In the following days, Dr Koekentapp found working in his consulting rooms increasingly burdensome. When Mrs Levy invited Mrs Finkelstein to his bris the news spread like wildfire and a steadily growing stream of get-well-soon cards, mostly accompanied by long fruits and vegetables, began to arrive. Inscriptions like ‘keep your pecker up’, ‘hang in there’ and ‘we’re rooting for you’ did nothing for Dr Koekentapp’s morale. He became morbidly introverted and his attention kept returning to his doomed foreskin. He knew exactly how the Italian bricklayer who had left Sadelle Whatsername felt when he’d balked at the ritual. To aggravate matters, Sylvia had indicated that she was more than eager to reassess her patient and administer further palliative treatment but, rapt in precircumcisional melancholia, Dr Koekentapp was unable to maintain or even begin an erection. Uncomprehending and feeling utterly rejected, Sylvia had begun to worry that there was something wrong with her, such as halitosis, body odour or smelly feet. In the privacy of her bedroom Sylvia surreptitiously blew into her cupped hands and smelt her breath. She sniffed at her armpits and pulled a foot near her nose. Finding no obvious cause for revulsion, her insecurity increased alarmingly.
On Wednesday, Mrs Kindel telephoned Dr Koekentapp’s rooms and left a message with Elizabeth.
‘Mrs Kindel hopes you don’t mind if her son Ashley and his girlfriend come to your bris,’ Elizabeth reported.
Dr Koekentapp was beyond minding. He was standing at the window of his consulting room and staring at the sky. From a heavy bank of cumulonimbus a straight column of cloud reared up to heaven. Ruffled by the winds at one thousand metres the tip detached itself and dissipated into nothingness. Dr Koekentapp turned and looked dourly at Elizabeth. She was carrying a bowl of half-peeled bananas gift-wrapped in cellophane and bearing an open card that said he shouldn’t worry as he had nothing to lose. It was signed ‘Candy’.
‘Who’s Candy?’ asked Elizabeth curiously as she placed the mutilated offering on his desk.
‘Oh, just someone I knew,’ replied Dr Koekentapp.
‘Seems rather a vicious gift to send,’ said Elizabeth doubtfully. ‘She can’t like you very much.’
‘We had an argument.’ Dr Koekentapp stared in sudden horror at Elizabeth and collapsed into his chair. ‘Oh shit!’ he wailed, clutching his head.
Elizabeth rushed towards him. ‘What’s the matter?’
‘She’s head theatre sister at the Park Lane Clinic!’
Convinced that Candy in some way would attempt to influence, if not sabotage, his operation, Dr Koekentapp decided to telephone Sylvia.
‘Hello, Jerry,’ Sylvia listlessly answered the call.
‘Well, tomorrow’s the big day,’ Dr Koekentapp said with half-hearted enthusiasm.
‘I suppose so,’ replied Sylvia.
Dr Koekentapp was dismayed at her lack of commitment. ‘What’s the matter with you? It’s me who’s getting the chop, you know.’
‘Listen, Jerry, are you sure you want to go through with this? There is still time for you to back out, you know. I don’t want you to do anything on my account.’
‘Don’t worry, I’ll be paying for it,’ said Dr Koekentapp.
‘Jerry, I’m serious!’ Sylvia cried. ‘I’m really worried about our relationship. Maybe we are rushing things.’
Dr Koekentapp sat bolt upright in his chair. ‘Sylvia, what are you telling me?’ he demanded.
‘I don’t think you love me anymore,’ she said in a very little voice. ‘I know you don’t want me anymore.’
For the second time in minutes Dr Koekentapp held his head. ‘Sylvia, I’ve never had a bris before. I’ve got a mohel surgeon I don’t even know. I’ve got two sandeks, one of whom is an Irish drunk, a father who thinks I should bleed at home, Mrs Finkelstein telling the whole town about my penis, and Mrs Kindel inviting her son’s girlfriend to my party. I’ve also got bananas, carrots, cucumbers, plums, walnuts and prunes arriving by the carload, cards from half-witted patients telling me I’ll soon be feeling cocky again and you wouldn’t believe what else, and you want me to feel sexy? I feel like a traitor to my own bloody prick!’ Dr Koekentapp stopped when he heard Sylvia laughing.
‘That’s the first nice thing I’ve heard all week,’ he said.
‘I love you, Jerry,’ she said, crying now.
‘Good! That’s all that keeps me going in this lunatic arrangement. I’ll tell you what. Book a table for four at Greenstein’s delicatessen for tonight. Tell your folks they are going out to dinner with us. It’s on me. I’ll come around after the rooms. If I’m going to be koshered tomorrow let’s at least give my foreskin a goodbye party!’
Sylvia was vastly cheered when she put down the telephone. Smiling, she dialled Greenstein’s then hurried to the kitchen to help Mrs Levy, who was taking the fourth batch of sponge cake out of the oven.
‘Sylvia, how could you agree? You know your father and I don’t eat at restaurants,’ complained Mrs Levy.
‘You do at Greenstein’s,’ replied Sylvia, ‘and I’ve booked a table.’
‘But Sylvia,’ protested Mrs Levy, ‘I’ve got so much to do. How can we go out tonight? Nothing is ready yet!’
Sylvia pursed her lips and opened the refrigerator. She gazed at the racks of chopped herring, pickled herring, smoked salmon, chopped liver, cold chicken, smoked turkey, pickled tongue and cold brisket that filled the fridge to capacity. Turning, she stared at the trays of sandwiches, sugared kichel and sponge cake that covered the kitchen table. With her tongue in her cheek Sylvia cocked an eye at her mother and said, ‘Really?’
‘Well, I’ve done a little,’ replied Mrs Levy, flustered, ‘but I still have to finish the salads.’
Sylvia took in the bowls of potato, beetroot, French, carrot and pineapple salads that occupied the kitchen dresser.
‘What salads?’
‘Fruit,’ replied Mrs Levy, rapidly chopping up a pawpaw.
Sylvia grabbed her mother’s hips from behind and hustled her out of the kitchen.
‘Go and change,’ Sylvia commanded. ‘I’ll finish the fruit salad.’
Warming to the idea of dining out, Mrs Levy made for her bedroom. Levy, having developed a recent need to nap of an afternoon because of the reawakened nightly ardour of his wife, was asleep on the bed. Mrs Levy sat next to him and kissed his forehead. Levy opened his eyes.
‘Dolly, you are going to kill me,’ he whispered.
‘We haven’t got time now,’ Mrs Levy replied tenderly. ‘It’s time to get up. Jeremiah is taking us to Greenstein’s for dinner. Sylvia said it’s a goodbye party. She thought it was funny.’
‘Where’s he going?’ queried Levy worriedly.
‘Nowhere, you silly. You know how sensitive he is. Sylvia has got a lot to learn if she laughs when a man wants to say a formal goodbye to his old life. I think it’s wonderful that he wants us to be with him. I want you to propose a goodbye toast tonight.’ Mrs Levy felt a rush of affection for Dr Koekentapp. ‘Isn’t it exciting?’
At eight Dr Koekentapp preceded the Levys into Greenstein’s delicatessen. At the cashier’s desk Greenstein was explaining that he was fully booked for the evening to a young man with a large Adam’s apple and a date who was picking at her pimples. Dr Koekentapp was impressed by the mobility of the Adam’s apple as its possessor attempted to gainsay the lack of table space.
‘But Mr Greenstein, there must be a booking for us. The name is Chaimowitz. You know my grandmother. She phoned a week ago.’
Dr Koekentapp looked with renewed interest at Chaimowitz and wondered if he could be related to his Mrs Chaimowitz.
‘I know you grandmother well,’ replied Greenstein, ‘she told me about that goy doctor everyone is talking about – the one who is going to have his bris tomorrow.’
‘That’s her!’ exclaimed Chaimowitz. ‘So what’s the problem?’
‘You didn’t confirm your booking in time,’ replied Greenstein evasively, ‘so I don’t have a table for you anymore.’
‘Confirm?’ exclaimed Chaimowitz indignantly. ‘What do you think you are selling here? An overseas trip to a tropical paradise? Wake up, Greenstein, you sell pickled cucumbers, not Airbuses!’
Greenstein quietly accepted the truth of his more mundane sales facilities. Finding silence an unacceptable alternative to eating, Chaimowitz said, ‘Up yours!’ indicating with a middle finger precisely where yours was. He grabbed the moist hand of his date and departed. Greenstein gazed irritably at Dr Koekentapp. ‘Your name?’ he asked curtly. ‘We are fully booked.’
‘Koekentapp. Dr Jeremiah Koekentapp. You know, the goy who is going to have his bris tomorrow. There is a table booked for four.’
Greenstein flushed and hurriedly focussed on his booking list. No Koekentapp. Looking sceptically at Dr Koekentapp, Greenstein began shaking his head in preparation for further patron rejection.
‘Perhaps under C?’ Dr Koekentapp suggested helpfully. No Cookentapp. ‘What about under Bris or Goy,’ persisted Dr Koekentapp, peering at the list.
Greenstein quivered and his flush became purple. ‘We are fully booked,’ he said.
‘Try Levy,’ said Sylvia.
Greenstein grovelled as his most valued customer appeared. Levy entered, his wife holding him around the waist and his daughter holding his arm. Greenstein made a tick in his book next to Levy (4) Late Booking – Best Table!!! – put off Chaimowitz.
‘Moishe,’ Mrs Levy said anxiously, ‘are you alright? You look so feverish!’ She stretched out a hand as if to feel Greenstein’s florid brow. ‘I see you have met Dr Koekentapp. He’s a wonderful doctor. First he saved my Aaron’s life and then he rescued Yankel Cohen from a fate worse than death. Would you like him to examine you? I can really recommend him.’
Greenstein said that he was a little busy at the moment.
‘Are you sure?’ Mrs Levy asked. ‘He is my future son-in-law, you know,’ she added, instantly elevating Dr Koekentapp to the status of Best Table!!! – Put off Chaimowitz. Greenstein felt horribly ill and said he was fine thanks. He snapped his fingers to attract the attention of a plump waitress who was clearing a table.
‘Hello, Hilda,’ Mrs Levy said happily as their waitress hurried over. Hilda was wearing a printed apron that read ‘Strictly Kosher’ and under the supervision of the Beth din. Dr Koekentapp looked around in vain to find the supervisor. He thought he might put in a good word for Hilda after the meal.
‘Tonight is a very special occasion,’ Mrs Levy told Hilda, ‘and I would like you to put your menorah on the table.’
Hilda smiled coquettishly at Dr Koekentapp, who went pale. He frantically hoped it was just an expression similar to tochis afn tish but despaired as to its possible meaning.
‘Sylvia,’ Dr Koekentapp hissed as they followed Hilda to their table, ‘what did your mother mean by minora on our table?’
‘She wants Hilda to get a candlestick,’ replied Sylvia.
Greenstein turned to glare at the only person who had ever moaned ‘Jesus Christ’ on his strictly kosher premises.
Seated at their table, Dr Koekentapp warily gazed around the restaurant. At the far end refrigerated counters hummingly preserved a selection of expensive meat delicacies. Closed at night, the deli had nurtured Greenstein’s climb to fame. The restaurant section was relatively recent and had ensured that fortune followed fame. Every table was occupied and at several Dr Koekentapp recognised patients of his practice. He bleakly returned their happy stares and mouthed wishes of good luck for tomorrow plus gestured thumbs either held in fists or sticking up. Hilda arrived bearing a seven-branched silver candelabrum, which she placed in the centre of the table.
‘That’s a beautiful menorah,’ Mrs Levy beamed as Hilda lit the candles and handed out the menus.
Dr Koekentapp stared at the candelabrum then gratefully accepted his menu. He hoped no one noticed that his hands were trembling. Bewildered, he stared at the specials of the day.
Borscht mit kartofln un ugerkes
Kartofl latkes mit tsimering un tsuker
Gefilte fish mit chrayn
Parogen
Gebakte kishka
Pareveh banane ayzkrem
‘The party boy should order first,’ declared Mrs Levy.
As Hilda attentively waited for his order, Dr Koekentapp chose the only word he could understand.
‘The fish sounds tasty,’ he said hesitantly. ‘Is it fried or grilled?’
Hilda looked oddly at him. Dr Koekentapp glanced at Sylvia. She was wearing the smile that always made his heart tumble.
‘Help!’ he whispered.
‘Let me help you, Jeremiah,’ said Levy jovially. ‘I can recommend the borscht – it’s cold beetroot soup with cucumbers and boiled potatoes. Latkes are potato fritters sprinkled with cinnamon and brown sugar. They are my favourite. The gefilte fish are boiled fish balls served with horseradish. You’ll find them delicious. You must try the parogen – minced lung and heart in pastry – they are out of this world. Kishka is baked intestines, golden brown and stuffed with meat, flour and herbs. It’s excellent, but not as good as Dolly’s. To finish your meal a special non-dairy banana ice cream.’
‘I’ll have everything except the intestines, fish balls, lung, heart and bananas,’ Dr Koekentapp said firmly. ‘Also no cucumbers,’ he added.
Hilda wrote one borscht (no ugerkes) and latkes on her pad.
Dr Koekentapp listened dubiously as the Levys happily ordered boiled mince fish balls, offal pies and stuffed entrails. He turned as someone touched his shoulder.
‘Dr Koekentapp, I’m sorry to disturb your dinner but I need to speak to you urgently!’
An expensively dressed woman in her late thirties stood behind him. He recognised her as one of his patients. ‘Sheryl, what’s wrong?’ he asked.
‘Thank God you were here, doll. It’s for fainting!’ she cried.
Dr Koekentapp looked apologetically at the Levys. Mrs Levy, revelling in the attention their table was getting, loudly mentioned that an outstanding doctor’s time was never his own.
Levy signalled to Greenstein, who rushed to stem yet another disturbance the goy was creating.
‘This young lady urgently needs to speak to Dr Koekentapp,’ said Levy. ‘Is there a place they can consult in private?’
‘I don’t have an office,’ replied Greenstein, ‘but perhaps two chairs in the corner by the deli would do?’
‘Anywhere!’ pleaded Sheryl.
Mrs Levy watched proudly and Sylvia watched curiously as Sheryl consulted Dr Koekentapp in front of the cold-meat counter. Sheryl checked that they were beyond hearing distance of the dozens of eyes locked on them.
‘I nearly died! I’m telling you, I nearly platzed! I’m absolutely finished!’ she whispered tightly.
She was breathing heavily and her carefully painted eyelids were wide and fluttering with anxiety. Dr Koekentapp gave her an encouraging smile.
‘Now just relax, Sheryl,’ he said. ‘Stop hyperventilating and tell me what happened.’
She put one professionally manicured hand against a carmined cheek. ‘Oy, you’ll never believe it, doll!’
‘Just tell me what happened,’ Dr Koekentapp repeated, incidentally noticing that Greenstein’s chopped liver cost two hundred rand and sixty cents a kilogram including VAT.
Sheryl clasped her hands on her lap, puckered her lips, took a shuddering breath and began:
‘Well doll, we were at Sun City, at the casino, you know.’ She stopped, placed her hands over her eyes and shivered. ‘I just can’t anymore! I could just die to think of it!’
‘Who were at Sun City, Sheryl?’ Dr Koekentapp asked.
‘Our ladies’ bridge team, doll. We were selected for this competition, you know. It’s so special and our husbands stay home.’ She trembled and touched her blonde hair nervously. ‘It’s so exciting – the game and everything and who knows who you’ll meet?’
‘What about Sheldon?’ Dr Koekentapp asked.
‘Oh doll, you’ve got so much to learn. Husbands aren’t allowed. It would be so boring! I had worked on my all-over tan all summer. Bra and panty marks are such a turn-off, you know. And lying in the sun getting warm all over makes you so horny! Except for the time that Phineas our gardener saw me lying in the nude. I nearly died! But he didn’t even notice! He just switched on our sprinkler system and left.’
‘They are discussing life and death, you know,’ Mrs Levy said to the impressed diners at the table next to hers.
‘Sheryl! Tell me what happened!’ demanded Dr Koekentapp.
‘Well, I was standing at this one-armed bandit just feeding my money into the machine when this gorgeous hunk comes over and stands next to me. I mean, me, doll, Sheryl Nafkewitz of Cyrildene.’
‘Sheryl, please get to the point.’
She clicked her tongue against her palate in minor irritation. ‘Oh doll, don’t be so clinical. Well, I hit a winning streak on the spot and there I was pulling the handle and he was pulling the handle and we pulled the handle together and the money just kept coming out! Everyone was looking at us. I mean, we were the main attraction, doll!’
‘Sheryl!’ Dr Koekentapp interrupted. Pickled tongue was out of stock.
‘Alright, doll,’ she snapped crossly, ‘I’m getting there. Well, one thing led to another and . . .’ She stopped.
‘And?’ Dr Koekentapp repeated.
Her look of appeal was almost childlike. Tears had started to run down her cheeks. ‘We were making love and then . . .’ – her voice broke – ‘and then he just came and died!’
Mrs Levy clucked sympathetically as she saw Sheryl bury her face in her hands. ‘It must have been a death of a loved one in the family,’ said Mrs Levy. ‘Just look at the poor woman. She is heartbroken. It’s a real human tragedy.’
‘What do you mean, he just came and died?’ asked Dr Koekentapp.
‘I don’t know, he had a heart attack or something. He just died! It was terrible!’
‘What did you do?’
‘Doll, do you promise that you will tell no one about this? I mean, do you promise that everything I tell you is secret?’ She was wide-eyed with distress.
‘Yes, Sheryl. Absolutely.’
‘I ran away.’
‘You did what?’
‘I ran away. I mean, we had just met and I was in his room . . .’ She paused, her Estée Lauder-painted mouth a perfect O. ‘Thank God! Can you imagine if . . .’
‘Didn’t you notify anyone, Sheryl?’ Dr Koekentapp asked.
‘How could I? I knew his name was Barry, but I couldn’t very well go to the manager and say, “Barry is dead!” I didn’t even know his surname! Can you imagine the scandal?’
‘What happened?’
‘The maid found him when she came to do the bed. Then the police came and they took the body away.’ She shuddered. ‘It was horrible!’
‘He’s my future son-in-law, you understand,’ Mrs Levy informed the growing circle of chewing and interested parties adjacent to her table.
‘What have you told Sheldon?’ Dr Koekentapp asked.
Sheryl gave Dr Koekentapp a startled look. ‘Nothing! You promised!’
‘What happened then?’
‘Sheldon told me his boss had died!’
‘What?’
‘Barry Blackmore, his boss. They found him dead and naked in bed at Sun City and the post-mortem showed natural causes. But Sheldon says everyone at work knows his boss died on the job with some floozie he picked up at the casino. The executive staff were at the congress. They even saw her!’
‘What are you going to do?’ Dr Koekentapp demanded.
‘I don’t know!’ Sheryl cried. ‘That’s why I need your advice. Sheldon wants me to go with him to the funeral. He says it’s about time I showed some respect!’
While Dr Koekentapp lectured Sheryl to be more sober in her mating habits, Levy ordered a bottle of kosher red wine. Dr Koekentapp’s glass was filled and breathing by the time he had finished advising Sheryl to change her hair colour and wear a black veil to Barry’s funeral.
Mrs Levy nudged her husband as Dr Koekentapp returned. Sheryl had rejoined her husband and was telling him that Dr Koekentapp had given her sound advice on her personal women’s problems so she would be happy to attend Barry’s funeral after all.
‘Now is a good time to propose a goodbye toast to his old life, Aaron,’ Mrs Levy whispered.
Levy stood up and cleared his throat. ‘Sit down, Jeremiah,’ he said loudly. ‘I understand that this is your goodbye party and I want to propose a toast.’
A ripple of laughter spread through Greenstein’s as the word went round that the doctor who was having his bris tomorrow was having a goodbye party tonight. Everybody put down their knives and forks and interestedly waited for Levy to begin. Dr Koekentapp recriminatingly looked across the table at Sylvia, who was shaking her head to proclaim her innocence.
‘My dear Jeremiah,’ Levy announced, ‘tonight is a symbolic occasion. It heralds a time of change in your life – a cutting of old ties and a tight binding with the new.’
He looked around in surprise as his words raised a general titter.
‘It is an announcement of values. It is a confirmation of an important decision. You have shown yourself to be a man who thinks carefully and never goes off half-cocked.’
Dr Koekentapp glared at Sylvia, who was taking part in the public chortle.
‘It won’t be long now . . .’ – Levy stopped as a roar of laughter rocked Greenstein’s – ‘before we accept you with open arms into our family,’ he continued, when quiet returned. ‘Hear, hear!’ someone shouted and everybody began clapping. Levy waited until the applause had died down.
‘It will be very hard for you in the beginning . . .’ – Dr Koekentapp covered his face with his hands as pandemonium reigned – ‘but with Sylvia to help you . . .’ – Sylvia’s face trembled as she struggled to retain her composure while a crowded restaurant howled – ‘not to mention my wife . . .’ – Levy glared at a portly diner who was sprawled on and thumping his table – ‘and I . . .’
A rumble of feet on the floor preceded a standing ovation.
‘Thank you,’ Levy said bewilderedly when his audience sat down again.
‘Carry on, Aaron,’ Mrs Levy said encouragingly, ‘forget about them. They are just jealous of you.’
Levy battled to regain his train of thought. ‘You will find that Jewish families always stick together. When things are very hard they always lend a helping hand or even bend over backwards if necessary.’
Following a second standing ovation, Levy decided to end his speech. He lifted his glass. The entire restaurant stood and lifted theirs.
‘To Jeremiah, may you soon stand proudly upright in the Jewish community!’ announced Levy.
‘Hear, hear!’ yowled everybody in delight.
Ecstatic at the general enthusiasm, Mrs Levy gazed at Dr Koekentapp with unconcealed pleasure. ‘I hope you won’t become too swollen-headed now that you are so famous,’ she declared.
This warranted a fresh burst of joyous applause, general toasting and a heartfelt rendition of ‘For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow’ followed by ‘Hatikvah’.
Despite frequent interruptions by well-wishers, who insisted he drink a goodbye toast with them, Dr Koekentapp found the beetroot soup delicious. When he said so Mrs Levy asserted that he hadn’t eaten anything until he had tasted hers with sour cream. Feeling decidedly woozy and having toasted well into his second bottle of wine – a raucously presented ‘parting’ gift from the portly table thumper – Dr Koekentapp warily eyed the boiled fish ball that Mrs Levy insisted he try. Pushing to one side the distastefully symbolic slice of boiled carrot that topped it, he decided that fish balls were insipid. He looked vaguely at Sheldon and Sheryl Nafkewitz, who were vociferously arguing about Sheryl’s new idea of becoming a brunette.
Sylvia watched Dr Koekentapp with increasing concern. Anxious to spend one more evening with him before the healing process precluded any intimacy, she wondered whether he was approaching or had passed the delicate vinous break point where easy arousal became impotence. She decided to find out while he was eating his potato latkes. Slipping off a shoe, she stretched out a leg under the table and, under cover of the overlapping tablecloth, commenced a toe-groping search between Dr Koekentapp’s thighs. Mrs Levy, with complete disregard for unlimited male protectiveness, was asking him if he was still so nervous about tomorrow. Dr Koekentapp stopped chewing as he felt someone fondling his scrotum through his trousers. Sylvia, sitting opposite him, was concentrating intently on her parogen. He glanced to his right at Mrs Levy, whose hands were folded on the table, and then stared in horror to his left at Levy, whose hands were hidden and moving as he wiped them with his serviette below the table.
‘Omigod!’ said Dr Koekentapp.
Levy grabbed the edge of the table with both hands. ‘What’s the matter?’ he asked anxiously.
Dr Koekentapp, acutely aware of the unidentified groper having reached his penis, returned his attention to Sylvia, who pointedly ignored him. Glancing down he saw a youthful feminine foot resting on the front of his chair. Relief combined with a delicious apprehension of discovery and Dr Koekentapp achieved a full and painfully restrained erection.
‘Nothing,’ he muttered, ‘I just felt a little queer for a moment.’
‘I think you may have had a drop too much wine,’ Mrs Levy said understandingly.
Sylvia smiled with restored confidence.
‘Are you sure you don’t want to try the kishka?’ Mrs Levy asked, proffering her plate. She turned to Sylvia for corroboration.
‘The stuffing is out of this world, isn’t it?’
‘It’s divine!’ Sylvia replied emphatically.
‘Do try some stuffing, Jeremiah,’ Mrs Levy persisted.
‘Perhaps a little later,’ Dr Koekentapp said stiffly.
Sylvia grinned and used two toes to tickle him.
‘Oh good!’ beamed Mrs Levy. ‘I’ll get Moishe to put some in a doggy bag. You can have it when you go home.’
She looked up happily as Hilda brought the banana sorbet. Sylvia studied her parents closely as they ate their dessert.
‘I don’t think Jerry should drive home,’ she said casually. ‘He’s had much too much wine.’
She pressed firmly against a testicle when Dr Koekentapp started to say that he was fine. Mrs Levy carefully assessed Dr Koekentapp.
‘Then you’ll stay over at our house,’ she decided. ‘It’ll be even easier than fetching you in the morning. Your room is ready. We’ll go past your flat, fetch your things and go home.’
When Levy suggested a second helping of sorbet, Sylvia withdrew her foot and glanced at her watch.
‘It’s getting late, Dad. Jerry needs a good night’s sleep. I think we should go home now.’
At the cashier’s desk Hilda was bewildered when Dr Koekentapp said that she should tell the supervisor from the house of din he had nothing to worry about. Greenstein, now quite taken with Dr Koekentapp because of the general bonhomie his presence had caused, shook Dr Koekentapp by the hand, gave him a portion of kishka and a parogen in a doggy bag and wished him a hearty mazeltov.
Levy was at the wheel and Mrs Levy happily chatting next to him, while Sylvia snuggled against Dr Koekentapp on the back seat. In the darkness of the car a surreptitious fondle fully and finally confirmed her hope that all her previous feelings of rejection were totally groundless. It had started raining and, lulled by the hiss of the tyres on the road, the rhythmic swishing of the windscreen wipers, and her relief at the sturdy response of Dr Koekentapp, Sylvia fell sound asleep.
Having helped Levy assist his daughter to her bedroom and after saying goodnight to his hosts, Dr Koekentapp flushed his bag of rewarmed entrails down the toilet and went to bed. Confident that Sylvia would soon wake up – if she had been asleep at all, ha ha – he awaited her hesitant soft rap at his door. The promontory in his blanket gradually settled as Dr Koekentapp passed out.
At five in the morning the sound of Levy servicing his wife awakened him. In the adjoining bedroom Sylvia was dreaming that she was making passionate love to her Jerry. While the Levy family focussed on copulation Dr Koekentapp lay alone and realised it was Thursday.