by Daniel Stern
Jud replaced the journal in its wrapping. What a strange amalgam the entry was. The beginning was Walkowitz in pastels, Walkowitz in a major key. And even the somber but strong piece at the end had been written by a Walkowitz Jud had never met—a Walkowitz who knew the demoniacal and declared against it, a man on the side of men. And this was the same man who had said to him and Marianne that first day in the theater: “People don’t change!” Not a question—a statement, flat as an epitaph.
He worked well into morning gathering notes into a semblance of order, stopping twice to make hot coffee. It woke him up more by burning his mouth than by its strength. The small of his back ached.
He stood up, shakily, and went to the broad windows facing the desk. Some cold air would clear his head. He wanted to be fresh and alert when Marianne called. The window was swollen with damp, and it was a struggle to open it. Finally it gave. A gust of wind, cold and moist, struck his face, tremored the set model on the desk, ruffled the posters on the walls, and sent papers scratching against each other, some scrabbling to the floor.
The apartment was just below the penthouse floor. When Jud looked downward into the windy white confusion, he saw the storm enclosed between the buildings and flaring out into the unconfined space over the park. Up before his eyes the altitude transformed the wind into a lighter breeze, made the snow twirl in playful, changing designs—a kaleidoscopic version of the fury below.
Jud closed his eyes against the wet. He was wide awake, the ache in his back forgotten. His mind danced with pictures, and everything he thought of was tinged with a sweet exhilaration, like the wild sensation he’d had leaving the cemetery in the afternoon (had it been that same day?) when he had gotten blinded and lost, for a moment, the snow stinging his cheeks, reminding him he was still alive.
And he thought of the play all ready—the opening night, the curtain up, then down, Dasha standing like a trembling olive tree under the yellow sun of the footlights, Marianne in the long white gown she wore only to his opening nights. … And he thought of the portion of Walkowitz’s journal he had read earlier. Thinking of him, young with hope, the colors of May blooming for him in some doomed girl’s face, he remembered himself, jumpy as a cat, wandering the valley in Sweden where the DP camp was, so in love with a pale, silent girl of the town, who had brought them candy and scarves, that it made his throat hurt just to think of her; made his mouth hurt, too, from the fight between smiling and not smiling … washing his woolen hat in secret so she would never see his head, shaven, dotted with stubble—too ugly for a beautiful young Swedish girl to see. …
In the room behind him the telephone rang, was silent, then rang again. Jud turned at the sound.
NEW YORK
August, 1959
August, 1962
Acknowledgments
THE LATE ARTHUR FIELDS was the editor who shepherded this book through its first incarnation. He was a superbly intelligent and energetic editor who knew every line of a book before he was finished. I would like to express a long-remembered gratitude for his labors and his friendship.
A contribution has been made to Yeshiva Beit Shearim in the name of Elie Wiesel, with funds generously provided by Joan Morgenstern, Patsy Graham, Carol Silverman and Marj Krueger.
About the Author
Daniel Stern (1928–2007) was an American novelist and scholar. Raised in New York City, he was an accomplished cellist and promising composer before he began his writing career. After graduating from the High School of Music and Art in New York, he earned positions with the Indianapolis Symphony Orchestra and the Houston Symphony and played with renowned jazz musician Charlie Parker. He also served as the vice president of major media companies including Warner Bros. and CBS. In addition to publishing nine novels and three collections of short fiction, Stern also served as the editor of Hampton Shorts. As an author, Stern is celebrated for his explorations of post–World War II Jewish-American life; his novels’ formal experimentation; and, in the short-story genre, his innovation of the “twice-told tale.”
His writing won many awards throughout his career, including the International Prix du Souvenir from the Bergen Belsen Society and the French government; the Rosenthal Award from the American Academy of Arts and Letters; two Pushcart Prizes; two O. Henry Awards; and the honor of publication in The Best American Short Stories. In addition to serving on the faculty of the University of Houston’s creative writing program, he taught at Wesleyan, Pace, New York, and Harvard Universities.
All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 1963 by Daniel Stern
Cover design by Mauricio Diaz
978-1-4804-4416-4
This edition published in 2013 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.
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