by Sam Ross
And: “Here, Sonya. For a new chair in the front room. For a new dress, maybe. For Hershel, too, things he needs. A hundred dollars.”
“K-nocker, don’t do me favors and don’t dole me out money. I know where it is and I know where to get it.”
“But be careful, Sonya.”
And, looking at Hershy: “Mama knows what you need. You’ll get it from her.”
“Yah? She’s Scotcher than you are.”
But Hershy’s father had to be strong. It took great strength to be able to harden your heart and say no. It took iron. “Until the eye is buried desires never end,” he said.
It was hard for Rachel to understand him. She could understand a guy like Joey Gans: power, drive, a guy ready to knock over mountains. Oh, what excitement. Like dancing on a balloon. Didn’t Hershy’s father ever want anything?
Yes. He wanted nobody to mix him up. He wanted to be left alone. He wanted the hardest thing in the world to get: peace. He didn’t want to hear about a small-time gangster, with a leer for a face and a piece of iron for a brain.
Rachel didn’t want to be brought into a fight. No matter how hard and sharp she tried to become, she was always readier to yield; you could feel it in the way her body was shaped, in the way it moved, in the way her soft full lips fumbled for the right thing to say. But she knew what she wanted. She was going places and doing things. That’s what she wanted. But it was hard to do it right feeling like a slob, an orphan. The styles were changing, the skirts were getting shorter. She needed a whole new wardrobe. She was looking like the last century. She was ashamed to be seen. All her life, she was neither here nor there. Now that she had a chance she wanted to be there. She was going to a big affair at a big club. Judges and lawyers were going to be there, even the Mayor.
“Yah?” said Hershy. “If you buy her new clothes you got to join me in the Y.”
“You shut up, Hershy,” said Rachel.
“Yah? Who do you think you are?”
Hershy’s mother interrupted. “What, do you think we have nothing better to do than put our wealth on your back? You should live so.”
“But what am I asking for?” Rachel said. “A few measly dollars?”
“Peace,” said Hershy’s father. “Please, a quiet moment.”
“Papa, Papa, Papa,” Rachel pleaded. “Please. If Uncle Yussel was here he’d give it to me.”
“Not to go out with that gangster, that bum.”
“He’s not a gangster, a bum.”
“What is he then?”
She tried to describe Joey Gans, but only her hands worked, and finally she said desperately: “What have you got against him? What’s wrong with him?”
“What’s wrong with a rotten apple? Only a worm.”
“Listen, Pa …”
Hershy had seldom seen Rachel angry. It was strange to watch the confusion in her face, with her eyes growing cold and hard in her soft face.
“He’ll like you without new clothes,” Hershy’s mother interrupted, “if he really likes you.”
“But I don’t want him ashamed of me. A girl needs things. Lots of things. Once in my life I see the moon. And what is it? A cold face. It got no heart.”
“If he’ll be ashamed of you, let him do something about it,” said Hershy’s mother. “He’s got plenty money, a car, a business. What hasn’t he got? So let him.”
“Sonya!” Hershy’s father looked at her, shocked.
Rachel yielded completely. She ran into her bedroom. They could hear her cry. A tear formed on his father’s eyelash and slid down his bony nose. Hershy could feel it slide down to the pit of his stomach. It made him forget what he wanted.
4.
David was really a hard man to understand, said Hershy’s mother. How could he want so little out of life?
A hungry man, a man with great appetites, claimed Hershy’s father, was always easy to understand, for he dictated how the world should live, what it should strive for. But the contented man was always hard to understand.
The contented man was a dead man, said Hershy’s mother.
No, his father countered, only the contented man was alive, only the contented man could live at peace and be happy, because he didn’t eat himself alive with envy and jealousy. A man content with what he has, only he is a rich man.
Ah, his mother was disgusted. Go talk to a Talmudist. He could go bury himself in the ages, with the dead, but she was going to stay alive with the living.
What was she going to do?
He would see.
Please, had he ever let her starve?
No, she had never starved for food. But she was starved for other things, for the beautiful things in life.
For rich things, she meant.
All right, he could call them rich things. But they were the beautiful things.
Oh, but she was a foolish woman. Oh, but she had a bulging eye.
Bulging, shmulging, she was going to show him who was foolish.
What in the world was happening? He was being treated like a miser, a criminal, a man not to be trusted. Why? Hadn’t he worked all his life to win trust, to be looked up to, to be a man for his family and a man among men? All his life he had protected them, thought only of them. It broke his heart to deny them anything. But one had to think of tomorrow, For he was a man whose life was in his hands and whose family was dependent on them. All their lives were bound up in his two hands. What would happen if he should get crippled by a saw, if he were killed by a falling two-by-four, if he should get sick, God forbid? Didn’t she realize that in his hands rested the future of their lives? (He lifted them, and Hershy saw the hard calloused fingers tremble.)
His mother ignored them. To put one’s life in a man’s hands, she said, could lead to only one thing in the end: being choked. One did it out of desperation, there was no choice. But now there was a choice. Business.
Business, business. His father didn’t want to hear of it. He was a worker, not a boss. He thought and felt like a worker. To trample upon his whole life and become something else. He couldn’t do it. He’d be a failure and be deeply hurt for trying and failing and still being gnawed with want; and his hands would never be the same again.
There was silence for a moment, in which they wandered through a wilderness of loneliness. It gave Hershy a funny feeling. He had always taken sides. Even in cops and robs, though he never wanted to be a cop, if he was put on that side he accepted it and played the part fully. But here, not being able to take sides, he felt like an indifferent spectator, and it made him lonely: for in his life, to watch was to be out of life, to play was to be part of it; watching was like dying, it made you go far away.
His mother walked away. She’d take matters in her own hands, she said.
Hershy saw how she had. He saw the Overland touring car outside the house. It belonged to the landsman who had been in love with his mother in the old country. He sneaked quietly into the kitchen, his heart hammering, then hid in the pantry, so that if he was caught he could pretend that he was rummaging through his drawer for his rubber-band ball or his marbles. Their voices came to him from the front room: his mother’s high and clear, pitched to the ceiling; the landsman’s low and gutteral, like waves gurgling through a cave.
She needed his advice.
Anything, he assured her. From him she knew she could have anything.
Yes, she knew. He was good. He was loyal. He was a man she could trust. He could have made a woman and the children she bore him rich with happiness. Ay.
What was the trouble? Wasn’t she happy?
Silence. Hershy strained his ears. What were they doing? Were they close to each other? Where were they sitting? If he could only take a peek. Should he make a sound, let them know he was there? Should he? The big noise of his heart shattered the silence, stifled his breathing, pulled him to his toes. His mother’s voice broke the tension.
Happy? she asked. A moth, beating itself to death against a lighted window, was it happy? Better i
t should have remained in a dark closet.
Aye, if she had only married him, said the landsman.
Aye, if she only had. But what could she have done? For he, the landsman, was nothing in the old country, the son of a poor ignorant tailor, with no promise, no promise; while David, the son of a sofer, commanded great respect, had great promise. But who could have seen into the future, who could have gone against one’s parents?
He could have made her so happy.
Why were people born with hearts and voices and minds? she said. Oh, why? Better a person should be an animal. He fills his belly and goes to sleep. He’s happy. But a human being …
Hershy felt as though a hand shaped like a talon was clutching his throat. He could hear himself yell: Mama, Mama. His breath muffled the sound. His ears bolted his lips.
Money, the landsman was saying. Ah, money. The foolish spend it. The smart bold ones, like himself, go into business. The timid put it in a bank.
But what if you had a man who hated to think about business?
You suffer then. You spend it slowly until it dwindles to nothing. You die a pauper without the price of a stone for your grave. But the least one can do is draw interest from a bank.
What was interest?
Interest? It was three pennies for a dollar the bank gave you for using your money to make more money.
No!
Yes. A bank, it’s made of stone and steel, but it knows what a dollar is.
Could anybody put money in a bank?
Anybody, if they knew how to write.
Why did one have to know how to write?
In America, nobody trusted a face, only a signature. Give a bank money, but to get it out the bank demanded a name on paper.
She was trapped. But perhaps the bank would let Hershel sign for her.
No, he was a child. You couldn’t trust a child. He could go to the bank and draw out a thousand dollars and squander it or lose it. What does a child know about money? So a bank couldn’t do business that way. Besides, what if the bank should, and what if the child, in anger or to please some friends, took the money out and ran away, then what would she do?
She was thoroughly trapped. What could she do? Whom could she trust? Oh, if only she could control the money. Oh, the curse of her ignorance.
Perhaps he could discuss it with his lawyer.
Would he?
Certainly, he would. Perhaps the lawyer could find some way of taking the money from David and putting it in her hands.
No, that frightened her. It would break up her family. David might kill her. Who knows what a man, even one so gentle as David, might do in great anger? No.
Whatever she wished.
But she would think about it. She hoped her head wouldn’t burst. Now, he’d have to go. It was getting late.
Hershy heard them get up. They were walking to the front-room door. The landsman sighed. His mother sighed. He peeked out. The way was clear. He sneaked out through the kitchen and sat down on the stairs off the back porch. He couldn’t get himself to move any further. He even had to hold his head in his hands.
5.
Supper that evening was a glum affair. It consisted of limp boiled beef and potatoes, with red horseradish, and cabbage soup. Rachel was complaining about her foreman. He was the roaming type, but for him her body was the world over which his hands liked to roam. One of these days she was going to spit in his face and quit the job.
Before, Hershy’s father thought, he was a nice man, so she had said.
“Before, before,” Rachel said angrily. “Can’t a person change?”
His father glanced at her and retreated to a bone he picked out of the soup and began sucking out the marrow.
“Noo,” his mother said. “What are you going to do with the money?”
His father didn’t answer. He sucked the bone and wiped his teeth with his tongue. Then he pushed the plate away, cleared his throat, and said, as though everyone were relaxed:
“Well, what’s new? What happened today?”
Hershy looked up startled and glanced at his mother. Nobody answered.
“I see,” said his father. “The tyrant is still with us.”
“Look who is talking,” said Hershy’s mother.
His father paid no attention to her. He turned to Hershy.
“A riddle, my son?”
“Yah,” said Hershy eagerly.
“Why is a man born with his hands clenched, but when he dies his hands are wide open?”
Hershy concentrated hard, but he couldn’t think, he couldn’t think at all.
“Noo?”
“I don’t know, Pa. Why?”
“Because on coming into the world man desires to grasp everything, but when leaving it he takes nothing away.”
“That’s a good one, Pa.”
His father smiled triumphantly and continued: “Even as the fox who saw a fine vineyard and lusted after its grapes, but being too fat to squeeze through the only opening there was, he fasted three days before he could get in. When he did get in, he ate until he almost burst. But he could not get out until he fasted three more days. What does it mean?”
“What, Pa?”
“A man enters the world naked and naked does he leave.”
“Yah, Pa?”
“Yes.”
“Got another riddle, Pa?”
“Who is a hero?”
“Who?”
“He who conquers himself.”
Hershy knitted his brows, trying to understand.
“That’s you?” said his mother scornfully. “A conqueror?”
“That’s me,” said his father.
“Another one, Pa.”
“Who is wise?”
“Who?”
“He who can foresee the future.”
His mother interrupted again: “Philosopher!”
“Quiet,” his father said. “I’m teaching from the Talmud.”
“Teach him from something else. Teach him how to face life.”
“Show me where there’s more knowledge, more wisdom.”
“In a bank. Teach him what goes on in a bank.”
“All right.” His father’s voice rose. “Tell me, Hershel. What makes more noise: a bag with two coins or a bag filled with a hundred coins?”
“I don’t know. What?”
“A bag with two coins.” He glared at his mother and shook a few coins that were in his pocket. They did make a lot of noise.
“Teach him how to cash a check, how to make money out of money.”
“When it’s time, I will.”
“But when will the time come?”
“When I find it.”
“But you never have time. When you leave in the morning the banks aren’t open yet. When you come home the banks are closed. You have to make time.”
“But what can one do if he hasn’t the time? I can’t come late to work or leave the job just like that. I have to tell the foreman and then he has to see if he can let me off. And if he does let me off, I still have to lose a half-day’s wages. But what’s the difference if the money is on a check or if it’s a figure in a bankbook? It’s still paper.”
“Go argue with a stubborn fool like that.” She turned to Hershy and Rachel for support, trying to draw them to her side with her eyes. “What if something happens to the insurance company, then what have we got?”
“What if something happens to the bank?”
“Can one move a mule?” she complained to Hershy and Rachel. “Did you ever see a mule like that?”
“Ridicule me. Make me nothing in front of my children. All I know is this. The check is money and we don’t need it now. Once it’s changed to another kind of paper we will be tempted and well be poor again.”
“Why, why did I ever marry a stubborn mule like you? I could have married anybody I wanted, men who are rich now, rich! But my mother and father had to pick on you. Why?” She turned to Rachel. “You see, Rachel, in the old country a woman had no choice
. If your family said yes to a man, then you had to obey. In the old country, what was he? A poor shnook who had a father who was respected. Who did you marry, the man? No, you married the respect people had for his father. Here, he has no father, he has nobody. A man has only himself. And what is he? Still a nobody, begging for respect. But me, for his being so stubborn I’ll give him a fig, that’s how much respect I have for him.” She closed her fist and inserted her thumb between her first two fingers, its obscene forcefulness sending a shudder through Hershy. “Na, here,” she said, then turned to Rachel again. “Remember, Rachel, here you have a choice. Don’t let any pair of pants fool you. Make the man promise you the world and hold him to that promise. Remember.”
Hershy felt his father shrink, his face taking on a stunned look.
“I should have been firm,” she said. “In the old country, the way he looked at my tochas, I should have known. I could have had anything I wanted. I could have gone to America, like I wanted, with the promise of marrying him here. And I could have carried out my plan, to go to work, pay him back for the ship ticket, and marry whom I pleased. But I was so young then, so young and afraid.”
His father stumbled for words but his astonished ears held him speechless. Rachel’s lower lip quivered.
“Papa means well, maybe,” she said.
Yes, Hershy wanted to agree. Yes, yes, yes.
“Sure he means well,” his mother said. “Everybody means well. But it’s knowing what to do that’s important. It’s knowing how to be a man that’s important.”
The blood seemed to go out of his father’s lips and filled the veins of his eyes. He pounded the table with his fist.
“Am I not a man?”
“No.”
“Look at your belly. Feel the man I am.”
“Any stupid fool can fill a woman’s belly. But it takes a man to satisfy her.”
He bit his lower lip and left the deep marks of his teeth on the flesh. He left the kitchen and came back with the lining of his old hat torn out. He dumped the check and all the savings on the floor.
“Take it. Spend it. Kill yourselves with it. But leave me alone. Leave me alone.”
He stormed out of the house and left them looking at the money strewn on the floor. Hershy’s mother sighed deeply, staring at the floor.