The Entertainer and the Dybbuk by Sid Fleischman Page B

psychiatrist?”
    â€œThe dybbuk. Avrom Amos Poliakov, meet Polly Marchant. Polly, meet the dybbuk. He’s just a kid, but he’s older’nGod. He’ll tell you so himself.”
    Polly peered at Freddie. “Do you take me for a nitwit?”
    Freddie felt the breath rise through his throat. “Good afternoon,” said the dybbuk. Very civil.
    Polly’s breath caught. Then she exhaled like a steam whistle. “You just threw your voice. That’s what you do. You’re a ventriloquist. You threw your voice!”
    â€œI swear I didn’t!”
    â€œI swear he didn’t, too,” said the dybbuk. “It’s me, in person.”
    â€œListen, Polly,” Freddie exclaimed. “Avrom and I can sing a duet. That’ll prove there are two of us!”
    â€œDo you know ‘Yankee Doodle’?” asked the dybbuk.
    â€œGo.”
    The Great Freddie and the dybbuk broke into a few bars in harmony. Polly gazed into Freddie’s mouth, past his teeth, and down his throat as far as she could see. Yes, there was another voice down there. She was far from cheered by the discovery.
    â€œYou expect me to marry a guy with a demon down his gullet?”
    â€œI’m not a demon,” protested the dybbuk.
    Polly dropped the book and folded her arms. “Cough him up or leave me alone, Freddie.”
    â€œIt’s not that simple. Just give me a couplemore weeks to straighten this thing out, Polly darling. Things are happening and I made promises.”
    â€œYou made promises to me! Remember? I’m not going to go on my honeymoon with you and that spooky tapeworm. Out, spirit! Out, ghostie, and right now!”
    â€œPolly—”
    â€œDon’t ask me to be patient!”
    â€œBe patient. You’re getting excited about nothing.”
    Polly exploded. “Nothing!”
    â€œGive me a week,” Freddie said.
    â€œHow about five minutes?” Her eyes began to tear. “If you loved me—”
    Freddie straightened and waited. Then heturned his head as if the dybbuk were hovering at his left. “Avrom Amos, you heard Polly. You know about love, don’t you? I promised to hang in for you, but love is trump. No messing with that. You were listening to every word, huh? Polly didn’t mean that bit about the tapeworm. But the time has come. Five minutes. Pack your socks and sweater, kid. It was a great bother knowing you, but no hard feelings. Now take a walk and good luck!”
    It was a moment before the dybbuk answered. “The Great Freddie, be kind enough to look over the rail. What do you see? Oy, you expect me to walk on water?”
    â€œIt’s been done.”
    â€œI can’t even swim.”
    â€œSo long, Avrom Amos.”
    â€œAnd what would you do for a stage act?”
    â€œI’ll work up some new tricks.”
    â€œDo you think I like being under your skin? It’s crowded in here. And do you think it’s fun for me when you lift weights?”
    â€œDybbuk, see the tears in Polly’s eyes? We want to get married. Be a mensch. Get lost.”
    â€œIf you have a wedding, count on me. You won’t know I’m there. Until then, if you don’t mind, I’ll curl up for a long nap. I’ll need all my strength for Arizona.”
    And the dybbuk clammed up, silent as a mouse, until the ship docked in New York. Polly felt triumphant.

CHAPTER 20
    P olly’s family had driven up from Alabama to greet Polly as she stepped off the ship. They threw handfuls of confetti as if it were rice.
    Polly disentangled herself from relatives and turned to Freddie. “This is my mother, Belle Marchant, and my two younger sisters, Twayla and Eva.” All three women wore bigfloppy hats and summer dresses. They looked fetching, Freddie thought, but were wet as goldfish. It was late August and full of lightning and warm rain.
    â€œCharmed to meet you, dear boy,” said Mrs. Marchant,