Saul Bellow - The Victim

Leventhal did not stir his face from the cup. “We went over that yesterday. I told you about Dill’s .”

“He must have you by the tail.”

Leventhal reflected, “This is just curiosity on his part. Why should I satisfy it? That Sunday when he could have helped me out he went away with Goldstone and his friends, and now, because he’s itching to know, I should talk.” He resolved to give him no satisfaction. Nevertheless, the saucer shook in his hand and he held it against his chest, bending his head until folds of skin appeared under his chin and along his jaw. He meditated on his weakness. How weak he was becoming. Even Harkavy could make him tremble.

“How come you changed your mind about him? You said he was loony.”

“No, you did.”

“On your information. What you told me was all I had to go by. It looks as if he really did a job on you, sold you a bill of goods.”

Leventhal doggedly refrained from answering. He kept his head down with a look of worn endurance.

Harkavy persisted. “Didn’t he?”

Leventhal drew his lips against his teeth as he wiped his mouth. “I must have wanted to buy,” he said.

“It’s beyond me. When you came to talk to me about him, you were mad enough to hang him. He was accusing you of some crime and blaming you for what happened to his wife and what not. Now you want to send him to Shifcart with a reference. And unless I’m mistaken you were fishing for me to help you. I couldn’t believe my ears when you asked me about Shifcart. What kind of impression will a man like that make on him? And why do you let him hang around? Didn’t you tell me he picked up Shifcart’s card at your house? Besides, you know Shifcart can’t do anything for him.”

“I suppose not.”

“And where does he get the idea that Shifcart can help him?”

Though he knew he was making a mistake, Leventhal said, and to some extent it was involuntary, “I think he believes it’s all a Jewish setup and Shifcart can pull strings for him… Jews have influence with other Jews.”

“No!” Harkavy cried. “No!” His hands flew to his head. “And you’re trying to do something for him? You’re willing, regardless? Boy, do you know what this does to my opinion of you? Are you in your right mind?”

His horror shook Leventhal.

“Look, Dan, I don’t want to go into this any further. Don’t push me. I asked you about Shifcart. You told me what you think… Let that be the end of it.”

“But how does he do it?” Harkavy’s voice rang. “What’s he got on you? Is it blackmail? Have you done something?”

“No, nothing… I’ve been having a lot of trouble. My family — you heard about that. And Mary’s away, that’s been hard on me, too. My nerves aren’t in very good shape. I feel I’ve been trying to throw something off. You aren’t being very helpful. Just let me alone to handle this in my own way.” This was a great deal for him to say; it was exorbitant, like a plea. His hands were less steady than ever. He set down the coffee, splashing some of it into the saucer.

“What’s between you? How does he work you? First you come to complain about him. Next thing I know he sounds like the Protocols, but it’s all right with you.” He furiously pounded the metal table, his face and his elongated throat flaming. “Influence with Jews!” he shouted.

Leventhal silently reproached himself. “That was a real mistake. I shouldn’t have said that. Why did I let it slip out? I’m not even sure Allbee means that.”

To Harkavy, he said, “Don’t fly off the handle. I realize it seems bad, but you don’t know the facts. I can judge this better than you.” He kept his voice low in order to control it.

“The facts? What are you letting this man do to you? Are you going off your rocker?”

“Don’t be foolish, Dan,” he cried. “I know you mean well, but you’re being carried away. And please remember my mother before you say a thing like that. You know about my mother. I told you about her as friend to friend. The meaning of it hasn’t sunk in.”

This silenced Harkavy briefly. He seemed to scowl. In reality he was clearing his throat. After considering him for a while he said, “Well, you are a privileged character. You’re the only man living whose mother lost her mind and died.” Immediately he changed his tone, clapping his hands sharply. “As friend to friend, what are the facts? This thing about Shifcart is such nonsense it isn’t even worth talking about. But you, you must be in a trance. Tell me, what’s going on. Just look at you!”

“What’s the matter?”

“You look like the devil.”

“Do I? Well, I told you. There was the kid’s death, first of all.”

“You were more honest when you were drunk, last night. You admitted that you wanted to get the man off your neck. Don’t hide behind the child. That’s not good. It’s dishonest. Wake up! What’s life? Metabolism? That’s what it is for the bugs. Jesus Christ, no! What’s life? Consciousness, that’s what it is. That’s what you’re short on. For God’s sake, give yourself a push and a shake. It’s dangerous stuff, Asa, this stuff.”

Leventhal looked at Harkavy in blank perplexity.

“Well, I’m damned if I can see it,” he finally said. “In the first place, when I came to you, you were the one who told me about Williston…”

“And?”

But Leventhal would not continue.

“And? What next?” said Harkavy, sitting forward.

There was a short pause and then Leventhal said, “Say, I’ve got to have that aspirin.” He rose.

“All right, you don’t want my help. I can’t make you take it. God bless you. You had a chance to unburden yourself and get some advice. How many friends have you got?” He put a slice of bread in the toaster and rammed down the lever.

Among the bottles of lotion and cologne and the powder boxes in Mrs Harkavy’s medicine chest, Leventhal found the aspirin and swallowed a tablet with a sip from the tap. He filled the sink with warm water and pushed back his sleeves; the light green color gave him a kind of pleasure. He dipped in his hands and then glanced at the tub with its thick nickled spout. The linen closet stood open, giving out a dry perfume of soap. Leventhal took a towel and let the metal stopper fall. “I’m going to take a bath, if you don’t mind,” he called to Harkavy.

“Go ahead.”

The faucet ran loudly and Leventhal shut the door and began to undress. The room grew hot. He sat on the edge of the tub in the roar of the steaming water and lathered his hairy dark body, energetic and all absorbed. The tumult of the faucet relieved him, for some reason. As he lay back in the charge and sway of the water, he observed to himself, as if in compliment, “He didn’t get anything out of me.” He stroked his chest, releasing tiny bubbles from the hairs. “I’ll be better off taking care of things by myself,” he thought. He turned off the cold tap and the hot water ran on, green with a white inner shape and a thread of vapor.

He wondered what success Max was having with Elena. He was concerned for him, of course, but he worried mainly about Philip whom, if it turned out that Max was wrong about Elena, he would go to any lengths to save. He postponed thinking about himself. Eventually he would have to — provided that Max was right about Elena and he wrong. The reason for a mistake like that could not be neglected; it had to be dug out. But dug out when he had the strength for the operation, not now. A ring of soap, melting from the bar in his hand, spread over the water.

While he dried himself, his heart beat rapidly. However, his headache was almost gone, and he felt freshened and almost cheerful. He went into the kitchen. Harkavy had set out plates and was scrambling some eggs.