by Sam Ross
Back in the house, suspicion and fear filled his mother. A letter was an uncommon event in her life. Who would want to write to them? Why was it so necessary that the letter be delivered in person by the mailman, that it require a signature? From whom could it be and from where did it come? Since the war and the revolution in Russia she had never heard from her family. Nobody knew if her parents and brothers were alive or dead. But the letter couldn’t be from Russia. There was print in the upper left-hand corner of the envelope, looking very austere and formidable, and there was type from a machine in the center. Letters from Russia came with small, curlicued, timid handwriting on the envelope.
“It isn’t from Russia,” she announced.
“No, Ma. It’s American writing, from a machine.”
“So where is it from? Who could want to write to us?”
“In the circle here it’s printed Washington.”
“Where the president lives?”
“Yah.”
“But Papa says the president is in Europe making peace.”
“This ain’t from the president, Ma. What do you think, he’s got nothing to do but write letters to us?”
“Who knows what a politician can have in his crazy mind? Papa says the president wants to talk to the people in person to make a good peace so it will last forever.”
“It ain’t from the president, Ma.”
“Don’t shout at me. Then maybe it’s from the congressman Papa saw there, the one who shook his hand and gave him a cigar.”
“It ain’t from nobody. On the top here it says in-sur-ance company.”
“Insurance company? But Papa just paid his insurance, the bloodsuckers.”
“Maybe he didn’t. Maybe they want more money. Maybe Pa didn’t pay them right.”
“Oy, the bloodsuckers. But maybe it’s a nice letter telling Papa what a good, fine, honest, dependable man he is, always paying on time to the penny.”
“How about we open it and see?”
“But it must be bad news. Otherwise, why should they want us to sign the paper? Good news you receive with no trouble. But bad news—they make the heart fall out of you before you get it, and then, when you do get it, you haven’t the heart left to grieve over it. Noo, open it already.”
Hershy tore the envelope and studied the contents.
“Noo, what is it? What does it say?”
“Wait a minute, will you?”
“Lamebrain, don’t they teach you anything at school?”
“The print’s too small.”
“All of a sudden the print’s too small. Print is print. How can it be too small?”
“There’s big words, too. I never seen so many big words.”
“Dummy, you. What’s a big word? If you can read you can read, that’s all. On the street you know everything. But when it comes to something important in the house your brain turns to stone.”
“Give me a chance, will you? What do you think, I’m in high school already?”
“All right, I’ll give you a chance.… So read. Read.”
“Like here, it says, benny … benny … benny …”
“From somebody named Benny? Who do we know called Benny?”
“It’s a word, Ma, not a name. After it comes fish. Benny … fish …”
“Benny the Fishman, hah?”
“It’s a word, I’m telling you, not a name, not nobody. Then it says, yary. Benny … fish … yary.”
“What kind of word is that? What does it mean?”
“See, I told you. That word’s too big even for a giant. You got to be a doctor or a professor to know it.”
“So what will we do?”
“Wait’ll Pa comes home.”
“No. If it’s bad news we should know first so we can help Papa. Read some more. Try, Hershele. Try.”
“For Cry Yike, all right.”
After puzzling over the letter at great length, he said, “It’s about Uncle Yussel.”
“Yussel,” she gasped. “What did he do? What do they want from his poor soul?”
“It says he’s diseased.”
“Diseased! Gottenyu! He’s dead, may his soul rest in peace.”
“That’s what it says. And it says Pa is the benny … fish … yary.”
“What can they want of our poor lives?”
“We got to fill out forms, too.”
“Forms? What is that?”
“I don’t know. Form, I thought, is what a baseball player or fancy diver has got.”
“Oh, dummy, dummy, dummy.”
“It says something about a check, too.”
“What is that?”
“That’s what Uncle Hymie talks about all the time. You know, he says, in this country a businessman never pays with money, he pays with a piece of paper from a bank that he has to put his name on. You buy this paper from a bank with money, he says. That’s a check.”
“So now I know everything. Give me the letter. I’ll go to the groceryman. Maybe he’ll tell me. Or maybe his son, who is studying to be a lawyer, will be home, and he’ll tell me.”
Hershy tried to duck when she came back, but he wasn’t prepared for it, so he couldn’t escape. She grabbed his head and pulled his hair and kissed him hard on the lips. Only when she began to cry did she release him. She stumbled into a chair and covered her face with her hands.
“What’s the matter, Ma? Was it bad news? Was it, huh?”
“No, sweetheart. No, dearest.”
“So what’s to cry about?”
“Everything. Everything.”
He stepped toward her, his throat hard. She clutched him and he felt her tremble in the embrace. And then, through her choking gasps, he heard her say:
“We’re rich, dearest. We’re the richest people in the world.”
5.
They were going to collect ten thousand dollars from the government insurance Uncle Yussel had carried as a soldier.
What could one do with all that money?
It was bewildering. It was staggering. It was like climbing a steep mountain. For a lifetime all you can see are the lofty peaks above, disaster below, a small crevice here and a jagged rock there to gain a foothold. Finally you reach the top and look around. There is a new world to behold. You don’t know what to make of it. It takes your breath away.
What does one do with all that money?
There were a hundred things they had yearned for and needed, practical things and luxurious things; but suddenly, as though an avalanche had struck them, they were buried under the weight of the money and couldn’t name a thing they wanted. And when they did finally express their desires they sounded utterly fantastic. It was an art, they concluded, to know what to do with money.
Of course, they could buy a house and never have to pay rent again. But to buy a house only for themselves would be selfish and Hershy’s father couldn’t see himself buying a large house because he couldn’t see himself in the role of a landlord. They could buy an automobile, but for a person who did not need it in business that was a luxury which only the absolute rich could contemplate. They could buy diamond rings, too, and a houseful of new furniture, and closets full of clothes, and fur coats, but who would see them: the moths, the dark corners of a drawer, the envious eyes of their relatives and friends? If they were going to waste money to make a finger glitter or to enrich their backs, they might just as well buy Hershy the speedboat and racehorse he wanted.
All right, Rachel could have a few dresses and a fur-trimmed coat, and Hershy’s mother could have a new tapes-tried chair instead of the leather rocking chair, and Hershy’s father hoped that nobody would mind if he got some new tools, and Hershy could have a pair of cowboy shoes. But they’d still have thousands and thousands of dollars. What could they do to secure their whole future?
Well, they could go in business. What kind? There were so many, too many to enumerate. It would require some heavy thinking. Ay, what to do with money, said Hershy’s father, was an art that took a life
time to learn.
So what were they going to do?
Ah. Hershy’s father had it. The true meaning of their good fortune had finally worked through his stupid head. Last week he had had a dream about Yussel, but not knowing the meaning of it then he had said nothing. They were in Russia, little boys, and Yussel had earned some money for helping a mujik. Afterward, Yussel gave him three kopecks, three cents, and said: “What will you do with this, David?” And he said: “I don’t know. Buy something sweet, maybe.” “No,” said Yussel. “Don’t waste the money. I did not kill myself for you to waste it. Guard it well. Save it for a time when you will need it. Use it wisely. Money, if it can’t do good, is bad. So use it wisely.”
Yussel, he concluded, had risen from the dead to counsel him. And this was his interpretation: Yussel meant the money to be for everybody. He loved Rachel. He wanted her to marry well. He (David) would make sure of it. He would lay aside two thousand dollars for her dowry. Maybe Rachel might meet a struggling student who would soon become a doctor or a lawyer or an engineer. The man will want to open an office, he will need a start. Rachel, with this two thousand dollars, will be able to help him. She will marry fine. All right, two thousand dollars to Rachel.
Yussel loved Hershel, too. He wanted Hershel to grow up into a man of great resources, a man with a mind, so that he would never know a lonely moment, a man who would be able to pick up a book with his hands and be able to hold it, a man who would be useful and do good. In short, Yussel wanted Hershel to go to college someday. So, for Hershel’s future education there must be put aside another two thousand dollars.
Now, Yussel couldn’t have known about the new child to come. But had he known he would have wanted the child born in a hospital with a doctor and a nurse in attendance. For the mother, then, two hundred dollars would be laid aside for her care and delivery. And for the new child, another two thousand dollars, to be used for education, if it’s a boy, or a dowry, if it’s a girl.
And what about him (David) and his wife? Well, there were thirty-eight hundred dollars left. But they’d never touch it for themselves. No, they’d use it to help the children along, for he was a man, with strong hands and a skill and simple tastes, and so long as there were jobs and he was able to work they would need no more than his weekly wages to get along. So, thirty-eight hundred dollars would be put aside for any emergency; it could last a lifetime.
“And that,” said Hershy’s father proudly, “is what you do with money. You see, it wasn’t hard to get rid of it at all.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
1.
How much was ten thousand dollars?
In the old country Hershy’s father had worked for ten rubles a year. If he had stayed there, he would have had to live a thousand years to earn that much. Here, in the twelve years since he had arrived, he hadn’t earned that much. Here, he could stop working and live like a retired gentleman for at least ten years. As for Hershy, he could have a dollar a day for ten thousand days or a penny a day for a million days. That’s how much ten thousand dollars was.
Hershy slapped his forehead with the heel of his hand. A penny a day for a million days. Holy holy holy Moses.
“Then we’re millionaires,” he said, staggered.
His father smiled gently. “Here,” he said, handing Hershy a dollar. “Celebrate. Learn what a dollar means.”
“It’s all mine?”
“It’s all yours.”
“I can do anything I want with it?”
“Anything.”
“I can spend it all?”
“Yes.”
He slammed out of the house, shutting off his father’s laughter, and ran into the street, singing:
My father gave me a dollar
I shouldn’t holler
I shouldn’t wouldn’t holler
I bought some chewing gum …
“Hey, Hershy. Let’s see.”
“Don’t grab.” He snapped the bill and held its edges tight. “Just look.”
“A whole dollar. A real dollar.”
“I’m a millionaire.”
“Yah.” Husky, awed.
“Because my Uncle Yussel was a hero the government gave us ten thousand dollars.”
“How much is that?”
“A million pennies. A penny a day for a million days.”
“Holy Moses. What are you going to do with all that money, Hersh?”
“Anything I want. I can have anything I want. See that Pierce Arrow. If I want I can have it. Get out of my way, I’m a millionaire.”
He made off he was smoking a cigar and that he had a big belly.
“If I want I can take all you guys to the show.”
“That where you’re going?”
“Yah.”
“No kid? You’re taking us?”
“Yah.”
“Make way, make way for the millionaire.”
They stopped in a candy store. The way they ganged around him, the way they yelled and slapped his back and looked at his money, made him suddenly realize that money, too, had a value, as great as having the muscle to win a fight or having a big brother who was a star ballplayer or having a guy like Joey Gans for a pal. It bought all the things you needed, even people. Was that what his father meant: learn what a dollar means? Or did he mean it made you happy and made all your pals happy? Or (after the movie and the candy-buying spree for himself and four guys, he found that he still had fifty cents left) did he mean that a dollar was so much money that you couldn’t even spend it all at one time?
Boy, but a dollar was a lot of money. Man, but it could buy a lot of things. Jerusalem, but it was hard to spend all of it. Jesus, Pa. Oh, Jesus, Uncle Yussel.
2.
At first, the insurance check was hidden in the lining of an old hat, along with the family savings, which was kept in a bedroom closet. Each night the doors and windows were locked and the shades drawn as the check was taken out and placed on the kitchen table. Everybody stared at it and their throats got dry and they wet their lips: the check contained so much promise.
At first, it was enough for Hershy’s mother to say: “We’re rich.” For Hershy to add: “We’re millionaires.” For Rachel to sing: “I’m waltzing, I’m waltzing.” For Hershy’s father to conclude: “Know what this means. Know that a man of our blood died for it.”
Actually, they were afraid of the money, and they had to conquer the idea of it. Then the check slowly changed in appearance, became a vacuum of desire through which they were sucked.
Hershy wanted to join the YMCA. Then a kid had given him a booklet describing the muscle-building course of Earl Liederman, with shocking poses of men dressed in muscle, jockstraps, and leopard skins, and with text asking him if he was a real red-blooded American and if he’d like to make his girl proud of him and if he was a man or a mouse; he begged for this course. He also wanted a real live horse and a racing automobile and a speedboat and a league ball and a first baseman’s mitt.
“All right, then. Give me a dollar.”
“What?” his father said. “Do you think dollars grow on trees?”
“No, but what’s a dollar?”
“A fortune for a child.”
“Why, what’s a dollar? Ain’t I got two thousand dollars you said Uncle Yussel wanted me to have?”
“That’s for later.”
“Now I want it. Who wants it later?”
“You’ll get it later, when you need it.”
“I don’t want it later. I need it now.”
“Go outside and play and don’t bother me.”
“Yah? It’s my money, ain’t it?”
“No, it isn’t.”
“Yah? But you said it was.”
“I was only talking.”
“Yah? You cheap skate.”
His father glared at him. Hershy backed away, afraid.
“I promised the guys I was going to take them to the show.”
“Don’t promise.”
“But I did.”
/> “Then be a child without honor for being a braggart.”
“Yah? They’ll be mad on me.”
“If they’re real friends they shouldn’t care if you don’t have a penny.”
“Yah? Then what’ll I tell them after I promised?”
“Tell them the truth, that you have no money.”
“Yah? Then what’ll we do?”
“What you always did.”
“I can’t no more. It ain’t no fun no more.”
“I see.” His father shook his head sadly; he turned away and looked up at the ceiling. “Yussel, Yussel,” he said. “You’re making me a very lonely man.”
“Yah?” said Hershy. “Yah?”
Outside, he explained:
“Ah, my old man’s Scotch.”
“So what’ll we do?”
“I don’t know. Mope around.”
“Ah, the Scotch cheap skate.”
He realized that it was not he who had said that. It was the first time he had heard something bad about his father. For a moment it paralyzed him. Then he wanted to fight. He got mad at everybody. What’d they do, what’d they do? They had called his father a Scotch cheap skate. Well, hadn’t he? Yah, he had, but his pa was his pa, he could call him anything he wanted, but nobody else was going to call him a name. What the hell was the matter with him, was he going nuts or something? Yah, he thought, what the hell was the matter with him? He wished he knew. It got him scared.
3.
Like a tyrant, the thought of the money began to dominate the household. It loomed over the supper table, sat with them in the parlor, crawled into their beds. All because Hershy’s father had a fixed notion that if once the check was cashed the money would disappear quickly, just as one feared that if you broke a dollar or any part of a coin larger than a penny it was always squandered as though there were contempt for anything less than a round denomination. He tried to live as before to keep the check intact, but gradually the cash savings diminished. It was nice to be kind.
“Here, Rachel. Fifty dollars for a new coat. Say it’s your birthday.”
“But the one I want cost a hundred.”
Slowly: “All right, a hundred. Be happy.”
