The Entertainer and the Dybbuk Read Online Free PDF Page B

believe a real live demon hides under zees clothes—when it is you doing all the talking, M’sieu Freddie? I do compliment you. I couldn’t see you move your lips at all!”
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    That night the dybbuk sobbed in his sleep. Freddie awoke and let him cry. He had to remind himself that he was possessed by a mere child. The dybbuk’s scorn and bluster were grown-up battle wounds.

CHAPTER 10
    B y the time the act opened at the Crazy Horse, Freddie had forgotten why dybbuks chose to leave their graves. But Avrom Amos had not forgotten.
    â€œA small favor? Can I ask?” the dybbuk muttered. Freddie was facing the mirror to apply makeup for the first show of the evening.
    â€œWhen you say small, I duck.”
    â€œRemember, the Germans killed me? Two weeks before my bar mitzvah?”
    â€œYou mentioned it,” said Freddie.
    â€œYou know what is a bar mitzvah?”
    â€œA ceremony of some sort.”
    â€œTo be declared a man among Jews, a boy must have his bar mitzvah when his thirteenth birthday arrives. By then, my parents were dead. My sisters and little brother—even I was dead.”
    â€œYes. I’m sorry, Avrom Amos.”
    â€œI told you dybbuks return to finish something left undone among the living. But it’s not too late.”
    â€œFor what?”
    â€œMy birthday is coming up. I want you to fix up my bar mitzvah.”
    â€œAh. So that’s why you possessed me!”
    Said the dybbuk, “Not exactly. But it’s a start.”
    â€œFor what?”
    The dybbuk ignored him. “Listen. For what I came back to do, I need to be a man. A mensch. It’s not for a boy in short pants.”
    â€œSo you need a rabbi or someone to declare you a grown-up—is that it?”
    Freddie could almost sense the dybbuk giving a shrug. Avrom Amos said, “Can you imagine a dybbuk walking into a synagogue and saying, ‘Rabbi, I just dropped in from the sky. How about a bar mitzvah?’ The rabbiwould strike his head and shout, ‘Meshugge! Crazy! Out!’ That’s why I need you.”
    Freddie now felt on guard. “For what, exactly?”
    â€œYou walk into the synagogue and let me do the talking.”
    â€œStand in for you?”
    â€œThat’s the idea.”
    â€œBut I don’t look thirteen!”
    â€œIt doesn’t matter. Older, even, is okay. Do you think I am thirteen? I feel I have grown a hundred years older.”
    â€œAnd I’m not Jewish!”
    â€œYou don’t have to shout,” said the dybbuk.
    â€œI’d like to help. But count me out.”
    Said the dybbuk, “You may have noticed, Professor. I stand in for you.”
    Freddie asked himself if he’d ever won an argument with his new partner. He had a feeling he was going to lose this one. He needed the dybbuk in the act. How would he pull off his great tricks without Avrom Amos?
    He finished dressing. “Okay.” He sighed. “But don’t expect me to wear one of those funny hats.”
    â€œIt’s a package deal,” said the dybbuk. “I guarantee nothing.”

CHAPTER 11
    F reddie ran into a former girlfriend at his agent’s office. Their old romance quickly burst into flames.
    Playing small parts in French-made films, Polly Marchant was a showgirl from the American South. She was bouncy and bright and given to making faces. Polly could cross her eyes. She’d muss her blond hair when shefelt like it. She had changed little since they had broken up the year before, though now she wore her hair cut short and as tight as a bathing cap.
    They began to joke about getting married. Nothing serious. Joking. Polly confessed that she had announced in her diary that she had fallen madly in love, if he’d care to peek. Freddie didn’t keep a diary, but his face announced it to the world.
    The dybbuk had little patience with the flirtatious sweet talk he heard. He could do voices, and occasionally