by Henry Roth
“If he has more than hands.”
“Yes,” Luter agreed, “still I don’t think he’ll need labor for his bread like his father, or even like myself.”
“I hope not, but only God knows.”
“Isn’t it strange,” he said suddenly, “how Albert has seized hold of the theatre? Like a drunkard his dram. Who would have believed it?”
“It means a great deal to him. I could hear him beside me gnashing his teeth at a certain character.”
Luter laughed. “Albert is a good man, even though the other workers think him odd. It is I who keep the peace, you know.” He laughed again.
“Yes, I do know, and I’m grateful to you for it.”
“Oh it’s nothing. A word here, a word there smooths everything. Truth is, I might not have been so ready to protect him, if I hadn’t known you, that is, if I hadn’t come here and been one of you. But now I take up his interest as though he were my own brother. It is not always easy with so strange a man.”
“You’re very kind.”
“Not at all,” said Luter. “You have repaid me. Both of you.”
Picking up several dry utensils she crossed the kitchen to the pantry. There she pulled open the door, bent over and hung them on the nails inside. Luter’s head tilted, his gaze flitting to her bosom. He cleared his throat with a pecking sound.
“But say what you will, Albert is—what shall I say, a nervous man—till you know him, of course. But I can see why you’ve never gone out with him anywhere,” he ended sympathetically. “You’re a proud woman with a great deal of feeling, no?”
“No more than anyone else. What has that to do with it?”
“I’ll tell you. You see, Albert, well—” he smiled and scratched his neck, puzzled. “Even in the street, he behaves so strangely. You know better than I do. He seems to look for jeers in the faces of passersby. And when you go with him—I go with him every night—it’s as though he finds some kind of pleasure walking behind a cripple or a drunkard or any kind of freakish person—I don’t know what! One would think it made him feel safer. He wants people on the street to look at someone else. Anyone else, instead of himself. Even a water wagon or street gamblers give him this odd satisfaction. But why do I talk this way when I like him so much.” He paused and laughed quietly.
David’s mother looked at the dish towel, but made no answer.
“Yes,” he chuckled, hurriedly. “I like especially the way he never speaks of Tysmenicz without leading in the cattle he once tended.”
“Well, there weren’t many things he loved more in the old land.”
“But to love cattle so,” Luter smiled. “All I thought of when I saw a cow was that it gave milk. Now when I think of Europe, and of my hamlet, the first thought that comes to me, just as his first thought is a cow or a prize bull, my first thought is of the peasant women. You understand?”
“Naturally, each has his memories.” Having placed the last dishes in the closet, she drew a chair beside David’s and sat down. On one side of the table sat Luter, on the other David and his mother.
“Exactly,” said Luter, “Each one remembers what appealed to him, and I remember the peasant wenches. Weren’t they a striking lot, in their tight checked vests and their dozen petticoats?” He shook his head regretfully. “One never sees the like here. It’s a scanty soil from what one sees of it in Brooklyn and its women are spare. But in Sorvik they grew like oaks. They had blonde hair, their eyes blazed. And when they smiled with their white teeth and blue eyes, who could resist them? It was enough to set your blood on fire. The men never dazzled you that way?” he asked after a pause.
“No, I never paid much attention to them.”
“Well, you wouldn’t—you were a good Jewish daughter. Besides, the men were a worthless lot, vacant lumps with great shoulders and a nose on them like a split pea. Their women were wasted on them. You know,” his voice was very earnest, “the only woman I know who reminds me of those girls, is you.”
She reddened, threw back her head and laughed, “Me? I’m only a good Jewish daughter.”
“I am not accusing you of anything else, but never since I have been in America have I seen a woman that so reminded me of them. Their lips were so full, so ripe, as if to be kissed.”
She smiled curiously with one cheek. “God knows, there must be enough Austrian peasants even in this land. If Jews were let in, surely no one would bar the Slovaks.”
Luter looked down at the ring he was twisting around his finger. “Yes, I suppose so. I have seen a few of them, but none I cared much about.”
“You better look about a little more then.”
Luter’s face grew strangely sober, the lines about his nostrils deepened. Without lifting his head, his eyes slanted up at David’s mother. “Perhaps I can stop looking.”
She laughed outright. “Don’t be foolish, Mr. Luter!”
“Mr. Luter!” He looked annoyed for a moment, then shrugged and smiled. “Now that you know me so well, why use the formal still?”
“Apparently I don’t know you so well.”
“It takes a little time,” he admitted. His gaze roved about the room and came to rest on David. “Perhaps you would like some refreshments?”
“No, but if you do, I can make some tea.”
“No, thanks,” he said solicitously, “don’t take the trouble. But I know what you would like—a little ice cream.”
“Please don’t bother.”
“Why, it’s no trouble. The young one there will go down for us.” He drew out a coin. “Here, you know where the candy store is. Go get some tutti frutti and chocolate. You like it don’t you?”
With troubled eyes David looked first at Luter, then at the coin. Beneath the table a hand gently pressed his thigh. His mother! What did she want?
“I don’t like it,” he faltered. “I don’t like ice cream.”
The fingers of the same hand tapped his knees ever so lightly. He had said the right thing.
“No? Tutti frutti ice cream? Candy then, you like that?”
“No.”
“I think it’s a little too late for him to have either,” said his mother.
“Well, I guess we won’t buy any then, since he’s going to bed soon.” Luter looked at his watch. “This is just the time I put him to bed last time, wasn’t it, my David?”
“Yes,” he hesitated fearful of blundering.
“I suppose he’s sleepy now,” Luter suggested encouragingly.
“He doesn’t look sleepy,” his mother, smoothed the hair back from his brow. “His eyes are still wide and bright.”
“I’m not sleepy.” That, at least, was true. He had never been so strangely stirred, never had he felt so near an abyss.
“We’ll let you stay up awhile then.”
There was a short space of silence. Luter frowned, emitted a faint smacking sound from the side of his mouth. “You don’t seem to have any of the usual womanly instincts.”
“Don’t I? It seems to me that I keep pretty closely to the well-trodden path.”
“Curiosity, for instance.”
“I had already lost that even before my marriage.”
“You only imagine it. But don’t misunderstand me, I merely meant curiosity about the package I left behind. It must be clear to you that I didn’t get what’s in it for my relatives’ sake.”
“Well, you’d better give it to them now.”
“Not so soon.” And when she didn’t answer, he shrugged, arose from the chair and got into his coat. “Hate me for it if I say it again, but you’re a comely woman. This time though I won’t forget my package.” He reached for the door-knob, turned. “But I may still come for dinner tomorrow?”
She laughed. “If you still haven’t tired of my cooking.”
“Not yet.” And chuckling. “Good-night. Good-night, little one. It must be a joy to have such a son.” He went out.
With a wry smile on her lips, she listened to the sound of his retreating steps.
Then her brow puckered in disdain. “All are called men!” She sat for a moment gazing before her with troubled eyes. Presently her brow cleared; she tilted her head and peered into David’s eyes. “Are you worried about anything? Your look is so intent.”
“I don’t like him,” he confessed.
“Well, he’s gone now,” she said reassuringly. Let’s forget about him. We won’t even tell father he came, will we?”
“No.”
“Let’s go to bed then, it grows late.”
VII
ANOTHER week had passed. The two men had just gone off together. With something of an annoyed laugh, his mother went to the door and stood fingering the catch of the lock. Finally she lifted it. The hidden tongue sprang into its groove.
“Oh, what nonsense!” She unlocked it again, looked up at the light and then at the windows.
David felt himself growing uneasy. Why did Thursdays have to roll around so soon? He was beginning to hate them as much as he did Sundays.
“Why must they make proof of everything before they’re satisfied?” Her lips formed and unformed a frown. “Well, there’s nothing to do but go. I’ll wash those dishes later.” She opened the door and turned out the light.
Bewildered, David followed her into the cold, gas-lit hallway.
“We’re going upstairs to Mrs. Mink.” She cast a hurried look over the bannister. “You can play with your friend Yussie.”
David wondered why she needed to bring that up. He hadn’t said anything about wanting to play with Yussie. In fact, he didn’t even feel like it. Why didn’t she just say she was running away, instead of making him feel guilty. He knew whom she was looking for when she looked over the bannister.
His mother knocked at the door. It was opened. Mrs. Mink stood on the threshold. At the sight of his mother, she beamed with pleasure.
“Hollo, Mrs. Schearl! Hollo! Hollo! Comm een!” She scratched her lustreless, black hair excitedly.
“I hope you don’t find my coming here untimely,” his mother smiled apologetically.
“No, as I live!” Mrs. Mink lapsed into Yiddish. “You’re wholly welcome! A guest—the rarest I have!” She dragged a chair forward. “Do sit down.”
Mrs. Mink was a flat-breasted woman with a sallow skin and small features. She had narrow shoulders and meager arms, and David always wondered when he saw her how the thin skin on her throat managed to hold back the heavy, bulging veins.
“I thought I would never have the pleasure of seeing you in my house,” she continued. “It was only the other day that I was telling our landlady—Look, Mrs. Schearl and I are neighbors, but we know nothing of each other. I dare not ask her up into my house. I’m afraid to. She looks so proud.”
“I, proud?”
“Yes, not proud, noble! You always walk with your head in the air—so! And even when you go to market, you dress like a lady. I’ve watched you often from the window, and I’ve said to my man— Come here! Look, that’s her! Do you see how tall she is! He is not home now, my picture of a spouse, he works late in the jewelry store. I know he will regret missing you.”
David found himself quickly tiring of Mrs. Mink’s rapid stream of words, and looking about saw that Annie was observing him. Yussie was nowhere to be seen. He tugged his mother’s hand, and when she bent over, asked for him.
“Yussie?” Mrs. Mink interrupted herself long enough to say. “He’s asleep.”
“Don’t wake him,” said his mother.
“That’s all right. I’ve got to send him to the delicatessen for some bread soon. Yussele!” she called.
His only answer was a resentful yawn.
“He’s coming soon,” she said reassuringly.
In a few minutes, Yussie came out. One of his stockings had fallen, and he trod on it, shuffling sleepily. He blinked, eyed David’s mother suspiciously a moment, and then sidled over to David, “W’y’s yuh mudder hea?”
“She jost came.”
“W’y’d she comm?”
“I donno.”
At this point Annie hobbled over. “Pull yuh stockin’ op, yuh slob!”
Obediently Yussie hoisted up his stocking. David could not help noticing how stiff and bare the white stocking hung behind the brace on Annie’s own leg.
“So yuh gonna stay by us?” asked Yussie eagerly.
“Yea.”
“H’ray! C’mon inna fron’room.” He grabbed David’s arm. “I godda—”
But David had stopped. “I’m goin’ inna fron’ room, mama.”
Turning from the chattering Mrs. Mink, David’s mother smiled at him in slight distress and nodded.
“Waid’ll I show yuh wod we god,” Yussie dragged him into the frontroom.
While Yussie babbled on excitedly, David stared about him. He had never been in Yussie’s front room before; Annie had barred the way as if it were inviolable ground. Now he saw a room which was illuminated by a gas lamp overhead and crowded with dark and portly furniture. In the middle of the floor stood a round glass-topped table and about it chairs of the same dark stain. A china closet hugged one wall, a bureau another, a dressing table a third, cabinets clogged the corners. All were bulky, all rested on the same kind of scrolled and finical paw. On the wall space above the furniture hung two pairs of yellowed portraits, two busts of wrinkled women with unnatural masses of black hair, and two busts of old men who wore ringlets under their skull caps and beards on their chins. With an expression of bleak hostility in their flat faces, they looked down at David. Barring the way to the window squatted a swollen purple plush chair, embroidered with agitated parrots of various hues. A large vapid doll with gold curls and a violet dress sat on the glass top of a cabinet. After his own roomy frontroom with its few sticks of furniture, David not only felt bewildered, he felt oddly warm.
“It’s inna closet in my modder’s bedroom.” Yussie continued. “Jost wait, I’ll show yuh.”
He disappeared into the darkness of the adjoining bedroom. David heard him open a door, rummage about for a minute. When he returned, he bore in his hand a curious steel cage.
“Yuh know wat dis’s fuh?” he held it up to David’s eyes.
David examined it more closely, “No. Wot d’yuh do wit’ it?”
“It c’n catch rats, dot’s wot yuh do wit’ it. See dis little door? De rat gizz in like dot.” He opened a thin metal door at the front of the cage. “Foist yuh put sompin ove’ hea, and on ’iz liddle hook. An’ nen nuh rat gizzin. Dey uz zuh big rat inna house, yuh could hear him at night, so my fodder bought dis, an’ my mudder put in schmaltz f’om de meat, and nuh rat comes in, an’ inna mawningk, I look unner by de woshtob, an’ooh—he wuz dere, runnin’ dis way like dot.” Yussie waved the cage about excitedly, “An I calls my fodder an’ he gets op f’om de bed an’ he fills op de woshtob and eeh! duh rat giz all aroun’ in it, in nuh watuh giz all aroun’. An’ nen he stops. An nen my fodder takes it out and he put it in nuh bag and trew it out f’om de winner. Boof! he fell inna guttah. Ooh wotta rat he wuz. My mudder wuz runnin’ aroun’, an aroun’ an after, my fodder kept on spittin’ in nuh sink. Kcha!”
David backed away in disgust.
“See, I tol’ yuh I had sumtin tuh show yuh. See, like dot it closes.” He snapped the little, metal door. “We didn’t hea’ it, cause ev’ybody wuz sleepin’. Rats on’y come out innuh da’k, w’en yuh can’t see ’em, and yuh know w’ea dey comin’ f’om, dey comin’ f’om de cellah. Dot’s w’ea dey live innuh cellah—all rats.”
The cellar! That explained it. That moment of fear when he turned the bottom landing before he went out into the street. He would be doubly terrified now.
“Wotta yuh doin?” They started at the intruding voice. It was Annie coming in. Her face was writhed back in disgust.
“Eee! Yuh stoopid lummox! Put it away. I’ll call mama!”
“Aaa, lemme alone.”
“Yuh gonna put it away?” she squealed.
“Aa, shit on you,” muttered Yussie sullenly. “Can’t do
nuttin’.” Nevertheless, he carried the cage back to the bedroom.
“W’y d’yuh let ’im show it tuh yuh fuh?” she demanded angrily of David. “Such a dope!”
“I didn’ know wot it wuz,” he stammered.
“Yuh didn’ know wot it wuz? Yurra lummox too!”
“Now g’wan.” Yussie returned from the bedroom. “Leave us alone.”
“I will not,” she snapped. “Dis is my frontroom.”
“He don’ wanna play witchoo. He’s my frien!”
“So who wants him!”
“So don’ butt in.”
“Pooh!” She plumped herself in a chair. The steel brace clicked disagreeably against the wood.
David wished she could wear long pants like a man.
“Comm on ove’ by de winder,” Yussie guided him through a defile in the furniture. “We mus’ be a fireman. We c’n put out de fire inna house.” He indicated the bureau. “Yuh wanna?”
“Awrigh’.”
“An’ we c’n slide down duh pipe an’ we c’n have a fiuh-ingine, an’ nen I’ll be duh drivuh. Yuh wanna?”
“Yea.”
“Den let’s make fiuh hats. Waid, I’ll get some paper inna kitchen.” He ran off.
Annie slid off the chair and came over. “Wot class yuh in?”
“1A.”
“I’m in 4A,” she said loftily. “I skipped a’reddy. An’ now I’m duh sma’test one in my class.”
David was impressed.
“My teacher’s name is Miss McCardy. She’s duh bes’ teacher inna whole school. She gave me A. A. A.”
By this time Yussie had returned bearing several sheets of newspaper.
“Wotta ya gonna do?” she demanded.
“Wotta you care!” he defied her. “We’ gonna be fiuhmen.”
“Yuh can’t!”
“No?” Yussie inquired angrily, “Why can’ we?”
“Cause yuh can’t, dat’s w’y! Cause yu’ll scratch op all de foinichuh.”
“We won’ scratch nuttin’!” stormed Yussie whirling the newspaper about in frustration. “We gonna play.”
“Yuh can’t!”
“We will!”
“I’ll give yuh in a minute,” she advanced threateningly.
