The Family Moskat (71 page)

"Yes, a virgin," Koppel answered after a slight hesitation.

"It says here in this marriage contract that the husband takes upon himself the obligation of supporting his wife, providing -465-her with food

and clothing, and living with her as a husband. If he divorces her, then he is obligated to pay her two hundred gulden, and if, may God forbid, he dies, then the debt rests upon his heirs."

Bashele burst into a sob. Shosha put her handkerchief to her eyes.

The ceremony proceeded as custom and law dictated. The beadle brought out of a closet a canopy supported on four poles. Candles were lit. A beaker was filled with wine. The groom put on a white robe to remind him of death. Two women escorted the bride as she circled the groom seven times. The rabbi intoned the benediction. Simon took a wedding ring from his pocket and placed it on the index finger of the bride's right hand, saying: "Behold, thou art sanctified to me with this ring according to the law of Moses and Israel." The couple sipped from the beaker of wine. Chaim Leib was holding a braided candle. The flame spluttered and flickered, throwing grotesque shadows on the walls and ceiling. After the ceremony there was a fervid exchange of greetings and good wishes. The chalutzim became gay.

They formed a circle, hands on shoulders, and began singing in Hebrew:

"Work is our life,

It will save us from all ills."

"Quiet, quiet," the rabbi scolded them. He had no time to waste on the celebrations and carryings-on of this throng, nor was he in any mood to listen to these modern songs, which smacked of heresy.

A tall, lean youth with a pointed Adam's apple took umbrage.

"What's bothering you, rabbi? We are building a Jewish home."

"
Except the Lord build the house, they labor in vain that
build it
.'"

"Come on, Benjamin. It's a waste of time to argue."

The chalutzim put on their sheepskin jackets and left together.

Everyone was against them--the orthodox Jews, the Socialist Bundists, the Communists. But they were not the kind to be frightened off. If the Messiah had not come riding on his ass by now, then it was time to take one's destiny into one's own hands.

They tramped out, thumping the floor with their heavy-soled boots, and singing:

-

466-"
In the land of the fathers All hopes will
come true
."

The others left shortly after. Shosha's aunt and the cousins took a streetcar. The young couple climbed into a droshky with Bashele and Chaim Leib. They had been given the room where previously Koppel had been accustomed to retire to weave his plans.

Koppel asked his daughter: "Well, how does it feel to be a newlywed?"

"Like a human being, Papa. No different," she answered.

"Koppel, thank you for everything you've done," Bashele stammered.

"What's there to thank me for? My own daughter!"

The droshky rolled away. Koppel put up his coat collar and gazed after the vehicle until it turned a corner. That he should have married off his daughter, here in Warsaw! It was something that he had not imagined. How long ago was it that Shosha was born? How the time flew by! Soon he would probably be a grandfather. You can rely on a guy like that. Koppel bit his lips.

He lit a cigarette, breathing the smoke in deeply. Strange how things were! For years and years he had loved Leah; he had almost expired with longing at the sight of her. And now that she was his wife, he was ready to thank God when he could be away from her. He wanted to go to bed, but he knew that Leah would not let him rest. Now she was probably angry that she had not been invited to his daughter's wedding. Koppel went into a delicatessen store to telephone. He called the Oxenburgs'.

Zilka answered the phone, talking to him in Polish. "Oh, Koppel darling," she said. "It's you. Is the wedding over?"

"Yes, the mischief's done."

"Congratulations. What are you doing tonight? There was some woman here looking for you."

"Who? Who was it?"

"I don't know. A dark woman, with kind of slanting eyes. She said you should call her."

Manya, damn her guts, Koppel thought with a feeling of triumph. "Well, it doesn't matter," he said.

He took a taxi over to the Oxenburgs'. Zilka was waiting for him at the entrance to the courtyard. She was wearing the cara--467-cul jacket that Koppel had given her. She was hatless. From her white powdered face a pair of greedy eyes looked out at him.

Koppel was eager for love, but this female had only one thing on her mind, to get as much money as she could from him. In the midst of his most ardent caresses she would whisper: "Koppel, give me a dollar."

Koppel was not hungry now, but Zilka wanted him to take her to a restaurant. That small mouth of hers, powdered at the edges to make it appear even smaller, was like a yawning pit. She ate everything and anything: goose, stuffed derma, calf's foot with garlic, tripe. And she could pour all sorts of liquor into herself--vodka, cognac, beer--as long as Koppel had to pay the bill. The only indulgence she could not stand was the real thing.

At that game she would turn cold as a fish. She had no patience for his demanding amorousness. She worried all the time lest he might tear or spoil her embroidered underwear. Besides, she kept on sighing over her dead husband. When he left her, Koppel was never satisfied. Now that Manya had come to look him up, it was on Koppel's mind to teach Zilka a lesson. He neither greeted her nor kissed her hand, as had lately become his custom. He did not even take the cigarette from his lips.

He did not go home to sleep that night. It was late in the morning when he returned to the hotel. He was prepared for Leah's shrieks and curses. He had his answer ready for her. If she did not like it, he would give her a divorce and pay her alimony. As he walked into the lobby someone came toward him, someone profoundly familiar and yet equally strange. It was himself, Koppel, his own image reflected in a mirror. The face was yellow, the hair at the temples almost gray.

-468-

The idea that happiness and morality are identical was not only a

postulate of Spinoza's
Ethics
--which Asa Heshel still pored over in his free hours--it was also the outgrowth of his own views. All his reflections led him to the conclusion that the only goal of humanity was enjoyment. Had not the Torah itself promised rain in time as a reward for obeying God's commands? Were not the world to come and the coming of the Messiah in reality no more than the promise of joy? Had Marxism any other goal than the achievement of happiness? Yes, that is what he, Asa Heshel, had himself yearned for morning and night. But many forces had operated to block his aims.

His own nature remained a riddle to him. According to Spinoza, joy could be achieved only in community with others, yet he, Asa Heshel, avoided mankind. He did not drink, did not dance, did not belong to any group or organization in which he might make friends. He sat by himself in his study and brooded over emotions and passions that could only lead to unrest of the mind.

He had long ago given up any hope of finding answers to the eternal questions. Nevertheless they gave him no surcease. He agreed with the philosopher of Amsterdam that the sage meditates least on death and the ideas that minimize joy.

But he could not free himself from his emotions. He paced back and forth between his bookshelves, knit his brows, bit his lips, murmuring a Chassidic melody that had stayed with him from Tereshpol Minor. He voiced in his mind complaints to the God whose eternal watchfulness he doubted.

-469-There

was a knock at the door. Hadassah looked in. "Asa Heshel,"

she said, "Dacha's sick."

"What's the matter now?"

"Her throat. Please telephone to Dr. Mintz."

For a moment the two looked at each other. With the passing of the years Asa Heshel's hair had thinned. His back was stooped, though Hadassah had cautioned him many times to stand erect.

Mintz, the son of old Dr. Mintz, had assured her that Asa Hesbel was perfectly sound, but she still worried about his constant pallor. Why did he eat so little? Why did he wake in the middle of the night and find it impossible to get back to sleep?

Hadassah was worried that some sort of concealed illness lurked in his system.

Hadassah was still beautiful, although the events of the passing years had left their mark on her. At first Adele had refused to give Asa Heshel a divorce. They had lived together without benefit of clergy. It was as though she lived a life of ex-communication. And when at last Adele, after much bargaining, had consented to a divorce, and Hadassah and Asa Heshel had married, there were fresh troubles to plague her. She had gone through a difficult pregnancy and an even more difficult labor.

Dacha--the child had been named after Hadassah's mother--was delicate. Asa Hesbel had wanted a boy and could make no peace with the thought that he had a daughter. Besides, there was always a lack of money. From his earnings as a teacher he had to contribute to the support of his son, of his mother, of his sister and her children, for Dinah's husband earned only a pittance from the Talmud lessons he gave. And there were other things, too, to make Hadassah regretful. Her gold-blond hair showed signs of fading; the first fine creases were beginning to appear at the corners of her eyes. Her figure, however, still remained girlish.

Asa Heshel approached her. "Did you look into her throat?" he asked.

"She won't let me."

"Well, don't worry. She'll be all right, you little idiot." He embraced and kissed her. Hadassah closed her eyes. As always when he was tender to her, she felt lighter at once. For all she had been his wife for years, she was never satiated with him. In the daytime he was seldom at home. In the evening he was usu--

470-ally occupied with preparing his lessons for the next day, correcting papers, or reading. Frequently he would go out to visit Hertz Yanovar, or elsewhere, Hadassah had no idea where.

Sometimes, over the merest trifle, he would go off into a silence for days. His good moments could almost be counted. Now that the child was not well, Hadassah was in mortal terror lest he fall again into one of his sullen rages, especially because the constant visits of Dr. Mintz ate up half his income. But one never knew how he would react. Now he stood with his arms about her at the threshold, kissing her eyes, her nose, her throat, taking the lobe of her ear between his lips. He led her to the sofa and took her on his lap. He began to rock and soothe her as though she was a child. "Sh-sh, sh-sh, Hadassah'la," he murmured to her. "I love you."

The tears came into her eyes. "Ah, Asa," she murmured. The door opened. It was Yadwiga, the maid. She could not be taught not to enter a room without knocking. Seeing the mistress sitting on the master's lap, the girl stood gaping. Her broad face, with the high Slavic cheekbones, flushed, making her eyes glow an even lighter blue.

"Ach,
przepraszam
, excuse me," she said, and started to retreat.

Asa Heshel called her back. "What is it you want, Yadwiga?"

"I put on the water to heat for the child's throat," she said.

Hadassah looked at her with a shining glance. "Put some in a glass with salt and let it cool."

"The boy from the coal dealer was here."

Hadassah's face turned serious. "I'll be over there later." Yadwiga still hesitated at the door. It was time to prepare a meal, but the larder was empty. No meat had been bought and there was only a little milk left. She wanted to ask her mistress what to prepare for supper, but somehow the sight of Hadassah on Asa Heshel's lap, the appealing way in which her slipper dangled from the tip of her foot, gave the girl a warm feeling in her breast. Her feet were glued to the floor. "Don't worry, mistress," she said. "I'll take care of everything."

She went away. Hadassah felt some embarrassment, but at the same time she enjoyed having the maid witness her triumph. Asa Heshel looked toward the double window. As he sat thus, how difficult it was to believe that he had known her now for fifteen -471-years! If

anyone had told him when he first met her on Panska Street that she would be his wife one day, the mother of his child! How strange time is!

Aloud he said: "So you haven't paid the coal dealer yet?"

Hadassah tensed. "No."

"But you took ten zlotys from me to pay."

Hadassah thought for a moment. "I must have spent it on something else."

"On what?"

"On a present for you. I wanted it to be a surprise."

"Those surprises of yours will drive me to bankruptcy."

Asa Heshel knit his brows. It was foolish of her to waste money on all sorts of nonsense when there was hardly enough to pay for the basic necessities. But what could he do? He had talked to her about it a thousand times. She had given him her sacred oath that she would be less extravagant. There was no doubt that the woman had a positive mania for wandering about the shops and acquiring bargains.

Hadassah went to the child. Asa Heshel telephoned to the doctor. The winter night began to fall. Outside the daylight turned into a bluish glow. This was a day when Asa Heshel had no classes. He had started to look over his old manuscript, but now the day was gone. In the lingering dusk he brooded over himself, his life. What had he accomplished during his years?

What had become of him? He had remained trapped in Poland, laden down with work, deep in debt, weighted down by family burdens. How long could he carry the yoke?

He lay down on the couch and started to doze. Here he was in his thirties, but the unrest in him had not yet been quenched. He still ached with the ancient youthful doubts, dreams, and desires.

-472-

IN THE EVENING, after dinner, there was a sharp ring at the door. Hadassah was attending to the child in the bedroom and the maid was out. Asa Heshel went to open. Abram stood there, his huge fur hat, long fur coat, and high galoshes white with snow. A cigar was between his lips. Asa Heshel had not seen him for a long time and hardly recognized him now. The broad figure was bent, the beard white, the deep sacs under the eyes covered with a mossy growth. He came in coughing and panting, stamping his feet to rid them of the snow, thumping his stick, whose silver-plated staghorn handle was half broken.