the nonkosher part of the business, I mean. For the kosher part, naturally we had it a shochet. I know him, I tell you. Years ago when I was younger, I used to be disappointed in him. A father always wants his children should go to school and become educated. He left school early. Sure, it was hard times and I could use his help, but believe me, Rabbi, if he had a head on him and been good in school, somehow I would have kept him there. But he didn’t want to study. It came hard for him. And this was a big disappointment to me. And next door, Hirsh had a son, this Isaac, who was a regular gaon and won all kinds scholarships. But later on, I used to think, maybe I didn’t do so bad with my Benjamin. This Isaac Hirsh never set foot in a synagogue after he grew up. Then he became a drunkard. Then he married a Gentile. Then they even said that he took his own life.”

The rabbi shook his head.

“I know that wasn’t true now. I’m only telling you what I was thinking. And my son, who didn’t even finish high school, he grew up a fine, kosher young man, and it turned out he even had a head for business. There was even an article they wrote on him in Time magazine how he was such a wonderful businessman. Believe me, they’re making a mistake, the police. My Benjamin, what interest would he have with this Isaac Hirsh, and after so many years?”

“Well, you’ve got to understand the situation,” the rabbi said. “This Hirsh is comparatively new here and kept to himself. He didn’t have any friends to speak of, and no business dealings with anyone who had any connection with him. They found out about your son having known him when they were boys together and about the partnership later on. And then when he made such a point about not wanting Hirsh’s body in the cemetery-”

The old man clasped his thin hands together. “God forgive me-that was my fault, Rabbi. He knew nothing about these things. It was from what he heard me say.”

“Yes, I know, but there was also the matter of his getting Hirsh the job at the Goddard Lab. He wrote a strong letter of recommendation-”

“See, doesn’t that show you what kind of heart he’s got, my Benjamin? Never was he friendly with Isaac Hirsh, even when they were boys. I don’t blame him. Maybe he got it from seeing my disappointment in him. Maybe I was harsh with him. Even when I realized that he was such a good son, could I tell him to his face? A girl, a daughter you can pat her on the head and pay her compliments, but a son?-”

“Yes, I understand. But you see, because of all this, it’s only natural for the police to want to make sure there wasn’t some recent connection between your son and Isaac Hirsh. I would earnestly advise you to consult with a lawyer so he can take care of your son’s interests.”

“No.” The old man shook his head. “With a lawyer it’s already official. He goes to a judge; he makes a motion; he gets a paper. Right away, it’s public and it’s in the newspapers. My son is not just anybody. He’s an important man. The newspapers would make a big tumult about the police questioning him.”