CHAPTER XXXV.
A BACK-STITCH.
This was how Aronson made the acquaintance of Serena Lamb. One day thereresounded through the Ghetto (where Aronson lived) the pounding of aviolent drum. Tum, tum, tum! Tum, tum, tum! Tumtyty, Tumtyty! Tum, tum,tum! And every now and then its bass companion marked the ictuses with acavernous "Boom!" Then Moses and Samuel ceased their buying and sellingfor a few moments and the coats, vests and trousers which draped theirwindow-fronts swung idly in the wind. And the little Samuels swarmedfrom their hiding-places till both curbstones were fringed two deep withhumanity, eying the musical invaders. For the notes of the bugle burstout after this percussion prelude and a mixed choir of voices lifted astrange refrain.
Motley singers they were! Shabbily dressed men, with exaltation in theirfaces, and women of all ages and types, uniform only in their costumes.Raising the song, they clapped their hands together, like bacchants orchorybantes dashing cymbal on cymbal in the ecstasy of the dance. Butsuch bacchants! Bacchants in blue bonnets, like grandmother's sundown!Bacchants with pure faces of undefiled girlhood! Bacchants withcrone-faces all wrinkled and yellow! And away at the rear, chanting withmight and main, though bent nearly double under the bass-drum whichrested on his back, proudly marched Pineapple Jupiter.
Frowns gathered on the foreheads of Moses and Samuel when the import ofthis procession became clear, and many a portly Rachel clucked warninglyto her brood. But youth is frivolous and inquisitive even in Israel; sothe square was jammed with onlookers when the army set up its standardin the very heart of the Ghetto. True, not all these were children ofthe tribe. The slurred consonants of the Italian, vainly trying tosmooth and liquefy our rugged tongue, were heard; the muffled nasals ofthe Portuguese; the virile drawl of the Celt; and a youthful accentwhich seemed to be a resultant of all this polyglot mixture. And tothese others also the army was an abomination even as to Samuel andMoses.
Therefore, when the music ceased and the army formed in a wide ring withhands joined sisterly and brotherly, a great pandemonium took up andprolonged the last note of the dying bugle. The cock crew, the catcalled and the bulldog barked at these devoted soldiers. But they onlyblessed their enemies and danced round and round as if rejoicing atpersecution. Whereat the multitude fringing their circle danced withthem, too, and staid Saul Aronson, who was passing, found himselfwhirled perforce in a maelstrom of larking boys, full-grown hoodlums andpetticoated hobbledehoys.
When the first sister stepped forth to give her "testimony" the facebeneath her bonnet compelled silence. Her voice was gentle, her figurepetite. Her eyebrows lay across her forehead straight and dark, and shespoke from a rosebud mouth. No wonder the nearest onlookers leanedforward and the idlers on the outskirts inclined their heads to one sideand hollowed their hands at their ears so as to catch the utterancewhich promised so fairly to their eyes.
To Saul Aronson it was a vision of paradise. The lashes of her modestlydrooped eyes lay in dark half-moons on her cheek, but once when shelifted them a blue light seemed to flash down into his very heart; andthat organ, amorphous before, grew suddenly crystal--a great blood-redruby which he longed to lay at her feet. This was what she said, thislily of the morass:
"I give thanks to the Lord,"--her utterance was slow, her shrill voicepierced the stillness, "that He has led me away from my sins."
"Alleluia!" murmured the chorus.
"That He has poured into my heart the grace of His love and mademanifest the wonder of His works. Are ye weary, sinners, weary of theway ye tread? Oh, come to the true way, where ye shall find life andlight and joy and peace, as I have found it."
"Bress de name ob de Lord!" said Pineapple Jupiter, loudly. Whereatseveral tittered and a discreet sister whispered "Hush!"
"It is not to-day for which we live or the things of to-day--not forbread, or for gold, or for fame, which are perishable things. Not forto-day nor for to-morrow should we strive, but for eternity! Not for theapproval of men, but of Him who is the just Judge everlasting. Holy!Holy! Holy!"
"Alleluia!" murmured the chorus.
"It is written in the word, which cannot lie, that the keys of thekingdom are given to Peter. Therefore, when ye go forth to the labor ofyour days, ask yourselves not what will men say, but what will Peter saywhen I knock at the golden door for admittance. Will he welcome me as atrue child or will he spurn me to the outer darkness? Ask yourselvesthis, oh, sinners, each and all. What will Peter say, Joseph? What willPeter say, John? What will Peter say, Christian soul?"
This conclusion seemed to be the refrain of a hymn which the circle tookup:
"What will Peter say, Christian soul, When the last great trumpet sounds?"
The trombone here drew forth a sepulchral note, representing, no doubt,the trump of doom, and Saul Aronson could almost feel its vibrations inthe earth beneath him. He could have pummeled the irreverent knot ofgamins who mimicked it grotesquely. Such courage, such loveliness, suchsincerity, imposed reverence even for opposite opinions. Never beforehad he seen their performance in such a light as now. For performance itwas. One after another of the brethren stepped into the circle andrecited "testimony" to the jeering crowd around. Each testimony wasfollowed by a hymn, in regular alternation. Not even the curiosity aboutthe different sisters and brothers could prevent this evangel frombecoming monotonous. So the captain varied it with more and moreecstatic exhibitions.
"Volunteers to clap hands!" he would call and four or five brothersjumped into the middle, clapping hands to the verses of a simple hymn,repeated ten or fifteen times. Brisker and brisker the tempo became,till the captain and his volunteers found themselves galloping aroundthe ring, with sweet bonneted faces eagerly chanting theiraccompaniment. Aronson marveled but he did not sneer. For his gaze wason the rosebud mouth, whose "Alleluias" (adapted from his own liturgy,he knew) seemed to him the sweetest music mortal throat ever gave forth,the distilled honey of sound.
After more than an hour of such missionary effort, the captain calledfor a show of converts. "Hands up, all that have the love of the Lord intheir hearts!"
Two seafaring men and a darky had the courage to show their palms, andthey were standing very near the circle.
"How many souls love Jesus who died on the cross?"
Aronson, still at his post, felt a traitorous gladness when a dozen moreof the crowd gave the signal of assent. This meager harvest of souls wasthe result of their labors. Then Pineapple Jupiter again bent his backunder the heavy bass-drum, and the army reformed. Tumtyty, tum! Tumtyty,tum! Tumtyty, tumtyty, boom! The ringing bugle revived the languishinginterest of the mob. One Jew of the Jews followed the music for nearly amile. When he finally fell to the rear the rosebud mouth was stillsinging:
"What will Peter say, Christian soul?"
and he felt as if a great light had come to him and then vanished again,leaving a deeper darkness than ever.
Next morning he awoke with a rapid pulse. "What will Peter say,Aronson?" he asked as he drew on his garments, and when he sat down tocopy a brief for Shagarach, "What will Peter say, Aronson?" the questionagain recurred. Strangely enough, it always took the clear, shrillaccent of the girl. "What will Peter say, Aronson?" was the prayer forsuccess he offered, when a week later, he mustered up courage to crossthe mission threshold and ask Jupiter her name.
From that day Saul Aronson was an altered youth. The least beat of adrum in the Ghetto found him ready to quit dinner or company or work andfly out of the house with a hasty snatch at his hat in the entry.
Sometimes he returned with a rueful look and then his mother knew it wasonly the Garibaldi guard parading. But at other times it was a subjectof remark how long he stayed and how moody he returned.
There was a family living in the rear of the Aronsons, with a divinelittle 8-year-old girl. Saul knew she was divine, although he had neverseen anything but the back of her head. For at noontime when he came todinner, or in the evening when he returned from work, she would besitting in the swing her father had bui
lt for her, with her back towardhim--swinging, singing, in blissful ignorance of the eyes that doted onher through the slats of Saul Aronson's blinds. She had one song of "theSavior" which she delighted to croon. Her voice was like that of afledgling lark and her carols were made sweet with little improvisedturns which often threatened to fail but always came out true--so surewas the child-singer's instinct, feeling the way before her. Nothingreminded him of Serena so much as this earthly angel, and he loved herfor the image she called up.
Serena always looked at him. That is to say, her blue eyes pierced himthrough, accused him, reproved him, every time they were lifted towardthe onlookers. But it was not until the day he raised his hand among theconverts that she noted down his face for remembrance. He knew itsfeatures were not fascinating, especially the red mustache that bristledout horizontally from his lips, with the ends trimmed off as clean as ascrubbing-brush. But no one else, he felt sure, could worship her withsuch reverent adoration; and now she had deigned to notice him. What ifSimon Rabofsky scowled at his raising his hand? Not "What will SimonRabofsky say?" but "What will Peter say, Aronson?" was the question ofquestions. But I fear Peter was confused somewhat oddly in Saul's mindwith the possessor of a certain rosebud mouth.
One night Aronson dreamed of Serena Lamb as his bride and the nextmorning announced his conversion to Pineapple Jupiter, at the same timeasking for an introduction to blue eyes.
The Incendiary: A Story of Mystery Page 35