The Apprenticeship of Duddy Kravitz

by Mordecai Richler

  Wow, he thought suddenly, smacking the side of his face, why didn’t I ever think of that before?

  “Jesus Christ almighty!”

  Yvette was waxing the dining room floor when Duddy returned from his walk. He came with a bouquet of flowers for her, a book of poems for Virgil, and a bottle of whisky.

  “You got the money?” she said.

  “No.”

  “You’re sick?”

  “Wrong again.”

  Duddy waited restlessly, answering questions with curt nods, until Yvette went out to do the shopping. Then, turning his most expansive smile on Virgil, he asked, “Join me in a drink, kid?”

  “A small one.”

  “You know something, Virgie, the two of us just don’t sit around and chew the fat enough any more. We don’t know each other as well as we could.”

  Virgil ducked his head. He grinned.

  “Once,” Duddy began, “when we had the apartment on Tupper Street, I interrupted you while you were writing a letter to your father.”

  “That’s right. I remember.”

  “Now you’re obviously one of my most treasured friends, but —”

  “Gee whiz, Duddy.”

  ” — but what do I know about your father? Nothing. Maybe —”

  “I’ll tell you all about him,” Virgil began enthusiastically. “My father’s name is John. He was born on January 18, 1901. He’s five foot ten with graying hair and lovely blue eyes and —”

  “Maybe. . I mean for all I know he’s…” Duddy hesitated. He jumped up and began to chew his nails again. “… well, a man of means, as they say.”

  Virgil looked grave.

  “Virgie?”

  He averted his eyes.

  “I’m talking to you, Virgie.”

  “Well, he’s not exactly broke.”

  “Here, old chap, let me refresh your drink.”

  “No thanks. I think I’ve had enough.”

  “Aw, Gwan.” Duddy poured him a stiff one. “Cheers.”

  Virgil hesitated.

  “Cheers, Virgie.”

  “Cheers.”

  “You know, Virgie, we’re buddies. Real buddies. Isn’t that true?”

  “Sure, Duddy.”

  “And a friend in need, as they say, is a friend indeed. Right?”

  Virgil, looking somewhat bewildered, a little oppressed, said, “Yvette ought to be back soon, huh?”

  “Sure. How’s your poetry coming along?”

  “All right, I guess. No, as a matter of fact, my muse hasn’t exactly been —”

  “Jeez, I wish I had your talent.”

  “Do you mean that, Duddy?”

  “Why, I’ll bet E. E. Cummings would give his left ball for some of the stuff you’ve written. You make that Patchen look sick. Someday, boy, I’m going to be proud to have known you when.”

  “Would you like me to read you some of my more recent efforts?” Virgil asked, and he began to wheel his chair towards the door.

  “Later. Here, let me refresh your drink.”

  “But I haven’t even finished this one.”

  “Aw. Gwan. Cheers.”

  “Cheers.”

  Duddy sat down, rose quickly, and began to pace. He cracked his knuckles. “You know what I’ve been asking myself, Virgie? Where did you and Yvette get all the money to cover your hospital bills? How come Yvette was able to put her hands on three hundred bucks for the notary? Questions like that. That’s what I’ve been asking myself.”

  Virgil’s head began to droop.

  “How much have you got, Virgie,” Duddy asked, kneeling beside his wheelchair, “and where did you get it?”

  “I’m not supposed to say. I promised Yvette.”

  “Aha.”

  “She made me swear I wouldn’t lend you one cent. She says I can’t afford to gamble.”

  “She’s right too, you know,” Duddy said, rising. “That girl’s certainly got her head screwed on right.” The bitch, he thought.

  Virgil smiled, relieved.

  “But I’d never dream of asking you for a loan, Virgie. I’m only inquiring because I want to help you to invest your money wisely. Let’s say you had as much as five thousand,” Duddy said tentatively, never taking his eyes off Virgil, “or maybe ten… Ten, Virgie?”

  “Well, I… ” Virgil looked away. “Yvette’s taking a long time,” he said feebly.

  “Where’d you get it?”

  “My grandfather left me some. Well, in his will he left me… some, you know…”

  “No kidding?”

  “You mustn’t tell Yvette I told you.”

  “Of course I won’t. But you know what, Virgie? That money’s rotting in the bank like a lousy old apple left in the sun. Every day you leave it there it’s worth less and less. It depreciates. You know what the real value of the dollar is today? Forty-five cents. Tomorrow it’ll be forty-four and next year, wham, forty maybe… A guy’s got to invest his money and invest it wisely. Where is it, Virgie?”

  “What?” he asked, lifting his head heavily.

  “Where do you keep the money? In a Montreal bank.”

  “The Bank of Nova Scotia on Park Avenue,” he said, his voice beginning to wobble.

  “You don’t say?”

  Virgil bit his lip. He nodded.

  “Are you O.K., Virgie?” Duddy asked, kneeling beside him again.

  Virgil nodded again. “A headache,” he said.

  “I’m only asking you all these questions because I want to help. You know what, Virgie? Real estate, that’s the thing. All the wise money’s going into real estate today.”

  It seemed to Duddy that Virgil’s eyes were glassy, but he didn’t feel so hot himself, his own hands were clammy. It’s not like I’m this, he thought.

  “I’ll tell you something, Virgie,” Duddy said, pouring himself another drink, “I close my eyes and before me I see a lovely spread of land before a lake, the land is all yours, and on it is a pretty white house and in the basement is a printing press… Health Handicappers, needy ones, come and go… I see you in the picture… Happy? Happy.”

  “I can’t,” Virgil screamed so sudden and loud that Duddy started.

  “Wha’?”

  Virgil gripped the arms of his wheelchair. His eyes were bloodshot. “I promised Yvette. I can’t.”

  “Virgie, what are you yelling about? You can’t what?”

  “Yes,” Yvette said, entering the room. “You can’t what, Virgil?”

  “Oh, for Christ’s sake. Here comes the United States Cavalry. Right on the dot too.”

  “What were you doing to him, Duddy?”

  “Breaking his arms. Trying out the Chinese water torture. Jeez.”

  “I can’t,” Virgil muttered. His head fell, bobbed between his shoulders, and he began to sob brokenly.

  Yvette set down her parcels with a bang and wheeled Virgil out of the dining room. “I’ll speak to you later,” she said to Duddy.

  Duddy poured himself a stiff drink. Speak your heart out, you lousy, chazerFlorence Nightingale, he thought. A lot I care. I’m going to get that land no matter what, see? I’m not giving up now, he thought, taking a big gulp of his drink. Duddy sat down on the mattress and began to drink even more quickly. An hour passed before Yvette returned.

  “He’s sleeping,” Yvette said. “What did you do to upset him?”

  “I bopped him one. Wham! Right on the spine.”

  “You’re drunk.”

  “A big deal.”

  “Pour me one.”

  “You’ve got hands. Pour yourself one. I’m going out,” he said. “I require some ozone.”

  Duddy didn’t return for dinner. He stayed away for hours. He walked all the way downtown, played the pinball machines, drank some, chatted with whores in chromium-plated bars, stared into department store windows, weaving, his nose pressed against the refreshingly cold plate glass, drank some more, walked his feet sore, rested, was told to move on twice, and finally staggered into a taxi.
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  Yvette had waited up for him. “Did you try to get any money out of Virgil this afternoon?” she asked.

  “F– Virgil,” he said. “You don’t even ask how I am? Maybe —”

  “How are you?” she asked.

  “Drunk and sad.”

  “Now then, did you try to get any money out of —”

  “You’ve got a voice like a knife being sharpened,” he said. He began to giggle.

  “Answer me.”

  “Has he got any?”

  Yvette hesitated.

  “Jeez. Has he?”

  “No,” she said.

  “Listen,” he said, “you’re beginning to remind me of my family. That’s a fact. I’m always in the wrong. Why?”

  Yvette’s face flushed.

  “W,” he said, plucking one finger, “H,” he said plucking another. “Y. Cue-wesh-tion mark.”

  “I’ll help you undress,” she said.

  “You can look,” Duddy said in a falsetto voice, “but don’t touch.” And in a moment he was snoring.

  He was surly at breakfast and Virgil, embarrassed, did not say much either.

  “What are your plans for today?” Yvette asked.

  “I’m just going to hang around my house for a bit,” he said, “if you and Virgil don’t mind.”

  “We’re going out for a walk,” Yvette said quickly.

  After they’d gone Duddy began to chain-smoke. It’s their fault, he thought, they wouldn’t help me, they’re forcing me into it. Pushing me, he thought, and he went into Virgil’s room. The checkbook wasn’t even hidden. Jeez, he thought. It was on top of the dresser with the passbook. Duddy took a quick look at Virgil’s bank balance, whistled, noted his account number and ripped out two checks. He forged the signature by holding the check and a letter Virgil had signed up to the window and tracing slowly. This is a breeze, he thought. But the signed check frightened him. He concealed it in his back pocket. I’ll wait an hour, he thought, well, three quarters anyway, and if they show up before then I’ll tear up the check. If not — Well, they shouldn’t leave me alone for that long. Not in my desperate condition.

  Duddy waited an hour and a half before he attempted to make the phone call. Even then he hung up three times (See, he thought) before he lit another cigarette off his butt and actually put the call through. Disguising his voice, he told the bank manager, “This is Mr. Roseboro speaking.” He gave the address. “I’m sending Mr. Kravitz down to have a check certified for me, please.”

  Duddy hung up and waited. Just as he expected, the bank manager called back to check. “Yes,” Duddy said, “Mr. Kravitz just left. Thanks a lot, sir.”

  Duddy’s heart began to bang as soon as he entered the bank, but nobody questioned the signature on the check, and so he rushed down to his own bank with it and deposited it there. Zowie, he thought. Rushing into the house, he announced, “I’ve got the money.”

  “Really,” Yvette said.

  “Duddy can do anything,” Virgil said.

  “You said a mouthful, kid.”

  But when the phone rang Duddy started. “I’ll take it,” he said swiftly. It wasn’t the bank. “All right,” Duddy said, “we’re all going out to dinner. Uncle Duddy pays.”

  He got them out of the house as quickly as he could. Each time Yvette asked him where he had got the money Duddy winked and said, “I found it under my pillow.”

  “He can do anything he puts his mind to,” Virgil said. “Duddy’s going to be a tycoon.”

  Early the next morning Yvette left for Ste. Agathe to see the notary. Duddy met her at the station when she returned the same evening. He took her to a bar nearby. “Everything go O.K.?” he asked.

  “The land’s all yours now,” she said.

  “At last,” he said. “Jeez.”

  “Are you happy?”

  “Boy, would I ever like to see Dingleman’s face now. The Boy Wonder? They’ll soon be calling him the One-Day Wonder. You wait.” Duddy had some papers with him. He tried to produce them casually. “Oh, you’d better sign these,” he said.

  Yvette looked puzzled.

  “It’s about the land. You sign over all the deeds to my father. Just a formality, you know.”

  She hesitated.

  “What’sa matter? Your feelings hurt?”

  “Give me a pen,” she said sharply.

  “Listen, it’s just a legal formality. My lawyer insisted. In case you were in an accident like. Aw, you know.”

  “What if your father’s in an accident?”

  “Will you just sign, please?”

  Yvette signed.

  “Well,” Duddy said. “Cheers.”

  But she didn’t lift her glass.

  “Listen, if my father’s in an accident the land automatically goes to me. But if you were —”

  “Let’s talk about something else.”

  “Oh, boy. This is going to be a night. A real night.”

  “I’d like you to take me home, please.”

  All the lights were on downstairs.

  “Virgil,” Yvette called.

  There was no answer.

  “Maybe he went out dancing,” Duddy said.

  Yvette walked ahead into the living room. “Oh,” she said, holding a hand to her cheek. “Oh, no.”

  Virgil lay twisted on the floor beside his overturned wheelchair. His face was thin and white and drying blood dribbled down his chin.

  “He’s had a fit. Duddy. Oh, Duddy.”

  Above him the telephone receiver dangled loosely.

  “Get me some hot water, Duddy. Quick!”

  But Duddy had gone. Yvette reached the window just in time to see him pass outside.

  Duddy ran, he ran, he ran.

  2

  They took the taxi to go out to see the land, Duddy drove, his grandfather sat in front with him, and Max and Lennie sat in the back. “Like customers,” Max said.

  “Will we tip him, Daddy?”

  “Into the lake. That’s where we’ll tip him.”

  “Wait till you see that lake, Zeyda. where the water is twenty feet deep it’s so clean and clear that you can see the bottom.”

  “What about mermaids?” Max said. “Have you got any of those?”

  “You’ve got to see the sun set. You’ve just got to see the sun set over my land.”

  “Did you buy the sun too?” Lennie asked.

  “And Zeyda,” said, “you just take your time and look around and pick a farm, any farm, and that’s where I’ll put up your private house.”

  But Simcha seemed preoccupied. He merely nodded.

  “Wait till you see the trees I’ve got there.”

  “You’re beginning to sound like a real dumb farmer,” Max said. “What’s so special about trees?”

  “Aw, you’ll love it, Daddy. It’s so restful by the lake.”

  “Oh, sure. I know all about the country. Ants and mosquitos and skunks and — if you’ve got the appetite — bull-pies all over. You can have it, buster.”

  “I’ll tell you something,” Lennie said, “I wouldn’t want a lake here if they gave it to me on a silver platter. Why develop things for them? Now Israel, that’s something else. There —”

  “All right, Ben-Gurion. Keep the commercials to yourself.”

  “Oh, it’s easy to laugh,” Lennie said. “I’ll bet in Germany in 1930 they laughed too.”

  “Lennie’s got a point,” Max said.

  “Jeez.”

  “I’m only joking. He said that in Germany in 1930 they laughed too. I said he’s got a point. A point. it? Lennie’s got a point.”

  Duddy groaned.

  “Nobody in this family’s got a sense of humor.”

  “You’ve got enough for all of us,” Duddy said.

  “Life should be approached with a smile. If you can’t get laughs out —”

  “That’s enough,” Simcha said.

  “We’re almost there.” Duddy turned off on a dirt road. “A couple of more miles and then we sta
rt walking.”

  “Alaska, here we come,” Max said.

  They got out of the car and began to walk.

  “Over there. Over the next hill. It’s all mine. Everything.”

  Duddy was always ahead of them, running, walking backwards, jumping, hurrying them, leaping to reach for a tree branch.

  “That field,” he said, “it’s mine,” and he watched to see their expressions. Simcha, he noticed, remained grim.

  “All you can see to the right, Lennie. Everything to the left. All mine.”

  Lennie smiled encouragingly. But Max seemed let down. “Just a bunch of crappy, godforsaken fields. What do you want them for?”

  “Now close your eyes,” Duddy said. “Close them until you reach the top of the hill… Keep them closed,” he said, taking Simcha’s hand. “Don’t cheat… O.K. Look!”

  Autumn leaves floated on the still surface of the lake.

  “Injun territory,” Max said.

  “Christ almighty!”

  “A wilderness,” Max said.

  “Sure,” Duddy said, jumping up and down, “a goddam wilderness, and remember it, goddam it, take a good look, goddam everything to hell and heaven and kingdom come, because a whole town is going up here. A camp and a hotel and cottages and stores and a synagogue — yes, Zeyda, real shul — a movie and… well everything you can think of.”

  “Dream,” Max sang, “when you’re feeling blue. Dream, let the smoke rings rise in the air — Hey, look over there!”

  Mounting slowly and cumbersome, puffing and pausing to wipe his forehead, came a man on crutches, with a young girl.

  “It’s the Boy Wonder,” Max said. “Hey, here. Over here, Jerry.”

  Duddy lit a cigarette and waited. “Well,” he said as Dingleman approached, “aren’t you in jail yet?”