Ship of Fools (42 page)

Freytag's tone was so patient it visibly roused Löwenthal's resentment. “My wife is Jewish,” he said, “but I am not.” Being under compulsion to keep the talk going for the mere look of the thing, he decided he might as well bring the question out in the open. “She belongs to one of the very oldest Jewish families …”

Löwenthal's manner changed again at this. His mouth pouched out and down at the corners, he expressed disgust and disapprobation all over his face, his very ears moved, and he said rudely, “All Jewish families are old. Everybody descended from Abraham, at least. Question is, was her family Orthodox?”

“No, Reformed, for the last two or three generations.”

“Jewish boys can marry Gentiles, that's all right, who cares, what does it matter?” said Löwenthal, shrugging. “But a nice Jewish girl to marry a Goy! Tell me, what kind of a family is it?”

“Rich,” said Freytag, “most of them. Father a lawyer. Dead now. Two rabbi grandfathers!” he boasted to this poor thing before him descended obviously from a long line of peddlers.

“That makes it worse,” said Löwenthal. “A low-life woman running out I can understand, for her it's too good, maybe, but a girl from a rabbinical family—that I can't take!” He leaned forward and said in a deliberately loud voice he hoped might be heard at the nearest tables, or at least by the waiter: “That's the kind of Jewish girl that makes disgrace for all the rest of us. Any Jewish girl marries out of her religion ought to have her head examined!… I never laid a finger on a Gentile woman in my life, and the thought of touching one makes me sick; why can't you Goyim leave our girls alone, isn't your own kind good enough for you?… When I want woman company, I look for Jewish! When I got any money to spend for an evening I take out a good Jewish girl who appreciates it; and when I marry, I marry Jewish—and nothing else do I understand! Be ashamed, Herr Freytag—when you wrong a Jewish girl, you wrong the whole race …”

“Shut your foul mouth!” said Freytag with odd ferocity, “or I'll knock you away from this table!” His whole body prepared itself instantly to deliver the blow, yet stopped in time, arrested by Löwenthal's sudden silence, and complete stillness.

He was not intimidated; he was aware, attentive, and ready; he did not even seem surprised at Freytag's sudden violence. Freytag, horrified at what he had almost done, searched Löwenthal's face. It was curiously impassive, grave, the only sign of strain the twitching of the small muscles around the eyes, which regarded Freytag with a look very near curiosity, as if he were a species of animal it was necessary to understand to learn to handle.

Löwenthal broke the silence and in some sort the tension by asking one of his perpetual questions that was no question at all, but a statement; and his voice was reasonable: “Look, let me ask you one thing—what did I ever do to you? To you, or any of yours? What did I ask of this trip but only to get through it without trouble, or making trouble for anybody? Did I ask you to come here? This table they sat me down to by myself without asking me; where do I sit if not here? They put me here by myself because I am the only Jew—why then must a Gentile come pushing in and make threats because we don't agree on religion? Why must …”

Freytag said, “Wait a moment. Let me explain …” Haltingly, bitterly, he tried to tell what had happened at the Captain's table, and he added, “It was the insult to my wife I could not endure … then I come here, and you …”

“It is not insult to say a Jewish girl should not forsake her people,” said Löwenthal, still in his reasonable tone. “That I do not dream is insult.” And Freytag saw that in that closed mind there was not one trace of sympathy or understanding of his plight, or Mary's. He gave up in defeat, and at once felt stronger: it was not defeat at all, he would simply move the whole question to another ground and go on fighting from there. He admitted his errors; he had been wrong all the way, he had talked stupidly to stupid people, and he was being nicely paid out for it. He would take another grip on his affairs, and keep his mouth shut.

“I am very sorry I lost my temper,” he said, handsomely, leaning forward a little stiffly. “I wish to offer you my apology.”

There was a short pause, during which Freytag felt cold sweat forming on his forehead. Löwenthal wiped his mouth with his napkin, and leaned forward a little too, with an expectant air. He said nothing. Freytag pulled himself together.

“I have said, I should like to apologize,” he repeated, very formally.

“Well, then,” said Löwenthal, matter-of-factly, “why don't you? I'm waiting to hear what you've got to say.”

“No dessert, please,” said Freytag to the waiter, hovering over them. He got up, and nodded slightly to his table companion. “I've said it,” he remarked, almost cheerfully, “all I'm going to say.” And he took himself out of the dining room at the proper speed without a glance around him.

Captain Thiele, having, in the Freytag crisis, improved his opportunity to perform still another of those little acts of authority which mount up finally into a base of solid power, showed up for his midday meal with an air not exactly of good humor so much as a kind of mollified ill-temper. He could do no better. His big clean cotton napkin snapped like a flag as he unfurled it and tucked it under his collar. He stretched his neck, turning his chin from side to side until his wattles were comfortably disposed, and his gaze ran around his circle of guests as if expecting their gratitude. With a tight smile full of crafty meanings, and a busy series of stiff nods, he said, “I am sure you are all much more comfortable now that we are less crowded and there are no discordant elements. Now,” he said, lifting his right hand as if blessing them, “I have got rid of that person who was here under false pretenses, and we are all the right sort of people together. I hope we shall enjoy the rest of our voyage.”

The circle applauded this graceful little speech, patting their palms together with genteel restraint, smiling at the Captain until their cheekbones rose, their eyes narrowed and foxy.

“The test of true strength,” remarked Herr Professor Hutten, “is in action, sudden, decisive and, naturally, successful action, perfectly timed, directed, and taking the enemy by surprise. In this case, my dear Captain, any hesitation on your part—and may I say, that is quite unimaginable—would have resulted in a state of affairs false to our true spirit, and weakening to the whole fabric of our society. It might seem quite an unimportant incident,” he went on, earnestly, to his listeners, “but it is these apparently minor decisions that help to remind us most clearly of our principles, and to see whether or not we are in harmony with the great pattern of our tradition …”

“And
so
tactfully done, too,” said Frau Rittersdorf. “Naturally! After all, style, manner, ah, how very important they are.”

The Captain smirked and shook his head gallantly at Frau Rittersdorf, who, encouraged, was about to speak again, when Lizzi leaned over, stretched her long thin arms towards him and patted him rapidly, violently on the arm. “You were wonderful the way you received us yesterday evening—” She glanced at Herr Rieber, who smiled until his eyes almost disappeared. “You are always wonderful, but with one word—one!—to end as you did this horrid business that was worrying all of us. I envy such power!”

The circle applauded again, and from the Spanish dancers' table, some little distance away, but still too near to please the Captain, Manolo said in a low but carrying voice: “I know! They have thrown out that Jew and are celebrating. Well, let us celebrate too!”

“Bravo!” called Amparo, clapping her hands and smiling and trying to attract the Captain's attention. Instead of looking their way, he frowned straight ahead of him. “Bravo!” all of them called to him, softly. Ric and Rac beat on the table with their knife handles and were instantly quelled on all sides by the others, who still smiled and fluttered their fingers towards the Captain's table.

“What business possibly can it be of theirs?” he inquired at random, scowling. “Do you suppose they have been eavesdropping, or have picked up some gossip which makes them venture on such liberties?”

“Those tramps,” said Herr Rieber, severely. “Except for the ladies present, I would name them more exactly. But what do you expect of them, after all? Gypsies!”

“Gypsies? With those beaks?” asked Lizzi.

“Why not?” asked Herr Rieber. “They are supposed to be a remnant of the lost tribes of Israel …”

“That notion, I believe,” began Herr Professor Hutten, “has been relegated to the domain of myth, or folklore …”

“They are Catholics,” ventured little Frau Schmitt, happy to contribute something to this animated conversation.

“Just very low-class Spaniards masquerading as something else,” said the Captain, firmly. “In my home place, we have a saying, ‘Scratch a Spaniard, bleed a Moor'; which says all!”

At this moment Dr. Schumann joined them, and they greeted him as if he were returning from a long absence. He was amiable and distant, said to the waiter, “Just a little clear soup, please, and coffee.” When Frau Hutten said to him, “We have missed you!” with the new tone of familiar friendship established in his absence, he inclined his head towards her, but in some surprise. “Now,” she went on, including the Doctor in the charmed circle, “we are just seven—seven, for good luck.”

This was the kind of puerile nonsense her husband had never been able wholly to eradicate from her mind, and had long ago learned to pretend not to notice. He now addressed the Captain: “Such as
They
,” he pronounced, nodding towards the spot where Wilhelm Freytag was seated with Herr Löwenthal, “such as They should have special quarters on ships and other public conveyances. They should not be allowed the run of things, annoying other people.”

“But yesterday you seemed to defend them, I was astonished,” said Frau Rittersdorf.

“I was defending nothing, dear lady—I spoke in the light of the history and the religious superstitions of an ancient people; I find them remarkably interesting, but I must say, their descendants a good deal less so, do you agree, my Captain?”

“Let me say at once that if I had my way in the matter,” said the Captain, “I should not allow one even on board my ship at all, not even in the steerage. They pollute the air.”

He closed his eyes, opened his mouth, turned the point of his large spoon spilling over the thick pea soup and fried crusts towards him, plunged it deeply into his mouth, clamped his lips over it and drew the spoon out empty, chewed once, gulped, and instantly set about repeating the performance. The others, except Dr. Schumann, who drank his broth from a cup, leaned over their plates also, and there was silence for a time except for gurgling, lapping noises while everybody waded into the soup, and stillness except for the irregular rhythm of heads dipping and rising. The ring was closed solidly against all undesirables, ally as well as enemy. All the faces were relaxed with sensual gratification, mingled with deep complacency: they were, after all, themselves and no one else: the powerful, the privileged, the right people. The edge being taken off appetite, they fell to being charming to each other, with elegant gestures, and exaggerated movements of their features, as though they were in a play; making a little festival to celebrate their rediscovered kinship, their special intimate bonds of blood and sympathy. Under the gaze of aliens as they believed—in fact no one, not even the Spaniards, was paying any attention to them—they set an example of how superior persons conduct themselves towards each other. Herr Professor Hutten ordered wine and they exchanged toasts all around. They smacked their lips and said, “
Ja, ja
!”

Even little Frau Schmitt, who had wept when the Captain chastised her publicly, though for her own good, and who suffered at the very thought of the miseries of the world; who wished only to love and to be loved by everybody; who shed tears with sick animals and unhappy children, now felt herself a part of this soothing yet strengthening fellowship. After all, no matter how right her sympathies may have been, she was wrong to talk with that American Herr Scott about the poor woodcarver in the steerage. The memory of the Captain's rebuke, so well merited, she now accepted with pride, and it gave her courage. For a moment she forgot her long life of petty humiliations, her fear of her superiors, her feeling that she was only a humble poor woman—even if a teacher and a professor's wife—that the butcher could cheat and the clerks in shops could snub: a creature of no importance that anyone could impose upon. No more of this! She was tired of being crowded and fobbed off with the second choice in everything. She glanced at Frau Rittersdorf with narrowed eyes, and resolved that she would claim her rights in the cabin. She would teach that woman a lesson! Her heart expanded, and swam easily on the warm wave of blood kinship with her great and glorious race, even though she might be its smallest, its least considerable member. Yet, observe her many privileges.

She continued to beam mildly at the Captain, adoring him because he was stern, strong, relentless, instant in administering justice, a visible present incarnation of the mystical male force which rules not only the earth and all its creatures but indeed, as God the Father, the universe. On every face around her she thought she saw the same reflected light of glory.

She spoke. “After all, my Captain, one must often do severe things in self-defense?”

“Defense?” the Captain echoed briskly. “What nonsense, my dear Frau Schmitt. To put people in their proper places and keep them there cannot be called severity, nor defense. It is merely observing and carrying out the natural order of things.”

She winced but managed to smile bravely. “Wrong, I am always wrong,” she murmured. The Captain gave her a sharp little grimace of approval—women were almost first among those who must be kept in their place. She warmed and palpitated under the male dominance of his eyes; still smiling, she bowed her smooth little head and took a mouthful of Hasenpfeffer.