Saul Bellow - The Victim

“We’ll see what you are next year.”

“You’ll be the same, I know. You people…” He shook his head and his cheek brushed his collar.

“If you start that again, you’ll be on the steps in a minute.” Leventhal began menacingly to rise.

“All right, all right, let’s drop it. Only when a man says something serious about himself he likes to be believed,” said Allbee. “It makes sense to me that a man can be born again. — I’ll take a rain check on the kingdom of heaven, but if I’m tired of being this way I can become a new man. That’s all I’m saying.” Straightening himself in his chair he was silent and lightly held his big hands together. By the curve of his mouth Leventhal saw that he was very pleased with himself. Indeed the position of his hands spoke of applause rather than rest. The hump of shadow behind him was occasionally extended by the slight stirring of his head. The lamp in its green, watered-silk shade made a second, softer center of brightness in the polish of the desk. A rush of low sounds came up from the street, and a gust of air swelled and separated the curtains; they drifted together again.

At this moment Leventhal felt Allbee’s presence, all that concerned him, like a great tiring weight, and looked at him with dead fatigue, his fingers motionless on his thighs. Something would have to happen, something that he could not foresee. Whatever it was, he would be too muddled and fatigued to deal with it. He was played out. His old weakness, his nerves, had never been so bad; he could not concentrate long enough to settle any of his difficulties, and had to wait for the occasion to bring this or that to his attention, and was slow and fitful in his thinking. He ought to have thought of what was going on in Staten Island, if only for Philip’s sake, and he should have phoned Max at least once. Max had hung on to him in the chapel; he had no one else to hang on to. And by now he must have decided that he had no one at all. But the reason Leventhal shrank from calling was that he was unable to clarify his thoughts or bring them into focus, and he lacked the energy to continue the effort. And anyway the sparks, the clear spark of Mickey’s life, the spark of Elena’s sanity, the sparks of thought and courage, even courage as confident as Mary”s — how such sparks were chased and overtaken, drowned, put out. Then what good was thinking? His dark, poring face with its full cheeks and high-rising dull hair was hung toward his chest. He drew a deep, irregular breath and raised his hands from his lap in a gesture of exorcism against the spell of confusion and despair. “God will help me out,” passed through his mind, and he did not stop to ask himself exactly what he meant by this.

“About the card I picked up,” said Allbee. “The business card: is that man a moving-picture agent of some kind? I want to explain why I picked it up. I suppose you know him.”

“A little.”

“What does he do? What’s his line?”

“I think he looks for talent.”

“Is he influential? I mean, is he…” But Allbee canceled this question as if it were a mark of his persistent innocence or unworldliness.

“Is he what?”

“Oh… on the inside.” His lip began to curl; his eyes were distended and humorlessly direct. “I’ve come to the conclusion that if you want to get along nowadays you have to go along with the powers. It’s no use trying to buck them.”

“Who told you Shifcart was a power?”

Allbee declined to answer. He lifted his shoulders and looked away disdainfully.

“Who?” Leventhal repeated.

“Let’s say he can help me, then, and leave out other considerations.”

“Do you want to become an actor?”

“Wouldn’t I make a good one?”

“You?”

“Is that so funny?”

A faint smile crossed Leventhal’s shadowed face. “I understand your mother thought she was a singer,” he said. “And you think you are an actor.”

“Oh, you’ve heard about my mother. Who told you about her, Phoebe?”

“Yes. She sang at your wedding, didn’t she?”

“Sensationally,” said Allbee in an indeterminate tone; and, after a pause, “No, of course I don’t want to act. But I thought with all my experience on magazines that I might be able to get into movie work. I once heard about somebody — an acquaintance of an acquaintance — who was doing some preliminary scenario job, looking up stories, and making digests of them, and if I could get into that.. Well, maybe your friend can tell me how to do it.”

“He’s no special friend of mine. How long ago did you hear about this?”

“I don’t remember, now. A few years ago.”

“Then how do you know you can still get such a job? Why don’t you find out from this acquaintance of yours? What have you got to go on? Ask him about it.”

Allbee answered quickly, “I couldn’t. I wouldn’t know where to find him or how to start looking. Besides, he doesn’t owe me anything, Leventhal. Why should I go to him?”

“Why? Well, why to me? It makes just as much sense.”

His reply tremendously aroused Allbee.

“Why? For good reasons; the best in the world!” He shocked Leventhal by clenching his fists before his breast as if passionately threatening to tear loose from all restraint. “I’m giving you a chance to be fair, Leventhal, and to do what’s right. And I want what’s right from you. Don’t drag anybody else in. This is just between the two of us.”

“Don’t be crazy.”

“Just you and I. Just the two of us.”

“I never… I never….” Leventhal stammered.

“I can’t afford to fool around. The fooling has been kicked out of me. I’ve been put straight the hard way, the way you pay for with years of your life.” He lowered his head and stared at him before continuing. There was a noticeable pulsation in the sides of his face beside his eyes, and in his eyes there was a glint that astounded Leventhal; it resembled nothing in his experience. “ Look,” said Allbee firmly in a lower voice. “You know that when I say I want an introduction to this man Shifcart it means I am ready to play ball. I’m offering a settlement. I’m offering to haul down my flag. If he helps me. Do you understand?”

“No, I don’t understand,” Leventhal said. “I don’t even begin to get it. And as long as you keep on talking about settling, I won’t lift a finger for you.”

“Listen,” said Allbee. “I know you want to settle. And so do I. And I know what I’m talking about when I say I’ll play ball. The world’s changed hands. I’m like the Indian who sees a train running over the prairie where the buffalo used to roam. Well, now that the buffalo have disappeared, I want to get off the pony and be a conductor on that train. I’m not asking to be a stockholder in the company. I know that’s impossible. Lots of things are impossible that didn’t use to be. When I was younger I had my whole life laid out in my mind. I planned what it was going to be like on the assumption that I came out of the lords of the earth. I had all kinds of expectations. But God disposes. There’s no use kidding.”

Leventhal, his eyes raised to the ceiling, seemed to ask, “You follow? I don’t.”

There was a knock at the door.

IT was Max. He stood before Leventhal with a rolled newspaper under his arm, his shirt open at the throat, the black hair of his chest coming out, and his soft collar pulled over the collar of his coat, the same way Philip’s had been on the day of the outing. The suit was the double-breasted one he had worn at the funeral. When the door opened, he seemed to hesitate on the landing, and Leventhal cried out in a cracked voice, “Max! Come in, for heaven’s sake.”