The Children

by Howard Fast

  “Geesus, yuh got duh ol’ lady goin’ den,” Ollie said admiringly.

  “Yeah.”

  “Geesus,” Ishky said, because he had to say something.

  “Yeah.”

  Kipleg sat down on the stoop, glanced at Ishky, and then spat. “I don’ like sheeneys,” he said.

  “He’s awright,” Ollie explained.

  “He’s yella.”

  “Noeeain’.”

  Fearfully, Ishky watched, wondering what would be the outcome of this, but Kipleg was in a good mood. Out of his pocket he fished a package of cigarettes, and he offered them first to Ollie and then to Ishky. They all lit up, and they sat upon the edge of the stoop, puffing. It was the first time Ishky had ever tried a cigarette, and he puffed hesitantly. But Ollie and Kipleg inhaled with great calm and delight.

  “Good butts,” Ollie said, cocking his head to one side, and looking at the cigarette he held in his fingers.

  “Yeah,” Kipleg agreed.

  “Yeah,” Ishky said.

  “Go ahead—inhale.”

  “I am,” Ishky said.

  They leaned back, crossed their legs, and then Ollie told Kipleg about the gang.

  “We’re gonna beat duh niggers,” he explained.

  “Yeah, we’re gonna kick duh shid oudda dem,” Ishky said. “We’re gonna git Blackbelly.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Y’ gotta have some gang fer dat,” Kipleg said thoughtfully. “Dey’d git duh niggers from Eight Avenya, an yuh’d have tuh have some gang fer dat.”

  “Well gitta gang,” Ollie said.

  “Jews, an’ wops an’ everythin’.”

  “Yeah—”

  That was how the peace came about, the truce that for a short time united all factions against Blackbelly and his followers. Ishky was in it. From the beginning, it had been Ishky’s plan, and Ishky knew that he was in it for good. Now they could use the weak, and it made no difference that he could not fight as well as Ollie or Kipleg.

  SO THEN, you see how, I, Ishky, am in the seventh heaven of delight. Suddenly, I have become a man. What became of all this, I will tell you later, but now you must see how I became a man.

  I sit on the stoop, smoking a cigarette with Ollie and Kipleg. Is it the same Ishky who dreamed dreams about a secret garden? Now I can laugh at that. Gardens—Ollie is my friend, and Kipleg is my friend, too, and I am full of hate against Blackbelly and the rest of the lousy niggers. I know what we will do to the niggers.

  The cigarette bums and stings. Well, what of that? It is better to be this way, than the way I used to be. I am sure I will never be that way again.

  SEVENTEEN

  PERHAPS YOU SEE BY NOW HOW THROUGH ALL OF THIS there runs the memory of the secret garden. I can’t forget it so easily. What is the use of trying to make me, Ishky, over in one day? I am Ishky, who never was much good for anything, except to dream, and here I am one of the leaders of a gang.

  And it has all come about in less than one day—that is what makes it so impossible. It is not more than two o’clock in the afternoon now, when we all sit on my stoop, smoking cigarettes, and very proud of it, too. If the gang was born anywhere, it was born there. What then? My mother puts her head out of the window, way out, and sees me there.

  “Ishky!”

  Kipleg giggles, and Ollie glances sidewise at me. But I pretend not to have heard, I go on smoking my cigarette, though I know well enough what a beating I am in for.

  “Ishky, come op!”

  “Teller t’go take a—” Kipleg says.

  “Yeah,” says Ollie.

  Where has my manhood gone, all of a sudden? The cigarette has become very limp in my hand, and I cower back against the stoop. What will my mother do to me? I want to throw away the cigarette, which has made me a little sick already, but I haven’t enough courage for that. I look at Ollie and at Kipleg, and they are both grinning.

  “Come up, Ishky!”

  “Teller tuh screw,” Ollie says.

  “Maybe I oughta find out what she wants,” I say, trying to pass it off easily.

  “I tolya he was yella,” Kipleg says.

  “Like hell I am.”

  My mother is leaning far out of the window, and by now I can see how red her face is getting. If she leans out just a little more, she will fall. Well, maybe it ll. would be best for me to go upstairs—

  I rise very slowly, looking at Kipleg, looking at Ollie. In all my life, there has been no more shameful moment than this. How I hate my mother! How I hate everything! But, nevertheless, I stamp out my cigarette. And all the time Ollie and Kipleg are grinning and grinning.

  “Maybe I’ll jus’ go up fer a minute,” I say.

  “G’wan—yella.”

  “I’ll be right down.”

  “G’wan.”

  What is the use? I have lost out here and everywhere, and when I get upstairs, my mother will beat me. When I go into the hall, I am already feeling the blows, and as I walk up the stairs, I shiver. I want the sunlight back, the warm comfort of the stoop. Crouching, I make my way up the narrow stairway, up two flights to our floor. My mother is standing by the door, waiting for me.

  Well, there is no wonder like this.

  Instead of hitting me, she clasps me in her arms, holds me close to her, moving her hands softly back and forth over my body. I cringe, but she is kissing me, and it seems to me that I am falling deep, deep into her large, soft body. Her red, broad face is close to mine.

  We go into the house, and in Yiddish she says to me, “Oh, my dear one, your mother was afraid!”

  “Nuttin’ tuh be afraid of.”

  “I could see you again—plunging from the roof. Oh, my heart, will you ever know what you are to your mother?”

  “I wanna go down.”

  “Yes, yes, my heart, I would not keep you out of the fresh air and the sunshine. Only stay with your mother for just a while. You hurt her when you consort with gentile swine. Why must you go to them, my child?”

  “Dere awright.”

  “No—they are heathens and sons of heathens.”

  Then she takes me into the kitchen, prepares a huge slice of bread for me, piling jam high upon it, and it all looks too fine for me to resist. Anyway, it is almost time for me to go for my Hebrew lessons, so what have I to lose? I sit down in one corner, munching upon the bread, and licking the jam whenever it is smeared over my lips. The kitchen is quiet and clean and cool, and presently my mother goes out, leaving me alone. When I have finished the bread, I am full and content.

  “Go and learn, small heart,” my mother calls out from the next room.

  Well, I am glad to get out, and I dash through the dark hall to the sunshine, where I stand blinking. But Ollie and Kipleg are gone. Slowly, I walk to the cellar on the next block, where I receive lessons in Hebrew.

  Is everything gone from me already? As I go down the stairs, I find that I am dreamy and lazy. In the dim, poorly lit room, there are three or four boys seated at a long table. At one end, the old man sits, beating time with his ruler. Graybeard blinks at me, motioning me to my place, and I read with the others, singsong, and graybeard beats time.

  I am sleepy, and as I watch the black letters in front of me, I grow more and more sleepy.

  “Ishky!” graybeard snaps. The stick leaps forward, catching my ear, and I bend to my reading.

  “Has the heathen put lead in your brain? Read!”

  I read and I read. What else can I do, here in a cellar, where I learn a strange tongue? But I try to think of Ollie—of Kipleg—

  The boy next to me jabs me with a pin, and I screech. Suddenly all four of us are doubled in laughter, and graybeard is in a rage.

  “Swine! Murderers!”

  We read, bending close to our books.

  And now I am thinking of Marie. How is that? Here, my heart goes out to her, and my love comes back to me, stronger than ever before. Marie, how I want you! But I am just poor Ishky.

  “Ishky!”

  “Yeah
—yeah—”

  Yellow hair is gold in the sunshine, and if I hold Marie in my arms, I have everything I want. Would Ollie understand that? Would Kipleg? Would old gray beard?

  Marie is a wop. Then it is a sin to think of her in this place—but what a delicious sin! I am warm and happy inside, with the dreams I am making of Marie.

  (I love you, I love you, I love you—)

  “Ishky, addlebrained fool,” graybeard barks.

  “Yeah.”

  “Attention to your reading. Ah, what heathens you have become—all of you.”

  But I want to be out of here, old graybeard. Don’t you understand that? Outside, there is sunshine and Me, and what do you know, of sunshine and life, holed up here in your cellar? I am Ishky, learning how to live.…

  Has there ever been a person as happy as I am, when I go out into the sunshine? I leap and jump, and scream at the top of my lungs, and inside of me I feel a warm kinship with everything that is alive.

  I skip and run back to the block. New things now. The gang is waiting.

  But nobody is there. Anyway, the sunshine is warm and good and comfortable, and I sit down on my stoop. I stretch out my legs, turning my face up to the heat. How happy I am! How content!

  EIGHTEEN

  MARIE SHOOK THE SUNLIGHT FROM HER HAIR, AND HER hair spilled it to the pavement. And if Ishky had been mistaken in all other things, he was not mistaken in her beauty. She was beautiful as the sunlight, and if they two were the only beautiful things upon the block, still it was enough.

  In the sunlight she wasn’t afraid, only in the dark. She threw her hair from her face, walked back and forth in front of her stoop. She even dared to throw a glance across the street, where Ollie sat with Kipleg, watching her slyly.

  “Geesus,” Ollie whispered.

  “Whatsa matter?”

  “Geesus, I gotta feel like a million bucks oudda Marie. I tooka down duh cellar.”

  “Yer fulla crap.”

  “Cross my heart. Listen, Kipleg. I says tuh her, wanna come down duh cellar? an’ she says, what fer? An’ I says, oh—jus’ like dat—an’ she says, naw, an’ I says, come on down duh cellar an’ see what I got. So I givea some immies—”

  “G’ wan.”

  “Cross my heart!”

  “Whatcha do?”

  “Felt aroun’ unner her dress.”

  “Dat’s all?”

  “Geesus—I din’ have much time.”

  “Yuh stink!”

  “Well, if I woulda had more time—”

  Kipleg said, “Betcha she wouldn’ go on down dere witcha agin. Betcha any money she wouldn’—”

  “Betcha she would.”

  “Well, lemme see.”

  Ollie glanced across the street to Marie; then he glanced back at Kipleg. He looked at Kipleg pleadingly.

  “Geesus, Kipleg, how’m I gonna leddya see?”

  Kipleg nodded triumphantly. “Dere. I knew yuh was fulla crap.”

  “Well, yuh ain’ gonna call me fulla crap.”

  “Well, show me.”

  “How?”

  “I’ll go down duh cellar. Den you gitta tuh go down duh cellar witcha.”

  “Awright—”

  Kipleg slipped into the hall, and then Ollie sat alone, leaning back with assumed boredom. Sometimes he would glance sidewise at Marie, but most of the time he simply stared at the ground. He wondered how long it would take for Marie to notice him, to cross the street; and somehow he knew that she would cross the street. But he wasn’t eager to go down into the cellar now. In one way or another, Kipleg had tricked him into this.

  Marie stopped her pacing. There was Ollie, sitting across the street, but hardly noticing her at all. Well, that was a way Ollie had, and she tossed back her head, to show that it meant nothing to her. Now that he had had a fight with Blackbelly, Ollie was probably all swelled up.

  Ollie took out some immies, rolling them from one hand to the other. He couldn’t get her with that same old immie trick.

  “Hey, Marie!”

  She tilted her head saucily, then turned her back upon him.

  “Awright—”

  She glanced at him again, walked over to the curb, and felt at the gutter daintily with one foot. There was no denying that Ollie was nice to look at.“Wanna see sumpen?”

  “Naw.” She fled back to the stoop, seating herself there, crossing her legs.

  “Awright—”

  She hesitated, tilted her head again, and then called, “Whaddya got?”

  “Sumpen.”

  “What?”

  “C’mon over an’ see.”

  She rose, took a few steps toward him, turned back, turned again and crossed the street. Ollie sat where he was, indifferent.

  “Whaddya got?”

  Ollie yawned, stretched his arms. “Got it down du cellar.”

  “Yeah—I know.” She backed away.

  “Aw, c’mon—”

  “Naw, you Ollie.”

  “Jus’ dis once.”

  “Naw.”

  “Well, c’mon intuh duh hall.”

  She hesitated. The street was empty, warm, deserted; it promised no amusement, and what harm could come to her if she went into the hall with Ollie? It wasn’t like the cellar.

  They went into the hall, slowly, and once inside Marie shrank apprehensively against Ollie. Here it was dark again, with the flickering flame of the gas jet. Why did she go into the darkness, when she had hated it so?

  “Whaddya ’fraid of?” Ollie wanted to know.

  “It’s so dark here.”

  “Well, I’m here.”

  “Yeah.”

  They sat down in the darkness under the steep, wooden, carpeted stairs, and Ollie put his arm around her. She shrank away, but it seemed to her that the darkness reached out from the other side to grasp her. Then Ollie’s hand crept under her dress. She wanted to scream, but she couldn’t; she couldn’t make any sound at all, and she trembled with fear. Then she attempted to think her fear into anticipation and thrill. Ollie’s hand crept farther up beneath her skirt.

  “Don’,” she whispered.

  “Why?”

  “I dunno—jus’ don’.”

  “Why?”

  “Well—yer hurtin’ me.”

  “I ain’.”

  “Yuh are.”

  His hand crept between her warm legs, clamping the flesh and pinching it. Her body became gooseflesh all over, and she trembled violently. She tried to think of her mother, and could only think about how sick she was getting. She closed her eyes, opened them; but all around her was darkness and nothing else. She thought of how it was out on the street, all warm sunlight and warm stone.

  “Lemme go,” she whispered.

  “Geesus,” Ollie said, “whaddya ’fraid of? I ain’ gonna hurtcha, Marie. Hones, tuh God, I ain’. Look, I’m takin’ my hand away. Dere.”

  “Less go back in duh street,” she whimpered.

  “Geesus, whatsa matter witcha, anyway?”

  “Nuttin’.”

  “Well, stay here, den.”

  Marie heard a noise, and her terror increased tenfold. She shrank against Ollie, shrank away from him then, and with a great, enfolding grasp, the blackness reached out for her. She thought of hell and devils and punishment, and she thought of her mother, whimpering now.

  “Aw, stop cryin’.”

  “Awright.”

  “Geesus, I never saw sucha baby.”

  “Awright.”

  A hand was creeping under her dress again, pinching the flesh that was now hard with pimples. Stifling a scream, she grasped Ollie’s arm.

  “Don’.”

  “Geesus, I ain’ doin’ nuttin’!”

  “Y’are.”

  “I ain’—so help me God. Look—dere’s my hands.”

  But under her dress the hand still caressed her. If it wasn’t Ollie, what was it? Dumb with fear, she tried to move, but could not. And then, in front of her, Kipleg burst out laughing.

 
“Yuh dumb basted!” Ollie yelled.

  “Whaddya fraid of, Marie?”

  “Geesus, yer dumb as hell. Watcha wanna spoil duh whole thing fer?”

  “Aw, screw.”

  But now Marie was sobbing violently, thrusting her fists into her mouth, shaking her head back and forth. Actually, she was in a state of hysteria, and Ollie and Kipleg, half laughing, half frightened, fled.

  But Marie sat there in the dark, sobbing. Now, perhaps, the creatures of darkness were reaching out for heir; let them reach then, let them have her. She sat there, and cried.

  How long she sat there, crying, she didn’t know; but when the shame had passed, the fear returned. Like a small, frightened animal, she crept but of the dark into the sunshine. And there, on the stoop, was Ishky.

  THE SUN and the light and the day are the time for love. They are the time for dreams and fancies and happiness; and isn’t it strange that I, Ishky, am returning to all that? I sit here on the stoop, not too much on my mind, dreaming.

  How is it with dreams? How is it with gardens? If there is a magic garden, and not in one place, then surely it is in another. So if I go off with Marie, isn’t it quite possible that together we will find that garden? Not ash heaps, but a real garden, with flowers that smell—

  And I turn around, and there is Marie, looking at me.

  “Marie!”

  I look at her, and I am sure that my eyes and my face are filled with love. All the love that is inside of Ishky is written there. (Marie, look at me! Do you see the great love that fills my heart?)

  But there is an expression upon her face that I have never seen before, and she is trembling all over. I don’t know why.

  “Marie!”

  “Oh—you—”

  “Marie!”

  Suddenly, screaming with rage, she leaps at me, beats at my face, claws at me, and then runs away, crying bitterly.

  Well, I am only Ishky, and if I understand some things, I don’t understand everything. I don’t understand this. I can only sit on the stoop, looking after her, and wondering.

  NINETEEN

  YOU SEE THE WAY IT IS WITH ME NOW; AND HOW AM I to account for Marie? I watch her run into her house, and then I shake my head. Some things simply are, and that is all there is to it.