Have I Got a Story for You

by Ezra Glinter

  She Wants to Be Different

  (OCTOBER 27, 1943)

  Translated by Laura Yaros

  EVERY EVENING, AT exactly seven-thirty, Novick would arrive at Eva’s house. He called on her to go out with him, to the theater or to a concert. Eva would put on her coat and hat.

  “Where are we going today, Novick?”

  “Wherever you like, Eva,” he answered. His voice and whole demeanor conveyed the impression that he was prepared to give her everything in the world.

  Novick was a good-natured, quiet man who worked as a bookkeeper in an office. His wife was dead and he now lived alone.

  Eva was a tall, good-looking woman, with black, shiny hair. Her whole bearing conveyed the image of an independent, strong-willed person. Eva had been married at one point, but was long separated from her husband. She ran her own business, a beauty salon, and was reputed to be a capable and clever woman.

  Novick was in love with Eva. Once, at an opportune moment, he blurted out something about getting married. He spoke in his quiet, dull voice: “This is no way to live. A man alone, and we’re also getting older . . .”

  He showed her calculations indicating that his salary was enough for two people to live on comfortably, and if she wanted to continue with her business—the beauty salon—he would not stop her.

  Eva then looked at Novick, at how his chubby, expanding figure sat in a low chair, at his thinning hair glossy and slicked back, at his expressionless, lackluster eyes. She thought: no, this was not the man she could love. She quickly brushed him off, saying, “Novick, you know that I don’t want to be tied down to a house, or to the duties of a housewife. I prefer to live my life as it is now.”

  Eva loved her free and independent life, to be able to do things the way she wanted, with no one having any authority over her. She wanted things to be different for her than for all the other women she knew, and deep inside her lived a vague hope that something unusual would still happen to her.

  Even in childhood, Eva had been headstrong and obstinate. She did not like how her parents lived in constant poverty and worry. Eva herself began working from the age of fifteen and earned good money; her bearing was proud and conveyed a sense of self-worth. She got married before the age of twenty. Her husband had his own ambitions. He believed in working at his business and wanted his wife to keep house, cook tasty meals and be prepared to raise his children.

  Eva did not wish to give up her job and become a housewife. She felt it was too soon to settle down to a staid existence. “Is this all there is?” she fearfully thought. She was not the type to bend to someone else’s will, and thus felt obliged to separate from her husband.

  Eva did not like to remember those years of her married life, and thinking about them for long was a waste of time. Her days were now filled with hard work and all kinds of new interests. She lived on one of the busy streets in the big city and her name was printed on a finely crafted sign placed in the window of her apartment: Eva Rosen, Beauty Salon.

  Eva’s days began very early. Her time was budgeted and scheduled. So much must be devoted to personal grooming, and so much to eating meals. When the women customers began to arrive, Eva was already prepared for them, neatly and impeccably dressed, energetic and cheerful. On the little table by the mirror her accoutrements were already laid out in various bottles and jars, like in a pharmacy. The regular customers wondered about Eva, “How can she do this? Where does she find all that time?”

  “Oh, it’s easy,” Eva replied, with a clever smile, “You just need to have a system.”

  Her skillful fingers worked quickly. This woman needed a manicure; that one wanted a wave; and yet another, a massage. The women left her salon beautified and rejuvenated. They trusted Eva’s excellent abilities and good taste, and willingly put themselves in her hands. The women who were more intimately acquainted with Eva would ask her for advice about their personal lives; they looked up to her, imitated her way of dressing and of carrying herself.

  “It’s up to each woman to keep herself youthful and pretty,” Eva liked to say, accompanying her words with a clever, aloof smile, and it seemed as if she knew more than she could say.

  When her workday came to an end, she quickly put her equipment in order and tidied up the room. Now it was time to rest. She lay down on the divan and closed her eyes. By her side lay her small wristwatch. She would rest like that for fifteen minutes, and take five minutes to rub her face with a salve to wash away the signs of fatigue from her face. Then she would make supper, throwing something together from the bits of leftovers she found in her icebox. At exactly half past seven, the doorbell would ring, Novick would appear and they would go out somewhere.

  Once, it seemed to Novick that Eva looked tired, and he suggested, “Maybe we won’t go anywhere tonight, Eva?” He looked her in the eyes.

  Being alone with Novick for the entire evening was no great pleasure for Eva, and she spoke up: “Let’s go to a restaurant somewhere on Broadway.”

  Novick gave in immediately. He was goodness itself. He found nothing too difficult to do for her and hoped to win her heart with his devotion and perseverance. Eva often found his excessive devotion repugnant. Her harsh and uncompassionate nature clashed with his submissiveness and melancholic manner, which she disliked. She fretted as to why she did not put an end to their relationship, except, somehow, she instinctively knew that without him things would be worse, and that it was easier to socialize with people when she was not alone but had someone by her side.

  Eva enjoyed sitting in a restaurant on the fanciest, busiest street, where the pulse of the big city felt very strong. The fast-paced life was in tune with her nature and resonated with her, along with the teeming crowds circulating back and forth before her eyes. She especially liked to be there late in the evening, after the various entertainments and theaters let out, when young and old were drawn there, lively and festive.

  Eva and Novick greeted many friends and acquaintances. They took a few tables and everyone acted like one friendly family. Eva’s friends were all married people, staid and well-established. The women always admired her—a woman such as Eva, who showed no signs of aging. One woman, already a little shabby and older-looking, stared at her penetratingly, as if to discover the secret to her youthful appearance. “Who looks as good as you, Eva?” she remarked.

  Eva knew that this woman was thinking about her unfettered, unmarried life. Did she envy Eva, or was she being catty in some way? However, Eva answered this woman with a restrained smile, “Well, I can’t complain. I’m doing pretty well.”

  New acquaintances came over to their tables and their circle widened. Eva obtained new clients. She recorded addresses in her little book and made appointments. She did this with much tact and dignity, speaking fluent English. Her own makeup was not overly garish and she was dressed elegantly and very tastefully. She was a real personality.

  Eva never failed to attract male gazes. Young and old sought out conversation with her, and complimented her. Eva was then at her best. She could be witty and knew just what to say to everyone. With a smile from her dark, shining eyes, she unwillingly becoming the center of attention.

  Novick behaved like a perfect gentleman. He was the first to offer a cigarette or fetch a chair. Novick also liked telling stories, but his recounting always lasted too long to hold his listeners’ attention. Eva often had to interrupt him in the middle with an impatient gesture. “Oh, Novick!” she would exclaim.

  She’d heard the story so many times already. Novick would cut off his remarks mid-sentence and stay silent for a long time.

  As the evening grew late, Novick took his watch out of his vest pocket and brought it over for Eva to see.

  “Don’t you think it’s time to go home, Eva?”

  “Yes, you’re right, Novick,” she laughed.

  They said goodbye to their friends. Novick helped Eva with her coat and accompanied her home. Later, when Eva was alone in her room, her heart stirred with all k
inds of emotions. She believed she could appeal to people, that her personality could stimulate and provoke restlessness in men’s hearts, and envy and jealousy in women. She felt superior to all the other women, and their envy did not bother her. There was something else: it seemed to Eva that her current feelings were only temporary, that something wondrous and unusual was in store for her—a vague hope, a fantasy instilled in her since childhood.

  In the Automat

  (FEBRUARY 7, 1966)

  Translated by Laura Yaros

  ON A SUMMER’S evening, Miss Posner sat down at a small table in a restaurant to eat her supper after a turbulent day at work. She enjoyed spending an hour or two in the automat. 43 She was a saleslady in a women’s clothing store, and all day she had to stay on her feet and deal with the women customers. Here she could relax.

  Miss Posner was not in a hurry to go home. She knew that her clean, neat, comfortable room would be waiting for her. She reserved moviegoing for Saturday nights, when she didn’t have to hurry to get up early the next morning and when the whole next day would be a relaxed, leisurely Sunday.

  Miss Posner enjoyed eating her supper alone upstairs, on the balcony of the automat. It seemed to her that a better class of people sat there. She often felt as though she was sitting in a theater and from there she could look down below, as if from a gallery, and observe the stream of people coming and going. Today it looked like more people than usual were stirring down there, but on the balcony it was quieter, with fewer people.

  To one side, an elderly couple was sitting at a table. Both were gray-haired, but the woman was more vivacious. Miss Posner saw her bringing up her tray of food. She positioned the silverware and placemat as if she were at home. The husband scowled at the food, but his wife appeared to know better what was good for him, and making faces would be of no help. It amused Miss Posner to observe them. She always enjoyed seeing how other people lived and what they did, rather than thinking about herself.

  A little further away, three young women sat down at a table, eating their supper, happy and laughing, and they looked joyful simply because they were young and had much to talk about.

  A woman in a red hat sat down by the balcony railing, keeping a sharp and persistent eye on the restaurant entrance below. She was definitely waiting for her friend, who would be arriving at any minute.

  There was a lot for Miss Posner to see. Two young couples came upstairs and sat down to supper at a table, but something strange occurred. Of the two young women, one was prettier, cheerful, and was behaving provocatively, in a bold yet poised manner. The two young men gravitated and spoke only to her. The other young woman, quiet and withdrawn, remained sitting as if in shadow.

  The prettier young woman wore a small watch on her wrist. One of the young men took her hand, wanting to know what time it was. Miss Posner knew very well that it was not the watch that interested him, but the fact that he could take her by the hand and gaze into her eyes. The other young man did not want to give up, and told her something amusing, at which she laughed heartily.

  Miss Posner felt very sorry for the other young woman, who remained sitting quietly, left out. Where could such a game lead? One of the young men was her boyfriend, so why should he flirt with the prettier woman, the one who behaved so provocatively? The two couples ate their supper and left, and Miss Posner remained seated with her thoroughly cleaned plate, quite disturbed by how life could be so hard. She thought regretfully about every young woman who had been wronged.

  Meanwhile, even more people entered the restaurant. Three of them, two women and a man, approached her table, as if they wished to wait for her to finish her food and leave the place free for them. She saw this from the way they looked at her, staring vacantly as they waited for her to leave already.

  Her glance told them, “No, I’m not done.”

  She put down her hat and newspaper on the chair and went to get another coffee. Passing a mirror, she looked at herself for a while—what would make these particular people insult the way she was dressed? She was pretty enough and stylish and looked no worse than a thousand other young women.

  When Miss Posner came back up with her coffee, the three disrespectful people had already gotten a place at another table. The woman in the red hat who sat by the railing continued to look down at the entrance door. She was stubbornly waiting for someone who apparently had promised to be there.

  An elegant and very beautiful young woman now sat in the old couple’s place. Her dark, gray eyes spoke volumes. A man swiftly approached her, although empty tables were now available. He sat near her and spoke to her briefly. He probably asked if he was disturbing her, and she, with a smile, allowed him to sit near her. He rested his elbow on the table and they looked at each other for a while—a “he” and a “she,” both young, slim and good-looking. They would fall in love, that was as clear as day. Miss Posner was captivated by the scene; it could be said that she was witnessing the beginning of an event.

  It did not last long before another man approached their table. The woman took him by the hand familiarly and looked guiltily at him. Could he be the real boyfriend? Miss Posner covered her face with both hands; she did not want to see the jealous scene that the real boyfriend would make, seeing his woman with another man.

  Something entirely different occurred. The men were good friends. They both went downstairs into the restaurant and returned with trays of food, and then all three sat down at the table. The woman and the two men ate their supper together peacefully.

  It was already late, and in the restaurant below it grew quieter and the people fewer. Everyone had somewhere to hurry off to. The woman in the red hat by the railing, who waited the whole time and looked below at the door so tenaciously, had also already stood up. The person she had waited for would not be coming today. Miss Posner also intended to go home, but she lingered a while longer.

  A young woman arrived carrying a book under her arm, and an older man followed behind her with a tray of food. Miss Posner could see them close up. The young woman appeared to be about nineteen or twenty. She had a delicate profile and lovely long, blond, shiny hair. The man was older, with a shabby appearance and thin gray hair over a high forehead. He maintained a very benevolent demeanor in front of the young woman and seemed to want to please her. Miss Posner looked at him resentfully. She had always disapproved of an older man and a young woman developing a close relationship.

  The man appeared to be a music teacher, and the young woman his student. As they ate their supper, he picked up the book that the woman had held earlier. He turned a page and began to explain something to her, leaning towards her. The young woman appeared interested and she nodded her head attentively, but soon she caught herself, realizing that it was already late.

  “Oh, dear!” she exclaimed, looking at the clock on the wall.

  She stood up. She needed to go home. He still tried to delay her, taking her by the hand, but she quickly put on her coat, said goodbye and departed, leaving him alone.

  Miss Posner was happy with this outcome; there was no need for him to harbor any fantasy that he could become close friends with the young woman.

  Later, when Miss Posner traveled home on the subway, she was already tired out, but she was satisfied. It had been an enjoyable evening.

  43 A fast-food restaurant where food is served from vending machines.

  SECTION THREE

  World on Fire

  THE AMERICAN JEWISH experience was largely a product of trauma. When the first waves of Eastern European Jews began immigrating to the United States in the early 1880s, they were often fleeing pogroms; subsequent disasters over the next several decades set off further waves of immigration. Starting with the outbreak of the First World War, European Jewry found itself in a near-constant state of crisis, with the Russian Revolution and Civil War, Stalinist persecution, the rise of Nazism, and ultimately the Holocaust.

  All of these tragedies were covered in detail by the Forward. Although it
was an American newspaper, its writers and audience were still closely tied to Europe. The Forward employed many writers—among them celebrated literary figures like Sholem Asch and Israel Joshua Singer—who sent dispatches from Jewish centers like Warsaw and Vilna. It would have been a rare Forward reader who didn’t have family in the old country and who didn’t worry about their welfare.

  It didn’t take long for the news on the front page to make its way into fiction. Sholem Asch’s “The Jewish Soldier,” a novella about Jewish members of the Imperial Russian Army, appeared in the newspaper in November and December of 1914, just months after the outbreak of the First World War. Shortly after the end of the Ukrainian War of Independence (1917–1921), modernist writer David Bergelson turned the multiparty conflict into a series of stories that he wrote from his new home in Berlin. Years later, when Singer addressed the same period, his prose read as though it too had been written in the midst of the event itself.

  This did not hold true for the Holocaust, however. Even as the full extent of the tragedy became known, it did not become a major subject of fiction. This was not because the Forward was indifferent or oblivious to the catastrophe—far from it. Throughout the war the paper carried reports of destruction coming out of Europe, and it was among the first news organizations to report on the full extent of the genocide. After the war the Forward had many Holocaust survivors as contributors, including Elie Wiesel, who wrote news articles, political commentary, and literary criticism. But in the decades following the war there was little in the way of Holocaust fiction.