The Apprenticeship of Duddy Kravitz

by Mordecai Richler

  “He’s probably knocked up Yvette,” Linda said, “and that’s why he’s skipped town like that.”

  “Well, that’s show biz,” Cuckoo said. “But you couldn’t beat Duddy for a dreamer.”

  “Don’t I know it? He thinks he’s going to make millions.”

  “I’m worried, though. He seemed so sick like last night. I don’t mean the fever. I mean sick in the head. He went on and on about some lake he’d found and how he was going to build a whole town on it.”

  “No kidding?”

  “Isn’t that terrible? I mean isn’t it awful that a bright kid like that should have to live on pipedreams?”

  “Listen, Cuckoo, are you sure about Duddy and Yvette? I couldn’t care less, but…”

  “I’m telling you. She was crazy about him from the start.”

  Linda got up. “I wonder if he left his address with my father.”

  “You want to see him again?”

  “Don’t be absurd,” she said sharply. “But if he got Yvette into a jam I’m not going to let him get away with it.”

  Cuckoo remained at the bar.

  “The same poison again?”

  “Reet you are,” Cuckoo said. Maybe, he thought, I shouldn’t have mentioned the lake. He had promised Duddy — Aw, it was all too crazy. Cuckoo turned around on his stool. The guests looked bored. Maybe a quiz game, he thought, or a dance contest. Here comes Rubin.

  “I was just going to get the show on the road,” Cuckoo said.

  Two

  1

  Max always had his breakfast at Eddy’s Cigar & Soda. His usual fare was a salami sandwich and a Pepsi.

  “Kee-rist,” Debrofsky said. “According to Parsley’s column the Dodgers are going to draft Bridges.”

  “What’s that got to do with the Jewish problem?” Max asked, hoping for a laugh and not getting one.

  “Hey, look who’s here!”

  “Duddy!”

  Duddy dropped his kitbag and ran to his father and embraced him.

  “Hey, easy there,” Max said, breaking free. “Take care for my kishkas.”

  “Where’s your sunburn, for Christ’s sake? Two months in the mountains and you’re still as white as a sheet.”

  “Aw.”

  “He’s taller,” Eddy said, placing a coffee before Duddy. “He musta shot up at least three inches.”

  Max ruffled his boy’s hair. “You’re right, Eddy. I have to reach up now. It seems only a week ago I had to bend down to… Hey, what are you doing here, anyway? Were you fired?”

  “I quit.”

  “You’re sure there was no trouble? You’re not holding anything back.”

  “Jeez.”

  “You don’t look too hot. Are you sick?”

  “I’ve got a fever.”

  “Come on,” Max said, getting up, “I’ll take you home.”

  Duddy leaned back in the car with his eyes closed. There were beads of sweat on his forehead. “Why didn’t you answer any of my letters?” he asked.

  “Oh, you know me. I’m not one for the letters.”

  But Duddy remembered that when Lennie had worked as a camp counselor one summer his father had written every week. He had driven out to visit him twice. “How’s Lennie?”

  “Plugging away as usual. Anatomy’s the big killer, you know.”

  “Yeah.”

  “His nerves are all shot. Lennie’s not like you or me, you know. Those bright guys are never physically strong. Your Uncle Benjy is sending him to Cape Cod for a couple of weeks’ rest.”

  “That’s nice. How’s the zeyda?”

  “The same. Still strong as a horse and digging away in that back yard. He brought me round some radishes last week and they were so bitter you could die. I had to eat them but. The old bastard sat there with me all the time, and do you know what? Afterwards he says to me, ‘Those are terrible radishes, Max. How could you eat them? I tried one and had to spit it out.’ “

  Duddy laughed. “Did he ask about me?”

  “He sure did. The old man’s crazy about you. I swear it.”

  Lennie was home. He was in the bedroom, dressing to go out.

  “Duddy,” he shouted, “how are you?”

  “Can’t complain.”

  “Look at him, Daddy. He’ll soon be taller than me.”

  Duddy punched Lennie lightly on the shoulder. His brother replied with a left to the belly and Duddy, suddenly pale, had to sit down.

  “What’s wrong?” Lennie asked.

  “Nothing. A cold, that’s all.”

  “He’s getting right into bed,” Max said.

  “Where are you off to so early, Lennie?”

  “Tennis.”

  “He’s got a new girl. Style? Style.”

  “Hell,” Lennie said quickly, “I forgot to get some money from Benjy yesterday. Listen, Duddy, can you lend me ten bucks until tomorrow?”

  Duddy handed him three tens. “I was going to get you a gift, but I didn’t have the time. So you get it yourself now. O.K.?”

  “Well, thanks a lot!”

  “Skip it.”

  “Have a good time, Lennie.” Max waited until he heard the front door shut. “I’m so glad when he takes his nose out of those books and gets some fresh air for once.”

  “He looks pretty sunburnt to me,” Duddy said. “What’s happened to Riva?”

  “Gone with the wind, I guess. He hangs out with a new bunch now. Most of them aren’t Jewish and maybe they drink more than they should, but what the hell. They’re all college kids and they come from good families.”

  “And the girl?” Duddy asked, taking his clothes off.

  “A knockout from Westmount. A blondie too.”

  “Is it serious?”

  “Serious? She’s a shiksa.”

  “I think I’ll try and sleep now. But wake me up when you come in. I’ve got some important things I want to talk over with you. Oh, I almost forgot,” he said, rising, “I bought you half a dozen sports shirts in Ste. Agathe. One of them is hand-woven.” Duddy started for his kitbag.

  “Never mind. Get into bed. You can give them to me tonight.”

  “Sure. Sure thing.”

  Max had only been gone a moment when Duddy began to cry. Maybe it was the fever, maybe it was his bed and the room he shared with Lennie again, but Duddy wept long and brokenly before he finally fell asleep. He woke the next afternoon with a foul taste in his mouth, but the fever was gone. There wasn’t much to eat in the kitchen. Duddy heated a tin of chicken soup and broke an egg into it. Afterwards he felt better, a little woozy, perhaps, but good enough to go out. Duddy found his grandfather bent over the last in the shoe repair shop. “Zeyda, me.”

  The old man rose and stroked Duddy’s cheek. “You’ve been home two days,” he said.

  “I was sick. I was in bed. Zeyda,” said, “I’ve found some land. It’s in the country.”

  Simcha smiled, he made a deprecating gesture with his hand. “Lie to an old man,” he said.

  “No. I’m serious.” He told his grandfather about the lake. “The greenest field is reserved for you. For a farm like.”

  Simcha looked shrewdly at Duddy. He nodded his head. “You’re bigger,” he said, “and the pimples are gone. My grandson is going to be handsome.”

  “A somebody,” Duddy said.

  “I’ll make tea,” Simcha said, and he looked Duddy up and down again, his delight undisguised. “What a change in you. My God.”

  The little baby-fat there had been in Duddy’s face was gone. He was taller, more broad, and he had no more need to encourage a beard. The boyish craftiness in his eyes had been displaced by tough adult resolution. He was able to sit still longer and he seemed calm and confident. Like his grandfather he now gave the appearance of a man who held plenty in reserve. Duddy didn’t chew his nails any more, either. Unknowingly emulating his grandfather, he had taken to sitting with his big broad-palmed hands gripping his knees. He held his head high, if a little to one side. But not quite e
ighteen years old yet, he was practically a chain-smoker. His fingers were dark with nicotine.

  “I brought you something,” Duddy said, placing a package on the counter.

  “You don’t have to bring me gifts.”

  “I want to.”

  Simcha undid the brown package, carefully rolling up the string again and putting it in a drawer. There were a pair of blue overalls, a couple of dozen seed packages, and a pair of gardening shears.

  “For the farm.”

  Simcha folded the brown wrapping paper in four and put it in another drawer.

  “If you don’t like it I can take it back. I kept the bills.”

  “Let’s have a drink,” Simcha said, and from under the counter he brought out a bottle of cognac. “You pour it in your tea. That makes you warm here, Duddel. Watch me.”

  That night Duddy waited up for his father. He was alone in the house; Lennie had gone out in the afternoon to play tennis and still hadn’t come home. When Max came in Duddy made him some scrambled eggs and coffee.

  “About a half hour ago,” Max said, “two guys stop me and ask to be driven out to Dorval. I keep a lead pipe behind me under the seat special for such jokers. Last week they rolled one of the Diamond drivers. The damn fool tried to fight with them and got fifteen stitches in the head for his trouble. Where’s Lennie?”

  “He’s not home yet.”

  “It’s almost two o’clock.” Max took off his shirt and got his backscratcher out of the kitchen drawer. “Hey, did I tell you about last week? The cops caught this young punk from Griffintown trying to steal the radio out of Debrofsky’s new Dodge. That would have made the fifth one swiped in a month. Anyway, the cops took the kid into the can and broke his arm. Boy, did he ever yell.”

  “Why didn’t they just pull him in?”

  “They said that’s no use. They get off too easy. This way they said he won’t be swiping radios for another few months at least. Listen, they oughta know what they’re doing… Aw, that’s spot. You want to borrow it for a minute?” he asked, offering Duddy the scratcher.

  “No.”

  “Where in the hell’s Lennie? I don’t like this.”

  “Daddy, I want you to take me to the Boy Wonder tomorrow. I have to speak to him.”

  “Pardon me while I clean the wax out of my ears.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “What do you mean you want to speak to him? You’re a kid.”

  “You always promised you’d take me to him.”

  “When you were ready. Don’t forget. I always said when you were ready. Max the Hack is no welsher.”

  “I’m ready, Daddy.”

  “Ask around. Go ahead. Never in my life have I welshed on a promise.”

  “I have to see him important.”

  “Oh, there’s trouble coming. I can smell it.”

  “No trouble. There’s a deal I want to speak to him about.”

  “A deal! Do you think the Wonder waits to hear from pishers eighteen for deals?”

  “I want you to take me there tomorrow.”

  “Impossible. He’s in Florida.”

  “When does he get back?”

  “In two weeks, they say. But with him you never know. I remember once,” Max began, “when the Boy Wonder flew to Paris, France, just for the weekend. It was a Friday afternoon and —”

  “I know that story.”

  Max looked hurt.

  “As soon as he gets back I want you to take me to him.”

  “What about? A job.”

  “I can’t say.”

  “I’ll take you to him under two conditions. One, you must be ready. Two, you have to tell me why first.”

  “If you don’t take me I’ll go myself.”

  “And embarrass me?”

  “Why are you always afraid I’m going to embarrass you?”

  “Don’t shout at me,” Max said, making a fist. “When I lose my temper I lose my temper.”

  “I remember,” Duddy said acidly.

  “You shouldn’t have said that. You have no right to bring that up again.”

  Duddy glared at him. He started to say something, but the doorbell rang and rang. Somebody was leaning against the bell. “I’ll go,” Duddy said. It was Lennie, and he was dead drunk. “Daddy’s sitting up in the kitchen. He mustn’t see you like this.”

  “Gotta get t’bed.”

  “Listen,” Duddy said, shaking him, “you wait here. I’ll be right out. Jeez.”

  In the kitchen Duddy said, “It was the wrong address. It was a lush. Go to bed, Daddy.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “For a walk.”

  “I’m going to wait up for Lennie.”

  “If I were you I’d go to bed.”

  Duddy found Lennie sitting outside on the next door steps, his head hanging between his shoulders. “It’s terrible,” Lennie said. “Terrible.”

  “Gwan. You’re drunk, that’s all. Here. Grab on. I’ll take you round through the lane and we’ll climb in the window.”

  “It could ruin me for life.”

  “What?”

  “So there wouldn’t be a doctor in the family. Who cares?”

  “What did you say?”

  Lennie grinned. He rocked to and fro.

  “What did you say about no doctor in the family?”

  “Why, it’s Duddy Kravitz, the kid who once cornered the comic book market on St. Urbain Street.”

  “Awright. Very Now tell me what’s going to ruin your life.”

  “I’m gonna be sick.”

  Duddy supported him. He held his forehead. “Better?” he asked.

  “Bed.”

  “Lennie, listen to me. Lennie! Listen. Are you listening? I want you to tell me if you’re in trouble. This is no joke.”

  Lennie burped. “Whoops,” he said.

  “I’m going to keep you standing here. No bed. Until you tell me —”

  Lennie squinted, he swayed, and he brought Duddy into focus once more. “I’ve fallen behind in my studies,” he said. “Too much tennis. Anatomy’s the big killer, you know.”

  “Is that all?” Duddy asked, releasing him. “You sure?”

  “Sure I’m sure.” Lennie pretended to be conducting an orchestra. He sang, “We are little black sheep —”

  “Shettup,” Duddy said quickly.

  “What?”

  “I don’t care for that song, that’s all. C’mon. We’re going home.”

  Duddy got him in the back window and into bed without much trouble. His father was no longer in the kitchen, but the light was on in his bedroom.

  “Daddy?”

  “Lennie?”

  “He just got in. He’s in bed asleep already. I thought I’d tell you.”

  Lennie woke when Duddy entered the room. “Thanks,” he said. “Thanks a lot.”

  “Aw.”

  “Want to know something? I think Uncle Benjy is a pain in the ass.”

  Duddy laughed.

  “He stinks. Uncle Benjy is a big stinker!”

  “Quiet,” Duddy said warmly, “you’ll wake Daddy.”

  “Did you know he was impotent?”

  “Wha’?”

  “He can’t have babies. He can’t even —”

  “You oughtn’t to say that. He’s been very good to you.”

  “He’ll kill me. If he finds out he’ll…”

  “What did you say?”

  “Nothing. Thanks, Duddy. Thanks a lot.”

  “Let’s go to sleep, eh?”

  “I just want to say thanks.”

  “O.K.”

  “Thanks a lot.”

  “Jeez.”

  “Thank you much. Merci.”

  “For Christ’s sake, let’s go to sleep.”

  ” ‘Night.”

  “Good night.”

  “And thanks. Thanks a lot.”

  Duddy pulled the blankets over his head.

  He waited two weeks before he approached Max again about the Boy Wonder.
“He’s back,” Duddy said. “I know that for a fact.”

  “Listen, Duddy, he dropped a fortune in Florida. They say he’s in a black mood.”

  “I’ll take my chances. Speak to him for me tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow’s Friday.”

  “Yeah, and the day after that’s Saturday. So what?”

  “First thing next week I’m going to speak to him. That’s a promise.”

  2

  Duddy was not idle while he waited for his father to introduce him to the Boy Wonder. The morning his fever had gone he began to size things up. He figured he would need at least fifteen thousand dollars down for the land he wanted (he’d have to sign mortgages for the balance) and no job advertised in the Star bring him in that kind of dough, not in twenty years. He had to make a killing. A real killing. But these things just don’t fall into a guy’s lap, he thought, and meanwhile it would be wise to bring in as much money as he could whatever way possible. You’ve got to start operating, he told himself. It’s getting late.

  But where does a guy start, he thought. Where and how?

  He read enviously about the real estate boom in Toronto and of men who had bought land as farms and sold it at twenty to thirty cents a square foot two months later. Other guys had gone prospecting for uranium in Labrador and come back with a mint. Television, he had heard, was the coming thing. Dealers had already made a fortune in the States. Duddy got an appointment with the representative of a big American firm and tried to get an agency, but the man, obviously amused, asked Duddy how much selling experience he had had, what his education was, did he own a car and how much capital was he willing to invest in stock. He told Duddy that he was too young and advised him to try for something smaller. “You can’t run before you learn how to walk,” he said. So Duddy grew a mustache and began to take the Reader’s Digest work hard on How To Increase Your Word Power. He also came to an arrangement with his father about the taxi. While Max slept Duddy drove.

  Duddy drove at night and during the day he got a job selling liquid soap and toilet supplies to factories. For this work he had to have a car of his own and here Debrofsky helped out. He took Duddy to his son-in-law’s used car lot and got him a ‘46 Chevvie cheap and on excellent terms. While Debrofsky was bargaining Duddy visited the clothing factory next door and got a medium-sized order for soap and paper towels. He usually slept from four to six and at a quarter to seven he drove down to Wellington College, where he was taking a course in business administration. He joined the cine club at Wellington and that’s where he met Peter John Friar, the distinguished director of documentary films. Mr. Friar had come to Wellington to speak on “Italian Neo-Realism, What Next?” He had a lot to say against Hollywood (it was a soul-killing place, he said) and he seemed to be against something called the witchhunt, but Duddy wasn’t sure. Mr. Friar had a difficult British accent and he spoke softly. There was a question period after he was finished and Mr. Friar was asked point-blank did he think Huston had gone permanently commercial and what had become of Sir Arthur Elton? Afterwards Duddy pulled him aside. “I’m going into the film business here myself soon and there’s something I’d like to talk over with you,” he said.