Читать книгу The Featherbed - Джон Миллер - Страница 9

November 20th 1909

Today I met the man who will be my husband. That is, he will be my husband if I cannot find of a way out of it, and I must confess I’m losing some hope.

It is not him that I find objectionable. He wasn’t so bad, really. I just wish I could think of a better way to convince Papa that I should be able to pick the man I marry. I have not dared raise the subject since last Friday, for fear that Papa would change his mind about the delay and arrange the wedding for sooner. All the perfectly reasonable arguments he will not believe are valid ones, so as a result I am condemned to hours of unproductive plotting. No, if I am to convince him to cancel the arrangement it will have to be something very very good. Especially now, after the meeting.

But here I go again, not telling the story first, before my reaction bubbles up like soup at a raging boil. Mrs. Pearson would be most displeased. Story, reflection. Story, reflection, she’d say. I should write it out five hundred times on a slate for punishment. Then maybe I’d get it right.

The meeting with Isaac and his father took place in our kitchen. It was just moments after Mama sprang the news on me as we walked in the door. Mr. Kalish and his son would be arriving for tea, she said.

No sooner had she said it than they arrived at our door, quite the sight the two of them. The father was wrinkled and tiny with a wispy, tangled grey beard and a big, dark hat. He was walking with a cane and looked old enough to be his son’s grandfather. His face was sunken in at the cheekbones, but he was pink-faced and had a sweet smile and a sparkle in his eyes. He seemed confused but lighthearted, as though he had no idea where he was but trusted it was somewhere nice.

The son was tall and broad shouldered, but his physique was contradicted by his unhealthy skin tone and his breathlessness. He also had a scraggly beard, but to be fair it was a lot less scraggly than the father’s, and it was also thicker and dark brown. He wore no hat or yarmulke at all, perhaps he is not so religious, I don’t know. A bouquet of daffodils dangled from one hand until he offered them to my mother like he was trying to get rid of a burden. It did not really seem rude, I’m sure it was because of his lack of air and his preoccupation with his father. But whatever his sentiment, it was certainly strange.

I couldn’t smell the daffodils at all until later in the day because as soon as my mother took them, he took off his coat, and a waft of stale pipe smoke emanated from the fabric. Maybe even from his beard, G-d forbid. The thin strip of exposed skin between his facial hair and his brown eyes was shiny and smooth, but it was a strange color — a blotchy patchwork of turnips and ash.

We were introduced, Isaac, Rebecca, Rebecca, Isaac, pleased to make your acquaintance, he said. “Make your acquaintance?” I thought. This is the man to whom I’m to be married! Perhaps he was more nervous than I, I thought.

He led his father into our apartment and to a chair at the table. Mama went to the wash basin to put some water in our one chipped, ceramic vase, and then Isaac asked her for a glass of water for some medicine. At first I think we all assumed it was for his father. But then he fished an ampoule out of his pocket, broke off the tip, poured the liquid into it, stirred the mixture with his pinky, and gulped it all down. My mother was too slow to hide her worry, but when she saw me looking at her, she smiled as though there was nothing of concern at all, and wasn’t Isaac’s display quite endearing.

After that we quickly assembled around the table and sat sipping tea. Occasionally, we talked about nothing. Eventually, my parents suggested they and Mr. Kalish take a walk in the neighbourhood to discuss some details about the wedding. I assume this was their way of informing him of the postponement, but it was also a rather unsubtle way to leave us together to promote some conversation.

So there they left me, at the mercy of awkwardness, feeling quite naked but for the meagre protection of a tiny teacup and a long piece of mandelbroyt, quickly vanishing as I gnawed at it instead of my own finger.

The door latch clicked loudly behind their parents, and all Rebecca could think of was prison bars being locked shut. To hide her face, she brought her cup to her lips and sipped, but to her embarrassment it sounded more like a slurp. To make matters worse, some tea escaped and dribbled down her chin.

“Excuse me,” she said, and hurried over to the wash basin to get a cloth, her cheeks flushing. She sat down again, but felt his eyes resting on her. She wiped again with the cloth and then leaned down to fuss over the cookies. Their nutty smell, usually a comfort to her, seemed a bit off.

“Would you like another one?”

She lifted the plate while still crouched down, wiping at an imaginary spot on the table. He declined her offer, putting his cup down and joining his hands in his lap, looking like he was preparing to leave. She wondered how she could have offended him so easily and so soon, but instead of announcing his departure, he looked about the room and smiled. The greyish walls were almost bare, revealing numerous scratches in the paint and nicks at the plaster, but he looked at them as though he were admiring an art gallery. Surely he was trying to avoid looking at her.

“Is that your bubbe and zayde?” He pointed to a tiny, pine-framed photograph hanging beside the door to her parents’ bedroom. A man and a woman sat stiffly side by side dressed in dark clothing with startled, almost frightened, expressions on their faces.

“Yes. On my father’s side. They live in Poland. I understand they know your family there too.”

“Yes, or so my father tells me. But I don’t remember them.” He scratched at his cheek with his pinky.

“I didn’t realize you ever met them at all. How old were you when you left?”

“Seven.”

“Then I suppose you wouldn’t.”

“No.”

He picked up his cup and sipped a little. An amber drop of tea clung to a hair just below his lip. She tried not to look.

“I understand you live here with a boarder,” he said. “It must be quite cramped.”

“It is. Her name’s Ida, and we share a bed. I barely get any sleep because she chatters incessantly. But then it’s the same everywhere, isn’t it?”

“Yes, where we are, too.”

“I shouldn’t really complain.”

“No, it’s quite all right. I know what it’s like. We don’t have a boarder, but cousin Sophie takes care of us, and we only have two rooms. So that means I share a bed with my father.”

“Ugh. As bad as it is with Ida, I can’t imagine sharing a room with my parents.”

“It’s not the best situation, obviously, but then none of us is rich people.”

“We should only be so lucky.”

“Yes.”

“Indeed.”

Silence swooped in, exposing the creaking of her chair.

“Excuse me for a second,” she said; she got up and slammed a fist down on the seat, locking the loose leg into place. When she sat back down, she noticed that Isaac seemed startled, and realized that what she had just done was probably considered unladylike. She decided it best to move the conversation along.

“I hope you don’t think I’m being rude,” she said, “but may I ask when your mother passed away?”

“It’s okay to ask. It was four years ago. After that, cousin Sophie came from Poland to be with us.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Thank you. It’s been hard on my father.”

“He doesn’t seem so well, if you don’t mind my saying.” She wanted to say neither do you, though at least now his cheeks were flushing a little bit.

“He hasn’t been the same since she died. He was beginning to get a little confused beforehand, but it’s been worse since then.”

“It’s lucky your cousin could come, then.”

“Yes, it is.”

Rebecca got up to put more cookies on the plate. She thought she would die if the conversation didn’t get more interesting. At least it was moving, but more like a hunchback dragging a lame foot. When she sat down she was aware of Isaac staring at her face again.

“What is it? Do I have a crumb?”

“No, no, that’s not it. I was just noticing you’re quite pretty.”

She felt her neck get hot. “Thank you, but you don’t have to say that.”

“I know.”

“These situations ... These arrangements are so outside of our control. It doesn’t really matter what we think, does it?”

“But it doesn’t hurt when you find a person pleasing.”

Rebecca turned her face away. She wondered if she should say something about him; it was the polite thing to do, but it didn’t feel right. He wasn’t bad looking, really, but to say he was attractive would seem forced. She picked up the teapot and felt its weight. It was almost full.

“Should I make more tea?” she said.

“No, don’t, let’s go for a walk. I want to show you the street I was thinking we could move to when we’re married.”

“Are you sure? What if our parents come back, shouldn’t we wait?”

“Don’t worry — we won’t be gone long.”

“Okay,” she said, removing the tray from the table. Actually she was relieved that they would be getting outdoors. At least walking with him the silences would be less uncomfortable. They wouldn’t have to look at one another.

Isaac helped her on with her coat, and they left the apartment. When they reached the street, the cold air slapped her face, and the sweet-sickly smell of burning garbage tickled her nostrils. She looked left and right to see who was outside. Thank God she didn’t see Mr. Zussel. Thank God it was the Sabbath and he took the day off. She couldn’t have faced an encounter with him right now, it would surely have involved embarrassing questions and very probably some teasing.

The street traffic was sparse, but not enough for her liking. People she recognized from the neighbourhood were still returning from services, walking briskly along to get out of the cold as quickly as possible. A family that lived a few buildings down and to whom they had been introduced once at shul nodded at her as they passed, then slowed down and stared as she walked by. It might have been her imagination, but she felt their eyes following her, as if her body, flanked by Isaac’s, were exerting some magnetic pull on their faces.

The wind picked up as she moved around the corner, intensified by the tunnel effect of the buildings. A cloud of dust picked up, and she squeezed her eyes shut until it passed. It hadn’t rained in a few days, so the usually swamp-like street had dried up, leaving a shifting layer of grime on top of dry, cracked earth. In this state, their boots were temporarily safe from mud and sog, but now the rest of their clothes would acquire a fine, brown coating. A scarf pulled from her pocket and wrapped around her face protected her from the next lashing.

Isaac pulled a cap out from under his coat. “This is one of mine. Do you like it?”

She looked it over. It was grey wool, smooth and neatly made, but she could find no features that distinguished it from hundreds of her father’s that she had seen.

“It’s very nice.”

“Look at the stitching. Yekl taught me that.”

She looked at the seam near the brim, but still could not notice anything special. She decided it would be best to steer the conversation elsewhere.

“You work with him, my father told me. He seems like a good man.”

“Yes, he’s been very kind. He’s taught me everything I know. He says when he dies I can have his part in the business.”

“That’s lucky for you.”

“For us, you mean.”

“Yes, of course. For us.”

“I think by that time, I’ll be better at the money part of the business. As opposed to the cap-making part. That’s the part I really like.”

“The money part?”

“No the other. The cap-making.”

“Well it sure is nice to have something you like doing.”

“It sure is.” He scratched his cheek with his pinky again. “I’m going to night school,” she offered. “That’s what I love to do.”

“Your father told me you worked in one of the factories.”

“I do. But that’s just work. When I go to school, that’s when I feel alive.”

“I know what you mean. It’s like when I make a great cap, when the stitching is absolutely perfect, and the material I’ve chosen is just right... smooth, nice texture, and then someone buys it. It’s the greatest feeling. Pure satisfaction.”

They walked in silence for about ten minutes, while Rebecca searched desperately for something else to talk about. When they got to Seward Park, Isaac was out of breath again and suggested they sit on a bench for a moment.

“Are you all right?” she asked. His face was looking sickly again.

“I’m fine, I just have to be careful not to overexert myself.”

“Do you mind if I ask what’s wrong? You took some medicine when you arrived at the apartment.”

“It’s digitalis. For my heart. I have to take it if my heart gets going too much. It slows it down.”

“It sounds serious.” She didn’t want to pry, but this was the man she was supposed to marry. Would he become an invalid? Would she have to take care of him? Mrs. Bryant, two floors down, had a husband with a bad heart, and haggard would be a kind description of her.

“It’s not, really. It’s a problem I’ve had since I was a kid.”

Since he was a kid? What was not serious about that?

“How old are you now, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“Twenty-four. Anyway, don’t worry about my heart. I feel fine, mostly. It’s really nothing, I just have to be careful. You won’t have to worry about my health, I promise. We just have to get an apartment on the second or third floor and we’ll be fine. I think the five flights to your place is a bit too much to do every day.”

His words didn’t inspire much confidence, coming as they did from his ghost-like face.

“Look, Isaac, I have to tell you something.”

“What is it?”

“It’s about the wedding.”

“I want you to feel like you can tell me anything.”

“Yes, well, you know how you love cap-making? Well, I really do feel that way about my classes.”

“Yes I know, you said that.”

“Yes, but the reason I mention it again is that my papa is right now telling your papa that the wedding’s to be delayed.”

“What?”

“For a year and a half. It’s nothing personal, I just wanted some time to finish my studies and get my diploma.”

“Oh.” He turned away from her. He seemed hurt.

“And I didn’t think it would be possible once we were married.”

“Well, no, I don’t suppose it would be,” he said, “what with your household duties and all. And then when the children start coming...”

She didn’t like the turn this conversation was taking. “Even though that may not be for some time,” she added.

“Yes, but you never know. And I want us to start right away, don’t you? I want to have a big family.”

“Well, you might feel different after the first one, and we’re up all night with the baby crying.”

“I doubt it.”

His face was serious, her attempt to lighten things had failed.

“Even still, I wanted you to know. It’s not about you. I just want to graduate.”

“Well, you’re right, once we’re married it won’t be possible.”

She wished he hadn’t repeated that. She looked up at the trees. A brown leaf clung desperately to a branch just above her.

Suddenly he turned and smiled at her, and his eyes brightened; their steeliness caught the light and glinted a little, making them seem more liquid. A flush of pink rushed into his cheeks.

“If you were at school at night I’d never get to see you, would I?”

She smiled, but looked down. “No, I guess you wouldn’t.”

He stood up and held out his hand to help her up. “Let’s go see the tenement I wanted to show you. Although now I guess there might not be anything available by the time we’re ready to move in. Still, you never know.”

“It’s only a matter of months, if you think of it that way.”

They walked on in silence for a few blocks, side by side but not touching, until he took her arm and hooked it underneath his, pinning it there.