Place in the City Read online

  “You’re a devil—but God bless you,” he whispered.

  “Am I? What shall I sing tonight?”

  “Tonight?” He walked to the stove, lifted the coffee pot, and she took up a tray of tin cups; and then, as they walked to the door, he threw back over his shoulder:

  “Anything to give them hope. Onward, Christian Soldiers, The Lord is My Rock—” He opened the door, a cloud of steam from the coffee pot preceding him. “Look how they sit there. Sing to them, Marion.”

  AFTER supper, Jessica went down to mind the store.

  Meyer hardly ever had the girls do that, because the store was so much of a hangout for pimps and heelers, men like Shutzey. But tonight, Meyer was tired, more tired than he had ever felt before; he couldn’t go down to the store again, and now he wanted his wife with him.

  He sat in a chair in the kitchen, smoking a cigarette, while his wife did the dishes. When she had finished drying them, she pushed back her light hair with one plump arm, and turned to face Meyer. She wasn’t old yet, hardly any gray in her hair, still attractive, and plump enough to make a man continue to want her, even after all these years. She leaned against the sink, stood arms akimbo, watching him, and then she smiled at the despair in his face.

  “Meyer, Meyer, what’s so terrible, maybe you could tell me? We still have the children and our health, and enough money saved in all these years to make you and me happy when we get old; so why is there a face like the world came to an end?”

  “Yes—”

  “Is that an answer for a man? Come into the living room then, and let me get away from these dishes.”

  But in the living room, he presented the same dead face. Actually, he was wondering how he could tell her, and what she would do. Would she scream at him and call him all the names he could think of for himself? Or would the news hit her too hard? Or would she refuse to believe? How was it that for such a time life could go in a simple even manner, no burdens, no real worries, no complexities; that was happiness. What had he wanted?

  Only to make things better for her, better for her than for himself. If he had succeeded in only doubling his money, there would never be another day of worry for them. He would be a respected man in the community, not only Meyer, the cigar store keeper; his girls would have dowries worthy of them—

  His wife said: “Look, Meyer, soon the girls will be married. I was thinking, maybe, that you need a rest. I need a rest, too. You could sell the store. If we wanted to, we could go back to Europe to see the old folks, then come back here and settle down somewhere in the country. We have enough, surely—”

  “We got nothing,” Meyer blurted out.

  She stared at him, at his crumpled, dejected figure, at his face that was already a thousand years old; could any face ever be older than that? And all of a sudden. What had happened to him? What did he mean?

  “We got nothing,” Meyer repeated. Then, quick as a flash, he thought of Shutzey and Timy and the rest. An honest man had nothing, while sin gave them money and more money. No God but money, and money had no scruples, no honor, no ethics. The way did not matter; it was only the end that mattered. He, Meyer, was an honest man. But inside he was laughing at himself, laughing the way he had never laughed before.

  “Meyer!”

  “We got nothing!” Meyer shouted. “We got nothing,” he screamed, “nothing!”

  “Meyer, what’s the matter with you?”

  “What’s the matter?” He tried to sneer, to show her what was going on inside of him; but the sneer turned his face into the face of a hurt child, and tears ran out of his eyes, down his cheeks.

  “Meyer!”

  “Look at me! Look at me, I say! Look at an honest man! All my life I work, and what do I have? I got nothing—nothing! I live in a hole of sin, with whores and pimps and thieves, but I got nothing.”

  “Meyer, stop screaming! Tell me what happened.”

  “Nothing happened. I lost the money. Isn’t that enough to happen?”

  “What money—?”

  “All of it. Everything we saved. Eleven thousand dollars. But I lost it, so now—”

  “You lost it,” she said dully.

  “You understand me. I lost it.”

  “Everything—all of it?”

  “All of it.” He looked at her, but she said nothing else now; she only stared at him, nodding her head, continued to nod her head, while in his mind, hours passed. Then, when she spoke, she said:

  “Where’s Marion?”

  “At a time like this you ask me such a question! How should I know?”

  “I think she’s at the mission, with that priest. You should speak to her, or he’ll make a goy out of her.”

  “With the worries I got, you want I should worry over Marion too.”

  “No worries now,” she said quietly. “It’s gone, ain’t it?”

  “So why don’t you yell? Why don’t you tell me what a rotten no-good loafer I am? Why don’t you tell me, instead you should sit there and ask me questions about Marion. At least I’m an honest man, but you tell me my daughter will be a goy! Answer me only this—who brought them up? Answer me that!”

  “Meyer, don’t yell at me. Why should I talk about the money, when already it’s gone. Ain’t you told me that it’s gone, so should I call you a liar? Will that make it better?”

  “You don’t care!” he yelled, his eyes full of tears and his face contorted. “You don’t care. All my life I slave, and do you give a damn? That’s what I want to know! Do you give a damn? Me, you accuse of making goys from our daughters!”

  “Meyer, I’m not accusing you.”

  “What then? You’re praising me?”

  “Meyer—Meyer—”

  She went over to him, went down on her knees next to him, and rested her head on his lap. Now she was crying, softly, easily. Then she raised her head, stared at him through her tears. They looked at each other. Then she put up a hand and touched his face.

  Her thoughts came slowly. When your thoughts come like that, so slowly, it means that you are growing old, doesn’t it? They were both old, so old now.

  His face was rough under her hand. He hadn’t shaved that morning; and how was it she did not notice, when he was a man who never, under any circumstances, neglected to shave? But she hadn’t noticed. People grow old, and then they begin to forget. As soon as one is gone, the other forgets. Look how tired his face was, and how old—

  If she hadn’t said anything about Europe—All the money was gone, and he was afraid; in just the same way that a little boy is afraid, when he has done something wrong. Wrong? But what was wrong? Her man wasn’t great. How could you be great, when you only kept a little cigar store? But he was honest. An honest man is like a rare jewel.

  “Meyer,” she whispered.

  “What is it?” he asked brokenly.

  “Meyer, I’m not even asking you what you did with it. Meyer, I love you. Look how many years we are together, and you doubt me. Meyer—”

  “I’m afraid. What should a man believe in?”

  “Meyer, look at me. We love each other—”

  JESSICA stared at Shutzey; in the zoo, once, she had stared at a lion in the same way, and then she had been afraid, too. Yet she knew that if Shutzey were to reach out his hand and put it against her cheek, she wouldn’t be afraid. She wondered how it would feel, the large, powerful hand, with the curling black hairs all over the back of it. How would it feel if it clenched hers tight inside of it?

  “Now ain’ it a shame,” Shutzey said, “leavin’ yu down in the store like this.” He looked at the cigar he held in his fingers, turning it over and over, and then he looked up at her and grinned. There was no gainsaying that Shutzey looked good when he grinned. “Now ain’ it a shame,” he murmured.

  She stared straight at him, returning his look. He was like a beast, big and strong and sure of himself. No woman had him. He owned women, bought them and sold them the way he bought cigars. But he might be tamed. Surely he might be tame
d.

  “Now what’re yu thinkin’, beautiful?”

  She tossed her head, took a rag and began to wipe the counter, watching him out of the corners of her eyes. He caught her glance, and she found herself smiling.

  “Yu ain’ talkin’, eh?”

  “Why should I? I know who you are.”

  “Yeah—it ain’t nice. You’re Meyer’s kid. Well, geesus, I never thought yu were so good tu look at. Baby, yer wasting away here. Yu got a face and figure that could take yu places—”

  “I’m not interested.”

  “Ain’t yu? Maybe yer afraid uv me?”

  “No—I’m not.”

  “Well, don’t tie yerself down to that counter. It won’t get yu nowhere.”

  “Maybe it will.” She flirted the rag back and forth along the counter before she looked at Shutzey again. Then she said:

  “You couldn’t buy me.”

  “Geesus, gimme a break.”

  “What kind?”

  “Listen, kid, I’ll play straight with yu. Now look, tonight, maybe around nine-thirty, ‘I’ll have my car opposite Kraus’ saloon. Why don’ yu drop over an’ take a spin with me. I’ll wait fur yu.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Sure. I’m on the level with yu.”

  Inside, her heart was thumping like a hammer, but she knew she had to keep a calm face. That was part of the game. Let him think what he wished, she wouldn’t come so easily. He would be a beast to tame.

  “Maybe,” she answered slowly.

  “Awright. I’ll wait right there in the car.”

  DANNY was waiting for Alice in his car that evening. She came over to him, tall and slim, wrapped in a long black coat. He thought she looked as nice as anyone could. The snow fell around her, and when he kissed her, there was a flake just melting on her lips.

  “Hop in,” he told her. “There’s time for a spin and a bite to eat, and then I’ll have to leave you. Just tonight, darling.”

  “I wanted to be with you tonight,” she said slowly. “I wanted to, Danny. I’m afraid.”

  “Now what are you afraid of?” He started his motor, raced it, and then the car pulled away. He drove easily. Alice smiled. He was just right, not too short, not too tall, clean, the sort of a boy she always wanted. And he would go places. He was a lawyer, and he had his office together with Timy Dolan. Everybody knew what a powerful man Timy Dolan was, and more than one said Danny was his brains. She told him what had happened at school that day.

  “—Oh, it’s not the only thing, Danny. I’m so tired. I want to marry you. We will be married soon, won’t we, Danny?” She looked sidewise at him, and she saw that he was smiling complacently to himself, keeping his eyes on the road.

  “But, Danny, I’m afraid. It means breaking everything off. I’m Jewish—you’re a Catholic. Danny, I don’t care about that; I’d do anything in the world for you. You know that, don’t you?”

  “Sure I do, baby.”

  “I’d do anything for you, Danny—because I love you. Well, why do things come out this way? Maybe you could tell me.”

  “I guess I love you, baby. I guess that’s the only reason why.”

  She sat back then, let the wind blow into her face. In front of her, the city was turning itself over and over; if she was afraid, she was still happy: wherever she went with Danny, she was happy.

  “What will I tell my father and mother?”

  “Nothing—”

  “No.” She shook her head. “I can’t do it that way, Danny. I don’t want to.”

  They sat in silence then, until they came to the park. Then Danny stopped the car. Drawing her close to him, he kissed her, and she closed her eyes, imagining how it would be to have those arms there all the time, whenever she wanted them. If he married her, it would be day and night and always. If he was uncircumsized, how did that affect her? He was Danny, and all in all, that was what mattered. He was good and clean, and the only thing she wanted. What did Jew matter? What did Christian matter? What did either word mean to her? It was her only chance to live, and if she passed it by—

  Danny was speaking, and while he spoke he held his hands on her face, caressed her cheeks slowly and softly. “Baby,” he said, “I got the license. I got a friend who’ll marry us tonight, maybe in an hour. Why don’t you?”

  “Danny—”

  “We love each other, don’t we? Sure I know you’re Jewish. But I’m not going to stop loving you. It’s not easy come and easy go with me.”

  “I know, Danny.”

  “So what? I want to marry you. I love you. I got enough money to make it easy for both of us, and Timy says he’ll put me on the ticket for the assembly next fall. That means I’m going up. Up and up, baby, right to the stars. I’m going to put you where you deserve to be. I’m going to make you the wife of a senator, the wife of a governor, and after that, who knows what? Look at me. Do I look good to you? Well, I’m your own Danny, and I’m going where you want me to. There’s no limit. Alice baby—marry me tonight.”

  “All right, Danny.”

  “I got the ring here—what do you think of that? Maybe I didn’t know you’d say yes? Maybe I didn’t! Well, listen, we got time to get it done, and then have a little supper of our own. Then I got to rush over to the club for a little while, not for long, but I got to show my face. You know how Timy is about me. I show my face there for maybe an hour or two, and meantime you go home and fix things. You don’t need to tell them all, and if they yell, let ’em. I pick you up later, and we shoot over to the best hotel. Then we’ll figure things out from there on.”

  “But, Danny—school tomorrow.”

  “Don’t you worry about that. Maybe I don’t want my wife to work. You just let me do things from here on. Geesus, baby, I love you.”

  “I know, Danny.”

  Later, when it was over, it was terribly difficult for her to realize the fact. She stood in the snow with the tall, slim boy next to her, and he was her husband. It was nice, awfully nice, but it was hard to get used to. Not all at once, anyway. She had to stare quite a while at the gold band around her finger.

  Even when they were eating, opposite one another, all she could say was, “I’m married, aren’t I, Danny?”

  “You’re my wife.”

  “It’s hard to believe, it happened so quickly. Like becoming another person all in a moment. Now what will we do?”

  “Be happy.”

  “That’s right, isn’t it, Danny? We do have to be happy. That’s our right, and nobody can take it away from us, can they, Danny?”

  “Nobody.”

  She stared at him, and then she stared at her ring. Things could happen so fast that you couldn’t quite understand them. But there was the ring on her finger, and in fact she was Danny’s wife.

  WHEN Timy left Mary White alone in the back room of Kraus’ saloon, she was frightened. No reason to be, no good reason, because nothing could happen to her now that hadn’t happened before; nevertheless, she was frightened. After all, a stag was a stag, no more than that; and men were the same all over. She thought she knew men; how could you be a whore for any length of time without getting to know men? Yet she didn’t hate them. True, most men weren’t good, but then again, most men were not bad. Most men had too little in them to be either really good or bad; and if they did not have a burning desire for women, they would have nothing at all. So why should she be afraid?

  Men were men; they came and they went, and all the time they were no more than pale slides on the screen. You didn’t love them, but how could you hate them?

  She walked over to the window, discovered that she was trembling. Timy had tossed a pack of cigarettes on the table, and now she went to the table and lit one. It trembled in her hand. Well, if anything, she was worried about the children. She always worried about them when she wasn’t home at night, because no matter how well they knew how to take care of themselves, they were still kids. But she had worried before without trembling like this.

  The t
ruth was that she was no longer young. In this racket, you had to be young; but you grew old quickly. The thing to do was to put away as much money as you could, and hope for the best. In a year, if she didn’t get sick, she would have enough, and then she would be able to take the kids away somewhere. If only they never found out, life might begin again after that.

  Back at the window, she looked out at the night and the snow. Something about snow made you want to take hold of it, plunge yourself deep into it. It was cleansing. Maybe there was some kind of snow that could cleanse your soul, after long lines of men had taken it away from you and made it rotten. The cigarette fell to the floor.

  Picking it up, she looked at her white hand. “Careless of me,” she muttered. “I guess I got to take a grip on myself. Geesus, I wish I had a drink. I’ll ask Timy. I wish I was with the kids tonight.”

  She felt hot, close; little beads of sweat appeared on the back of her hands, and she felt that she was choking. Opening a window, she breathed deeply. The cold night air rushed in like a tonic.

  “Dot’s enuff, sister,” someone said.

  She whirled about. Kraus was standing there with a tray of food. He opened the dishes, and set them upon the table for her. Then he motioned to her.

  “Feed up. You’ll need id.”

  Stamping out the cigarette, she sat down at the table; but she had no appetite, and the first mouthful of food tasted dry and bitter. Kraus went out, to return in a moment with a glass of beer.

  “Get me a drink,” she told him.

  “Vy not?” He smiled until his face was like a moon. He went out, and he was back in a moment with a bottle of rye. She poured herself a stiff drink, gulped it; she was thankful for the way it burned her throat.

  Well, her nerve was gone—all gone. Her hand with the glass in it shook, and when she set it down, she was afraid to look up at Kraus. No, there was no denying that she was too old. Very slowly, she turned her eyes to Kraus, who was bending over the table, upon which he leaned with both his hands.

  “Get away,” she said. “Get out of here and let me eat. I don’t need you.”