The Entertainer and the Dybbuk Read Online Free PDF Page A

Eye to eye. Was the dybbuk rewriting the script?
    â€œI said, you’ve decided to become a vampire.”
    â€œNot me,” remarked the puppet. “Blood-sucking I leave to the Nazis.”
    This was no place for the dybbuk to speak his mind. But Freddie sensed there’d be no shutting off this burst of anger. He considered walking off, but that would create a backstage scandal. Who would hire him again after a stumble like that? There was only one thing to do—give the dybbuk his head. After all, it was a late Tuesday show; not a big night.
    â€œIf you’re not Count Dracula, who are you?”
    â€œA dybbuk.”
    Freddie gulped. Was Avrom Amos cueing him? “A dybbuk? What’s that?”
    â€œA Jewish spirit.”
    â€œIs that like a ghost?”
    â€œThird cousins.”
    â€œI’ve never heard of a ghost in a striped sweater,” said Freddie.
    â€œRemember the war, Professor? Heaven is so full of new arrivals, their toes are sticking out the windows. The place ran out of white sheets. Us brats had to take whatever we could find.”
    â€œYou’re a child?”
    â€œWhy not? Millions of us Jewish kids up there.”
    The Great Freddie paused to get a fresh grip on himself. They weren’t getting any laughs. Still, the audience was listening. It was not every day they heard a ghost talk.
    â€œIf you’re a dybbuk, how come you don’t smell of brimstone and fire?”
    â€œWhy should I?”
    â€œI don’t believe you dropped in from the sky.”
    â€œWhy not?”
    â€œEveryone knows you have to accept Jesus to go to Heaven, and that lets you out. You know that Jews are doomed to go to Hell.”
    â€œHave you talked to any eyewitnesseslately?” replied the dybbuk. “Heaven is packed with Jews. Like sardines. The door is always open. Any nice person can walk in. Like me.”
    â€œSays you.”
    â€œI heard there was a Christian heaven around the corner. And for Muslims, paradise? A big place with palm trees, down the road.”
    â€œAre you trying to be funny?” asked Freddie.
    â€œFunny, Mr. Yankel Doodle?”
    â€œThat’s Yankee Doodle.”
    â€œYou want jokes straight from the clouds? Why did the Almighty give food to the rich and an appetite to the poor?”
    At last, a nervous laugh erupted.
    Said the dummy, “Did I tell you about the time I threw a rope to a drowning Nazi general?”
    â€œThat was a Christian thing to do.”
    â€œJewish, too. I threw him both ends.”
    A bigger laugh came roaring up from the seats. But Heaven, and now Nazi generals! The act was on thin ice. Freddie needed to regain control. To get back to the script.
    He picked up the bottle of water. “Care to do something entertaining while I have a long drink?”
    â€œYou like to see my war wounds? I’ve got so many bullet holes you could look through me and see the Eiffel Tower.”
    â€œSome other time. Maybe you’d better sing a tune. How about ‘Song Without Words’?”
    â€œI don’t know the verse,” said the dybbuk.
    â€œJust whistle.”
    The Great Freddie lifted the bottle to his lips. The dummy bent his head back and the dybbuk began to whistle.
    The trick brought down the house. The Great Freddie broke into a farm-boy smile. Whaddya know? They went for the dybbuk. Freddie and the wooden dummy took a relieved bow.
    â€œNice going, Avrom Amos,” the ventriloquist said as they reached the wings. “You stay in the act.”

CHAPTER 9
    T he Great Freddie kept adding tricks. He’d clamp an apple between his teeth. He stuffed his mouth with a yard of red silk. He gargled ginger ale. Nothing could keep Count Dracula from talking.
    Between Thursday night performances, a reporter from Le Monde , a Paris newspaper, showed up in his dressing room. Shewore a stylish muffler wrapped around her neck in coils like a python. She pulled a yellow