The Family Moskat (10 page)

Or maybe it was the glass of brandy he had had.

"A poet? You're making fun of me."

"Oh, no, I assure you."

"I don't write poetry--but I love to read it."

"I mean in your soul."

"Ah, now you're being just like Uncle Abram. He scatters compliments around on all sides."

"Oh, no, I'm in earnest."

"Well, anyway, it's agreed that I'll give you lessons in Polish. How many times a week?"

"Why, I leave that to you. Just as you like."

"Then let's say Sunday, Tuesday, and Thursday. Between four and five."

"I'm very thankful."

"And be sure to come on time."

"Oh, yes, on the dot."

"Now we'd better go back into the living-room or Uncle Abram will be making all sorts of remarks."

They went back through the corridor. It was dark. Asa Heshel took a step or two forward, then halted. The apparition of the fiery blossom that he had seen when he got into the droshky with Abram suddenly arose again before his vision, huge, sunlit, with a deep cup, surrounded with grays, purples, and blues, a whole spectrum of fantastic colors. Hadassah took his elbow and led him along, as though he were a blind man. He stumbled, almost overturning a wooden clothes rack. The lamps were on in the living-room. Adele was standing between the two windows. She was still holding the album.

Asa Heshel could hear Dacha say to Abram: "A fine professor he must be! With neither Russian nor Polish."

"In Zurich all you need is German."

"The way I hear it, he doesn't know German either."

-55- "What language did he lecture in, good Lord? Babylonian?"

"Whatever you say is all right with me. The whole thing's simply not true."

"Oh, Dacha, you're talking nonsense. I saw it myself, black on white, that Hertz Yanovar is going to lecture at the university. I don't remember the subject. The apperceptions of the conceptions or something or other."

"Well, so what? That doesn't make him a professor."

"What then? A wet-nurse?"

"If he were a professor in Switzerland he wouldn't be here in Warsaw thirteen months in the year."

"And I tell you, Dacha, that he can tuck all the professors in his vest pocket."

"Well, we'll see. I don't believe that Akiba will give her a divorce. It'll drag out till Messiah comes."

Dacha caught sight of her daughter and indicated to Abram to drop the subject. Rosa Frumetl nodded her head toward Asa Heshel and smiled broadly at him, showing a flash of her false teeth. She had an idea of something he might do for her to earn a little money. Since she had come to Warsaw she had called on several printers with the manuscript that her first husband had left her. But the printers had not wanted to undertake the job.

They complained that the handwriting was illegible. Besides, pages seemed to be missing--or the numeration was faulty. It would be necessary first for the manuscript to be rewritten and corrected. While Asa Heshel had been out of the room Rosa Frumetl had asked Abram's advice. He told her that it would be impossible to find anyone better than the young man from Tereshpol Minor, who, besides his rabbinical studies, was expert in Hebrew and Hebrew grammar. Rosa Frumetl had called Adele to another part of the room and had discussed the matter with her.

"What do you think, my darling? The young man looks as though he might be capable," she whispered. "Maybe it's just the thing."

And Adele had said: "Very well, Mamma. Let him come to talk it over."

-56—

When, later in the evening, Asa Heshel left the house with Abram, he hardly recognized the outdoors. Panska Street was magically changed. Pavement, gutters, balconies, and roofs--everything was covered with snow. White bonnets sat on the tops of the street lamps. Misty beacons streamed from the gas flames, reminding Asa Heshel of comets' tails. The few pedestrians hurried along, their elongated shadows shifting after them. At the end of the avenue a street peddler was putting potatoes up to bake on the glowing coals of a small hand wagon with a tin chimney. Porters, coils of rope around their waists, warmed their hands at the fire.

Abram took Asa Heshel by the arm.

"Guess where we're going now."

"To--what did you call her? Gina's?"

"Correct, brother! But remember, m--u--m--mum's the word."

There was no droshky in sight and the two went over to the end of the Tvarda. A snow-topped tramcar labored up the winding street. The overhead wires were heavy and thick as ropes. The plastered walls of the brick buildings shone like polished glass.

Scattered flakes of snow still fell from the reddish-hued sky, as though reflecting some distant conflagration.

"There's a droshky. Hey, you!"

Abram's shout echoed in the misty air, and the droshky pulled to a stop. They both climbed in.

The droshky rolled along through the same streets that had brought them to Nyunie's house. Against the green-blue light of the evening and under their blankets of snow the houses now seemed rich and luxurious, like palaces. The market stalls before Iron Gate Square were already cleared away. In the hall a wedding was going on. From the upper floor came the sound of music. Dancing shadows flitted past the window panes. On the street brightly lighted tramcars rumbled by, singly and in pairs, their headlights throwing a blinding glare on the polished steel rails. Clumps of snow hung from branches of trees, like white fruit. Abram puffed on his cigar.

"Well, they didn't eat you up over there after all."

"No."

"When are you having your first lesson?"

"The day after tomorrow."

"A fine girl! But not altogether healthy. She just got back -57—

from a few months at Otwotsk. That Adele is a dangerous one."

"What was the matter with her?"

"Who? Oh, Hadassah! Just before she was supposed to take her examinations for the university she got a fever of some kind. Her lungs aren't good. Now she's better--and already they're worrying about marrying her off. This Gina we're going to visit now is an interesting woman. Her father is the Bialodrevna rabbi. Her husband, Akiba, is a crazy man. They made her marry him against her will. His father is the Sentsimin rabbi, a madman himself. The court is conducted by the rabbi's mother, a woman in her eighties, a shrewd piece. This Akiba is a specimen you find only in our Polish towns. He goes to the
mikvah
for total immersion three times a day. When he prays he repeats every word ten times. How they could have saddled Gina with such a husband is a puzzle to everybody. She's been in love with Hertz Yanovar since her childhood. His father was the head of the yeshivah in Bialodrevna. Well, they married her off and the damage was done.

She ran away. Meanwhile, Hertz Yanovar had gone to Switzerland and was studying. He amazed all the professors. He became an instructor even before he learned how to speak German. She raised hell to get a divorce, but years have passed and she's still bound to that idiot. He's madly in love with her, although he's as useful as a capon. The Sentsimin rabbi has a grudge against the Bialodrevna rabbi. It's an old quarrel. Where am I, ha? Yes.

Suddenly Hertz Yanovar came over to Warsaw. He came just for a visit, to take Gina to Switzerland. Instead he established himself in an apartment on the Gnoyna and began to play around with all kinds of nonsense."

The droshky came to a stop. A wagon loaded with lumber had overturned and was blocking the road. All along Leshno Street a line of empty tramcars stretched; it was a long time be-fore the way was clear. At last the droshky was able to move. It came to a stop on the Shviento-Yerska, opposite Krashinski Gardens, near a large house fronted by an enormous court. Gina lived in the second wing, and on the second floor. Climbing the stairs, Abram stopped several times to rest.

"You said, over there at the professor's, that you have money.

How much have you?"

"Thirty-five rubles."

"You're richer than me. Anyway, first you'll pay a month's rent in advance. We'll worry about afterwards later."

-

58-"Why doesn't she want to get married?"

"Oh, you mean Hadassah. The man they picked out for her is a snotnose. It's all that grandfather of hers, Meshulam Moskat. He lets his bailiff talk him into anything." Abram lifted his stick and whacked the air with it, as though he were smiting someone unseen.

The steps that led up to Gina's apartment were lit by naked gas jets. From the near-by apartment came the whirring of a sewing-machine, from another the scratchy sounds of a phonograph. Some sort of celebration must have been going on in one of the flats; a number of well-dressed men and women were going up the stairs.

Abram pressed the button at Gina's door. After a little wait the door opened. In the doorway stood a woman in her thirties, tall and dark, with large black eyes, a curved nose, and a too large mouth. There was a little mole on her left cheek. A faint mustache dimmed her upper lip. Her black matron's wig--or was it her own hair, Asa Heshel wondered--was heavily braided, studded with combs, and covered with a tulle net. She wore a velvet dress and buckled shoes. Asa Heshel retreated a step or two. The woman brought her hands together in a gesture of surprise.

"See who's here! It's too bad we weren't talking about Messiah instead; he would surely have come."

"Gina, my love, I'm bringing this young man to you--a genius of geniuses."

"Forgive me, I didn't even see him; you're hiding him with your broad shoulders. Come in, please come in."

The two went into the entrance hall. This was a long corridor with a number of doors along it, all of them paned with frosted glass. The sound of voices came from beyond it. The air was heavy with the smell of cigarette smoke. The walls had been newly painted and there was a strong odor of oil and turpentine.

On the freshly waxed floor sacking and newspapers were spread.

The wooden coat hangers were laden with overcoats. Against the wall stood an assortment of galoshes and umbrellas. Gina helped Abram out of his cape and took Asa Heshel's coat.

"I could swear this young man is the son of a rabbinical house," Gina said.

"A miracle! The woman's a prophetess!" Abram exclaimed in exaggerated awe. "Deborah the prophetess!"

-59-"You can

see it in his face. Tell me, my dear child, what is your name?"

"Asa Heshel Bannet."

"And where are you from? One thing is sure, you're no Litvak."

"Are you mad!" yelled Abram. "Would I bring a Lithuanian into your house?"

"Don't shout. I have enough trouble with those lunatics in there."

"You mean Broide and Lapidus?"

"The whole bunch of them. Well, come inside."

"Just a minute, Gina. This young man needs a room."

"But, my dear Abram, all my rooms are rented. They're sleeping on the sofa, on the floor, on the mantelpiece. It's a poorhouse, not a lodging-house. If you'd brought him a couple of weeks ago it would have been different. But--wait a moment, I have an idea.

There's a girl living here--studying to be a pharmacist--or a nurse--or God knows what. Anyway, last night she got a telegram--her mother died--so she packed up and went away. To Pintshev, I think."

"Well, then, that settles everything. Give him her room."

"And what'll happen if she comes back?"

Gina opened a door at the end of the corridor and led the two into a large crowded room. People lounged all over the place, sitting on sofas, chairs, even on the windowsill and on a low chest of drawers. The walls were hung with oil paintings and drawings.

The carpeted floor was strewn with cigarette mouthpieces.

Clouds of tobacco smoke wove about under the ceiling.

Everybody seemed to be talking at once, a jumble of Yiddish, Polish, and Russian. A small man, sunburned as a gypsy, in a torn blouse, with a jet-black beard and enormous flashing eyes, was expostulating in a hoarse voice with a peppery Litvak accent, gesticulating violently and flinging his head from side to side.

His Adam's apple bobbed up and down; the hairs of his fore-lock stood upright, like wires. A girl with a mannish voice was shouting: "Clown! Idiot!"

"Don't mind him, Miss Lena," a younger man addressed her. He was wearing a pair of large, polished eyeglasses. He had a high forehead, an irregular, flat nose, and curly hair. Behind his twinkling glasses his eyes were smiling jovially. "He knows himself that he's just babbling. He's putting on a show."

-60-"It's no show.

The matter concerns our very life, our whole existence as a people!" the short man shouted. "We dance at everybody's wedding but our own. And they don't even thank us. All we'll get is a kick in the behind!"

"Feh! Gutter talk."

"It's the truth, the truth! You're all a bunch of traitors!"

"Ah, reel There's never an end to it!" Gina said with a sigh.

"That Lapidus is like the ocean; he never rests a minute."

"The ocean spews out seashells--he spits out garbage," the younger man stated.

"Quiet, Broide! You're not so innocent yourself. Here, I want to acquaint you with this young man--from the provinces. Abram brought him. He's a genius, Abram says."

The argument broke off and the disputants stared at Asa Heshel. Lapidus was the first to break the silence.

5

"Where are you from?" Lapidus asked, putting out his hand. "I could swear you come from somewhere in the province of Lublin."

"Yes," Asa Heshel said. "From Tereshpol Minor."

"I thought so. There are still Jews in those towns. Real Jews, who aren't ashamed of the Jewish nose--and the Jewish Torah. Here, my friend, a new generation has arisen that has only one thing in mind--humanity! They weep bitter tears over every Ivan, every Slav. There's only one nation they've got no use for--their own flesh and blood!"

"Hey, Lapidus, back to your propaganda?" Broide exclaimed, in the vibrant voice of the trained orator. "That's really swinish!"

"What do you mean, swinish! I just want to let him know what kind of a den he's fallen into. Look at them all"--he turned to Asa Heshel. "A flock of humanitarians, all of them. All they worry about is the social revolution and the Russian peasants. There's not a single one of them that cares so much"--Lapidus put his thumb to the tip of his little finger to illustrate how small was their regard--"about what happens to the Jews!"