The Complete Stories (39 page)
Read The Complete Stories Online
Authors: Bernard Malamud
The next morning he awoke sneezing, a nasty cold. How can I go on? Annamaria, showing no signs of pity or remorse, continued shrilly to berate him. “You’ve brought me nothing but bad luck since you came here. I’m letting you stay because you pay well but I warn you to keep out of my sight.”
“But how—” he asked hoarsely.
“That doesn’t concern me.”
“—how will I paint?”
“Who cares? Paint at night.”
“Without light—”
“Paint in the dark. I’ll buy you a can of black paint.”
“How can you be so cruel to a man who loves—”
“I’ll scream,” she said.
He left in anguish. Later while she was at her siesta he came back, got some of his things, and tried to paint in the hall. No dice. Fidelman wandered in the rain. He sat for hours on the Spanish Steps. Then he returned to the house and went slowly up the stairs. The door was locked. “Annamaria,” he hoarsely called. Nobody answered. In the street he stood at the river wall, watching the dome of St. Peter’s in the distance. Maybe a potion, Fidelman thought, or an amulet? He doubted either would work. How do you go about hanging yourself? In the late afternoon he went back to the house—would say he was sick, needed rest, possibly a doctor. He felt feverish. She could hardly refuse.
But she did, although explaining she felt bad herself. He held on to the banister as he went down the stairs. Clelia Montemaggio’s door was open. Fidelman paused, then continued down, but she had seen him. “Come een, come een.”
He went reluctantly in. She fed him camomile tea and panettone. He ate in a wolfish hurry as she seated herself at the piano.
“No Bach, please, my head aches from various troubles.”
“Where’s your dignity?” she asked.
“Try Chopin, that’s lighter.”
“Respect yourself, please.”
Fidelman removed his hat as she began to play a Bach prelude, her bottom rhythmic on the bench. Though his cold oppressed him and he could hardly breathe, tonight the spirit, the architecture, moved him. He felt his face to see if he was crying but only his nose was wet. On the top of the piano Clelia had placed a bowl of white carnations in full bloom. Each white petal seemed a white flower. If I could paint those gorgeous flowers, Fidelman thought. If I could paint something. By Jesus, if I could paint myself, that’d show them! Astonished by the thought he ran out of the house.
The art student hastened to a costume shop and settled on a cassock and fuzzy black soup-bowl biretta, envisaging another Rembrandt: “Portrait of the Artist as Priest.” He hurried with his bulky package back to the house. Annamaria was handing the garbage to the portinaia as Fidelman thrust his way into the studio. He quickly changed into the priest’s vestments. The pittrice came in wildly to tell him where he got off, but when she saw Fidelman already painting himself as priest, with a moan she rushed into her room. He worked with smoking intensity and in no time created an amazing likeness. Annamaria, after stealthily re-entering the studio, with heaving bosom and agitated eyes closely followed his progress. At last, with a cry she threw herself at his feet.
“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned—”
Dripping brush in hand, he stared down at her. “Please, I—”
“Oh, Father, if you knew how I have sinned. I’ve been a whore—”
After a moment’s thought, Fidelman said, “If so, I absolve you.”
“Not without penance. First listen to the rest. I’ve had no luck with men. They’re all bastards. Or else I jinx them. If you want the truth I am an Evil Eye myself. Anybody who loves me is cursed.”
He listened, fascinated.
“Augusto is really my uncle. After many others he became my lover. At least he’s gentle. My father found out and swore he’d kill us both. When I got pregnant I was scared to death. A sin can go too far. Augusto told me to have the baby and leave it at an orphanage, but the night it was born I was confused and threw it into the Tiber. I was afraid it was an idiot.”
She was sobbing. He drew back.
“Wait,” she wept. “The next time in bed Augusto was impotent. Since then he’s been imploring me to confess so he can get back his powers. But every time I step into the confessional my tongue turns
to bone. The priest can’t tear a word out of me. That’s how it’s been all my life, don’t ask me why because I don’t know.”
to bone. The priest can’t tear a word out of me. That’s how it’s been all my life, don’t ask me why because I don’t know.”
She grabbed his knees. “Help me, Father, for Christ’s sake.”
Fidelman, after a short tormented time, said in a quavering voice, “I forgive you, my child.”
“The penance,” she wailed, “first the penance.”
After reflecting, he replied, “Say one hundred times each, Our Father and Hail Mary.”
“More,” Annamaria wept. “More, more. Much more.”
Gripping his knees so hard they shook she burrowed her head into his black-buttoned lap. He felt the surprised beginnings of an erection.
“In that case,” Fidelman said, shuddering a little, “better undress.”
“Only,” Annamaria said, “if you keep your vestments on.”
“Not the cassock, too clumsy.”
“At least the biretta.”
He agreed to that.
Annamaria undressed in a swoop. Her body was extraordinarily lovely, the flesh glowing. In her bed they tightly embraced. She clasped his buttocks, he cupped hers. Pumping slowly he nailed her to her cross.
1962
(A SCENE OF A PLAY)
M
AURICE FEUER
is a retired sick Jewish actor trying to influence his daughter,
ADELE,
in her choice of a husband. She is engaged to
LEON SINGER,
a young sporting-goods store owner from Newark
. FEUER
approves of
BEN GLICKMAN,
a poor beginning writer in the building
—
a tenement house off Second Avenue in Manhattan
—
who seems to share his values in lif
e.
At any rate
FEUER
likes him.
FLORENCE FEUER,
the actor’s wife
,
once an actress now a beautician
,
who has also been around and garnered her kind of wisdom, is all for
LEON.
On a hot mid-August day
LEON
has driven in from New Jersey to surprise
ADELE,
when she arrives home from wor
k,
and take her to dinner
.
As the curtain rises
, LEON,
while waiting for her, is playing cards with
FEUER.
Because of the heat the apartment door is open and people occasionally pass by in the hall.
AURICE FEUER
is a retired sick Jewish actor trying to influence his daughter,
ADELE,
in her choice of a husband. She is engaged to
LEON SINGER,
a young sporting-goods store owner from Newark
. FEUER
approves of
BEN GLICKMAN,
a poor beginning writer in the building
—
a tenement house off Second Avenue in Manhattan
—
who seems to share his values in lif
e.
At any rate
FEUER
likes him.
FLORENCE FEUER,
the actor’s wife
,
once an actress now a beautician
,
who has also been around and garnered her kind of wisdom, is all for
LEON.
On a hot mid-August day
LEON
has driven in from New Jersey to surprise
ADELE,
when she arrives home from wor
k,
and take her to dinner
.
As the curtain rises
, LEON,
while waiting for her, is playing cards with
FEUER.
Because of the heat the apartment door is open and people occasionally pass by in the hall.
LEON [
quietly
]: Rummy. This one is mine. [
He puts down his cards and begins to add up the score.
]
quietly
]: Rummy. This one is mine. [
He puts down his cards and begins to add up the score.
]
FEUER [
rising and pushing back his chair, he removes his glasses and, without warning, declaim
s
emotionally in Yiddish
]: My God, you’re killing your poor father, this is what you’re doing. For your whole life I worked bitter hard to take care of you the way a father should. To feed and clothe you. To give you the best kind of education. To teach you what’s right. And so how do you pay me back? You pay me back by becoming a tramp. By living with a married man, a cheap, dirty person who has absolutely no respect for you. A bum who used
you like dirt. Worse than dirt. And now when he doesn’t want you anymore and kicks you out of his bed, you come to me crying, begging I should take you back. My daughter, for what I went through with you, there’s no more forgiveness. My heart is milked of tears. It’s like a piece of rock. I don’t want to see you again in my whole life. Go, but remember, you killed your father. [
He hangs his head.
]
rising and pushing back his chair, he removes his glasses and, without warning, declaim
s
emotionally in Yiddish
]: My God, you’re killing your poor father, this is what you’re doing. For your whole life I worked bitter hard to take care of you the way a father should. To feed and clothe you. To give you the best kind of education. To teach you what’s right. And so how do you pay me back? You pay me back by becoming a tramp. By living with a married man, a cheap, dirty person who has absolutely no respect for you. A bum who used
you like dirt. Worse than dirt. And now when he doesn’t want you anymore and kicks you out of his bed, you come to me crying, begging I should take you back. My daughter, for what I went through with you, there’s no more forgiveness. My heart is milked of tears. It’s like a piece of rock. I don’t want to see you again in my whole life. Go, but remember, you killed your father. [
He hangs his head.
]
LEON [
perplexed
]: What’s that about?
perplexed
]: What’s that about?
FEUER [
assuming his identity as he puts on his glasses
]
:
Don’t you understand Yiddish?
assuming his identity as he puts on his glasses
]
:
Don’t you understand Yiddish?
LEON: Only some of the words.
FEUER: Tst-tst. [
Sitting
] It’s from a play I once played in the Second Avenue Theater,
Sein Tochter’s Geliebter
. I was brilliant in this part—magnificent. All the critics raved about me even though the play was schmaltz. Even
The New York Times
sent somebody and he wrote in his review that Maurice Feuer is not only a wonderful actor, he is also a magician. What I could do with such a lousy play was unbelievable. I made it come to life. I made it believable.
Sitting
] It’s from a play I once played in the Second Avenue Theater,
Sein Tochter’s Geliebter
. I was brilliant in this part—magnificent. All the critics raved about me even though the play was schmaltz. Even
The New York Times
sent somebody and he wrote in his review that Maurice Feuer is not only a wonderful actor, he is also a magician. What I could do with such a lousy play was unbelievable. I made it come to life. I made it believable.
[LEON
begins to deal out a new hand as
FEUER
goes on.
]
begins to deal out a new hand as
FEUER
goes on.
]
FEUER: I also played in
Greener Felder, Ghosts, The Dybbuk, The Cherry Orchard
,
Naches fon Kinder
,
Gott fon Nachoma,
and
Yoshe Kalb.
Schwartz played Reb Melech and I played Yoshe. I was brilliant—marvelous. The play ran three years in New York, and after we played in London, Paris, Prague, and Warsaw. We also brought it for a season in South America and played it in Rio, then for sixteen weeks in Buenos Aires … [
Struck by a memory
FEUER
falls silent.
]
Greener Felder, Ghosts, The Dybbuk, The Cherry Orchard
,
Naches fon Kinder
,
Gott fon Nachoma,
and
Yoshe Kalb.
Schwartz played Reb Melech and I played Yoshe. I was brilliant—marvelous. The play ran three years in New York, and after we played in London, Paris, Prague, and Warsaw. We also brought it for a season in South America and played it in Rio, then for sixteen weeks in Buenos Aires … [
Struck by a memory
FEUER
falls silent.
]
LEON: It’s your move.
[FEUER
absently takes a card and without looking gets rid of another.
LEON
picks up a card
,
examines it carefully, then drops it among the discards.]
absently takes a card and without looking gets rid of another.
LEON
picks up a card
,
examines it carefully, then drops it among the discards.]
LEON: Your move.
(FEUER,
coming back to life, looks at a card and places it on the discard pile
.]
coming back to life, looks at a card and places it on the discard pile
.]
FEUER: This piece I recited to you is a father talking to his daughter. She took the wrong man and it ruined her life.
[LEON,
examining his cards, has nothing to say
.]
examining his cards, has nothing to say
.]
FEUER [
needling a little
]: You couldn’t understand it?
needling a little
]: You couldn’t understand it?
LEON: Only partly. Still in all, when I had to I was able to give directions in Yiddish to an old baba with a wig who I met in downtown Newark, on how to get to Brooklyn, New York.
[
As they talk they continue the rummy game
.]
As they talk they continue the rummy game
.]
FEUER: Adele knows Yiddish perfect. She learned when she was
a little girl. She used to write me letters in Yiddish—they were brilliant. She also had a wonderful handwriting.
a little girl. She used to write me letters in Yiddish—they were brilliant. She also had a wonderful handwriting.
LEON: Maybe she’ll teach our kids.
[
He is unaware of
FEUER
regarding him ironically.
]
He is unaware of
FEUER
regarding him ironically.
]
FEUER [
trying a new tack
]
:
Do you know something about Jewish history?
trying a new tack
]
:
Do you know something about Jewish history?
LEON [
amiably
]: Not very much. [A
fterthought
] If you’re worried about religion, don’t worry. I was bar mitzvahed.
amiably
]: Not very much. [A
fterthought
] If you’re worried about religion, don’t worry. I was bar mitzvahed.
FEUER: I’m not worried about anything. Tell me, do you know any of the big Yiddish writers—Peretz, Sholem Aleichem, Asch?
LEON: I’ve heard about them.
FEUER: Do you read serious books?
LEON: Sure, I belong to the Book Find Club.
FEUER: Why don’t you pick your own books? Why did you go to college for?
LEON: I mostly do. It’s no harm to belong to a good book club, it saves you time. [
Looking at his wristwatch
] What time is Adele due? It’s getting late.
Looking at his wristwatch
] What time is Adele due? It’s getting late.
FEUER: Why didn’t you telephone her so she would know you were coming? It’s not expensive to telephone.
LEON: I thought I’d give her a surprise. My brother Mortie came into Newark this morning, and he did me the favor to take over the shop so I could get away early. We keep open Wednesday nights.
FEUER [
consulting an old pocket watch
]: She’s late.
consulting an old pocket watch
]: She’s late.
LEON: Rummy. I win again. [
He shows his cards
.]
He shows his cards
.]
FEUER [
hiding his annoyance
]
:
But my best roles were in Shakespeare—
Shylock
,
der Yid, Hamlet, der Yeshiva Bucher
—I was wonderful in the kaddish scene for his father, the dead king. And I also played
Kaynig Lear und sein Tochter.
hiding his annoyance
]
:
But my best roles were in Shakespeare—
Shylock
,
der Yid, Hamlet, der Yeshiva Bucher
—I was wonderful in the kaddish scene for his father, the dead king. And I also played
Kaynig Lear und sein Tochter.
[
Rising and again removing his glasses, he recites in English
]:
Rising and again removing his glasses, he recites in English
]:
“Down from the waist they are Centaurs,
Though women all above;
But to the girdle do the gods inherit,
Beneath is all the fiends’: there’s hell, there’s darkness, there is the sulphurous pit,
Burning, scalding, stench, consumption; fie, fie,
fie, pah, pah! Give me an ounce of civet, good
apothecary, to sweeten my imagination.”
[LEON,
as though this were not news to him, finishes adding up the score. He shuffles the cards thoroughly as
FEUER
puts on his glasses and, sitting, regards him objectively.
]
as though this were not news to him, finishes adding up the score. He shuffles the cards thoroughly as
FEUER
puts on his glasses and, sitting, regards him objectively.
]
LEON: Another game? We’re running even now, two and two. Almost the same points.
FEUER: The last one.
LEON
deals again and the game goes on.
]
deals again and the game goes on.
]
FEUER [
after playing a card, continuing to needle
]: Tell me, Leon, do you like tragedy?
after playing a card, continuing to needle
]: Tell me, Leon, do you like tragedy?
LEON: Do I like it?
FEUER: Do you like to see a tragedy on the stage or read tragic books?
LEON: I can take it or leave it. Generally my nature is cheerful.
FEUER [
building
]: But you went to college. You’re a good businessman. Adele says you read
The New York Times
every day. In other words you’re an intelligent person. So answer me this question: Why do all the best writers and poets write tragedy? And why does every theater play such plays and all kinds of people pay their good money to see tragedies? Why is that?
building
]: But you went to college. You’re a good businessman. Adele says you read
The New York Times
every day. In other words you’re an intelligent person. So answer me this question: Why do all the best writers and poets write tragedy? And why does every theater play such plays and all kinds of people pay their good money to see tragedies? Why is that?
LEON: To tell the truth, I never had occasion to give it much thought.
FEUER [
a touch of malice
]: Do me a favor, think about it now.
a touch of malice
]: Do me a favor, think about it now.
LEON [
wary
]
:
I’m not so sure I can tell you exactly, but I suppose it’s because a lot of life is like that. You realize what’s what.
wary
]
:
I’m not so sure I can tell you exactly, but I suppose it’s because a lot of life is like that. You realize what’s what.
FEUER: What do you mean, “suppose”? Don’t you know for sure? Think what we live through every day—accidents, murders, sickness, disappointments. The thought of death alone is enough.
LEON [
subdued
] : I know what you mean.
subdued
] : I know what you mean.
FEUER [
sarcasm evident
]: You think you know. Do you really know the condition of human existence? Do you know what the universe means? I’m not talking about who’s dead but also about millions of people—in the millions—who live for nothing. They have nothing but poverty, disease, suffering. Or they live in a prison like the Russians. Is this your idea of a good life for everybody?
sarcasm evident
]: You think you know. Do you really know the condition of human existence? Do you know what the universe means? I’m not talking about who’s dead but also about millions of people—in the millions—who live for nothing. They have nothing but poverty, disease, suffering. Or they live in a prison like the Russians. Is this your idea of a good life for everybody?
[BEN GLICKMAN
appears at the doorway, looks in hungrily, sees
LEON,
and goes on his way upstairs
.
Neither of the cardplayers has noticed him
.]
appears at the doorway, looks in hungrily, sees
LEON,
and goes on his way upstairs
.
Neither of the cardplayers has noticed him
.]
LEON: I wouldn’t say that.
FEUER: If you know, you know conditions and you got to do something about them. A man has to be interested to ask for change where it is necessary, to help which way he can.
LEON: I try to help. I give regularly to charity, including the United Jewish Appeal.
FEUER: This isn’t enough.
LEON: What do you do?
FEUER [
laying down his cards; emotionally
]
:
What do I do? I suffer for those who suffer. My heart bleeds for all the injustice in this world.
laying down his cards; emotionally
]
:
What do I do? I suffer for those who suffer. My heart bleeds for all the injustice in this world.
[LEON
is silently studying his cards
.]
is silently studying his cards
.]
FEUER [
picking up his hand, speaking quietly though still with a purpose
]: Do you ever think what happens to you—inside your soul, when you see a tragic play, for instance Shakespeare?
picking up his hand, speaking quietly though still with a purpose
]: Do you ever think what happens to you—inside your soul, when you see a tragic play, for instance Shakespeare?
LEON [
suddenly recalling
]
:
I feel a catharsis through pity and terror.
suddenly recalling
]
:
I feel a catharsis through pity and terror.
FEUER [
after a pause
]: Don’t quote me your college books. A writer writes tragedy so people don’t forget that they are human. He shows us the conditions that exist. He organizes for us the meaning of our lives so it is clear to our eyes. That’s why he writes it, that’s why we play it. My best roles were tragic roles. I enjoyed them the most though I was also marvelous in comedy. “Leid macht auch lachen.” [
He laughs dramatically, then quietly draws a card and lays down his hand triumphantly.
] Rummy!
after a pause
]: Don’t quote me your college books. A writer writes tragedy so people don’t forget that they are human. He shows us the conditions that exist. He organizes for us the meaning of our lives so it is clear to our eyes. That’s why he writes it, that’s why we play it. My best roles were tragic roles. I enjoyed them the most though I was also marvelous in comedy. “Leid macht auch lachen.” [
He laughs dramatically, then quietly draws a card and lays down his hand triumphantly.
] Rummy!
LEON: You win. [
He begins to tot up the score
.] I guess I owe you exactly fifty-one cents. [
Taking out his change purse, he puts down two quarters and a penny and gently pushes the money toward
FEUER’
s side of the table.
]
He begins to tot up the score
.] I guess I owe you exactly fifty-one cents. [
Taking out his change purse, he puts down two quarters and a penny and gently pushes the money toward
FEUER’
s side of the table.
]
FEUER [
casually; ignoring the money
]: So how is the baseball situation now, Leon?
casually; ignoring the money
]: So how is the baseball situation now, Leon?
LEON [
bites
]: I think the Yanks and Dodgers are leading as usual. [
Catching
on] I’m afraid I’m not following the situation very closely, Mr. Feuer.
bites
]: I think the Yanks and Dodgers are leading as usual. [
Catching
on] I’m afraid I’m not following the situation very closely, Mr. Feuer.
FEUER: If you don’t follow it, what do you talk about to your sporting-goods customers?
LEON [
patiently
]: Different things, though not necessarily sports. People are people—they talk about a lot of things. [
He slides the three coins a bit farther forward.
] You better put this away, Mr. Feuer.
patiently
]: Different things, though not necessarily sports. People are people—they talk about a lot of things. [
He slides the three coins a bit farther forward.
] You better put this away, Mr. Feuer.
FEUER: I’m not worried about the money. I play because I like to play. [
A thought strikes him.
] You know the story about the famous rabbi and the rich man? He was rich and a miser. The rabbi took him to the window and said, “What do you see, tell me?” The rich man looked and he said, “I see the street, what else should I see?” “What’s in the street?” “What’s in the street?” said the rich Jew, “people—they’re walking in the street.” Then the rabbi took him to a mirror in the room and he said, “What do you see now?” “What do I see now?” said the rich man. “Naturally I see myself, of course.” “Aha,” said the rabbi. “You’ll
notice in the window is glass, and there is also glass in the mirror. But the glass in the mirror has silver painted on the back, and once there’s the silver you stop seeing everybody else and you see only yourself.”
A thought strikes him.
] You know the story about the famous rabbi and the rich man? He was rich and a miser. The rabbi took him to the window and said, “What do you see, tell me?” The rich man looked and he said, “I see the street, what else should I see?” “What’s in the street?” “What’s in the street?” said the rich Jew, “people—they’re walking in the street.” Then the rabbi took him to a mirror in the room and he said, “What do you see now?” “What do I see now?” said the rich man. “Naturally I see myself, of course.” “Aha,” said the rabbi. “You’ll
notice in the window is glass, and there is also glass in the mirror. But the glass in the mirror has silver painted on the back, and once there’s the silver you stop seeing everybody else and you see only yourself.”
LEON [still
patient
]: The way I look at it is this: Rummy is a game of chance. If you play for cash the loser pays with cash and the winner accepts with good grace. [
Again he slides the coins toward
FEUER.]
patient
]: The way I look at it is this: Rummy is a game of chance. If you play for cash the loser pays with cash and the winner accepts with good grace. [
Again he slides the coins toward
FEUER.]
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