The Apprenticeship of Duddy Kravitz

by Mordecai Richler

  “Absolutely.”

  “Jeez. I thought everybody — Look, Mr. Calder, give Lennie a chance and I swear I’ll never forget it. I’m only small beans right now, but one day… well,” Duddy said, “you know the old saying. Mighty oaks from little acorns grow.”

  Mr. Calder laughed. He refilled his glass. “Very well,” he said at last, “I’ll speak to Dr. Westcott.”

  “Shake on it?” Duddy asked, jumping up.

  “Is he waiting outside?”

  “No. He’s at home.”

  “Well, you can tell him for me that he’s lucky to have you for a brother.”

  “Aw. You’d be surprised at some of the things I’ve done in my time.”

  “I wouldn’t.”

  “I’d like to show my appreciation, Mr. Calder. I’d like to send you a gift, but — Jeez, what does a guy like you need?” Usually, Duddy knew, it was safe to send a goy but Calder owned a distillery. “I’ve got it. You name your favorite charity and I’ll send them fifty bucks. A token like.”

  “That won’t be necessary, Kravitz, but why don’t you come and see me again?”

  “Wha’?”

  “Phone me,” Mr. Calder said. “We could have dinner together.”

  12

  “Crook!”

  It was Mr. Cohen on the phone.

  “Rotten stinker!”

  Mr. Cohen had shown Happy Bar-Mitzvah, Bernie! Dave Stewart in Toronto and Dave, who was with Columbia, had walked out in the middle of the first reel. “Amateur night in Dixie,” he had said.

  But Mr. Cohen was the least of Duddy’s worries. Mr. Friar had disappeared. He had not removed his belongings from his apartment, but for three nights running he did not show up there. Duddy and Yvette phoned the police and all the hospitals. They went from night club to night club.

  “You’ll never see that five hundred dollars again,” Yvette said.

  “The hell with the money. The day after tomorrow is the Seigal bar-mitzvah. What am I going to do for a cameraman?”

  “He’s probably back in England by now.”

  “Do you think,” Duddy asked, “if I studied up on it that I could learn how to shoot a film before Saturday morning?”

  On Friday afternoon Duddy moved into his apartment on Tupper Street. “This is the berries,” he said. There were two rooms, a kitchen, and a tiled bathroom. Duddy tried the shower, he poked his head inside the fridge. “It still stinks of chazer-fleish here,” he said.

  “Wha’?” Yvette asked.

  “Goy We oughta rub the walls down with chicken fat before I move in.”

  Yvette’s one-room apartment was in the basement of the same building. “I can come up and cook for you,” she said.

  “That’s my Girl Friday,” Duddy said, goosing her.

  “Stop that.”

  “Jeez. Have you got the curse again?”

  “Maybe I’m not going to have my period this month. Maybe I’m pregnant.”

  “Congrats. Come on. We’d better start checking through the bars for Friar again.”

  “One minute. What would you do if I was

  “I’ve got just the guy to fix you. A real pro. My brother Lennie.”

  They went from bar to bar. They tried the taverns. Duddy showed Mr. Friar’s picture to the hat-check girls in at least ten night clubs. The head waiter at Rockhead’s had seen him about an hour earlier and Duddy’s spirits lifted. “Was he sloshed?” Duddy asked.

  “Are you kidding, buster?”

  They found him in the Algiers at two in the morning. He was snoozing.

  “Ah, Kravitz, come to collect your pound of flesh, I suppose?”

  “I’m surprised at you, Friar. We’ve got to go to a bar-mitzvah tomorrow morning.”

  Yvette began to go through his pockets.

  “Kravitz, I have never in my life held up a production. I always turn up on the floor. Apologize.”

  “Would it make you feel better if I kissed your ass for you? Come on. Let’s go.”

  Yvette cursed. “A hundred and twenty-two dollars. That’s all he’s got left.”

  They took him to Duddy’s flat and put him under the shower. Yvette fed him cup after cup of black coffee.

  “I’ve sold my soul to the Hebrews. Shame on me,” Mr. Friar said, slapping himself on the cheek. “Shame, shame.”

  “More coffee, Yvette.”

  “I was supposed to be a second Eisenstein. What happened?”

  “You’re a very gifted man. Everybody says so. Isn’t that right, Yvette?”

  “My essays on the cinema in Isis to be widely quoted. Everyone expected me to… I’d like a drink, please.”

  “Ha-ha.”

  “Kravitz, you can’t treat me like this.”

  “Listen, Friar, tomorrow night you can have all the booze you want on me. But right now you’re going to sleep. We have to be up at eight. That gives you four hours and you’re going to need every one of them. Come on.”

  Duddy led him into the bedroom. Mr. Friar protested feebly, he spluttered, and then he fell asleep.

  “You’d better get some sleep too, Yvette. Hey, one minute. You haven’t really got one in the oven? You were only kidding me, weren’t you?”

  “Yes, I was only kidding.”

  “Good. See you at eight. Eight sharp.”

  Mr. Friar arrived punctually at the synagogue, but he was in no condition to shoot a movie. He also discovered too soon exactly where the liquor was kept. He was most reassuring, however. “Don’t fret, Kravitz. I can shoot this kind of thing with my eyes closed.”

  “You are, you bastard!”

  Duddy, on his side, tried to comfort Seigal. “He’s not drunk,” he said. “He gets dizzy spells. Malaria.”

  But during Mr. Friar’s four-day absence in Ottawa, Duddy took to biting his fingernails again. “I’ll kill him, Yvette. If he ruins this film I’ll break every bone in his body.”

  “I can’t stand seeing you like this any more,” Yvette said. “You’re making a nervous wreck of me too.”

  “A friend in need,” Duddy said. “Aw.”

  Yvette went to Ste. Agathe for the weekend. Left on his own, Duddy phoned Mr. Calder. What can I lose, he figured. He hangs up, that’s all.

  “What a pleasant surprise,” Mr. Calder said.

  They had dinner together at Drury’s and Duddy discovered that Mr. Calder had recently bought the controlling shares in a well-known stove and refrigerator factory just outside of Montreal. “I’ve driven past there many times on my way out to the mountains,” Duddy said. “There was sure lots of scrap in the yard.”

  Mr. Calder said he was going to dismantle the old foundry and put up an enormous new plant. When the bill came Duddy covered it with his hand and said, “Your money’s no good here, Mr. Calder.”

  Duddy phoned Mr. Cohen when he got home. “It’s Kravitz,” he said.

  “Do you know what time it is?”

  “Don’t hang up. This is important. I’ve got a deal for you maybe.”

  “God help me.”

  “I just got in from dinner. I was out with Hugh Thomas Calder.”

  “Liar!”

  “I’m not lying, Mr. Cohen.” He told him about the foundry. “Would you be interested in picking up the scrap there every week?”

  “Are you crazy? He’d never give it to a Jew.”

  “If I can get it for you what’s in it for me?”

  They finally settled on a twelve and a half per cent commission.

  “Listen,” Mr. Cohen said, “maybe I ought to go and see him myself. He wouldn’t want to deal with a kid like you.”

  “Oh, no?”

  “You really know him?”

  “I’ll call you next week to say when you can pick up the first load.”

  “Some kid. Some operator you are.”

  Yvette returned in the morning. “Now you’ve gone and done it,” she said. “The notary spoke to Duquette and he’s accepted our cash offer. Have you got two thousand dollars, please?”r />
  “Don’t worry. I’ll get it.”

  “The papers are being drawn up. We’ve got until next Friday.”

  Duddy took the map out of the desk and looked at it. He rubbed his hands together. “Next is Cote. He’s got a big farm.”

  “We haven’t even got Duquette’s land yet.”

  “Don’t worry. Worrying’s my department.” Duddy grinned. “Give me your hand a minute,” he said.

  “Oh, go to hell, please. I haven’t even had breakfast yet.”

  Mr. Friar arrived in the afternoon. “It’s an unmitigated disaster,” he said soberly.

  They drove right down to the screening room to look at the movie. Outside it was snowing. Christmas decorations were going up in all the department store windows.

  “Oi. ShickerMamzer,” shouted. “Did you do this to me on purpose, Friar?”

  A headless Bobby Seigal read his haftorah, grotesquely overexposed rabbi delivered his speech cut off at the eyes, and relatives walked down the synagogue steps at a thirty degree angle. “Oh, no. No,” Duddy said.

  “We’ll have to refund Mr. Seigal his money,” Yvette said.

  “Yeah. Where do I get it?”

  “The land will have to wait.”

  “When do you start on the Farber wedding?” Duddy asked Mr. Friar.

  “I was supposed to start yesterday but they won’t give me any more film on credit.”

  “Jeez.”

  “The chap’s going round with the bill tomorrow afternoon. We owe him rather a lot, actually.”

  “Listen to me, Friar. You’ve got lots of other footage on Bobby. Can anything be done to save this movie in the editing? I don’t care if it only lasts twenty minutes.”

  “It would take a genius.”

  “That’s the spirit,” Duddy said.

  “Duddy,” Yvette said, “you’re going too far this time. You can’t show this film. Nobody will ever give you another job.”

  “Ver gerharget. you listen to me, Friar. Make me some of those dopy montages. Anything. I don’t care if you have to stay up night and day but I want this movie put into shape, you hear. Now when can you have it for me?”

  “Two weeks, perhaps.”

  “Ten days. I’m going to stick with you. I’m not going to let you out of my sight.”

  Duddy drove back to the office with Yvette.

  “The two-fifty advance,” he said, “we spent. Friar blew the other five hundred. Where would I get the money to refund Seigal? Let Friar work on it and I’ll give the whole thing to Seigal for fifteen hundred. That way we’ll get something back at least.”

  “He’ll never make that film any good. You’re making a mistake, Duddy.”

  “Oh, will you shettup, please. You’re giving me a headache.”

  Yvette stopped the car. “I’m getting out right here,” she said.

  “All right, I’m sorry. I beg your pardon. Tonight I’ll buy you some flowers. Come on. Let’s get to the office.”

  They owed the film supply company nine hundred dollars. Another payment was due on the car and there were the office and apartment rentals to be settled. His bank account was overdrawn a hundred and sixty-seven dollars. Duddy seized on the phone bill. “Who,” he shouted, “called Ste. Agathe three times last week?”

  “My brother’s sick. One call was to the notary.”

  “It’s cheaper after six o’clock or didn’t you know that?” Duddy sent out for coffee. “When do they start the heating in this building,” he shouted, giving the radiator a swift kick, “on January first?”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I’m going to get that land, Yvette. I have to take each bit of it as it comes. Do you realize how prices will skyrocket when they find out we’re after the whole lake? What are you looking at?”

  “You. I’m wondering how long you can keep this up before you fall flat on your face.”

  “That reminds me.” He phoned Lennie. “Hey, you know those pills you told me some of the guys take before exams? Yeah, benzedrine. Can you get me some tonight? I’ll pick them up on my way home. Thanks.” Next Duddy phoned Mr. Calder.

  “He’s in Washington,” Edgar said. “He won’t be back for at least a week.”

  Duddy hung up. “That’s a bad break,” he said. He picked up the receiver again and replaced it. No, he thought, Cohen won’t give me anything in advance without definite word. “Will you stop staring at me, please.”

  “Would your Uncle Benjy lend you any money?”

  “I’d drop dead before I gave him the pleasure.”

  The coffee arrived. “Charge it,” Duddy said. “Listen, Yvette, when the guy comes about the bill tomorrow I’m in Washington. I’m there with Hugh Thomas Calder. You can’t say about what. Hush-hush. But you can I’m thinking of getting my film direct from Toronto. O.K.?”

  “I’ll try it,” she said.

  “Forty-five hundred dollars. Jeez. Hey, maybe if I mentioned Calder’s name the bank manager… “

  There was a knock at the door. Duddy leaped out of his seat. “A parking ticket,” he shouted. “I knew it. How many times did I tell you not to let me park in a one-hour zone?”

  “Take it easy, Duddy. You musn’t get so excited.”

  Yvette opened the door.

  “Hiya.”

  A skinny young man with a crew cut and a long lopsided face, his hands stuffed into the pockets of an old army wind-breaker like a child’s into jam jars, smiled ecstatically at Duddy. “Long time no see,” he said.

  Duddy gave Yvette a baffled look. “Yeah,” he said. “Sure.”

  “Everything’s O.K.,” the long, loose-boned man said. “Getting ‘em over the border was a breeze.”

  “It was… ?”

  “You’re not happy to see me,” the man said and, all at once, his expression was so melancholy that Duddy feared the flesh would melt and the bones collapse with a rattle to the floor.

  “Oh, no! No!” Duddy flung his arms in the air. “It can’t be. It’s Virgil.”

  Virgil nodded, he beamed, ducking his head as if to avoid an affectionate slap.

  Duddy looked at Yvette and groaned. “How did you ever find me?” he asked.

  “You left me your card remember? ‘Dial movies.’ I thought I’d come straight up, though.” He searched Duddy”s face for displeasure. “I find telephone conversations highly unsatisfactory.”

  “Sure thing.”

  “What’s going on, please?”

  Duddy explained in a failing voice that he had met Virgil in New York when he had been there with Dingleman. He had told Virgil that he would pay him a hundred dollars each for his pinball machines any time he could get them over the border.

  “Em, Virgil, did you bring all ten of them?”

  Virgil grinned enthusiastically.

  “A thousand dollars,” Yvette said.

  “They’re worth three-fifty each new in the States. More here.”

  “All you have to do is sell them,” Yvette said.

  “Sure. That’s right,” Duddy said, excited. “All I have to do is sell them. Let’s say at — Well, we’ll discuss that later. Where are they, Virgil?”

  They were hidden under a tarpaulin about twenty miles from the border.

  “O.K. Let’s go. Come on, Yvette.”

  “At this hour?”

  “We’ll need two cars. I can pick up my father’s taxi.”

  They picked up the Dodge on St. Urbain Street.

  “O.K., Virgil, we’ll follow you.”

  The morning’s snow had melted and frozen, the roads were slippery, and there was a high wind. Duddy didn’t have any tire chains and his heater didn’t work. Yvette did up the top button of his coat and snuggled close to him.

  “I couldn’t tell you while he was there,” Duddy said, “but I think we can get two-fifty apiece for them from the hotels in Ste. Agathe.”

  Yvette closed her eyes. She shivered. “That boy looks like a lunatic to me,” she said.

  “I figure
if we get them packed in the cars by two-thirty we can be in Ste. Agathe by six-seven o’clock.”

  “You mean we’re going to drive all the way out to Ste. Agathe tonight?”

  “Reach into my jacket pocket. Yeah, that one. Lennie got me the pills. Give me one, will you.”

  Yvette stared at the bottle. There was no label. “I don’t want you to take one,” she said. “I’m afraid.”

  “I should fall asleep at the wheel. Is that what you want?”

  “Duddy, please, you mustn’t…”

  “Heads up, guys. Here come the waterworks.”

  “You won’t be happy until you kill yourself.”

  “Gimme the pill, please. O.K., now listen. I’m not going to kill myself. But I’m going to get that land, see. All of it. It’s going to be mine.”

  “Duddy, even if you ever did raise enough money for all the land… what then? The price of the land is nothing compared to how much money you’d need to develop it.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ve thought of that. Just let me buy up all that land first. You wait, Yvette. You wait and see.”

  “Oh, what’s the use?”

  “Listen, can we stay at your place tonight? Virgil and I can sleep on the hall floor or something. Wha’?”

  “I’d better take you to a hotel.”

  “O.K. Skip it. You go to sleep.”

  Yvette took a pill. “I’d better stay up,” she said. “Just in case.”

  13

  After covering a hundred and fifty miles, the last forty-five through heavy snow, they finally reached Ste. Agathe. Yvette got Duddy and Virgil a double room at the St. Vincent Hotel and muttered something about sleeping all day. Duddy, too tired to drive any more, put her in a taxi. One of his ears, he was sure, was frozen, and his eyes were bloodshot. There was a ringing inside his head.

  “A bed,” he said, entering the room. He pulled off his trousers and flopped on it. “Good night, Virgil.”

  “One minute. There’s something I ought to tell you.”

  Duddy mumbled something inaudible through his pillow. Virgil shook him awake. “Mr. Kravitz,” he said.

  “Mn?”

  “I’m an epileptic.”

  “Wha’?” Duddy rolled over on the bed and groaned. “Go away, Virgil. It’s not true.”