by Jonathan D. Cohen
		" ood afternoon and nice to see you, Mr. Kramnick' Mrs. Kaminsky said. "And this big boy is your son?" "That's David!" my father said. After all the kvetching I'd done that day, I felt a litle ashamed by my father's obvious pride. "My only son! The astronomer!" By this point we had set down the telescope in the middle of the living room, which I guessed was where Valery slept on the sofa. Beyond that, they had one small bedroom for the parents and a kitchen barely big enough to hold the card table on which they ate their meals. "I'd be in a terrible spot without your help,"my father said, flipping open the lid as we gathered around the box. "I don't want to disappoint David here. Ever since he was Valery's age, he's been asking for this telescope. All he ever talks about is the moon, the planets, the galaxies. So on the occasion of his Bar Mitzvah, his mother and I decided to make this major investment. But little did we know how much skill would be required to put this apparatus together. As you see, it requires a professional." Mr. Kaminsky crouched down for a closer look, then snatched at the instruction sheet like a hockey goalie gloving a slap shot. He studied the diagrams for a while, rubbing his face and pulling on his mustache. Then he looked over at Valery, who had started to take an interest. "Valery, come here!" he called. "I need you helping me."
	alery peered over the edge of the box, sorting through the various parts while consulting with his father in Russian. "I can only give you two hundred dollars,"my father said. I narrowed my eyes, glowering at my father and fuming with indignation. But even an insufferable brat like me, jazzed out of my skin with adolescent hormones and a million hours of Nintendo, could see that my father was doing a good thing. A mitzvah. And that I also was obligated to play some part in it. "Please help us,"I said to Mr. Kaminsky and son. "I want to see Jupiter's red spot and all ten of the moons." I caught a quick glimpse of my father, who was shooting a lovey-dovey gaze my way. But I was too angry and too ashamed of myself to look him in the eye. Instead, I focused on Mr. Kaminsky, who was excitedly waving his cigarette and yacking to his wife in Russian. Mrs. Kaminksy translated for him: "All right. Acceptable. Andre and Valery will do this thing. One hundred now. One hundred later." My father and I walked to the car in a happy, dreamy silence. The cooking smells in the courtyard made me hungry and the sun felt good on my face and shoulders. "Maybe, with two hundred dollars, they can get their own vibrating chair,"I said. "Maybe Valery can get his own Nintendo. He can invite the other Valery over. James' sister." "Shhh, don't spoil it,"said my father. Mr. Kaminsky did an excellent job on the telescope, putting it together in just a few days. But it wasn't until much later, after I became a father myself, that I started to spend more time with it. Summer nights, lately, I fiddle with my Bar Mitzvah gift, looking for moons, planets, galaxies, looking for God and my father. Jonathan D. Cohen writes about computers for money and Jewish topics for love. A former Stegner writing fellow at Stanford, he lives with his wife and son in Palo Alto, California. ©1998, Jonathan D. Cohen