Light Fell by Evan Fallenberg Page B

events that would entice them. He began to believe he had dreamt that perfect day at the beach.
    Joseph could not have known it at the time—might have shot or drowned himself then, in the autumn of 1977, had he known—but he was beginning a slump of sorts that would last, with a few brief exceptions, until he met Pepe sixteen years later. His career would progress slowly, his well-researched but plodding articles rejected more often than not, his classroom demeanor under fire from semester to semester, his cantankerous and imperious nature increasingly an irritation to colleagues. His social life would never blossom during this period; he would shy away from potential friends and ignore admirers, preferring solitude and silence. He would have only three sexual liaisons, all errors of great magnitude in his eyes, a capitulation to weakness and an insult to the memory of his lovemaking with Yoel. And his relationships with his sons would dwindle and diminish until he could not remember ever really having been a father.
    He would almost, but not entirely, forget what it was to love, or to be loved.

D ANIEL STAGGERS TO THE bathroom, folds down the front of his pajama bottoms, and releases a swift and steady stream into the toilet. He has promised his roommate, Elyasaf, whose girlfriend has complained, that he will put the seat up before peeing, but once again, bleary eyed and barely conscious, he has forgotten. The clothes he wore yesterday lie in a heap next to his bed. Inside the sweater is a flannel shirt and inside that a T-shirt, and Daniel slips all three together over his head, hopping up and down several times until they find their accustomed places on his body. His skullcap, small and soiled, falls from the right sleeve of the sweater and he clips it to his head, a tiny tent in the forest of his long, sandy curls. He zips up his trousers over his pajama bottoms and steps into work boots, which he will lace up at various stop-lights en route to his first job. His morning prayers last fourteen minutes, including the time it takes to lay and then rewrap the tefillin . He adds enough milk to his coffee to cool it to the point where he can drink it straight down, leaves the empty cup in the sink with yesterday’s dishes, and is out the door and in his van by seven o’clock.
    There are four messages on his beeper and three on his cell-phone voice mail. Daniel reads and listens while driving, swerving to keep to his lane. Five of the messages are plumbing jobs that require his attention. The sixth is from his brother Ethan, asking how long before Shabbat he plans to arrive at their father’s this evening. The last message is from his mother. “Ha toilet ist zatoom,” she announces, and Daniel laughs aloud at her crazy mix of Hebrew, German, and English in one short sentence. He calls her immediately.
    “What’s wrong with the toilet, Ma?”
    “Hello, Daniel. It’s the toilet in Grandfather’s cottage, all backed up. The water won’t go down. I tried using the Sauger but nothing happened.”
    He figures she is referring to a plunger but does not bother to find out. “Tell Grandfather to use the bathroom in the big house for now. I’m on my way to a job but I’ll come up to Sde Hirsch after that.” Daniel curses as a taxi cuts in front of him.
    “If you come early, I’ll make you a big breakfast. How about an oepfelroesti ? I’ve got lots of challah bread left from last Shabbat and all the right fruit.”
    “OK, Ma, sounds good. See you later.” He remembers how Rebecca used to scoff at Polish mothers enticing their children to visit with a meal of home-cooked delicacies. Is she changing with age? Or is she just happy to get rid of aging leftovers, ever resourceful?
    Daniel parks half on the sidewalk in front of the building he has been searching for. All at once he realizes he is only blocks away from his father’s apartment. He has been there only once and found it too luxurious for his taste. And