The Family Moskat (20 page)

Rosa Frumetl laughed and blew her nose in her batiste handkerchief. Hama listened to her father and tears fell from her eyes. She was unaccustomed to hearing her name mentioned in her father's house. Ever since his quarrel with Abram the old man had got into the habit of venting his anger on her. When Bella and Adele left the table, Hama began to recount all of Abram's goings-on; his staying out all night, his running around with servant girls and
shikses
, his taking things from the house and pawning them, his collecting rents from the tenants months in advance and using up the money. He had even borrowed a few rubles from the janitor; the man had come to her to get them back. Rosa Frumetl wrung her fingers and sighed.

The old man's sparse mustache seemed to stand erect. When Hama was through he shouted: "Why did you have to keep quiet about it? I'll tear the dog limb from limb!"

"Father, if you only knew!" Hama broke into loud sobbing.

Meshulam got up and began to pace angrily back and forth in the confined space near his chair. "All right, enough crying," he growled. "The blister's pricked. You'll never have to look at his face again. Quiet, quiet. Give her a drink of water," he said to Rosa Frumetl. "Where's the other one--what's her name?"

"Stepha is home," Hama replied, her voice choked with sobs.

"She--she had some things to--to attend to."

"What is there to attend to? Anyway, the first thing is to get the older one married. She's a good girl, a fine girl. She'll have a three-thousand-ruble dowry. You'll stay here--till you get a divorce."

With the word "divorce" a shudder ran over Hama's body.

"What's the good of a divorce?" she moaned. "I'm finished. I live only for the children."

"You're not old yet. When you've had a chance to rest up a bit and get some decent clothes you'll be a new woman. I'll give you fifty rubles now; go and get yourself some new dresses."

-122-He went out

and came back with two twenty-five-ruble notes. After some hesitation he added another ten-ruble note to them from his purse.

"For pocket money," he said.

Hama took the money and wept afresh. This unexpected kindness made her misfortune seem all the greater. Naomi came and led her to the room that had been prepared for her. An extra bed had been moved in for Bella. The linen smelled of starch, blu-ing, and lavender. Naomi, Manya, and Bella fussed about. Adele opened the door, stood at the doorsill, and gave advice, half in Yiddish and half in Polish. Rosa Frumetl came in to inquire what Hama would like for dinner-beef, or fowl, or a roast, or a stew with a savory gravy. To Hama it seemed for a moment that she was a girl again and that her mother was still alive. She had not slept a wink the previous night. Now she tied a damp towel around her forehead and lay on the bed, occasionally sighing or groaning. Bella went with Naomi to the market. She was used to handling household affairs. At home she was servant, cook, and laundress. Naomi realized that she would be able to make use of her. Manya, a little afraid that she would be superfluous now, grabbed a cloth and began to dust the furniture.

When, after all the talk and fuss, Meshulam put on his coat and overshoes to leave for the office, his limbs felt astonishingly light. He even found himself humming an old tune that he had long forgotten. It was as though his daughter's homecoming had made him younger, reminding him of the time when the house was full of children. Besides, her return represented for him a victory over Abram. Just let him divorce her, and then everything would be all right. True enough, she was no beauty, but when she got hold of herself and he, Meshulam, put up a decent dowry, Zeinvele Srotsker would manage to dig up a husband for her--a widower or a divorced man. No, he was not through yet; with God's help he would live to have something to rejoice over.

It was windy in the street. There was a hint of hail and snow in the air. The hawkers near the gates were shouting out their wares.

Sleighs jingled past. Drivers yelled at their horses and snapped their whips. Gzhybovska Street smelled of horse-droppings and cart grease. Passers-by, some of whom Meshulam either did not know or did not recognize, bowed greetings to him. A gentile took off his hat deferentially. "No," he thought, "the world's not upside down yet." A dog ran out of a courtyard, barking at the old man's heels; Meshulam waved it away with his umbrella. The -123-janitor opened the courtyard gate. The unpaved walk was covered with snow; in spite of that, someone had released flocks of fowl from their cages. Pigeons were picking at kernels of oats, tiny sparrows hopped about. Koppel was already waiting in the office, which was on the first floor. He was pacing back and forth in his polished boots, glancing at his watch, puffing at a cigarette, and taking an occasional look at the newspaper on the desk. When Meshulam told him that Hama had left Abram, he made no comment. Meshulam threw him a wondering look. He had expected Koppel to be overjoyed at the news. For the thousandth time he realized that Koppel's ways were unpredictable.

Reb Meshulam sat down in the leather-covered chair at the desk, piled high with papers. Koppel went into the adjoining room and in a little while returned with a glass of tea for his employer.

5

Most of that day Abram spent in bed. The clock rang the hours and half hours. From the courtyard came the cries of peddlers. A beggar sang a doleful song about the sinking of the
Titanic
. A parrot screeched. Abram only half heard the sounds. The gold chain that stretched over his belly heaved with his breathing. He snored, groaned, and murmured, from time to time opening his eyes and looking about him with a sad, wide-awake look, as though he had only been going through the motions of sleeping.

When he finally got off the bed it was dark. He held his breath and listened intently. Why was it so quiet? "Hama is gone," he said half aloud. "Bella, too. And where is Stepha? I'm all alone, alone with the four walls."

He was hungry, but he did not have enough money to go to a restaurant. His limbs heavy, he dragged himself into the study. He did not turn on the lamp. Through the curtains came a pale shaft of light, throwing a shadowy pattern that lingered on the wall opposite the window.

He sat down at the writing-desk and automatically lifted the receiver of the telephone. When he heard the operator's voice he gave Ida Prager's number. Zosia answered the telephone.

"Zosia, my love, this is me--Abram," he said into the mouthpiece. "Is your mistress home?"

-

124-"No."

"Where is she?" "I don't know." "What are you doing there all alone?"

"What should I be doing? I'm lonely-ready to die."

"Why so melancholy all of a sudden?"

"Last night I dreamed of three crows. Two of them picked out my eyes and the other one kept on cawing: 'Zosia, dead Zosia, dead, dead'--"

"Nonsense. You're a healthy, bouncing wench. You'll live to be ninety."

"No, Pan Abram, my dead husband is calling me. I dreamed about you too."

"Me? What about me?"

"You want to know, eh? Well, I'm not a gypsy fortune-teller, but something not so good has happened to you."

"Correct."

"You see. I know everything. My mistress went to the circus with Pepi and the child's father. But don't get jealous."

"Who cares? If she leaves me, I'll take you."

"Me? You're making fun of me. And me an orphan."

"I'm not joking, Zosia."

"What could I do for you? Be your servant?"

"You're a woman, not a servant."

"You shouldn't talk like that. Never, never would I betray my mistress. She's like a sister."

"Well, so what? Sometimes one sister fools another."

"Oh, no, Pan Abram. Not my mistress. You ought to come here more often. When you come around it's like a holiday."

"Zosia, I'm hungry as a wolf."

"Then come around. I'll satisfy the wolf."

"I'll come, Zosia, maybe tonight. Look, Zosia, maybe you can lend me a few rubles."

"How much do you want?"

"Ten rubles."

"Even fifty if you want it."

"That's more than I'd lend to myself. But it's good to hear you offer it. Don't tell your mistress."

"Don't worry. You can be sure I know how to keep my tongue between my teeth."

Abram put down the telephone and breathed a sigh of relief.

-125-So that was

the way things stood. She was with her husband. He was losing everything and everybody.

He went back to the bedroom, put on a fresh shirt, his fur coat, and his Russian fur hat. He did not bother to turn on the light; he could see in the dark, like an animal. He left the house, locking the door behind him. "Ah, Abram," he murmured to himself, "you're as good as six feet under."

When he got down to the courtyard he saw Koppel standing near the street lamp in his short overcoat with the velvet collar, his derby hat pushed to the back of his head, a cane hanging on his arm. He was engaged in conversation with the janitor. Abram froze in fright. When Koppel saw him he made a movement as though to leave. The janitor lifted his hand to his hat.

"What does he want, Jan?" Abram asked in a stifled voice.

The janitor turned to Koppel. "Here's Pan Shapiro now," he said.

"What do you want with the janitor?" Abram said to Koppel, half shouting. In Polish he said to the janitor: "You can go."

The man hesitated, then went back to his cubicle.

After a short silence Koppel said quietly: "I've come on your father-in-law's orders."

"It's always someone else's orders. What do you want?"

"Your houses are being taken over."

"Who's to take them over? You?'

"You're through as manager. You'll turn the books over to me."

"And if I refuse, what'll you do? Throw salt on my tail?"

"I won't do anything."

"Then go to hell."

"Whatever you say. It's not my affair. I only want to remind you that the notes are with us."

"What notes? What are you babbling about?"

"You know what notes. We paid them, but we didn't tear them up."

"You're talking Turkish! Get out before I take this stick and break your skull."

"You'll not be breaking any skulls. The endorsements are forged."

"Get out," Abram shouted in a voice that was hardly his own. "On your way." He raised his stick threateningly. Koppel walked off.

-126-Abram

remained motionless where he stood. His heart was beating fast and seemed to be fluttering about in his chest, as though it were suspended by some fragile thread. He left the courtyard and began to pace along the Zlota toward the Marshalkovska. He took deep breaths of the frosty night air and exhaled with hoarse sighs.

Suddenly he heard a familiar voice. He turned and saw his daughter Stepha on the opposite side of the street. She was not alone; a young student was with her. She had apparently not seen her father. She was wearing a green, caracul-bordered jacket with a broad-brimmed hat. A fur piece hung from her shoulders. Her hands were tucked into a muff. Calf-high Russian boots enclosed her legs. Her round face was flushed. The student was no taller than she. In the dim light Abram could see a thin mustache sprouting on his upper lip. Was it possible that she was taking him to the apartment? Who could he be? This was something new.

He wanted to call out to her, but somehow he was dumb. He turned to follow them. Stepha was talking in a loud voice. He could hear her saying: "Silly! Insane!"

The student remained at the gate while Stepha went up alone.

Abram stood in the shadow of a balcony to watch. The youth began to stroll back and forth, his hands clasped behind him, with the measured walk of a man patiently waiting for a woman who he is determined will not escape him. Abram could see him clearly. Small features, a thin nose, a long chin. A sly fox, Abram reflected. When a scoundrel like that gets after a girl, he gets what he's after. With quick decision Abram crossed the street, went into the house, and climbed the stairs. "What am I doing this for?" he thought. "I must be out of my mind."

He took the door key from his trousers pocket and tried to in-sert it in the lock, but at that precise moment the door opened and Stepha stepped out. She bumped full into him. Her hatpin stabbed his ear. He could smell pomade and narcissus perfume.

"Papa, it's you!" she exclaimed in surprise.

"Yes, it's me. Where are you running to? I haven't seen you for about a year."

"Oh, Papa, I'm in a hurry. I'm going to the theater."

"Who's taking you?"

"What's the difference? A gentleman."

"When will you get home?"

-

127-"About twelve--or one--I'm not sure."

"Wait a minute. I've got to tell you something. Your mother's left me and gone to your grandfather's."

"I know. Oh, Papa, you"re such a scoundrel. I've just got to kiss you." She threw her arms around him and kissed him on the cheek and on the nose.

"What theater are you going to?"

"To the Letni Theater. What are you so curious for? Don't worry, I won't get myself seduced."

"I'm not so sure."

"Don't start preaching morals to me, Papa. It doesn't become you."

"Have you got any money with you? I'm down to my last grosz."

"All I have is twenty kopeks." She went down the stairs quickly and energetically. Abram scratched the back of his neck, undecided whether to go into the house or return to the street. "So that's the way it is. Koppel has the notes. And I, idiot that I am, thought I was fooling them. They can throw me in jail--even tonight."

He lit a cigar, then peered by the match flame at the brass plate on the door with his name engraved on it: "Abram Shapiro." He reflected a moment and then snapped his fingers. "I'll go in and take a drink. I'm done for anyway." He went inside. In a glass-palled cupboard there were a bottle of brandy and some vishniak. In the darkness he went into the kitchen and took from the cupboard some bread, a piece of cheese, and the remains of a herring. "To hell with Mintz and all doctors," he thought. "Damn them with their lousy diets and prescriptions. To hell with all of them--bailiffs, wives, daughters--whores, all of them."