A Serious Man Page #13

Sussman frowns.

There it is. “Help me”?

He leans back.

Sussman goes home. Can Sussman eat? Sussman can’t

eat.

Sussman sits at the kitchen table, untouched food in front of him. His wife chats volubly

while Sussman stares into space.

Can Sussman sleep? Sussman can’t sleep.

Sussman is in bed, pyjamas buttoned to the neck, staring at the ceiling.

What does it mean? Is it a message for him, for Sussman?

And if so, from whom? Does Sussman know? Sussman

doesn’t know.

At a row of shelves, back in the dental office, Sussman pulls down boxes containing

other molds.

Sussman looks at the molds of his other patients, goy and

Jew alike, seeking other messages. He finds none. He

looks in his own mouth. . .

Sussman in pyjamas, in front of a medicine-cabinet mirror, holding in his own mouth a

dental mirror, straining to see the reflection of the reflection.

. . . Nothing. His wife’s mouth. . .

Sussman’s wife lies asleep on her back, her mouth open, snoring softly. Sussman, in

pyjamas but with his glasses on and loupe in place, lies over her in bed, supporting

himself with one arm thrown across her body. He leans awkwardly in, taking care not to

disturb his wife as he lowers a dental mirror into her open mouth.

. . . Nothing. It is a singular event. A mystery.

The Jefferson Airplane guitar solo is heating up.

But Sussman is an educated man. Not the world’s greatest

sage, maybe, no Rabbi Marshak, but he knows a thing or

two from the Zohar and the Caballah. He knows every

Hebrew letter has its numeric equivalent.

Sussman, still in his pyjamas, is sitting at the kitchen table scribbling on a tablet of lined

paper.

Close on the paper: the Hebrew letters have been transcribed into their numeric

equivalents:

374-4548

Nachtner continues in voice-over:

Seven digits—a phone number maybe?

Sussman reaches for the phone. He hesitates, then dials.

. . . Sussman dials. It rings.

An elevated cubicle in a grocery store. A man in white short-sleeved shirt reaches for

the phone.

Rabbi Nachtner

It’s a Red Owl grocery store in Bloomington. Hello? Do

you know a goy named Kraus? Russel Kraus?

The store manager shakes his head.

Where have I called? The Red Owl. In Bloomington.

Thanks so much.

The manager, puzzled, hangs up.

Sussman thinks, am I supposed to go to the Red Owl, to

receive a further sign? He goes. . .

In the parking lot of the Red Owl Sussman, wearing a short-brimmed fedora, emerges

from his car. It is an unremarkable grocery store in a suburban mall.

It’s a Red Owl.

Inside Sussman, in his fedora, gazes around.

Groceries. What have you.

A service alley behind the store: dumpsters, wind-blown garbage, Sussman looking.

On the wall behind the store, a stain. . .

There is an old, rather nondescript stain of some liquid splatted against the back wall and

long since dried.

. . . Could bea nun sofit. . . Or maybe not. . .

The parking lot again: Sussman gets back in his car.

Sussman goes home. What does it mean? He has to find

out, if he’s ever to sleep again.

Sussman, again in pyjamas buttoned to the neck, lies in his bed staring at the ceiling.

An elevated cubicle in a grocery store. A man in white short-sleeved shirt reaches for

the phone.

Rabbi Nachtner

It’s a Red Owl grocery store in Bloomington. Hello? Do

you know a goy named Kraus? Russel Kraus?

The store manager shakes his head.

Where have I called? The Red Owl. In Bloomington.

Thanks so much.

The manager, puzzled, hangs up.

Sussman thinks, am I supposed to go to the Red Owl, to

receive a further sign? He goes. . .

In the parking lot of the Red Owl Sussman, wearing a short-brimmed fedora, emerges

from his car. It is an unremarkable grocery store in a suburban mall.

It’s a Red Owl.

Inside Sussman, in his fedora, gazes around.

Groceries. What have you.

A service alley behind the store: dumpsters, wind-blown garbage, Sussman looking.

On the wall behind the store, a stain. . .

There is an old, rather nondescript stain of some liquid splatted against the back wall and

long since dried.

. . . Could bea nun sofit. . . Or maybe not. . .

The parking lot again: Sussman gets back in his car.

Sussman goes home. What does it mean? He has to find

out, if he’s ever to sleep again.

Sussman, again in pyjamas buttoned to the neck, lies in his bed staring at the ceiling.

He goes to see the Rabbi, Nachtner. He comes in and sits

right where you’re sitting now. right where you’re sitting now.

Sussman is indeed sitting across from Rabbi Nachtner, just where we’ve seen Larry

sitting.

What does it mean, Rabbi? Is it a sign from Hashem?

“Help me.” I, Sussman, should be doing something to help

this goy? Doing what? The teeth don’t say. I should know

without asking? Or maybe I’m supposed to help people

generally—lead a more righteous life? Is the answer in

cabalah? In Torah? Or is there even a question? Tell me,

Rabbi—what can such a sign mean?

Nachtner—not the narrating Nachtner but the Nachtner in the scene—nods and

considers.

The rabbi’s office in present: Larry stares at the rabbi. He waits a good beat.

He prompts:

Larry

So what did you tell him?

The rabbi seems surprised by the question.

Rabbi Nachtner

Sussman?

Larry

Yes!

Rabbi Nachtner

Is it. . . relevant?

Larry

Well—isn’t that why you’re telling me?

Rabbi Nachtner

Mm. Okay. Nachtner says, look. . .

The consultation scene again, with the rabbi once again narrating in voice-over. He

silently advises the fretful Sussman in sync with his recounting of the same. his recounting of the same.

. . . The teeth, we don’t know. A sign from Hashem, don’t

know. Helping others, couldn’t hurt.

Back to the rabbi’s office in present. Larry struggles to make sense of the story.

Larry

But—was it for him, for Sussman? Or—

Rabbi Nachtner

We can’t know everything.

Larry

It sounds like you don’t know anything! Why even tell me

the story?

Rabbi Nachtner

(amused)

First I should tell you, then I shouldn’t.

Larry, exasporated, changes tack:

Larry

What happened to Sussman?

Sussman, back in his office, works on different patients as the rabbi resumes the

narrative in voice-over.

Rabbi Nachtner

What would happen? Not much. He went back to work.

For a while he checked every patient’s teeth for new

messages; didn’t see any; in time, he found he’d stopped

checking. He returned to life.

Sussman, at home, chats with his wife over dinner.

. . . These questions that are bothering you, Larry—maybe

they’re like a toothache. We feel them for a while, then

they go away.

Sussman lies in bed sleeping, smiling, an arm thrown across his wife.

Back in the rabbi’s office, Larry is dissatisfied.

Larry

I don’t want it to just go away! I want an answer!

Rabbi Nachtner

The answer! Sure! We all want the answer! But Hashem

doesn’t owe us the answer, Larry. Hashem doesn’t owe us

anything. The obligation runs the other way.

Larry

Why does he make us feel the questions if he’s not going to

give us any answers?

Rabbi Nachtner smiles at Larry.

Rabbi Nachtner

Larry

I don’t want it to just go away! I want an answer!

Rabbi Nachtner

The answer! Sure! We all want the answer! But Hashem

doesn’t owe us the answer, Larry. Hashem doesn’t owe us

anything. The obligation runs the other way.

Larry

Why does he make us feel the questions if he’s not going to

give us any answers?

Rabbi Nachtner smiles at Larry.

Rabbi Nachtner

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