Saul Bellow - The Victim

Leventhal was impassive.

“Here,” he said. “Happy birthday.”

There was a gold seal pasted on the tissue paper and Libbie, after one quick glance at him, began picking it off.

“Not even ‘thank you, Uncle Leventhal.’“ Julia looked furious.

“Julia, it’s only shyness, nervousness.”

“Say thanks, you little animal.”

The girl ran into the hall and Leventhal returned to the dining-room. He had a second glass of the sweet wine, and a third.

“Come, sit in,” Goldstone said to him.

He shook his head and slouched against the sideboard, leaning on his elbow and sipping. This was his fourth glass and he was beginning to feel a heavy, solvent, milky warmth. He was conscious of being extremely clear-eyed, of seeing everything, catching every movement as if under extraordinary illumination. As the cards slapped and flicked over the red leather pad, he diverted himself by observing the hands, shuffling, dealing, manipulating the money, the variety of knuckles and fingers. Harkavy’s were white, pointed, and simple looking. The hands of the man next to him were strung with veins and overgrown with hair, his thumb was turned back and blackened, perhaps by lead — he might be a printer. The flesh of his palm was red and brutally cross-hatched. “Used hard,” reflected Leventhal. Yet these hands were limber with coins, and counted and tossed them with the ease of deep familiarity.

Leaving the sideboard he strolled into the dark living-room and lit a cigar. He felt the blood at his heart and brain to be a very rich and powerful mixture, for the most part pleasurable. A little painful also. The slight distress, however, was part of the pleasure. He took a sip of wine, licked the base of the glass and wiped it on his wrist to prevent a ring, and set it on a little table. Mrs Harkavy’s voice came down the hall. “Future generations!” he grinned. “My Lord!” He sat down, lame and heavy limbed.

After some time he saw Harkavy come in to the room apparently looking for him. He spoke up from his corner.

“Hey, here!”

“Oh, hiding out, having a quiet cigar. The house is filling up. Mamma and Julia are starting to serve.” Leventhal heard the scrape of chairs on the parquet floor of the dining-room.

“Say, do you expect Shifcart tonight?”

“I don’t think he was asked. What do you want him for?”

“Do you think I made a bad impression on him that day?”

“I know you did on me. I’ve never seen such an exhibition of ghetto psychology. The attitude you took toward Disraeli amazed me.”

“No, I don’t mean that. Did he say anything to you?”

“Nothing. Is this an attack of your old weakness — worrying whether people like you?”

“I wanted to sound him out about something… To see what he’d say. If he’d help me out with someone.”

“Who’s the favor for?”

“It doesn’t matter who, does it?” Leventhal said.

“No, it doesn’t. You don’t have to tell me.” There was already a ring of exasperation in his voice.

“It doesn’t make any difference who.”

“I asked to be helpful. But I won’t play button-button with you. Especially since you have an edge on. I saw you drinking.”

“Ah, you could have had a lot of opportunities to be helpful,” said Leventhal.

“Why, it must be that what”s-his-name that’s been bothering you,” said Harkavy with a sudden nicker of amused discovery. “That’s who, isn’t it?”

Leventhal dumbly nodded.

“Then what’s the mystery?”

“No mystery,” Leventhal muttered.

“Why do you need help with him? What does he want? I don’t understand how Shifcart comes into the picture.”

“Well, Dan, this Allbee is interested in scenario work and since he once got me an introduction at Dill’s he wants me to do the same for him with Shifcart, seeing he’s in the movie line. It’s mostly for the record that I’m doing it.”

“You know Shifcart has nothing to do with scenario. He deals with actors, talent.”

“Allbee thought he might have a connection somewhere. I didn’t think so, but he asked me, and I thought… Well, to tell you the truth, Dan, I didn’t know what to think. I had my doubts. But he did get me the interview with Rudiger. So I thought, ‘Well, let him go and see Shifcart. Why should I answer for Shifcart? I’ll show my good intentions and return the favor,’ and so on. That’s the story.”

“I don’t believe it. It seems to me that he’s got you on the merry-go-round.”

One of Mrs Harkavy’s plants stood behind Leventhal. He felt a leaf graze his hair as he shut his eyes and leaned backwards.

“How did he ever sell you such a bill of goods?” said Harkavy. “Where did he hear of Shifcart?”

“He happened to be at the house and saw a card of Shifcart’s.”

“So he keeps coming around. You must be encouraging him. I thought we came to the conclusion he was off his nut.”

“ You did!” Blindly roused, Leventhal flung out his arm. “You were the one. That was what you said. You compared him to your aunt.”

“Well, you’re impetuous tonight. Both of us came to the same conclusion.”

“No, no!” Leventhal refused to hear him. “I absolutely deny it. Absolutely!”

“Where did I get it from, if you didn’t say it? I can’t understand you. I haven’t seen the man. Anyhow, what’s the odds? Why should that be an issue? I can see you’re losing your bearings. Of course, you’ve got quite a little wine in your system; maybe that partly accounts for your funny behavior. Yes, it is very funny. I always thought you didn’t know how to take care of yourself. I can see this man has you eating out of his hand. He cornes around, you get excited when you talk about him, you’re going to send him to Shif cart…”

“I’d send him anywhere to get rid of him,” said Leventhal.

“There, you wouldn’t say anything like that unless you were in pretty deep. I can tell that you’re keeping back information; don’t have to be much of a mindreader to see that. I can’t help you any more than to remind you that you’re playing for keeps. You’re not a boy, any more.”

“Dan, you know Shifcart. This has to be done. Tell me…” He caught Harkavy’s hand.

“Take it up with him yourself.”

“Yes, I will, but I want to ask you…”

“We’d better go in. They must be waiting for us. We’ll discuss this tomorrow when your head is clearer and if you want to be open with me.”

The guests, all men, had taken off their jackets and were sitting in the high-backed chairs. In the kitchen door, talking with Mrs Harkavy, was Mr Schlossberg who had just arrived and was still wearing his brown topcoat. Leventhal said good evening to him and Schlossberg answered, “How are you?” He did not seem, however, to remember him. “Fourteenth Street a couple of weeks ago,” said Leventhal.

“His memory is bad,” Harkavy whispered. He drew Leven-thal into the row of chairs along the buffet.

Across the table, Leventhal recognized the possessor of the red hands he had watched during the card game. His name was Kaplan and his face, like his hands, was red and creased. He had a sharp blue squint, as though — Leventhal thought — he had made an effort to pierce heaven and distorted his eyes. Just now he was holding up a glass of brandy and saying, “Here’s to all.”

“Drink up,” someone said. “Next year in Jerusalem.”

Leventhal heard Julia say, “We had a children’s party last year. It was too nerve racking. This time we decided we would have older people.”

“Shall we begin eating?” asked Goldstone.

“We ought to have the cake brought in first,” Mrs Harkavy said. She explained to the company, “They weren’t very careful with it at the bakery. Some of the frosting came off with the wax paper. We did our best to repair it.”