Henry Roth - Call It Sleep

The voices from the kitchen indicated that Yussie had been persuaded. He reappeared, dressed in coat and hat. “I’m goin’ down,” he announced, and went out again. An uncomfortable pause ensued.

“We can’t play till he comes back,” David reminded her.

“Yes, we can.”

“Wot?”

“Wotcha want.”

“I don’t know wot.”

“Yuh know wot.”

“Wot?”

“Yuh know,” she said mysteriously.

That was the game then. David congratulated himself on having discovered its rules so quickly.

“Yea, I know,” he answered in the same tone of mystery.

“Yea?” she peered at him eagerly.

“Yea!” he peered at her in the same way.

“Yuh wanna?”

“Yea!”

“Yuh wanna den?”

“Yea, I wanna.” It was the easiest game he had ever played. Annie was not so frightening after all.

“W’ea?”

“W’ea?” he repeated.

“In the bedroom,” she whispered.

But she was really going!

“C’mon,” she motioned, tittering.

He followed. This was puzzling.

She shut the door: he stood bewildered in the gloom.

“C’mon,” she took his hand. “I’ll show yuh.”

He could hear her groping in the dark. The sound of an unseen door opening. The closet door.

“In hea,” she whispered.

What was she going to do? His heart began to race.

She drew him in, shut the door. Darkness, immense and stale, the reek of moth balls threading it.

Her breathing in the narrow space was loud as a gust, swooping down and down again. His heart throbbed in his ears. She moved toward him, nudged him gently with the iron slat of her brace. He was frightened. Before the pressure of her body, he retreated slightly. Something rolled beneath his feet. What? He knew instantly, and recoiled in disgust — the trap!

“Sh!” she warned. “Take me aroun’.” She groped for his hands.

He put his arms about her.

“Now let’s kiss.”

His lips touched hers, a muddy spot in vast darkness.

“How d’ you play bad?” she asked.

“Bad? I don’ know,” he quavered.

“Yuh wan’ me to show how I?”

He was silent, terrified.

“Yuh must ask me,” she said. “G’wan ask me.”

“Wot?”

“Yuh must say, Yuh wanna play bad? Say it!”

He trembled. “Yuh wanna play bad?

“Now, you said it,” she whispered. “Don’ forget, you said it.”

By the emphasis of her words, David knew he had crossed some awful threshold.

“Will yuh tell?”

“No,” he answered weakly. The guilt was his.

“Yuh swear?”

“I swear.”

“Yuh know w’ea babies comm from?”

“N-no.”

“From de knish.”

— Knish?

“Between de legs. Who puts id in is de poppa. De poppa’s god de petzel. Yaw de poppa.” She giggled stealthily and took his hand. He could feel her guiding it under her dress, then through a pocket-like flap. Her skin under his palm. Revolted, he drew back.

“Yuh must!” she insisted, tugging his hand. “Yuh ast me!”

“No!”

“Put yuh han’ in my knish,” she coaxed. “Jus’ once.”

“No!”

“I’ll hol’ yuh petzel.” She reached down.

“No!” His flesh was crawling.

“Den take me ’round again.”

“No! No! Lemme oud!” he pushed her away.

“Waid. Yussie’ll t’ink we’re hidin’.”

“No! I don’ wanna!” He had raised his voice to a shout.

“So go!” she gave him an angry push.

But David had already opened the door and was out.

She grabbed him as he crossed the bedroom. “If you tell!” she whispered venomously. “W’ea yuh goin’?”

“I’m goin tuh my mamma!”

“Stay hea! I’ll kill yuh, yuh go inside!” She shook him.

He wanted to cry.

“An’ don’ cry,” she warned fiercely, and then strove desperately to engage him, “Stay hea an’ I’ll tell yuh a story. I’ll let yuh play fiuhman. Yuh c’n have a hat. Yuh c’n climb on de foinichuh. Stay hea!”

He stood still, watching her rigidly, half hypnotized by her fierce, frightened eyes. The outer door was opened. Yussie’s voice in the kitchen.

A moment later, he came in, breathlessly stripping off his coat.

“I god a penny,” he crowed.

“Yuh c’n play fiuhman, if yuh wan’,” she said severely.

“No foolin’? Yeh? H’ray! C’mon, Davy!”

But David held back. “I don’ wanna play.”

“C’mon,” Yussie grabbed a sheet of newspaper and thrust it into his hands. “We mus’ make a hat.”

“G’wan make a hat,” commanded Annie.

Cowed and almost sniffling, David began folding the paper into a hat.

He played listlessly, one eye always on Annie who watched his every move. Yussie was disgusted with him.

“David!” his mother’s voice calling him.

Deliverance at last! With a cry of relief, he tore off the fireman’s hat, ran down the frontroom stairs into the kitchen. His mother was standing; she seemed about to leave. He pressed close to her side.

“We must go now,” she said smiling down at him. “Say good night to your friends.”

“Good night,” he mumbled.

“Please don’t hurry off,” said Mrs. Mink. “It’s been such a pleasure to have you here.”

“I really must go. It’s past his bed time.”

David was in the van stealthily tugging his mother toward the door.

“This hour I have been in heaven,” said Mrs. Mink. “You must come often! I am never busy.”

“Many thanks.”

They hurried down the drafty stairs.

“I heard you playing in the frontroom,” she said. “You must have enjoyed your visit.”

She unlocked the door, lit the gas lamp.

“Dear God! The room has grown cold.” And picking up the poker, she crouched before the stove, shook down the dull embers behind the grate. “I’m glad you enjoyed yourself. At least one of us has skimmed a little pleasure out of this evening! What folly! And that Mrs. Mink. If I had known she talked so much, drays could not have dragged me up there!” She lifted the coal scuttle, shook some coal vehemently into the stove. “Her tongue spun like a bobbin on a sewing machine — and she sewed nothing. It’s unbelievable! I began to see motes before my eyes.” She shook her head impatiently and put down the coal scuttle. “My son, do you know your mother’s a fool? But you’re tired, aren’t you? Let me put you to bed.”

Kneeling down before him, she began unbuttoning his shoes. When she had pulled his stockings off, she lifted his legs, examined them a moment, then kissed each one. “Praise God, your body is sound! How I pity that poor child upstairs!”

But she didn’t know as he knew how the whole world could break into a thousand little pieces, all buzzing, all whining, and no one hearing them and no one seeing them except himself.

VIII

WHEN David awoke the next morning, it seemed to him that he had been lying in bed a long while with eyes open but without knowing who or where he was. Memory had never been so tardy in returning. He could almost feel his brain fill up like a bottle under a slow tap. Reluctant antennae groped feebly into the past. Where? What? One by one the shuttles stirred, awoke, knit morning to night, night to evening. Annie! Oh! Desperately he shook his head, but could not shake the memory out.

The window.… Snow still falling through the dull light of the alley, banked whitely against the sill, encroaching on the pane. David stared a while at the sinking patterns of the flakes. They fell with slow simplicity if you watched them, swiftly and devious if you looked beyond. Their monotonous descent gave him an odd feeling of being lifted higher and higher; he went floating until he was giddy. He shut his eyes.