It was a mountainous weight that dropped on him when she talked like that, of death and the evil of men, like an old mountain of his grandfather’s stories, settling, crushing the giants of his childhood over again, breaking them into splinters that tore him apart inside.
He picked up his book again.
“Have you practiced?” she asked.
“A little,” he said. “More later.”
Blessedly, she was silent. He looked covertly up at her face as she gazed abstractedly past him. He remembered a time long ago when he had looked at her, and just like that it had come to him how beautiful she was. Now she stirred in him a sort of pity and an obscure indignation. Who had done this to them? There was one that he wanted to accuse, to name right out, even to swear at. Instead he snapped his book shut.
“You know whom I saw today,” said Ruth, “on the way to the bus? You’d never guess. Little old Reb. Chaim Knopp. Oh, how old he’s grown, and small.”
“He always was,” said Moses.
“But now he’s like a little kneppaleh, not a knopp. I stopped to say hello, and he had to come right up close to me, peering into my face, before he recognized me. His eyes aren’t what they were. But he’s all there otherwise. Right away he was asking all kinds of questions. It made me ashamed that I haven’t had a chance to visit him at the Home. But I promised him I’d come. I’ll bake him something. He asked especially after you.”
“He remembers me?”
“Oh, his mind is clear. Mine should only be so if I live to be his age. Only sometimes, whenever he mentions his wife, his Bassieh, he looks around him in a funny way, as if he still expected her to be there. I think it must be five – six years already since she died. But for an old man like him it would be hard to get used to the idea that his lifelong partner is gone. Anyway, he said he would so much like to see you, to see the kind of boy you had turned into. Of course I told him what you’d been doing.”
“I can imagine what you told him.”
“What did I tell him? You think I sang your praises? I know you too well. The truth may be hard for a mother to get used to, but I’ve learned to bear it.”
Moses smiled at his mother affectionately. “Pity.”
“So I told him that you’d like to visit him sometime too,” Ruth continued complacently.
“Hell, Ma!”
“Don’t swear.”
“Well, why do you have to go making dates for me? I don’t want to go see him. What’ll I say to him? I won’t go.”
“You’ll find what to say to him. You don’t go running around that much that you can’t find a few minutes to give an old man some pleasure.”
“Pleasure, what kind of pleasure? What kind of pleasure do I look like?”
“To me you’re a pleasure,” she said. “Anyway, you don’t have to go,” she added reasonably. “I just said – Well, he reminded me of so many things. He asked me about – Do you remember, or were you too little, the day that your father saved the Torah?” Ruth was smiling. “The way he talked about it – and then when he said he would like to see my Isaac’s son, what could I say? I don’t think he gets that many visits from his rich children in the high-tony districts.”
Moses remembered, all right. But he also wanted to say the other thing, the unspoken thing. I also remember what my grandfather did. But he held it in and didn’t say it, feeling, as he controlled himself, that he was being immensely protective toward her. How he would like to – He didn’t know quite what it was that he would like to do for her. He pulled his chair around closer to hers. “I don’t know what you want from me,” he said, giving in gracefully.
Ruth felt with pleasure the warmth of his face with its tender young bristles pressed against her cheek and chin. “What I want? I want you should be –” She hugged him. This watchful boy – almost, this young man – about whose thoughts she sometimes puzzled, was still her little boy after all. For how long? She held him to her very tightly.
—
To his embarrassment, there was another visitor with Chaim Knopp when he was shown to the old man’s room, a boy of about his own age. And Chaim’s eyesight – or was it his memory too? – was even less keen than Moishe’s mother had led him to believe. He was forced to repeat his name several times, growing each time more embarrassed as he bent forward to give the old man a chance to get a good look at him. Finally the other boy repeated Moishe’s name more loudly. Moses glanced at him with less than gratitude, furious with his mother for having put him in this position of making a fool of himself in front of people who obviously didn’t know who he was or what he wanted. He was about to drop the parcel of food his mother had sent and bolt, when Chaim answered the other boy.
“I know, I know, I heard him all right. I know who it is. I just couldn’t believe that you had come, and he too, on the same day.” Chaim brushed his hand across his eyes. “Tell me, you know each other, then?” The boys, forced to look at each other, exchanged wary glances.
“No,” said the other boy.
Expensive clothes, Moses observed; rich. He began to wonder whether Chaim Knopp was as clear-headed as his mother had thought. He was introducing Moses to his grandson Aaron as the grandson of his best friend. And yet he knew who he was. He mentioned Avrom by name.
“Your grandfather Avrom would be so pleased to see you here now,” said Chaim, peering from him to Aaron. “It was a dream of his, and mine too, that someday the two of you would be friends.”
The two boys looked at each other unenthusiastically, though in each there was a certain carefully concealed curiosity.
“Your mother sent me something?” Moses had handed him the parcel. “Bless her. I don’t need anything. But thank her.”
“For Rosh Hashonah,” mumbled Moses. “She’s sorry she couldn’t come herself. She said Happy New Year.”
“Thank you, thank you, and the same to her, and to you, and to all of us.” Chaim beamed. He wrinkled his nose. “You know what? We shouldn’t stay in this room. We should go outside in the fresh air. We will sit on a bench. Here it smells like death. You two boys bring life. Come, come, it’s not for you here. That doesn’t mean” – Chaim turned to his grandson – “that I am complaining. They take good care of me. There’s plenty of food. I have a room to myself, bigger than most. No, tell your father I have no complaints. I’m happy here, happy,” Chaim repeated. “Only maybe they could come more often. Of course I understand, I understand they’re all busy. They live far away. But you came, Arnie, and by yourself too.”
Aaron looked embarrassed.
“You’re a big boy now,” his grandfather continued. “Maybe you could – more often. But why am I complaining?” Chaim was leading them down the long corridor to the front door, with a hand on the elbow of each, bobbing and nodding and saying a proud hello to elderly people who stood watching yearningly at the door of every room. “My grandson,” Chaim called several times, pushing Aaron’s elbow. “The grandson of my friend” – he pushed Moses’ elbow – “come to see me.” The old people nodded and mumbled. The boys glanced helplessly at each other over his head and found themselves smiling awkwardly and nodding as they walked along. It did smell.
Chaim seated them on a bench right beside the front entrance so that people could see and he could explain who they were. There were some who would not wish to intrude, but would nevertheless ask later. “Little did I dream,” said Chaim, “little did I think when I stood by the river this morning, emptying my pockets and asking God to wash away my sins for the New Year, that I would right away receive such a gracious gift. Your grandfather would be proud too.” Chaim turned to Moses. “Proud,” he repeated softly, nodded his head, and sighed. “Ay, ay,” he murmured.
Moses glanced at the other boy. The reference to his grandfather didn’t seem to mean anything to him.
Chaim brightened. “Did you young fellows empty your pockets too this morning? Not that at your age there are many sins. But it’s best to look forward with clean hearts to Yo
m Kippur, when our fates are sealed.”
Aaron made some unintelligible reply. Moses did not answer at all. Chaim did not seem to notice but was explaining loudly to a deaf old lady who nodded and smiled enthusiastically that these boys were his grandson and the grandson of his friend, come to visit him. But Moses, whose eyes met Aaron’s, realized with a quickening of interest that this kid didn’t believe either.
The old man asked them questions, embarrassing both by singing the praises of each in turn so that they moved more and more to the edge of the bench until they both decided, almost simultaneously, that it was time to go. Chaim walked them to the corner and stood waving so that they were compelled to keep turning around and waving back until they saw him joined by another old man, with whom he turned back, talking animatedly.
The boys walked along, perforce together, in silence. Each one separately pondered the question. The old man had seemed very happy. Neither was quite sure why. Of course people should visit more often. He seemed to think they were friends, or that they should be friends. He talked about some miracle. Friends – not likely, thought Moses bitterly, observing his new acquaintance out of the corner of his eye. Funny the old man had said nothing about – about the other thing. Could you forget even that when you were old?
“You look familiar,” the other boy said in English. “Did my grandfather say you play the violin or something?”
“Yeah,” said Moses.
“I’ve heard about you,” said Aaron. “Your picture in the paper. You won some prize.”
“Yeah,” said Moses.
They walked along in silence. Finally: “What else did you hear about me?” Moses asked.
“Why? You got more talents?”
“No – yes.” Stung, Moses was determined that this rich smart aleck wouldn’t get the verbal best of him. “I have all kinds of talents. But I thought maybe you might have heard that I’m kind of peculiar, too. I don’t know why, but people always think I’m odd, because my grandfather was – nuts and killed that dame; you probably heard, slit her throat. They always say, ‘He’s queer, but he sure can play the violin. Look at all the prizes he’s won. It’s a pity it wasn’t my little Pretzel with all that talent. Now, Pretzel, don’t get too friendly with him. He’s liable to take his bow and –’ ”
“Stick it?” asked Aaron coolly.
Involuntarily the side of Moses’ mouth twitched, though his eyes met Aaron’s suspiciously.
“I know a couple of women,” said Aaron in an offhand manner. “They like odd types. Maybe they’d like to meet you.”
“Women,” he called them. Fast. All right. “Heights women?” Moses adopted the word, speaking contemptuously and daringly. “Well, they can’t have my million dollars. They’ll have to take my nice firm bow.”
Aaron grinned, good-natured, showing him that he had scored. “Maybe they’ll even pay you,” he suggested.
Moses was still suspicious. “Not necessary,” he said coolly. “Free gratis. Satisfaction guaranteed or you can try again. And again. I’ll die trying.” He heard himself with amazement. A hot sensation was burning the back of his ears. What kind of women were they? What kind of fast crowd did this rich kid run around with? Well, he needn’t think they were that hot.
“Do you know any?” Aaron asked.
“Women?”
“Yeah.”
“Sure.” Moses shrugged and looked away.
“How do you know my grandfather?” asked Aaron abruptly.
“You heard him, he was my grandfather’s best friend.” Let him swallow that.
“The one that killed the dame?”
“Yeah.”
“Why’d he do it?”
“Search me,” said Moses. Then: “Oh” – as though he knew more than he would say – “there were reasons.”
“I was just a kid,” said Aaron, “but I remember something – my dad and mother talking to my grandmother. Did they hang him?”
“No.” Moses squinted up and around automatically. “He’s up the hill.”
“Doesn’t seem to bother you much,” said Aaron with a certain cautious admiration.
“Nah, not much.” He almost believed it, it was so easy to say. “I even hope it’s hereditary sometimes.” He watched his companion as he said it, with a certain enjoyment. He had succeeded. Aaron looked startled but recovered quickly, so that when Moses added, “In fact, I think it is,” his words produced no visible effect.
“Ever been up to see him?” Aaron challenged.
“No,” said Moses. “Till now I was too young. But I’m planning a little visit.”
“Yeah, when?”
“Soon. Couple of weeks.”
Aaron was silent and, Moses felt, unbelieving. Did he think he was afraid? It suddenly seemed to him that all his life since that day he had waited for this. “Not exactly a couple of weeks,” he said with sudden inspiration, “more like a week. I’m going up there on Yom Kippur day. Thought I’d like to see how the old boy spends the Day of Atonement.” He could see that his words, the bitterness and cynicism of them, had taken effect.
Aaron glanced at him with respect and with a certain feeling that almost bordered on fear – maybe queer, but he sure was smart in a diabolical way. “Well,” he said, “if they let you out let me know what happened.”
“You may think I’m pretty queer,” said Moses, though he tried to stop himself from saying it, “but I’ve always felt, ever since it happened, as though he were still around. Not just up there, I mean; almost – watching. It was so – unfinished. Lot of things never seem to get finished – just rag ends. Sometimes I feel like talking to him.” Moses glanced back at the mountain with narrowed eyes. “All kinds of things I’d like to say to him,” he added bitterly. He glanced at Aaron defiantly. “Maybe it’s because they took him away in such a hurry. I woke up one morning, and he was gone. We never even had a chance to say good-by.” He spoke with exaggerated mock regret. “All he left me were a bunch of crummy old stories and the facts of life.”
They walked along in silence. Aaron was beginning to realize that this kid didn’t care so little after all. Finally he spoke cryptically. “There’s a killer in my family too.”
“Oh?” Moses, afraid that he had revealed too much, was prepared to be amused at whatever joke the other made, to cover up, to show he didn’t care.
“There’s more than one way to kill,” said Aaron. “Some kill slowly.” Aaron stopped, not knowing if he should go on further, almost regretting that he had begun. What if he got laughed at by this kid who knew all about murder and talked with such laughing ease about doing things with women and such casual fearlessness about visiting the madhouse? Moses was watching him.
“My old man,” said Aaron, throwing it out, “has been slowly killing my mother for years.”
Moses remained silent, watchful.
“He sleeps with other dames,” Aaron burst out, coloring, “and she knows it, too. Maybe it’s not the same as taking a knife, but it’s cleaner to take a knife. And when you take a knife you’ve got a reason. Sometimes I feel like doing it myself.”
“How did you find out?” asked Moses quietly.
“I’ve heard them! All my life I’ve been hearing them. They don’t care who hears them. ‘What’s the matter, you’ve got your big house, haven’t you?’ he says to her. When I was a kid I didn’t understand. I just felt as if I were rolled up – tight – and couldn’t get loose. Now – that’s one of the things –”
He didn’t sound so sophisticated and rich now. Moses was surprised to detect tears in Aaron’s voice. He didn’t look. It had been a long time since he had cried in public. His defenses melted a little. He could feel sorry for this kid, who felt so bad even though he didn’t know what it was to have, all of a sudden, everyone against him, the whole world turn over and nothing be the same. “Tough,” he said quietly.
Aaron swallowed. “Yeah.” Warmed by the short word of sympathy, he couldn’t help going on, though he hadn’t
intended to tell the rest. “That’s why I came down to see him today, my grandfather. He’s a straight old guy. You have to know there’s someone straight close to you sometimes. You see, he never said anything bad about yours. Besides” – he hesitated – “it was maybe like saying good-by.”
“Going someplace?”
“Can you keep your mouth shut?”
Moses shrugged. “Sure. Whom would I tell?”
“There’s a war on in Palestine.” Aaron looked straight ahead.
Moses whistled softly, eying him with tentative respect. They walked for a while again in silence.
“We’ll start a new country,” Aaron went on finally. “Start new, build new, clean, get rid of all the dirt –”
“I don’t know,” said Moses. “We’ve had a country before. Remember what happened?”
“In those days the people were still pretty wild,” Aaron pointed out. “They didn’t have our modern forms of government. They knew a lot, but we’ve been around since. We won’t make the same mistakes.”
“In those days the people were still pretty wild,” repeated Moses. “They used human children for their sacrifices.”
“What?”
Moses laughed shortly. “Nothing. I keep remembering bits of crummy stories. I don’t know if you’ll change anything.”
“You’re pretty cynical,” said Aaron respectfully.
Moses shrugged. “Tell me something. Are you scared – I mean to go and fight?”
“I don’t even know if they’ll take me,” said Aaron. “They may think I’m too young. But I figure if I got a head start without my dad finding out, and got out of the country, they’d have to take me. And then – Sure I’m scared.”
The Sacrifice Page 37