The Family Moskat (67 page)

"How is she? What's she doing?"

"What does any girl do? She gets married and becomes a woman. Ah, Koppel, Koppel. Tell me, what kind of place is this America? To go off and forget everybody! They must lose their memories there."

"Never mind, never mind," Mrs. Krupnick, the former Mrs.

Goldsober, interrupted. "Tell us, how's your wife?"

Koppel threw a side glance at her. "Leah's still in Paris," he answered.

"In Paris! Dear God in heaven! Where people find themselves!"

"Where is Isador?" Koppel asked again, turning to Reitze.

"My God, look at the way he misses him all of a sudden. In there. Go on in. Hell tell you a million things--but they're all lies. All he does is lie there and figure out all sorts of fantasies.

Is it my fault that he's paralyzed? All these years I warned him.

'Isador,' I said, 'a man isn't made of iron.' Three o'clock in the morning he'd get up and start with the bottle. I was scared he'd scald his guts. But it went to his legs."

"Mamma, please stop it," Zilka said sternly.

"See the way she teaches me manners. What are you so worried about? Koppel's known me for years. Even though he lives in New York. Is it true that the money rolls in the streets there?"

"Sure. They sweep it up with shovels."

"Ah, the way we were jealous of you. And the trouble we had.

People dying like flies. The Germans--God's curse on them--

played the gentlemen.
Bitte
, put the noose around your neck.

Bitte
, drop dead. And everything was ration cards, coupons. And the bread. Baked with chestnuts. Heavy as rock. A whole winter we ate nothing but frozen potatoes. I lost thirty pounds in a few weeks. My petticoats fell off me. Zilka became a smuggler."

"Mamma!"

"All right, all right! I can't say a word any more. The eggs have got smarter than the hens. Well, go in to Isador. But don't stay in there, Koppel, darling."

Koppel went into the bedroom. There was a small lamp burn--

438-ing. Isador was lying flat on the bed, his face yellow as wax.

His mustache, which Koppel remembered as always neatly curled, was now ragged. One eye was half closed, the other stared straight ahead. On a night table lay a deck of cards and a sputum cup.

Koppel hesitated at the door. "Good evening, Isador."

Isador returned the greeting in a strong, healthy voice.

"You do recognize me?" Koppel asked. "Like a bad penny."

Koppel laughed. "Well, thank God you still recognize a person,"

he said.

"Do you think I'm out of my mind? When did you come?"

"Today."

"Straight from America?"

"I stopped off in Paris."

"Have you been to see your family?"

"Yes."

"You're no fool. As for me, they've got me wrapped up and ready for the ash heap. They don't even give me anything to eat."

"That's impossible."

"Shut up. Give me a couple of dollars. I tell you, I'm a stranger here. They're just waiting for me to kick the bucket."

"You imagine things."

"I'm a healthy man, Koppel. The only thing is I've got no legs.

If I had the money I'd get them cut off and buy myself a pair of crutches. If it wasn't for the society I'd be rotting underground.

They keep on coming over every Saturday. It's in the bylaws.

Not long ago they brought me a cut of meat, but Reitze swiped it. They don't let me have any brandy. Here I stick all day and stare at the ceiling. And all sorts of ideas go through my mind.

Well, tell me, are you at least satisfied now?"

"No."

"What's the matter? She's a fancy lady?"

"It's everything together."

"Have you got dollars?"

"Like straw."

"Then it isn't so bad. Go and get me a bottle of schnapps."

"Right away."

"Go now. They'll be closing the saloon. Half of the society is dead. There's a lot of new members now. Isador here, Isador -439-there, but I

don't know a single one of them. Tell me, do you still chase around with women?"

"There are plenty of them in America."

"So you're a lucky man. Grab it all while you can, brother.

When you're in my condition you can't do a thing."

3

When Koppel returned to the living-room, the card game had stopped. The deck lay on the plate in the middle of the table with the kitty in it. They were apparently talking about him; as he entered, a sudden silence fell. It was only now that Koppel got a real look at the group. David Krupnick had become coarse and clumsy, somehow smaller, as though he had grown in reverse.

Itchele Peltsevisner's hair was thinning and his scalp looked scabby. There was a mole on his left cheek. Motie the Red had a mouth full of gold teeth. Leon the Peddler looked worn and sick.

Even the house seemed to Koppel to have changed. The curtains on the windows were ragged and torn. The walls were peeling.

The ceiling was patchy.

Mrs. Krupnick removed her asthma cigarette from her lips. "Are you going already, Koppel?" she said. "Where are you running to?"

"I'm going to buy a bottle of something for Isador."

Reitze half rose from her chair. "I knew it right away," she said.

"The drunk. The moment somebody comes in he begins to take advantage of him. Koppel, as true as that we both should live, I tell you it's a sin. The whole misfortune comes from it."

"It won't make him any sicker."

"Wait. Don't run away. I've got some brandy here in the house. He's really a disgrace."

"I'm afraid that Koppel is ashamed of us paupers," Mrs.

Krupnick remarked.

"I came here to see you, didn't I?"

"To see me?"

"To see all of you."

"Tell us about America. Is it true they walk upside down there?"

"You can if you want to. It's a free country." Koppel turned toward Leon the Peddler. "How are things with you?"

Leon slapped his forehead with his hand. "I was sure you'd -440—

forgotten my name already," he said. "How should I be? If Poland is a country, then I'm a king. I try to sell jewelry, and what people want is bread. There's only one kind of merchandise to deal in these days--dollars. For dollars you can buy the blue dome of heaven. How is everything with you, Koppel? As true as I'm alive, we talked about you every evening. And not a word from you. They were all angry. But I told them: 'Listen to me,' I said, 'a man like Koppel doesn't forget. The only thing is that in Columbus's country a man has no time to write.'"

"It's true," Koppel said. "When you get to America, you don't want to write. Everything seems so distant. As if you were in a different world."

"You know what, Koppel? You're really an entirely different person," Reitze remarked after some hesitation.

Koppel bristled. "What's different about me?"

"I don't know. You're so serious. You used to be such a joker.

And you've got kind of older. What is it? Working too hard?"

"Everything's in a hurry there. What you do here in an hour we do in a minute."

"What's the hurry? They die there too, don't they? Well, any-way, I suppose we'll get used to you. Where are you staying?"

"At the Hotel Bristol."

"My God! You must have made a fortune."

Koppel said nothing.

"Even in America you don't get rich from honest work,"

Itchele Peltsevisner remarked.

Koppel threw him an angry glance. "Is your work honest?"

"Who can I steal from? Except maybe from my horses."

"Hey, men! Never mind the fighting," Reitze interrupted.

"Zilka, go into the kitchen with Koppel and pick out a good bottle of brandy. If your father is such a fool, let him have it."

Koppel left the room with Zilka. It was dark in the corridor, and it smelled of gas and dirty linen. Zilka took his arm.

"Careful," she said. "Don't fall. Such a bunch of roughnecks.

It sticks in their throats that you live at the Hotel Bristol. Are you going to be in Warsaw long?"

"A month."

"I'd like to talk to you about something. But not here. Everybody's got long ears here." "Come and see me at the hotel." "When?"

-441-"Tonight if

you want." Koppel felt a sudden alarm at his own words. What was he saying? She might slap his face.

After a moment's silence Zilka let go of his arm. "I could come tomorrow," she said. "Whenever you like--afternoon or night."

"At night would be better."

"What time?"

"Around ten."

"I'll be there. If I'm a little late, wait for me. Here's the brandy. See that Papa doesn't drink too much."

"It'll be all right."

Koppel took the bottle of brandy with one hand. The other arm he placed around Zilka's shoulders. He drew her toward him and kissed her full on the lips. She kissed him back. Their knees met.

"Yes," he thought, "a man must have initiative. Let Leah stay there in Paris as long as she likes."

They went back to the living-room. Mrs. Krupnick looked curiously at them, a strange smile on her lips, as though she had divined what had gone on.

In the bedroom Isador raised his head on the pillow and looked at Koppel sharply. "So you're here at last. Sit down. I was just thinking they'd talked you out of it. Enemies, that's what they are.

Pour it, brother. So-o-o. Take a drink for yourself. I don't like drinking alone.
L'chaim!"

Isador took up the glass with trembling fingers. His mouth opened, revealing his long, blackened teeth. With his weakened hands he could not toss off the liquor quickly, in his old expert way. He sipped it slowly, handling the glass clumsily and spilling the liquid on the bedcover.

"Another?"

"Pour it."

After the fifth glassful Isador's face began to flush. "Today's liquor--" he growled. "Water. In the old days you could really taste it. How is it in America? What do they drink there?"

"Whisky."

"Ah! Go ahead. Pour it. So-o-o. Yes, brother, I'm finished, I tell you. Here I am, in prison. The old Isador Oxenburg is gone. A restaurant--that's what my home's become. Reitze is just like a cook. About my daughters I'd rather not talk. One decent son-in-law I had, a fine man. They finished him off."

"He died of typhus, didn't he?"

"Well-- Regina married a tough guy, a friend of my son.

-442-They didn't

even take me to the wedding. Here I was, suffering like a dog, and they carried on till daylight. Yes. There's only one wish I have--to be buried in Warsaw. I don't want to be buried here with the Praga fakers."

"What's the difference?"

"Never mind. Tell me, how is it with your wife? Are you still her servant?"

"What are you babbling about?"

"Well, never mind. Once there was a man called Isador Oxenburg; now there's nothing but a heap of useless bones. Me, who could pick up a barrel of ten pud. Police Inspector Woikoff himself used to salute me. I had only to look at a woman and--"

"You still remember, eh?"

Isador thumped his chest with his fist. "How long ago was it, twenty years, when Blond Feivel died? Half of Praga went to the cemetery. I was riding in the first carriage with Shmuel Smetana. He bet me that he'd put away a small barrel of beer. At the twenty-third mug he passed out. His guts were splitting. Ah-h-h. What was I talking about? I don't want to be buried in Praga.

And I want to hire a pious Jew to say Kaddish after me."

"I'll take care of it."

"What? Stay here, Koppel. Stay here for my funeral."

He closed his eyes, and his hands fell to his sides. His face turned bluish and stiff. Only his mustache moved, rising and falling. His pale lips wore the smile that sometimes appears on the face of a corpse.

A WEEK after Channukah, Leah and her son and daughter

arrived in Warsaw. Zlatele was now nineteen and a student at college. She was known as Lottie. She was engaged to be married to a boy in New York. Meyerl's fellow students at high school called him Mendy. The trip to Europe in the middle of the -443-winter had

interrupted the school terms of the two children. Leah had wanted to wait for the summer vacation before mak-ing the trip, but Koppel was too impatient. Leah herself could hardly wait to see Warsaw again. Deep inside her was the hope that she would be able to talk Masha into leaving her gentile husband and coming to America.

The journey was a far from peaceful one. Man and wife quarreled constantly. Koppel, as usual, complained that Leah was playing the high and mighty lady, treating him as though he were still the overseer of her father's affairs. Leah threatened that if he didn't stop his eternal nagging she'd throw herself overboard. For a couple of days she refused to leave her cabin. Koppel spent his time in the bar or playing cards. Koppel did not want to stay in Paris more than three days, but Lottie and Mendy were in no hurry to go to Poland, so Koppel had gone to Warsaw himself.

Now they were all in Warsaw, stopping at the Hotel Bristol. Leah had brought with her an enormous trunk, with numerous locks, its sides pasted with customs, hotel, and steamer labels. The porters struggled with twelve pieces of luggage. Passers-by stopped to gape at the American tourists. Leah had grown fat over the years. The blond hair under her hat showed signs of gray. She talked to the children in a strident voice, in a mixture of Yiddish and English. The children could not stand her English-Yiddish jargon and her funny accent.

"What do you have to yell for, Ma?" Lottie asked her. "They'll think we're crazy."

"Who'll think? Who's crazy?" Leah shouted. "Shut up. Get hold of that satchel with shoes. And you, Mendy, what are you standing like a
golem
for?"

"What do you want me to do, Ma?"

"Keep an eye on the
goyim
. Don't be a dummy."

"It's starting again. The same nonsense," Koppel murmured.

"Nobody wants your rags."

"Is that so? That's all you know. In Paris they stole a cape from me."

"Well, Lottie, what do you think of Warsaw?" Koppel asked the girl.