Harmon Mangel’s family moved into Roy’s neighborhood a week after the Pedersen house burned down. The Mangels rented a third-floor apartment on Menominee Street a few doors down from the scorched remains. Harmon was ten years old, the same age as Roy. He was a short, scrawny kid who wore glasses and had crewcut red hair. When Roy asked him what his favorite sport was Harmon replied, “I like baseball, but I’m not a very good player.”
“I’ll help you get better,” Roy said. “Baseball’s my favorite sport, too. I’m the shortstop on our team. I want to be like Luís Aparicio, the rookie shortstop on the White Sox.”
“What’s the name of your team?”
“The Scorpions. We play mostly at Heart-of-Jesus park. Have you been there?”
Harmon shook his head.
“I’ll take you. You can meet all the guys.”
Roy did not see Harmon Mangel often, so he never did take him to the park. Whenever Roy offered to play baseball with him, Harmon said he had to study or go to Hebrew school or to the synagogue with his parents.
“What’s a synagogue?” asked Roy.
“A temple. It’s where our family goes to worship. We’re Orthodox Jews.”
“My mother’s a Catholic, she goes to St. Tim’s. Where’s your temple?”
“On Warsaw Avenue, next door to a candy store.”
“Oh yeah, Kapp’s. They have good doughnuts and pinball machines. Have you gone in there?”
“No. My parents don’t want me to eat candy.”
“I’ve never been in a synagogue. Can I go with you sometime?”
“Probably. I’ll ask my father.”
A couple of weeks later, on a Friday after school, Harmon told Roy he could go with him to the synagogue the next morning if he wanted to.
“Saturday is an important day in our religion. The temple will be full.”
“I asked my mother what an Orthodox Jew is and she said she wasn’t sure. She said she passed by your temple once and saw a lot of people dressed in black standing around in front of it.”
“Meet me at my house tomorrow morning at nine o’clock,” said Harmon. “We’ll walk over together.”
The synagogue was a one-story yellow building squeezed in between two six-flat apartment houses.
“You’ll have to wear a yarmulke to go in,” Harmon told Roy. “I brought an extra one for you.”
Harmon took two black beanie-sized caps out of a pocket of his coat and handed one to Roy.
“Here, put it on toward the back of your head. You have to keep it on while you’re inside.”
“Why?”
“To be humble in the house of God. It’s how you show respect for Him.”
“God doesn’t live here,” said Roy.
“He lives in the hearts and minds of His chosen people.”
“Is He a Jew?”
“He must be.”
“What about Jesus?”
“Jesus was Jewish and He was God’s son.”
Roy followed Harmon into the synagogue. Every seat was filled and dozens of bearded men were standing in the aisles holding an open book and mumbling in a language Roy did not understand. A low hanging balcony was suspended over the room. It was so low Roy was afraid that it might collapse.
“Who sits up there?” he asked Harmon.
“Women. Only men are allowed to sit downstairs. The men and women never sit together.”
Roy looked up at the balcony. Every woman was holding a book open and mumbling like the men. All of them were wearing black dresses and had black scarves or shawls over their heads. The men below were wearing big black hats. Most of the boys had long wispy sideburns that curled out from their heads. The light in the room was dim and it was very hot, so hot that Roy began to sweat. Despite the heat almost all of the men wore heavy black overcoats. Roy could barely see the front where there was a low stage upon which several men were standing, reading, mumbling and repeatedly nodding their heads.
Roy felt trapped. If there were a fire he knew that he would be trampled to death. He looked around for Harmon but didn’t see him. Roy figured that he had gone to sit or stand by his father and that his mother must be in the balcony. Roy was suffocating, he had to get out. He squeezed himself like a snake through the sea of overcoats back to the door through which he and Harmon had entered and pushed it open. Once he was on the sidewalk and able to breathe normally again Roy took off the beanie, stuffed it into a back pocket of his trousers and began to run.
He did not stop running until he’d gone the six blocks to Heart-of-Jesus park. Kids were already playing ball on one of the two diamonds, so Roy sat down on a bench to watch them. His friend Winky Wicklow, a fellow Scorpion, came over and sat down next to him.
“Hey, Roy. I thought maybe you weren’t gonna play today. We’ve got a game against the Gophers on the other field at ten-thirty. You left your glove at my house yesterday. I brought it with me.”
“I’ll play,” said Roy.
“What’s wrong? You don’t look so good. You feelin’ okay?”
“I just escaped from Dracula’s castle. I thought I was gonna die.”
Winky laughed. “What’re you talkin’ about?”
“Vampires, man. I was trapped in a room full of vampires. It was the creepiest place I’ve ever been.”
“You’re crazy, Roy. Dracula’s castle isn’t real. And even if it was it wouldn’t be around here.”
“I was crazy to have gone there. Anyhow, I got away.”
Roy stood up and took the beanie out of his back pocket.
“What’s that?” Winky asked.
Roy walked over to a garbage can and tossed the cap into it. Winky got up and stood next to him.
“You must’ve had a bad dream, huh, Roy? I’ve had some. Once I dreamed that my sister Mary was boiling human ears and fingers in a big pot on the stove in our kitchen.”
Roy watched a batter hit a line drive into the gap between left and center.
“He’s runnin’ like his hair’s on fire,” Winky said.
“I know the feeling,” said Roy. “Let’s go play catch.”