Uncle Larry.”
“Uncle Larry’s not really my uncle, but you let me see him. Why can’t I see Mr. Petrovic? He’s closer to being a real relative than Uncle Larry.”
“You’re confusing the issue, son. Don’t be obtuse.”
Yes, my so-called father called his eleven-year-old son obtuse. (I looked it up immediately after that conversation was finished; it means thick-headed or dim-witted.)
“When we refer to Larry Weinstein as Uncle Larry,” Robert continued, “the word
uncle
is being used as a term of affection. Anyway, Uncle Larry and I met with this man, and—well, you saw him, he’s disgusting. He said he was in the country for a short while and wanted to spend some time with you.”
“That sounds okay, right?”
“No, not in this case. He wanted us to give him money to visit with you.”
“Maybe he’s poor and just wanted a little money to take me somewhere, like to the zoo.”
“The zoo?” Robert scoffed. “When we told him we’d give him money
not
to visit you, he took it.”
“Maybe he was confused,” I pleaded in Vladimir’s defense. “I don’t think he understands English very well.”
Nothing I was saying was having the slightest impact on Robert, who leaned forward in his chair and stared into my eyes. It reminded me of his performance in a movie when he played a hard-boiled detective who had to tell a woman she was never going to see her husband again.
“The only reason he showed up today was to get more money out of us.
Not
to visit you. I’m sorry you had to know about this, Joe, but believe me—all that man wants is money. I wasn’t going to tell you this, but he has a criminal record.”
“He does?”
“Uncle Larry did a security check on him. He was in jail in Croatia.”
“What did he do?”
“He was a thief and he still is. Don’t worry; we’ll do everything we can to keep him away from you. If he makes another attempt to see you, we’ll have him arrested.”
“Maybe I have other relatives in Croatia he knows about,” I said.
“You see the damage he’s already done, filling you with false hope?”
“Maybe it isn’t false hope. Maybe it’s true hope.”
“Are you trying to be funny?”
“No,” I said. “He seemed nice.”
“People like that always do,” Robert said.
As was his usual practice, Tom had listened to my entire story without taking more than a note or two.
“Did you ever hear from or about Vladimir again?” he asked.
I shook my head.
“Do you think Robert was right? That all he was after was money?”
“No,” I said, the bitterness starting to leak out as I spoke. “I think Vladimir just didn’t understand English very well and was confused.”
“What about his being in jail?”
“Maybe it was because of the war,” I said. “Maybe he stole something to take care of his family. I think Robert totally overreacted and kept me from seeing someone who knew my family.”
Before Tom had a chance to respond, I heard somebody bounding up the stairs. It was Robert in his tennis outfit.
“We need a fourth for doubles,” Robert said to Tom. “You interested?”
“What about Joe?” Tom asked.
“It’s only for an hour. You can get back to the book after we play.”
“No,” Tom said, “I meant what about Joe for your game?”
“That’s not a good idea,” Robert and I said simultaneously. The first and last time I tried to play tennis with Robert, he’d decided it was better to come over to my side of the net and correct my grip every three minutes, rather than have fun batting the ball around the court. Still, I appreciated the way Tom was trying to look out for me.
“We probably should keep going here,” Tom said, also for my benefit.
Robert didn’t seem to catch it. “Come on down. I insist,” he said. “There’s some extra shorts and T-shirts in that closet behind you. I’ll see you in a couple of minutes.” Robert bounded back down the stairs two at a time.
It wasn’t easy to say no to
“Uncle Larry’s not really my uncle, but you let me see him. Why can’t I see Mr. Petrovic? He’s closer to being a real relative than Uncle Larry.”
“You’re confusing the issue, son. Don’t be obtuse.”
Yes, my so-called father called his eleven-year-old son obtuse. (I looked it up immediately after that conversation was finished; it means thick-headed or dim-witted.)
“When we refer to Larry Weinstein as Uncle Larry,” Robert continued, “the word
uncle
is being used as a term of affection. Anyway, Uncle Larry and I met with this man, and—well, you saw him, he’s disgusting. He said he was in the country for a short while and wanted to spend some time with you.”
“That sounds okay, right?”
“No, not in this case. He wanted us to give him money to visit with you.”
“Maybe he’s poor and just wanted a little money to take me somewhere, like to the zoo.”
“The zoo?” Robert scoffed. “When we told him we’d give him money
not
to visit you, he took it.”
“Maybe he was confused,” I pleaded in Vladimir’s defense. “I don’t think he understands English very well.”
Nothing I was saying was having the slightest impact on Robert, who leaned forward in his chair and stared into my eyes. It reminded me of his performance in a movie when he played a hard-boiled detective who had to tell a woman she was never going to see her husband again.
“The only reason he showed up today was to get more money out of us.
Not
to visit you. I’m sorry you had to know about this, Joe, but believe me—all that man wants is money. I wasn’t going to tell you this, but he has a criminal record.”
“He does?”
“Uncle Larry did a security check on him. He was in jail in Croatia.”
“What did he do?”
“He was a thief and he still is. Don’t worry; we’ll do everything we can to keep him away from you. If he makes another attempt to see you, we’ll have him arrested.”
“Maybe I have other relatives in Croatia he knows about,” I said.
“You see the damage he’s already done, filling you with false hope?”
“Maybe it isn’t false hope. Maybe it’s true hope.”
“Are you trying to be funny?”
“No,” I said. “He seemed nice.”
“People like that always do,” Robert said.
As was his usual practice, Tom had listened to my entire story without taking more than a note or two.
“Did you ever hear from or about Vladimir again?” he asked.
I shook my head.
“Do you think Robert was right? That all he was after was money?”
“No,” I said, the bitterness starting to leak out as I spoke. “I think Vladimir just didn’t understand English very well and was confused.”
“What about his being in jail?”
“Maybe it was because of the war,” I said. “Maybe he stole something to take care of his family. I think Robert totally overreacted and kept me from seeing someone who knew my family.”
Before Tom had a chance to respond, I heard somebody bounding up the stairs. It was Robert in his tennis outfit.
“We need a fourth for doubles,” Robert said to Tom. “You interested?”
“What about Joe?” Tom asked.
“It’s only for an hour. You can get back to the book after we play.”
“No,” Tom said, “I meant what about Joe for your game?”
“That’s not a good idea,” Robert and I said simultaneously. The first and last time I tried to play tennis with Robert, he’d decided it was better to come over to my side of the net and correct my grip every three minutes, rather than have fun batting the ball around the court. Still, I appreciated the way Tom was trying to look out for me.
“We probably should keep going here,” Tom said, also for my benefit.
Robert didn’t seem to catch it. “Come on down. I insist,” he said. “There’s some extra shorts and T-shirts in that closet behind you. I’ll see you in a couple of minutes.” Robert bounded back down the stairs two at a time.
It wasn’t easy to say no to
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