The Complete Stories (23 page)
Read The Complete Stories Online
Authors: Bernard Malamud
The next night he was afraid to leave his room, and though Sophie argued with him he wouldn’t open the door.
“What are you doing in there?” she asked.
“Nothing.”
“Aren’t you reading?”
“No.”
She was silent a minute, then asked, “Where do you keep the books you read? I never see any in your room outside of a few cheap trashy ones.”
He wouldn’t tell her.
“In that case you’re not worth a buck of my hard-earned money. Why should I break my back for you? Go on out, you bum, and get a job.”
He stayed in his room for almost a week, except to sneak into the kitchen when nobody was home. Sophie railed at him, then begged him to come out, and his old father wept, but George wouldn’t budge, though the weather was terrible and his small room stifling. He found it very hard to breathe, each breath was like drawing a flame into his lungs.
One night, unable to stand the heat anymore, he burst into the street at 1 a.m., a shadow of himself. He hoped to sneak to the park without being seen, but there were people all over the block, wilted and listless, waiting for a breeze. George lowered his eyes and walked, in disgrace, away from them, but before long he discovered they were still friendly to him. He figured Mr. Cattanzara hadn’t told on him. Maybe when he woke up out of his drunk the next morning, he had forgotten all about meeting George. George felt his confidence slowly come back to him.
That same night a man on a street corner asked him if it was true that he had finished reading so many books, and George admitted he had. The man said it was a wonderful thing for a boy his age to read so much.
“Yeah,” George said, but he felt relieved. He hoped nobody would mention the books anymore, and when, after a couple of days, he accidentally met Mr. Cattanzara again,
he
didn’t, though George had the idea he was the one who had started the rumor that he had finished all the books.
he
didn’t, though George had the idea he was the one who had started the rumor that he had finished all the books.
One evening in the fall, George ran out of his house to the library, where he hadn’t been in years. There were books all over the place, wherever he looked, and though he was struggling to control an inward trembling, he easily counted off a hundred, then sat down at a table to read.
1956
D
avidov, the census-taker, opened the door without knocking, limped into the room, and sat wearily down. Out came his notebook and he was on the job. Rosen, the ex—coffee salesman, wasted, eyes despairing, sat motionless, cross-legged, on his cot. The square, clean, but cold room, lit by a dim globe, was sparsely furnished: the cot, a folding chair, small table, old unpainted chests—no closets but who needed them?—and a small sink with a rough piece of green, institutional soap on its holder—you could smell it across the room. The worn black shade over the single narrow window was drawn to the ledge, surprising Davidov.
avidov, the census-taker, opened the door without knocking, limped into the room, and sat wearily down. Out came his notebook and he was on the job. Rosen, the ex—coffee salesman, wasted, eyes despairing, sat motionless, cross-legged, on his cot. The square, clean, but cold room, lit by a dim globe, was sparsely furnished: the cot, a folding chair, small table, old unpainted chests—no closets but who needed them?—and a small sink with a rough piece of green, institutional soap on its holder—you could smell it across the room. The worn black shade over the single narrow window was drawn to the ledge, surprising Davidov.
“What’s the matter you don’t pull the shade up?” he remarked.
Rosen ultimately sighed. “Let it stay.”
“Why? Outside is light.”
“Who needs light?”
“What then you need?”
“Light I don’t need,” replied Rosen.
Davidov, sour-faced, flipped through the closely scrawled pages of his notebook until he found a clean one. He attempted to scratch in a word with his fountain pen but it had run dry, so he fished a pencil stub out of his vest pocket and sharpened it with a cracked razor blade. Rosen paid no attention to the feathery shavings falling to the floor. He looked restless, seemed to be listening to or for something, although Davidov was convinced there was absolutely nothing to listen to. It was only when the census-taker somewhat irritably and
with increasing loudness repeated a question that Rosen stirred and identified himself. He was about to furnish an address but caught himself and shrugged.
with increasing loudness repeated a question that Rosen stirred and identified himself. He was about to furnish an address but caught himself and shrugged.
Davidov did not comment on the salesman’s gesture. “So begin,” he nodded.
“Who knows where to begin?” Rosen stared at the drawn shade. “Do they know here where to begin?”
“Philosophy we are not interested,” said Davidov. “Start in how you met her.”
“Who?” pretended Rosen.
“Her,” he snapped.
“So if I got to begin, how you know about her already?” Rosen asked triumphantly.
Davidov spoke wearily, “You mentioned before.”
Rosen remembered. They had questioned him upon his arrival and he now recalled blurting out her name. It was perhaps something in the air. It did not permit you to retain what you remembered. That was part of the cure, if you wanted a cure.
“Where I met her—?” Rosen murmured. “I met her where she always was—in the back room there in that hole in the wall that it was a waste of time for me I went there. Maybe I sold them a half a bag of coffee a month. This is not business.”
“In business we are not interested.”
“What then you are interested?” Rosen mimicked Davidov’s tone.
Davidov clammed up coldly.
Rosen knew they had him where it hurt, so he went on: “The husband was maybe forty, Axel Kalish, a Polish refugee. He worked like a blind horse when he got to America, and saved maybe two, three thousand dollars that he bought with the money this pisher grocery in a dead neighborhood where he didn’t have a chance. He called my company up for credit and they sent me I should see. I recommended okay because I felt sorry. He had a wife, Eva, you know already about her, and two darling girls, one five and one three, little dolls, Fega and Surale, that I didn’t want them to suffer. So right away I told him, without tricks, ‘Kiddo, this is a mistake. This place is a grave. Here they will bury you if you don’t get out quick!’”
Rosen sighed deeply.
“So?” Davidov had thus far written nothing, irking the ex-salesman.
“So?—Nothing. He didn’t get out. After a couple months he tried to sell but nobody bought, so he stayed and starved. They never
made expenses. Every day they got poorer you couldn’t look in their faces. ‘Don’t be a damn fool,’ I told him, ‘go in bankruptcy.’ But he couldn’t stand to lose all his capital, and he was also afraid it would be hard to find a job. ‘My God,’ I said, ‘do anything. Be a painter, a janitor, a junk man, but get out of here before everybody is a skeleton.’
made expenses. Every day they got poorer you couldn’t look in their faces. ‘Don’t be a damn fool,’ I told him, ‘go in bankruptcy.’ But he couldn’t stand to lose all his capital, and he was also afraid it would be hard to find a job. ‘My God,’ I said, ‘do anything. Be a painter, a janitor, a junk man, but get out of here before everybody is a skeleton.’
“This he finally agreed with me, but before he could go in auction he dropped dead.”
Davidov made a note. “How did he die?”
“On this I am not an expert,” Rosen replied. “You know better than me.”
“How did he die?” Davidov spoke impatiently. “Say in one word.”
“From what he died?—he died, that’s all.”
“Answer, please, this question.”
“Broke in him something. That’s how.”
“Broke what?”
“Broke what breaks. He was talking to me how bitter was his life, and he touched me on my sleeve to say something else, but the next minute his face got small and he fell down dead, the wife screaming, the little girls crying that it made in my heart pain. I am myself a sick man and when I saw him laying on the floor, I said to myself, ‘Rosen, say goodbye, this guy is finished.’ So I said it.”
Rosen got up from the cot and strayed despondently around the room, avoiding the window. Davidov was occupying the only chair, so the ex-salesman was finally forced to sit on the edge of the bed again. This irritated him. He badly wanted a cigarette but disliked asking for one.
Davidov permitted him a short interval of silence, then leafed impatiently through his notebook. Rosen, to needle the census-taker, said nothing.
“So what happened?” Davidov finally demanded.
Rosen spoke with ashes in his mouth. “After the funeral—” He paused, tried to wet his lips, then went on: “He belonged to a society that they buried him, and he also left a thousand dollars insurance, but after the funeral I said to her, ‘Eva, listen to me. Take the money and your children and run away from here. Let the creditors take the store. What will they get?—Nothing.’
“But she answered me, ‘Where will I go, where, with my two orphans that their father left them to starve?’
“‘Go anywhere,’ I said. ‘Go to your relatives.’
“She laughed like laughs somebody who hasn’t got no joy. ‘My relatives Hitler took away from me.’
“‘What about Axel—surely an uncle somewheres?’
“‘Nobody,’ she said. ’I will stay here like my Axel wanted. With the insurance I will buy new stock and fix up the store. Every week I will decorate the window, and in this way gradually will come in new customers—’
“‘Eva, my darling girl—’
“‘A millionaire I don’t expect to be. All I want is I should make a little living and take care on my girls. We will live in the back here like before, and in this way I can work and watch them, too.’
“‘Eva,’ I said, ‘you are a nice-looking young woman, only thirtyeight years. Don’t throw away your life here. Don’t flush in the toilet—you should excuse me—the thousand poor dollars from your dead husband. Believe me, I know from such stores. After thirty-five years’ experience I know a graveyard when I smell it. Go better someplace and find a job. You’re young yet. Sometime you will meet somebody and get married.’
“‘No, Rosen, not me,’ she said. ‘With marriage I am finished. Nobody wants a poor widow with two children.’
“‘This I don’t believe it.’
“‘I know,’ she said.
“Never in my life I saw so bitter a woman’s face.
“‘No,’ I said. ‘No.’
“‘Yes, Rosen, yes. In my whole life I never had anything. In my whole life I always suffered. I don’t expect better. This is my life.’
“I said no and she said yes. What could I do? I am a man with only one kidney, and worse than that, that I won’t mention it. When I talked she didn’t listen, so I stopped to talk. Who can argue with a widow?”
The ex-salesman glanced up at Davidov but the census-taker did not reply. “What happened then?” he asked.
“What happened?” mocked Rosen. “Happened what happens.”
Davidov’s face grew red.
“What happened, happened,” Rosen said hastily. “She ordered from the wholesalers all kinds goods that she paid for them cash. All week she opened boxes and packed on the shelves cans, jars, packages. Also she cleaned, and she washed, and she mopped with oil the floor. With tissue paper she made new decorations in the window, everything should look nice—but who came in? Nobody except a few poor customers from the tenement around the corner. And when they came? When was closed the supermarkets and they needed some little item that they forgot to buy, like a quart milk, fifteen cents’ cheese, a small can sardines for lunch. In a few months was again dusty the
cans on the shelves, and her money was gone. Credit she couldn’t get except from me, and from me she got because I paid out of my pocket the company. This she didn’t know. She worked, she dressed clean, she waited that the store should get better. Little by little the shelves got empty, but where was the profit? They ate it up. When I looked on the little girls I knew what she didn’t tell me. Their faces were white, they were thin, they were hungry. She kept the little food that was left, on the shelves. One night I brought in a nice piece of sirloin, but I could see from her eyes that she didn’t like that I did it. So what else could I do? I have a heart and I am human.”
cans on the shelves, and her money was gone. Credit she couldn’t get except from me, and from me she got because I paid out of my pocket the company. This she didn’t know. She worked, she dressed clean, she waited that the store should get better. Little by little the shelves got empty, but where was the profit? They ate it up. When I looked on the little girls I knew what she didn’t tell me. Their faces were white, they were thin, they were hungry. She kept the little food that was left, on the shelves. One night I brought in a nice piece of sirloin, but I could see from her eyes that she didn’t like that I did it. So what else could I do? I have a heart and I am human.”
Here the ex-salesman wept.
Davidov pretended not to see though once he peeked.
Rosen blew his nose, then went on more calmly, “When the children were sleeping we sat in the dark there, in the back, and not once in four hours opened the door should come in a customer. ’Eva, for Godsakes,
run away
,’ I said.
run away
,’ I said.
“‘I have no place to go,’ she said.
“‘I will give you where you can go, and please don’t say to me no. I am a bachelor, this you know. I got whatever I need and more besides. Let me help you and the children. Money don’t interest me. Interests me good health, but I can’t buy it. I’ll tell you what I will do. Let this place go to the creditors and move into a two-family house that I own, which the top floor is now empty. Rent will cost you nothing. In the meantime you can go and find a job. I will also pay the downstairs lady to take care of the girls—God bless them—until you will come home. With your wages you will buy the food, if you need clothes, and also save a little. This you can use when you get married someday. What do you say?’
“She didn’t answer me. She only looked on me in such a way, with such burning eyes, like I was small and ugly. For the first time I thought to myself, Rosen, this woman don’t like you.
“‘Thank you very kindly, my friend Mr. Rosen,’ she answered me, ‘but charity we are not needing. I got yet a paying business, and it will get better when times are better. Now is bad times. When comes again good times will get better the business.’
“‘Who charity?’ I cried to her. ‘What charity? Speaks to you your husband’s a friend.’
“‘Mr. Rosen, my husband didn’t have no friends.’
“‘Can’t you see that I want to help the children?’
“‘The children have their mother.’
“‘Eva, what’s the matter with you?’ I said. ‘Why do you make sound bad something that I mean it should be good?’
“This she didn’t answer. I felt sick in my stomach, and was coming also a headache, so I left.
“All night I didn’t sleep, and then all of a sudden I figured out a reason why she was worried. She was worried I would ask for some kind of payment except cash. She got the wrong man. Anyway, this made me think of something that I didn’t think about before. I thought now to ask her to marry me. What did she have to lose? I could take care of myself without any trouble to them. Fega and Surale would have a father he could give them for the movies, or sometime to buy a little doll to play with, and when I died, would go to them my investments and insurance policies.
“The next day I spoke to her.
“‘For myself, Eva, I don’t want a thing. Absolutely not a thing. For you and your girls—everything. I am not a strong man, Eva. In fact, I am sick. I tell you this you should understand I don’t expect to live long. But even for a few years would be nice to have a little family.’
“She was with her back to me and didn’t speak.
“When she turned around again her face was white but the mouth was like iron.
“‘No, Mr. Rosen.’
“‘Why not, tell me?’
“‘I had enough with sick men.’ She began to cry. ‘Please, Mr. Rosen. Go home.’
“I didn’t have strength I should argue with her, so I went home. I went home but hurt me in my mind. All day long and all night I felt bad. My back pained me where was missing my kidney. Also too much smoking. I tried to understand this woman but I couldn’t. Why should somebody that her two children were starving always say no to a man that he wanted to help her? What did I do to her bad? Am I maybe a murderer she should hate me so much? All that I felt in my heart was pity for her and the children, but I couldn’t convince her. Then I went back and begged her she should let me help them, and once more she told me no.
“‘Eva,’ I said, ‘I don’t blame you that you don’t want a sick man. So come with me to a marriage broker and we will find you a strong, healthy husband that he will support you and your girls. I will give the dowry.’
“She screamed, ‘On this I don’t need your help, Rosen!’
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