The Family Moskat (11 page)

"As true as I live, Lapidus," Gina interrupted, "now you're going too far! If you want to become a nationalist, or even to -61-go back to the

prayerbouse of your young days, then for God's sake do it! What's all the carrying-on for? A person would think the place is a madhouse."

"It is! I was once in a village where they assemble them be-fore sending them away to Siberia--what was the name?--Alexan-drovka--in a peasant's hut, and I saw a bunch of Jews, with scrawny beards, black eyes--just like mine. At first I thought it was a
minyan
for prayers. But when I heard them babbling in Russian and spouting about the revolution--the S.R.'s, the S.D.'s, Plekhanov, Bogdanov, bombs, assassinations--I started to howl. I laughed until I became hysterical."

"You're not over it yet."

"I'm not nearly so hysterical as you are, Broide. You've not gone through what I've gone through. While I was rotting in prison, you played around with your father's servant girls."

"All right, so you've gone through a lot of experiences. What good has it done you? All it's done is to make you a reactionary."

"And I tell you, Broide, you're more reactionary than I am. It's people like you who'll ruin the world."

"Not the world, Lapidus. Only capitalism and chauvinism, the things that people like you hold onto for dear life."

"I'm no chauvinist. I don't lust for anyone's territory. All I want is a corner of the world for our own."

"That's fine. I'm glad you're not out to do some territory-grabbing.

But just wait. The appetite, they say, grows with eating. Ha-ha-ha!"

"Ha-ha-ha!" Abram echoed him ironically. "It's a great joke, Broide, isn't it? In what commandment is it written down that we're supposed to spill our blood for every pig of a ruler while we stay homeless and in exile? Why should we do it? Because that's the way Karl Kautsky decided it's got to be?"

"It's got nothing to do with Kautsky, my dear Shapiro. If you can get a charter from the Turk it's all right with me. And if the Sultan decides not to give it to you, I won't rend my garments either, I assure you."

"But for a new Constitution you'd rend not only your garments but your own mother."

"The Constitution is something of world importance, and your charter is nothing but an idle fantasy for Zionist orators."

"It's starting all over again," Gina cried out. "They never get -62-tired! Shouts

and insults! Smoke and babble! Come, Abram; come --what's your name?--Asa Heshell I'll show you the girl's room. The argument will stay fresh, don't worry."

She went out, Abram and Asa Heshel after her. In the corridor Gina stopped and turned to them.

"I really think, Abram, that this isn't the place for him. What do you think, young man?"

"I don't know, it's interesting."

"You hear what he says? Give him a few days and he'll be more European than the rest of them. If it wasn't so late I'd take him out to the Old Market and buy him a stylish suit and a modern hat," Abram said.

"Please, Abram, I beg of you! Before you start fixing other people's lives, think it over first."

"What's there to think over? He came here to study, not to chant psalms in a prayerhouse."

Gina opened a door and turned on a light. Asa Heshel saw a small room with a metal bed, covered with a dark spread. Near by was a table and on it a book, some vials, powder boxes, powder puffs, a glass with a toothbrush stuck in it, and a photograph of a young man with the face of a butcher and the epaulets of a student. A few dresses hung in a corner. The room was cool and quiet.

"This is it," Gina said. "How do you like it, young man?"

"Oh, very much."

"By the way, how are you feeling, Gina darling?" Abram asked suddenly. "You look wonderful. A princess!"

"It's only because I'm dressed up. Not because I've got anything to be particularly joyful about."

"What's the news from Akiba? What's he dragging the divorce out for?"

"God knows. It gets worse from day to day. When he's ready, his father decides to raise some objection; and when the rabbi finally agrees, that grandmother of his butts in. They're at him from all sides, and me they call the worst names you can think of. God knows, I must be made of iron to survive it. And
my
dear father has been kind enough to tell me that he's disowning me--that I'm no longer a daughter of his."

"A fat lot you should care."

"Yes, but it oppresses me, Abram. I knew beforehand it would be nothing but war. But it's all of them against poor me. Every--63-body throws mud at me. And on top of all that there's something else--but maybe I'd better not talk about it."

"What is it? What do you mean?"

"You'll only call me crazy."

"Come on, speak up! What do you mean?"

"I'm afraid that Hertz is getting tired of the whole business. He's a wonderful person, big-hearted, a scholar. But, between us, he's weak. All those experiments of his don't please me one bit. That woman--the medium--what's her name? Kalischer. She's nothing but an ordinary crook. She's got contact with spirits the way I'm Rasputin's mistress. All of Warsaw's laughing at him."

"Let them laugh. He's a great man."

"Just the same, I get more melancholy from day to day. I sit among those sardonic people in there and my head spins. I've got only one prayer to God--at least to spare me from going in-sane. . . . But what's the good of talking! Forgive me, young man."

She turned to Asa Heshel. "Where is your hotel?"

"On the Franciskaner."

"If it's not comfortable for you over there, bring your things here. One way or another we'll manage."

"Are you staying on?" Asa Heshel asked Abram.

"No. I've still got to go to Praga tonight. But don't worry; I'll see you. I'll invite you to my house. You'd better hurry for your luggage."

Asa Heshel left. Outside the snow had begun to fall again, slowly and steadily, in big flakes. He put up his collar. The day seemed to him to have lasted an eternity. Words and phrases he had heard echoed and re-echoed in his ears. He hurried along the street, now and then breaking into a run. Something strange, secret, and Cabalistic seemed to pervade the atmosphere from the still red-tinted sky, from the snow-covered roofs, balconies, and doorsteps.

The gas flames in the street lamps quivered and cast flickering lights. Shadows fled across the snow. Every once in a while the quiet was broken by a shout or an explosion, as though someone had shot a gun in the night. He suddenly remembered that this morning he had known not a single soul in Warsaw; now, only twelve hours later, he had a lodging, a tutor, the offer of a job to copy a manuscript, a promise to be invited to Abram's house. In the darkness before him he seemed to see Hadassah's features, alive and glowing, as in a dream.

When later he rang the bell and Gina opened the door, she -64-looked at him

and then at the dilapidated straw basket that con-stituted his luggage. She felt a pang in her breast. That was how --years ago--

Hertz Yanovar looked when he left for Warsaw seeking an education. "He, too, will make someone unhappy," she thought.

"Already--somewhere--the victim is being prepared for the sacrifice."

MESHULAM MOSKAT had long made it a practice to distribute the seasonal gifts to his family directly after the ritual of blessing the first Channukah candle. This year, as in previous years, sons and daughters, their wives and husbands and children, gathered at the old man's home for the holiday. Naomi and Manya put in long hours of preparation for the event.

Meshulam and the adult males of the family returned to the house after the evening services at the Bialodrevna prayerhouse. The women and grandchildren were waiting for them.

In Meshulam's living-room there was an enormous Channukah lamp, elaborately etched. With his own hand he poured the olive oil especially imported from the Holy Land, recited the prescribed benediction, and applied a light to the wick. The flame spluttered and smoked; the large red "sexton" candle threw a wavering illumination on the tarnished silver. In honor of the day Meshulam had put on a flowered dressing-robe and an ornate skullcap. To his sons he gave envelopes containing banknotes; the women received coral necklaces and bracelets, each appropriate to her age and prestige. To the grandchildren he distributed tin tops and small coins. Neither the two servants nor Leibel the coachman were overlooked.

After the gifts were distributed, the servants brought in large -65-trays laden with

latkes, pancakes made of grated potatoes, fried in oil and sprinkled with sugar and cinnamon. After tea and preserves had been served, the family gathered in groups to play games, as was the Channukah custom. Meshulam preferred to play with the children, making sure to lose a few coppers to them. Only one of the old man's sons-in-law had put in an appearance, Moshe Gabriel. Of the other two, Pearl's husband had died in the past year, and as for Abram Shapiro, Meshulam had little use for him. Moshe Gabriel was a learned man, the son of a rabbi, and one of the honored few who sat at the rabbi's table at the Bialodrevna Chassidic court. As soon as the Channukah lamp had been lighted, he had returned to the prayerhouse; his visits to his worldly father-in-law were for him occasions to be suffered and endured.

The living-room was full of noise and excitement. Joel, Meshulam's oldest son, a man in his late fifties, unusually tall, with a big belly and a mottled red neck, had the reputation of being a gambler. Everything about Joel was enormous: the bulging blue eyes, the fleshy, pitted nose, the large ears with the thick lobes. Carefully, and with ponderous movements, he shuffled the cards and kept his eyes open to see that everything proceeded according to the rules. Good cards or bad, he kept throwing coins into the plate at the center of the table.

"A gulden!" he said in his deep bass voice.

"Aha, Joel! Who're you trying to frighten? You've probably got nothing," remarked his brother Nathan.

"Then put your money in," Joel retorted. "Let's see how clever you are!"

Nathan was shorter than Joel, but stouter, with the high round belly of a pregnant woman, a short fleshy neck, and a double chin.

Only a few sparse hairs sprouted on his face; the family had always felt that he was a bit lacking in masculinity. He had no children. He was troubled with diabetes, and his wife, Saltsha, small and round as a barrel, would remind him promptly every hour to take his pills. He looked at his cards, tugged at the few hairs in his beard, smiled craftily, and said to his brother: "You don't frighten me with your gulden; here's another one on top of that."

Pinnie, Meshulam's son by his second wife, was short and thin, with a withered, jaundiced face framed in a yellowish-green beard. He was almost dwarfed by the massive bulk of Joel and -66-Nathan. It was

his custom to call attention to himself by throwing out witty remarks and sage Talmudic quotations; but no one paid any heed to him. He was an atrocious card-player; and it was partly as a result of this that his wife, Hannah, limited him to a half-ruble spending money.

"I'm done for," he kept on saying, throwing his cards aside.

"With cards like these a man can go bankrupt."

Nyunie, the younger of Meshulam's sons by his second wife, was in a constant lather of quivering, perspiring, flushing--and making one mistake after another. He stood somewhat in awe of his older brothers, Joel and Nathan, and as a result constantly picked on Pinnie.

The women's table was a buzz of talk, most of the conversation monopolized by Joel's wife, Esther--Queen Esther, as the family called her--an Amazonian woman with a triple chin and a vast bosom. She was drawing little tablets from a canvas bag and calling out the numbers written on them. The others busily searched for the number on squares of the cardboard that lay before them on the table. Although she had just consumed a quantity of the holiday pancakes, she had beside her a variety of delicacies--a sectioned orange, some cookies and caramels, halvah, anything to satisfy the tapeworm that yawned voraciously inside her, so the doctors had told her. Saltsha, Nathan's wife, was apparently in luck. Hardly had the game started when she yelled out in triumph and showed her chart, with a horizontal line of figures completely filled out. Although they were playing for tiny stakes --groszy--

the noise at the women's table was deafening. They talked, laughed, and interrupted one another, making a clatter with their glasses of tea and teaspoons. Esther and Saltsha, the two senior daughters-in-law, kept up a continuous flow of gossip, mostly at the expense of Dacha, who had come without her daughter, Hadassah. Pearl, Meshulam's oldest daughter--a widow, and a hardheaded businesswoman, the true daughter of her father --sat apart with her daughters and daughters-in-law. They were sufficient unto themselves, living in the northern quarter of War-saw, in a part of the city the others referred to as "that section."

They visited Meshulam's house no more than twice a year. Hannah kept only half an eye on the game. Most of the time she watched Pinnie, always afraid that he would commit some outrageous blunder. At the end of the table sat Hama, Abram's wife. She was short, ailing, and always in a state of melancholy, -67-with nose red

and eyes dim from weeping. She looked like a nondescript pauper who by some miracle had found herself the daughter of a wealthy house. Her clothes were worn and her matron's wig was the worse for wear. She made little futile gestures with the chips she held in her hand, unable to find the numbers on her chart.

Every other minute her eyes turned toward her two daughters, Bella and Stepha, and a sigh escaped her lips.

She bitterly resented the few groszy she and her daughters were losing to those gluttonous sisters-in-law of hers, Esther and Saltsha.

"What number did you call?" she said. "Seventy-three?

Ninety-eight? I can't hear a word."

Leah, Meshulam's youngest daughter--she was Moshe Gabriel's wife--sat with the unmarried girls. For all that they called her Aunt, she thought of herself as belonging to their generation. She was stout, with large breasts and full cheeks, well-padded hips, and fleshy legs. Her big blue eyes had a sharp and calculating look about them. In her youth something had happened to her that the family considered a disgrace--she had fallen in love with Koppel, the bailiff. When Meshulam had found out about it he had given Koppel a sound drubbing and had at once married off his daughter to Moshe Gabriel Margolis, a childless widower. There were squabbles and arguments between husband and wife year after year; there was always talk of divorce. Now Leah was whispering to the daughters of her brothers and sisters and pinching and poking them. The girls were almost expiring with laughter.