Читать книгу Mr. Emmanuel - Louis Golding - Страница 12

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With all these young people about, supper was rather a sketchy affair at Shipscar. Tonight it consisted chiefly of a huge tureen of chicken stew. You took a plate over to the tureen and helped yourself, or one of the boys helped you; they were very polite, if, on the whole, a little awkward. Sarah, the eldest Cooper girl, was out; she had cycled over to a house where the young men were older, and conversation was a little more fluent. Ailsa, the youngest girl, went to bed directly after supper. It had been a long day for a child of eleven. It was Mary, the middle girl, who had taken in hand the job of being assistant hostess. Seeing her mother and Mr. Emmanuel engaged in deep conversation, she set to work. She got Bruno and little Heinrich Levi, a dark little boy about the same age, down to a game of draughts. Another youth buried his nose immediately in a pocket game of chess he was playing with himself. The other three were apparently more men of the world. She got them to turn back the rugs, switched on some dance music, and went on to do a few solemn turns in and out of the furniture, herself and the youth Klaus Bieber, then herself and the fifth youth, a lanky tow-haired lad with a very aquiline nose.

“It is not very gay,” murmured Rose to Mr. Emmanuel. “I know. But what can you do? Their minds are not with us. They’re thinking of their mothers and their school-friends. One or two of them had girls already.”

“Please, will you tell me about them? They cannot hear, I think, no?”

It was not likely they could hear. There was not only the dance music and the shuffling feet. The tow-haired lad was very talkative. There was also a shrill running commentary in German from Bruno’s partner in the game of draughts.

“The one with Bruno is Heinrich Levi,” Rose explained. “His people were very rich. They had a department store in Hamburg. They’ve got very little left now. They’re still in Hamburg.”

“He is on two sides Jewish, I think?”

“Yes. He and the big one, Klaus, are the only ones Jewish on both sides.”

“That Klaus is so German,” marvelled Mr. Emmanuel, “like Bismarck.”

“But not so German as the tall one, dancing with Mary now, Siegfried Jacobson. You never met anything so German.”

“With a nose like that?” Mr. Emmanuel was quite puzzled. “He is blond, yes—but a nose like that!”

“I think one grandfather was Jewish. He loathes him for it. I think he’d turn the old man’s body out of its coffin and spit on it if he got the chance.”

Mr. Emmanuel sighed. “Not a nice boy!”

Rose preferred not to commit herself.

“I wouldn’t like to say that. But he treats poor Bruno rather badly—he and the little one playing draughts, Heinrich. That’s why I keep Bruno with me as much as I can.”

“I see.” Mr. Emmanuel’s eyes darkened. He was quiet for a little time, studying first the one boy, then the other. Then he continued. “And that nice-looking one? The quiet boy, playing chess?”

“That’s Hugo, Hugo Baum. He’s a Catholic. He goes to a Catholic school. He talks about becoming a priest. When he’s not got the chess-board before him, he’s reading some saint’s life. A very religious boy.”

“I see. A very religious boy, eh?” He suddenly felt a bit dizzy. He did not quite know where he was for a moment or two. It occurred to him rather frighteningly it was a long way from Magnolia Street, from the synagogue at the corner, from the Board of Guardians in the Begley Hill Road. He put his hand into his coat-pocket to take out a handkerchief and found it cluttered with the tricks and gadgets he had stuffed there the last moment before coming downstairs. The thought presented itself to him that for a young man who spends all his spare time reading the lives of saints, a synthetic ink-spot and a glass of ale that will not pour out might not be very absorbing pastimes.

He looked from that young man to Siegfried Jacobson, the tall blond quarter-Jew dancing with Mary; from Jacobson he looked to Bieber, then to the two boys playing draughts. They were German, not English. He understood the minds of English boys, whether Gentile or Jewish, almost equally well, for he had had many years of schooling on both pavements of Magnolia Street. These boys were alien. Even the two of them who were fully Jewish were not Jewish in the sense familiar to him, the warm vocal hand-clapping manner of Eastern Europe. They were all boys from the rich bourgeoisie, a higher social status than his own.

He felt helpless, useless, something of an interloper. Then it chanced his eyes travelled to the two youngsters bent over the draught-board. He saw that the dark little boy, Heinrich, was not studying the game at all. His mouth was a few inches from Bruno’s face. He had suspended the high cricket-like chirp he had been emitting since the game began. He was whispering something, his eyes twinkling with fun and wickedness. The boy was perhaps fourteen and a half years old, younger, if anything, than Bruno. Yet he looked at that moment like a bad old man of sixty.

“Es ist nicht wahr,” he saw Bruno’s lips shape. “It’s not true! It’s not true!” He did not raise his eyes from the board.

“Aber bestimmt!” the other insisted. “It’s quite certain!”

“I take one, two,” Bruno said, his king making two moves.

Heinrich dropped his eyes to the board, a happy smile on his face. The cricket-like chirp began again.

Mr. Emmanuel turned to Rose and took her hand and pressed it between his own.

“I am happy,” he murmured, “you should let me come among these boys. Perhaps an old man can help too.”

“But of course,” said Rose. “They’ll love you. It’ll be marvellous for them. Tomorrow you must bring out some of those things you brought with you. But I want you to go to bed very soon now, Mr. Emmanuel. You’ve had a very long and tiring day.”

“I have some things in my pocket here,” said Mr. Emmanuel. “I shall show some now, yes?”

She was quite firm.

“Tomorrow,” she said. “What use will you be unless you have a good night’s rest?”

“Perhaps you’re right,” he admitted. He lingered five minutes, ten minutes. Rose went on contentedly with her crochet. The dance music went round and round. Klaus revolved with Mary like a performing bear. Hugo was rapt at his game. Heinrich and Bruno set out the draught pieces again. Mr. Emmanuel rose.

“Good night, everybody,” he said. He felt a little lonely.

“Good night, Mr. Emmanuel,” a polite chorus returned.

“Come now,” said Rose. “I’ll see you’ve got everything you want for the night. I’ll be down in a minute, my dears.”

“Please, thank you,” muttered Mr. Emmanuel.