The Family Moskat (19 page)

"I couldn't swallow a mouthful if you killed me," Abram said.

"A glass of tea, maybe?"

"Tea is something else."

"Get him some food," Ida ordered. "Otherwise he'll howl with hunger in the middle of the night."

"No, please--" Abram growled. "The doctor gave me strict orders not to take a single bite after ten o'clock."

"You do a lot of things you're not supposed to."

Zosia shook her head doubtfully and went out. Abram got up from his chair and then sat down again.

"What are you doing these days? How are you feeling?" he asked. "What are you so sarcastic about?"

"What am I doing? I'm going crazy. The studio's freezing, the stove smokes, the canvases get covered with soot--it's too much for me."

"Is Pepi sleeping?" "She's

with her father."

-

115-"I don't understand."

"He came to Warsaw. He has two rooms at the Bristol. He insisted that I send the child over to him."

"And she was willing to go?"

"Why not? Tomorrow he's taking her to the circus."

"Well, tell me, did you get the flowers and the candy?"

"Yes. Thanks. I've told you a thousand times not to send me those bonbons. We stuff ourselves so much with sweets that we're ready to burst. What are you so disheveled for? Have you been in a fight or something?"

"A fight? God forbid. Though as a matter of fact there is someone I ought to smash over the skull. Just imagine. Hertz Yanovar invited me to a seance--that Kalischer woman was calling the spirits. All of a sudden Gina comes storming in and practically chases her out. Hertz and I have big plans. We're preparing to issue a journal."

"What kind of journal? Some more madness?"

"A journal for self-education. Here in Poland and in Russia there are thousands--hundreds of thousands--of young Jewish boys who are dying to get some education. We'll teach them trades, too.

Watchmaking, electricity, mechanics, God knows what else. All by mail. A tremendous idea. I'll be the director."

"I thought that Hertz was going to Switzerland."

"How can he go? Akiba refuses to divorce her. The old man's trying again to force Hadassah into a marriage."

"What difference does it make to me? I'm going to Paris. This spring. Pepi will stay with her father. Everything's decided."

"Did you see him?" Abram asked suspiciously.

"Yes, I met him and talked the thing over. He'll send me a hundred rubles a month. Pepi'll be sent to a private school."

She took a deep pull on her cigarette and puffed a cloud of smoke into Abram's face. Abram sat still. He took out his handkerchief and wiped his bald spot. As always when he was upset, one side of his forehead flushed an angry red. He plucked at his beard, threw away his cigar, and stared at Ida with his big moist eyes. He was getting too old for all these arguments. No matter how he tried to smooth things over, she kept on nagging. He started to say something, but Zosia entered with the tea things. To banish his melancholy Abram started to tell a joke to Zosia, but for the first time the spirit was lacking.

-116-

2

Ida's bedroom held a wide bed and a couch. There were Japanese silk paintings and landscapes on the walls. The lamp, shaped like a Chinese lantern, threw a subdued glow. There was a rag carpet on the floor. Although Ida confined her painting to the studio, the bedroom had a strong odor of turpentine and oils. Abram undressed and lay down on the couch. Following a new hygienic fad, the small pillow was stuffed with some kind of straw instead of feathers. He pulled a plaid blanket over him. Ida was in the kitchen, and Zosia was in the studio, shuffling about on her low-heeled shoes, humming a tune as she cleaned the dishes.

Abram lay on the unyielding couch, the hard pillow against his shoulders, gloomy thoughts crowding in his mind. What if Hama made good her threat and went off to her father? Koppel would take the administration of the building away from him and he would be left without a copper. And Ida? She was already as good as lost. And his own daughters? The older one, Bella, was her mother all over again. Not a single
shadchan
came calling on her.

They avoided her like a plague. The younger one, Stepha, was a good-looking enough girl--but no luck. Twice she had been on the brink of a match, but they had both vanished into thin air. What, for example, does a girl like that think when her father stays away from home all night? Once he had found her reading Artzybashev's
Sanine
. Who could know?--maybe some of those students, those cadets, had already managed to talk things into her. After all, what difference was there between Stepha and some of the girls he had himself managed to persuade?

He rubbed his hand against the back of his head. What was the use of torturing himself with thoughts like these? His heart was thudding, and there was a sour taste deep in his throat. Every sin has its own punishment, he thought.

Ida came in, bringing with her the scent of salves and perfumes.

He could tell from the heightened gleam in her eyes that she had taken a glass of something; lately she had adopted the habit of coming to him half-intoxicated. She banged the door shut and called out in a high-pitched and unnatural voice: "Are you sitting up or are you asleep, my pasha?"

"Listen, Ida, if you want, we can finish it now. This minute."

-117-"What's

bothering you? Has the grand vizier been insulted?

"I've never forced myself on anybody and I'm not going to start now."

"What are you talking about? Who's saying anything about forcing?"

"I don't like these tricks--these carryings-on. I'm going."

He heaved himself up. The couch creaked under him.

"Are you out of your mind? Where are you running? Zosia'll think we've gone mad."

"Let her think what she likes. Everything's got to have an end."

"Abram, what's the matter with you? Is it because I'm going to Paris? But I'm not going yet. You know it's bad for me here. I daub and daub and I don't know where in the world I am. What's the point of going on painting? Who needs it? Who cares about it?

I was never so lonesome in my life as in this cursed Praga."

"I didn't exile you here. This isn't Siberia, and I'm not the Czar."

"You are! Here I sit and wait for you every night and you wander around the devil knows where. You promised me you'd divorce Hama and we'd get married. On account of you I left a rich husband."

"That story's got a beard on it by this time."

"What'll happen to me? I'm getting old and sick. I'm so upset I have to drink to quiet my nerves."

"That's all you need. To be a drunkard."

"Don't shout. She can hear every word. I can't paint; that's the God's truth. I've got no talent; I can't draw. Today I got back all the pictures I sent to the gallery. Zosia brought them back. All they do is laugh at me."

"If they laugh here what'll they do in Paris?"

"Let them laugh. You're the one who started to raise all the fuss about my being a genius. It was only your way of getting me away from my husband."

"Shut up!"

"Go on, beat me! What have I got to live for?"

She burst into tears and threw herself on the bed. In the other room Zosia took a single step and then remained stock-still.

Abram hesitated for a moment, then turned out the light. Another victory. How many of them in the thirty-five years since -118-he'd been

playing around with women? He knew in advance what would happen. They would make up in the darkness. They would kiss and caress and murmur to each other, make adventurous plans, and indulge in all sorts of abandoned love-making. However tired and ill he might be, Abram was still a mighty lover.

3

At noon the next day Abram took the tramcar home. It was cold and cloudy, presaging a storm. The sun, which from time to time peered out of a break in the overhang, was small and had an icy whiteness. The snow had drifted into frozen heaps. Icicles hung from roofs and balconies. Pedestrians slid along the sidewalks.

Horses slipped and stumbled. Abram took a small mirror from his breast pocket and looked at his reflection. His face was yellow, his beard uncombed. There were bluish discolorations under his eyes. "I'm getting to look like an old tramp," he thought. He would have liked to go to his barber on the Zlota to get a haircut and massage and have his beard trimmed; but he owed the man three rubles and change. He would have to cover some notes today, meet payments on loans, and find en-dorsers for new loans he must make. He had let Zosia talk him into having an enormous breakfast--hot rolls, fried sausage, an omelet, and black coffee. Now he had heartburn. He wanted to get home as quickly as possible, go to bed, and sleep off his debauch. But he was aware that there would first have to be an-gry words with Hama. He knew by heart the complaints that would come rolling off her tongue, the names she would call him, the threats and dire predictions she would make. All he prayed for was that the girls would not be at home. He went up the stairs slowly and rang the bell. Hama stood before him in a black, shabby dress, her face jaundiced, three hairs descending from the mole on her chin. She looked at him with more scorn than anger.

"God help me," she said. "What you look like! Something the cat dragged in."

"Let me pass."

"Who's stopping you! Go in. It makes no difference to me. I've moved out of here already. I only came back to get some things."

Abram passed the living-room and went into his bedroom. The -119-girls were not

home. There was a silence and disorder in the house, as in the summer months when the family had left for the country. He eased himself out of his coat and tossed his hat onto a chair. He threw himself down heavily on the bed. He closed his eyes.

"Whatever happens," he thought, "the devil with it! Let everything go to the dogs!" He dozed off.

He opened his eyes and glanced at the clock. He had slept barely ten minutes. He got off the bed and with unsteady steps went to look for Hama. She had gone. There was a telephone on the desk in the small room that served as a writing-room. He called Nyunie's house. Shifra, the servant, answered and inquired who was calling.

"It's me, Abram Shapiro," he answered. "How are you, my dove? Is Hadassah at home?"

"Oh, Mr. Abram! Yes. I'll call her."

He waited several moments. Through the receiver he could hear a confusion of voices. Then he heard a cough and Dacha's voice asking: "Who is this?"

"Dacha, it's me! Abram!"

"Yes, Abram."

"What's the news? How are you? I wanted to talk to Hadassah."

"Forgive me, Abram, but you've got nothing to say to her.

Leave the child alone."

"Are you out of your mind?"

"You've caused enough trouble. I'll not let you ruin my household."

"What the devil is the matter?"

"Good-by!"

The receiver slammed in his ear.

Abram got up from the chair and shook his head in bewilderment. The line in his forehead deepened. His shoulders were bowed. "So that's the way matters stand," he said aloud. "All of them at once." He grabbed the telephone book and slammed it down on the floor. He strode over to the wall mirror and lifted a hairy fist. "Keep your pants on!" he yelled to his reflection.

"Idiots! Savages!"

And in the mirror the image with the ragged beard and the uncombed hair waved its own fist and shouted back at him: "Idiots! Savages!"

-120-

4

When Hama left home with Bella, she had little hope that her father would receive her with any friendliness. For years Reb Meshulam had been grumbling that she ought to leave her husband, the worthless runaround, and come with her daughters to his house. Nevertheless Hama knew that the moment she took his advice he would begin to nag at her, scold her for not having listened to him earlier, and treat her like a stepchild. So humble did she feel that she did not take a droshky. She had filled one valise with clothing, Bella another, and they had gone on foot like people burned out of house and home. Neighbors looked out of their windows, dolefully shaking their heads. The janitor's wife came out from her cubicle, wringing her red hands, wiping away her tears with the comer of her apron. A one-eyed mongrel ran after them. Hama had rehearsed beforehand what she would say: "Father, give me only a crust of bread-but don't make me go back."

But things did not turn out the way she had expected. When Naomi went into Meshulam's study with the news that Hama had run away from her husband together with her older daughter, the old man's eyes filled with tears. With unsteady steps he went out to the kitchen, where Hama was waiting with her luggage. He put his arms around her and kissed her, the first time he had done so since her wedding. He kissed Bella, too, and said: "Why do you have to wait in the kitchen? My home is your home."

He spoke in a loud voice, so that everyone in the house should hear him. Manya, who had been sitting at the kitchen table drinking coffee, indifferently watching what was going on, got up and picked up the valises. Naomi went to prepare a room for the new arrivals. Rosa Frumetl, who had been standing at the window in the living-room murmuring the morning prayers, read on to the end of a verse, closed the book, kissed it, and went out to the kitchen. Her eyes were soft and mournful. She kissed Hama on both cheeks, nodded her head to Bella, and said: "Welcome, welcome. Since it had to be this way, may it be in a happy hour."

Meshulam had already had his breakfast of black bread and cold chicken and was ready to go to his office. But in honor of his daughter's arrival he stayed home for a while. He sat with the women--Adele had joined them--in the dining-room, sipped a -121-glass of black

coffee, and talked away with more warmth than was his custom. He recalled now how Hama had been born on the Sabbath before the Passover; he had been eating a warmed-over meal when the midwife had come to tell him that his wife had given birth to a girl. The infant was so weak that they had been afraid she would not live and that her death would darken the joyous Passover holiday. "But thank God," Meshulam con-cluded, "the child lived."