Both satiated and content after having had his dinner, Jacob began to feel his eyelids grow heavy, but he fought the pull toward sleep when he glanced at his watch and realized Dragnet, one of his favorites, was scheduled to come on the tube in five minutes. As he crossed into the living room, with his favorite chocolate-brown leather recliner in sight, Jacob’s eye caught the stack of mail he had brought into the house before the fiasco with the thermos. Still standing, he picked it up, casually riffling through the bills and notices. A large official-looking envelope peeked out from the rest. It was addressed to Jacob only and had a government stamp on the back.
It was indeed a document, which at first he read quickly, and then more slowly a second time. As he did, a smile slowly seeped across his face until it seemed his cheeks could no longer contain it. He kept the words that would change his entire life to himself for a few minutes before calling Esther’s name. Her yellow crinoline skirt lifted as she sprinted to his side.
“What is it? What’s happened?” She leaned over, trying to make sense of the paper Jacob held in his trembling hand.
“It’s from your father,” he said, finally finding the words, “and it’s a deed for a parcel of land in Brooklyn.” The simple paper was beginning to feel like a fire in his hands.
She touched his arm lightly.
“I don’t understand. What does it mean?” He looked at her face, her pale skin, her eyes a serene blue.
“It means a house, Esther. It means we can build our own house.”
Jacob eased back into the brown leather recliner, but he didn’t turn on the TV to watch his favorite show; instead, the couple sat talking, planning their future, for hours into the night. When they finally settled into their queen-size bed, their heads abuzz with their plans, their prospects, neither fell asleep until the soft edge of a sun could be seen rising over the city’s gray skyscrapers. So it wasn’t until late the next morning that Esther handed him the unopened letter she’d found next to the recliner on the plush green carpet. Jacob recognized the writing immediately. When he finished reading, he looked at Esther, tears forming in his eyes.
“Another big piece of news. Zalman is coming home.”
EIGHT
Zalman
He remembered the story from all those years ago. It was something from the Bible. “King Solomon was not only the wisest king of all, but also one of the wealthiest. All that was the Euphrates River and then south in Egypt belonged to this great king. And even though he wasn’t the eldest in his family, his father made sure that in spite of his closest advisers, and even Solomon’s own mother, who conspired against him, Solomon would receive his due. And so it was that while still alive, David, the father, bequeathed the vast kingdom to his son. Having conquered his foes, Solomon went on to expand the borders of his kingdom west of the Euphrates, and it is said he owned twelve thousand horses with horsemen and fourteen hundred chariots, with colonies throughout Israel. Yet he did not remain content. He decided to take on the enormous task of rebuilding the Holy Temple with the help of Israelites and subordinate foreign nations. And what a structure it was! Stone and cedar, all overlaid with gold, housing elaborate decorations and tall vessels, a feast for the eyes! King Solomon went on to build his own palace, a citadel, a city wall. But there is nothing like the Holy Temple. And do you know how long it took Solomon to build that temple?”
Of course, Zalman already knew the answer. He had been asked the same question for so many years, and now, only a month after his return, he was listening to Jacob’s story once again. But just to appease his friend, he shrugged and waited for the response.
“Seven years! Seven long years of building! Each stick of wood, each block of gold and metal, went into that temple! But I, no—we, we will build our castle in less than one!” And with that exclamation, Jacob would sit back in his armchair, put his two large hands together as if in prayer, and close his eyes. Zalman had no doubt that behind the eyelids Jacob was envisioning the home.
Once during the time of darkness, as they weaved tales in the hayloft, Zalman had asked him why he didn’t tell more of his favored stories of King Solomon’s life. The tale of how the ruler had settled an argument between two women who both claimed to be the mother of a baby. How Solomon proposed he slice the child in two to settle the discussion, and only when one woman gave up her claim to the baby to spare it from harm did he wisely determine who the real mother was. But with a wave of the hand, Jacob dismissed these and other tales of his hero as of little consequence compared to Solomon’s other tangible achievement. Nor did he have any interest in talking about his namesake from the Bible, Jacob, who was not nearly as successful, or as commanding, as King Solomon.