Henry Roth - Call It Sleep

“Hold him tightly! He’s yours!”

She answered, a kind of cold deliberate pity in her voice. “And now, now that you know what you think you know, the corruption’s drained. Is that how you are? The fog is split. Why didn’t you tell me sooner what clouded you? I would have freed you sooner.”

“And now like any discovered cheat you’ll mock me, eh?”

“I’m not mocking you, Albert. I’m just asking you to tell me exactly what it is you want.”

“I want,” his teeth ground into his words. “Never to see that brat again.”

She sucked in her breath as if making a last attempt. “You’re driving me mad, Albert! He’s your son. Your son! Oh, God! He’s yours. What if I knew another man long before I met you—! It was long ago, I swear to you! Can he, must he be his? He’s yours!”

“I’ll never believe you! Never! Never!”

“Why then I’ll go!”

“Go. I’ll caper! I’ll dance on the roofs! I’ll be rid of it! Be rid of it, I tell you! The nights in the milk wagon! The thoughts! The torment! The stables — hitching the horse. The other men! The torment! I’ll be rid of it! His—”

But as though answering his suppressed scream of exultation, noises in the hallway, wrangling, angry, confused, battered like turbulent waves against the door. He stopped as though stuck. About David’s legs the clasp of his mother’s arms tightened protectingly. Again the cries threatening, reproachful and a stamp and shuffling of feet. A sharp crack at the door — flung open, it banged against a chair.

“Now let me go! I’m here! I’m going to speak!”

He knew the voice! One wild glance he threw over his shoulder — Aunt Bertha grappling with her husband seemed less strange to him now that the light of the kitchen had grown so grey. With a whimper of despair, he clutched at his mother’s neck, buried his face frenziedly into the crook of her throat. And she, bewildered—

“Nathan! You? Bertha! What is it? You look so frantic!”

“I–I am angry!” Uncle Nathan gasped tormentedly. “I have much—!”

“It’s nothing!” Aunt Bertha beat his words down. “My man is a fool! Look at him! He’s gone crazy!”

“Let me speak! Will you let me speak!”

“Be strangled first!” She flew at him venomously. “He wants — do you know what he wants? Can’t you guess? What does a Jew want? Money. He’s come to borrow money! And why does he want money? To make a bigger store. Nothing else! He’s out of his head! I’ll tell you what happened to him. He dreamt last night the police came and stripped off his boots, the way they did his bankrupt grandfather in Vilna. It’s gone to his head. He’s frightened. His wits are in a foam. Ask him where he is now. He couldn’t answer you. I’m sure he couldn’t. And how are you, Albert! It’s a fair brace of months since I have seen you! You ought to visit us sometimes, see our little store, and vast variety of bon-bons. Cheh! Cheh! Und heva suddeh-wawdeh!”

David’s father made no answer.

And lightly as though she expected none. “And why are you holding him in your arms, Genya?”

“Just to — just to feel his weight,” his mother replied unsteadily. “And he is heavy!” She bent over to put him down.

“No, Mama!” he whispered, clinging to her. “No, Mama!”

“Only a moment, beloved! I can’t hold you in my arms so long. You’re too heavy!” She set him on his feet. “There! Once he gets up, he won’t come down.” And still keeping her trembling hand on his shoulder, she turned to Nathan. “Money? Why—?” She laughed confusedly. “I think the world’s gone mad! What makes you come to us of all people? Are you in your right senses, Nathan?”

Fixing his glowering, harassed eyes on David, Nathan opened his mouth to speak—

“Of course!” Aunt Bertha outstripped him. “Of course, you haven’t any money.” She dug her elbow viciously into her husband’s ribs. “That’s what I told him. To the very words! Didn’t I?”

Almost giddy with terror and guilt, David had dodged behind his mother. At her side stood his father, arms folded across his chest, aloof, nostrils still slowly flaring in the ebb and flow of passion. In the greying light, his face looked like stone, only the nostrils and the crooked vein on his brow alive. Then he uncrossed his arms. His dense, smoldering eyes traveled from face to face, brushed David’s who jerked his head away in panic, traveled on and returned, cleaving there. Without turning to look, David knew himself regarded, so palpable was that gaze, so like a pressure. Enveloping him, it seemed to sap him from without. He grew dizzy, reached out numb hands for his mother’s dress, hung there faintly. His father shifted his gaze. And as though he had been struggling under water until this moment, David gulped down breath, heard sounds again, voices.

“And you won’t sit down?” His mother was asking solicitously. “You’re tired, both of you. I can see it. Why, supper for two more would take no longer. Please stay!”

“No! No! Thanks, sister!” Aunt Bertha was positive. “But if he would go hunting for rusty horseshoes before he’s had his supper, why he can wait a little longer — I’m as tired as he is. And I warned him!”

“I’m sorry we can’t help you, Nathan. You know we would if we had it! Oh! It’s all so mixed! I’m confused! Why!” She laughed ruefully. “If it weren’t so absurd, Nathan, it would be flattering that you should think we had any money.”

Biting his lips, Uncle Nathan stared at the floor, swayed as if he might fall. “I have nothing to say.” he answered dully. “She’s said it all.”

“You see?” There was a note of triumph in Aunt Bertha’s voice. “He’s ashamed of himself now. But now I like him!” She began nudging him toward the door. “Now he’s my man and as good a man as ever ate prunes with his meat. Come, good heart! Mrs. Zimmerman is waiting— My customers will think I’m burying you.”

“You’ve a cunning way!” He answered, shaking her off sullenly. “You’ve clogged my chimney well! But you wait! You’ll laugh in convulsion yet!”

“Come! Come!” She gave him a push toward the door. “Hoist up your nose! That venture you want money for can wait!”

Uncle Nathan wrested his arm away, shook a desperate, baffled finger at his wife. “A curse on you and your money and your whole story! I’ll stay! I’ll speak!”

Aunt Bertha ignored him, opened the door. “Good night, sister! Forgive him! He’s always been a good husband, but to-night— You know how men are! When they’re a little unstrung, they revel in it. Come, you!”

Cowering behind his mother, David watched Aunt Bertha drag her stubborn husband toward the door. Their going would be no deliverance — one doom postponed, another waiting. There could be no less terror if they stayed, or if they went. Whatever way the mind turned it faced only fear. This he had escaped. Aunt Bertha had saved him. But his father! His father again! Their going abandoned him to that fury! But—

“Wait!”

For the first time since they had come, his father spoke. And now he uncrossed his arms and stalked suddenly to the door.

“Wait!” He gripped Uncle Nathan’s shoulder, towered above him. “Come back!”

“What do you want of my man!” Aunt Bertha snapped in angry surprise. “You let him alone. He’s distraught enough without you troubling him. Come, Nathan!” She redoubled her tugging at the other shoulder.

“It’s you who should let him alone!” her brother-in-law growled dangerously. “You and your cursed deceit! Come in, Nathan!”

Staring amazed from face to face, Uncle Nathan could muster no more than a bewildered grunt.

“I say let him go!” Aunt Bertha shrieked furiously. “Wild beast, take your paws off!”