The Family Moskat (21 page)

He looked toward the window. He could see the full moon high through the upper pane. At the top of his voice he shouted: "To hell with you! Let the pious hypocrites recite the blessing over the new moon. Not me! I'm through! They can all politely crawl on their hands and knees and stick their noses here." And he pointed violently with his index finger toward his rump.

-128-

6

Half an hour later Abram was down in the street again. This time he directed his steps to Gnoyna Street, toward Hertz Yanovar's place. He passed by the Vielka and the Bagno and came out on the Gzhybov. On the Bagno some of the second-hand stores were still open--dealers in old furniture, valises, whips. Draymen were loading furniture from platforms onto their trucks. The draft horses were nuzzling into the feed bags, scattering oat kernels on the snow. On the Gzhybov Abram went past Meshulam Moskat's house. He threw a single glance at the brilliantly lighted windows on the upper floor and walked quickly by. Strange to think that Hama, the mother of his children, was now up there, and that he could no longer even approach her. He shrugged his shoulders.

Ah, the miserable creature. To rebel all of a sudden in her old age.

At Hertz Yanovar's he ran into the familiar group: Hilda Kalischer, Dembitzer, and Finlender. Dr. Messinger had been there, but had gone. Apparently there had been no seance; the table was standing against the wall with Dembitzer's overcoat draped on it. Yanovar, in dressing-gown and slippers, ran forward, both hands outstretched.

"Welcome, Abram! It's good you came. I was going to call you."

"Why didn't you? I tell you, brother, I'm in trouble."

"What's happened?"

"What hasn't happened? The whole world's come crashing down on me. My wife, my father-in-law, Koppel, Dacha. They're out to tear me apart. But a fig for the lot of 'em. I spit on 'em. What are you sitting around for like drenched chickens? How are the ghosts?"

"Please, Abram, no sarcasm."

"Believe me, no sarcasm, not today. I've got a question I'd like to ask the table myself--what's going to be the end of me?"

"Come around tomorrow and well ask it," Hilda Kalischer put in. She was seated on a sofa, a silk shawl over her shoulders. She looked cross. A thin cigarette dangled from the corner of her lips.

"Your affairs are your affairs. What'll happen about the jour--129-nal?"

Dembitzer asked. "A thing like that can't be dragged out. It's got to be one way or the other."

"I'll talk with the printer today. The important question is the board of editors."

"We have to start small," Yanovar said. "Let's get out a sample issue of thirty-two pages. Then we can see how the provinces will respond. What do you think, Finlender?"

The hunchbacked Finlender had been standing at the bookcase, fingering a volume. Now he turned around.

"You know my opinion," he said sharply, emphasizing each word. "We have to approach the undertaking systematically. You've got to have a definite program. And first of all, you'll have to have a capital of at least thirty thousand rubles."

"That's a lot of money," Abram said, and winked toward Dembitzer.

Finlender, a bachelor, bookkeeper in a tea firm and compiler of a dictionary, had a reputation for making unreal and impossible plans.

Everyone laughed at the contrast between his fabulous projects and his pedantic manner of speech.

"I wouldn't begin the project with a ruble less," Finlender continued.

"Nonsense! Who needs thirty thousand! Three hundred rubles will do,"

Hertz Yanovar interrupted. "We'll get credit. I know someone who'll provide the paper."

"The question is where do we get the three hundred."

"Three hundred rubles I can put up myself, for all I'm a pauper," Abram remarked.

"In that case there's nothing to prevent us from going ahead," Yanovar said.

"And what'll there be for me to do on the project?" Hilda Kalischer inquired. It was evident that all the talk about the journal bored her.

Impatiently she poked at a loosened hairpin in the Greek knot at her nape.

"You'll be the treasurer, Hilda. With your intuition you'll know whom to trust and whom not to."

"Joke as much as you please, but I don't think anything of the whole plan. Professor Yanovar shouldn't give up his time to such trifles. Especially since he expects to go abroad."

"Seriously, Hilda," Hertz said, "I don't understand why you're opposed to it. An ignorant and coarsened generation is growing up.

This is an opportunity to educate them. That young man who -130-lives at Gina's,

for instance. He's got to make a start when others of his age are finishing."

"Golden words! Words of wisdom!" Abram interjected. "He's got more in his little finger than all the university students have in their heads put together. And he's got to grabble around in textbooks for children! And before you know it the damn conscription'll come around and he'll either have to run away or put on a uniform for the Czar. They're all disappearing--all our Jewish youth."

Dobbie, the servant, came to the door. "The food's on the table", she announced.

They all went into the dining-room.

On the table, which was covered with a stained tablecloth, stood bowls of borsch flanked by tin soup-spoons. Instead of chairs there were benches. Abram poured some brandy into a glass from a flask on the sideboard, his large, hairy hands trembling. Dembitzer dipped a small roll into a glass of wine.

"Here's good fortune to the new journal!" he said.

"Good fortune without end. May this be the beginning of a Jewish university--just to spite Hilda."

"For all I care--I'm leaving the country anyway."

Hertz Yanovar had taken a mouthful of bread and sardines; the food stuck in his throat. "What? When? What are you saying?"

"I've had a proposal to go to London. They guarantee all expenses. I didn't want to tell you, but as long as you're all going to become printers or editors or whatever it is, there'll be nothing for me anyway."

"I don't understand a word of what you're saying. Who's do-ing the guaranteeing? What'll you do in London?"

"I'll show you the letter. Let's not talk about it any more." Hilda nervously spooned up some borsch from her plate and let it drip back.

"I have an idea," Abram exclaimed. He pounded his fist on the table. "I'll go abroad too. I can see everything clearly now.

Finlender, you're right. We've got to start big. Thirty thousand's not enough. I'll raise fifty thousand or my name isn't Abram Shapiro.

Maybe a hundred thousand!"

"What's happened to you all of a sudden?"

"Thank God, I've never begged for a grosz in my life. But -131-I'm sure--I'm

convinced--that I could raise money abroad. I'll go to Germany, to France, Switzerland, England. Let the fancy Jews there be assimilationists, anti-Semites, whatever there is in the book, but education is something they have regard for. Jacob Schiff alone could hand over fifty thousand rubles."

"Jacob Schiff is in America."

"America doesn't scare me either. We'll put out a big magazine. We'll engage the best pedagogues. We'll send out instructors to teach crafts. We'll create a fund to send promising youths to study in universities in other countries."

"You know, maybe it's not so fantastic," Hertz Yanovar said musingly.

"It's all clear. Clear as day. I'll leave right away. The thing can't be postponed for a single minute," Abram thundered. "The moment she mentioned London it was like a flash of lightning. I'll tell you a secret. My wife has left me. She's left everything and gone to her father. I'm a grass-widower. Thank God, my daughters are grown up. One way or another the old man will see that they're disposed of. I want to do something big, something important--not for me, for the people. As true as I'm talking to you, I was thinking about going to Palestine and starting a colony--Nachlat Abram, that would be the name. But the climate's bad for me. At least, not now. My heart--it's overstrained. All right--if I can't do something in the Jewish homeland, then let me at least do something in the Exile. We have thousands, tens of thousands, of prodigies in our Polish Jewish villages. Thousands of Mendelssohns, Bergsons, Ashkenazis are lost in our provinces, I tell you. There's nothing the anti-Semites are afraid of so much as of our education. That's why they keep us out of their universities."

"As I live, the man's eloquent," Dembitzer said with a laugh.

"He'll raise money, too," Finlender commented. "If only he doesn't cool off just as quick."

-132-

AT ABOUT ten o'clock at night there was a sharp ring at Gina's door. Gina left the group in the living-room and went to answer it.

On the dim outside landing, a few steps away from the threshold, she saw a slight, round-shouldered man in a long gaberdine and a wide-brimmed low hat. A mendicant, Gina thought. She started to take a coin from her purse. Suddenly she trembled and stifled a shriek. It was Akiba, her husband. "He's dead," flashed across her mind; "he died and he's come to strangle me." She stepped out into the hallway and closed the door behind her. She clasped her hands.

"Akiba--it's you!"

"Yes."

"What are you doing here? When did you come? What is it you want?"

"I'm ready to agree to the divorce."

"Now? In the middle of the night? Are you out of your mind?"

"Then it can wait till tomorrow."

"Where are you lodging? Why didn't you write to me?"

Akiba made no answer. Gina opened the door a trifle. She peered into the inside hall to make sure no one was there, and said: "Well, come in."

Akiba followed her with shuffling steps. He seemed to bring with him the odor of ritual baths, prayerhouse candles, sweat, and mold, the provincial aroma that Gina had long forgotten. She opened the door to Asa Heshel's room and they both went in. She turned on the light and saw him clearly. He seemed to have shrunk. His beard was uncared for, wisps of lint and dust cling-ing to sparse hairs. His sidelocks were lank and bedraggled. His -133— coat was split at the seams, the padding showing. A scarf was tied around his throat. His arms hung limply down, like those of a straw man. His eyes shifted from side to side under the thick brows. Gina shuddered.

"What's been happening to you? Have you been sick or something?"

"I want to bring the thing to an end," Akiba muttered. "It's got to be finished. One way or another."

"The rabbi--your father--does he know?"

"My grandmother is the one who objects. I don't care. I'm not taking the sin on my shoulders."

"Well, anyway, sit down. I'll bring you a glass of tea."

"No. Never mind."

"What are you afraid of? That the tea won't be kosher? At least you could have written me a card--you could have let me know.

You'll excuse me, but you still act like a fool."

She went out and closed the door. There was a flush on her cheeks, and tears stood in her eyes. She thought of calling Hertz Yanovar on the telephone, but she was afraid someone might come out of the living-room and overhear her. She went into the kitchen and came out with a pitcher of water, a basin, and a towel. Akiba had taken off his hat and was wearing a crumpled skullcap. Below his open gaberdine she could see the ritual garment with the knotted fringes.

"You can wash," she said. "Maybe you'd like me to bring you something to eat. Downstairs there's a wurst store, certified kosher."

Akiba waved the suggestion away.

"At least you can have some bread, and maybe an apple."

"I'm not hungry. Sit down. I want to ask you something."

"What?"

"I want the truth. Have you been living in sin with him?"

Gina felt a wave of heat engulf her. She went toward the door and then turned to face him. "You're starting again," she said.

"Excuse me, Akiba, but you make yourself ridiculous."

"According to the Talmud, a woman who commits adultery is unclean to her husband as well as to her seducer."

"Don't quote the Talmud to me. If you want to get a divorce, then get it, but spare me your accusations."

"It isn't a question of accusation. What good would a divorce do if the abominations go on? The Talmud compares it to a man -134-performing his

ablutions while he holds on to the carcass of a reptile."

"You won't have to serve my term in Gehenna. And even if I'm doomed to be pricked with daggers, I've had plenty of experience in suffering. I don't have to tell you the things I've gone through.

Our marriage was no marriage from the beginning. Let it be over and done with."

Akiba was silent for a while. Then he said: "It looks as though you're doing well for yourself here in Warsaw."

"May my enemies do no better! It's a miracle I manage to keep alive. And I have trouble with gallstones. When I get an at-tack I could tear at the walls with my fingernails. I should go for a cure to the warm baths, but I haven't a grosz. God knows how long I can carry on."

"If you hadn't decided to ruin your life you'd have everything--comfort in this world and paradise in the next."

"Well, what's the use? Everything is destined beforehand. You can stay here tonight. There's someone living in this room--a young man from the provinces--but I'll get him a bed somewhere else. I have to go; I have guests."

"I didn't notice a mezuzah on the door."

"There's one on the outside door."

"There should be one on every door. I'll find a place to sleep somewhere else."

"Where will you find one at this time of night?"

"On the Franciskaner."

"Do what I say and stay here. If you want, I'll nail a mezuzah on the doorpost. As long as you're here already, you may as well stay, and tomorrow, if we live, well settle things once and for all. Who knows, maybe they'll begin to talk it into you again and the whole thing'll have to start over."

"A mezuzah's got to be examined before it's put up."

"All right, then you'll examine it."

"It takes a qualified scribe. Sometimes there may be an imper-fection, a letter missing."