Free The Day the Rabbi Resigned by Harry Kemelman Page B

humming as he came up the stairs. He tiptoed about gathering his pajamas and slippers and then went into the guest room across the hall to undress so as not to wake her. When he came back a few minutes later, she pretended to be asleep and even managed a gentle snore.
    Instead of going to his own bed, however, he came to hers. She felt the mattress sag under his weight, and then, before she could make a move, he had his arms around her. She struggled, but he held her tight and pressed his mouth against hers so that she could make no sound. She writhed and twisted in an effort to get away, but she was no match for him. When he was finished and released her, she jumped out of the bed and ran to the bathroom and locked the door.
    He sat on the edge of the bed for a minute or two, and then went to the bathroom and put his ear to the door. He heard her sobbing.
    â€œI’m sorry, Peg. Please come out.”
    He waited, and when there was no response except the sound of her weeping, he said, “I know you think I’m a horny bastard, but I swear I won’t so much as touch you again until you ask me. Please forgive me and come out.”
    Again he waited. And then, “Look, I’m going to the guest room. I’ll sleep there.”
    When she heard him cross the hall, she crept out. Before going back to bed, she closed the bedroom door and jammed a chair under the doorknob.
    The next morning when he came down to breakfast, he found no place had been set for him. She had the newspaper propped up in front of her and was drinking her coffee.
    â€œLook, about last night, I’m sorry. I had a couple of drinks and I guess I lost control.”
    She did not answer and she did not look up from her paper.
    â€œI won’t be meeting my three o’clock class, so I’ll be home early.”
    She gave no indication that she had heard him or even that he was there. He waited for a moment on the chance that she might at least look up, and then turned and left the room and the house.
    As he drove to the city, he debated the matter. Sure, I can see where she might be worried about getting pregnant right now, but hell, the chances of getting pregnant from the first shot are mighty slim. She ought to know that. I guess maybe she’s just a kid and just doesn’t know what it’s all about. But she ought to realize that a guy is only human and that he’s bound to make an occasional mistake. She must realize that where I teach, in a coed college where the coeds are flaunting themselves all the time, many of them not wearing bras so you can see the nipples against their dresses, and some with these skin-tight jeans which show everything, and this one in the front row last night with her skirt hiked up—I guess that got me going. And then a couple of drinks helped matters along. Oh hell, she probably won’t talk to me for a day or two, and then maybe she’ll talk, but she’ll be cold and distant, and then she’ll forget about it.
    He considered bringing her flowers as a peace offering, and then decided against it. Although admittedly at fault, he thought it would be better to downplay the incident. Later, when he could discuss it with her rationally, he would explain that these things happen, pretty much had to happen when a man lives with a woman, and that the adult thing to do is to forget about them and not let them interfere with the relationship.
    She was not home when he arrived. He went upstairs to change into a sport shirt and sweater, and found that his things had all been removed to the guest room. Even worse, however, she had installed a sliding bolt on the bedroom door. This was too much. He was now the aggrieved party. What he had done was an accident, at least something done on the spur of the moment. This was a deliberate act on her part. She could not have mounted the bolt herself. She must have engaged a carpenter. There was permanence and finality about it. And it