Gregor von Rezzori - An Ermine in Czernopol

“Stop it, you rascal. Papa is happy when I leave him alone, assuming that he’d even recognize me if I went in there. My behavior is only out of consideration, you impudent rascal. Actually, you should take it as an example not to marry too old. Look, you’re almost forty. If you keep waiting another few years you shouldn’t be surprised if you wind up with a young wife when you’re seventy-five.”

“Can we change the subject, Mama,” said Baronet Wolf with cheerful tenderness. “You know there’s no sense in trying to convince me. You know what my heart says.”

“ Nebekh ,” replied the old lady. “You make me sick with your sentimentalities, by God. Take my advice and put it out of your head. And you better be on time for dinner tonight. The Fokschaners are coming.”

“With daughter, I presume?”

“Don’t be difficult. She has twenty million — at least.”

“If you need a new fur, Mama, all you have to do is tell me. You don’t have to work so hard to earn it, Frau Marthe Schwerdtlein!”

Mama Memores playfully threatened to whack him with the hot curling iron, and Wolf once again laughed and kissed her rings.

“Don’t be late, you cheeky thing!” she called after him as he hurried off.

In the hallway he paused in front of a dark mirror and carefully brushed his hair, then stepped into the study, where Usher Brill was waiting, visibly impatient.

“Please excuse my tardiness, Herr Brill,” said Wolf von Merores kindly. “We weren’t expecting you. May I offer you some cognac? My sympathies concerning the incidents last night, by the way. They should really take more energetic action. Kavalla cigar?”

Usher Brill observed him thoughtfully. “A fine yingl you’ve turned out, Leibish,” he said. “Manners like a count.” He rocked his pale reddish head. “That’s an unusual development with young people these days. But don’t go to any trouble on my account. I’d like to speak with Hirsh Merores.”

“I’m sorry, Herr Brill,” said Wolf. “You know that Papa hasn’t been receiving anyone for years.”

“And what is that? Too fine for everybody?” asked Brill. “Or does he have gout?”

“Papa has completely withdrawn from the world — it’s been some time now, Herr Brill. Please take the feelings of an old man into consideration. He is given almost exclusively to pious thoughts.”

“That’s quite a trick, with his career,” said Usher Brill.

“We don’t hide the fact that thanks to my aged father’s business acumen we have attained a certain wealth and standing,” said Wolf with dignity. “So it’s all the more praiseworthy if my old papa, following the faith of our fathers, expresses thanks for the blessings that have been bestowed upon us in such abundance. I assume that in an analogous case you, Herr Brill, would expect your son to exhibit the same respect for your feelings as I feel for my father’s. He’s a friend of mine, by the way. A very sympathetic young man.”

“I can imagine you’d like that lout,” said Brill, bitterly. “My whole life I’ve dreamt of having competitors that easy.”

“I wouldn’t know in what branch we might compete, Herr Brill,” answered Wolf, not without a tinge of irony.

“Jews are always competitors, by God,” Brill sighed heavily.

“Nobody is tougher than your own people. And toughest of all are your own children.”

“How may I be of service?” asked Wolf von Merores, slightly irritated but controlled.

“I want to speak with Hirsh Leib, not with you, you jackass. It’s information I need. This isn’t a matter for little boys still wet behind the ears.”

“As I said, I’m very sorry,” stated Wolf patiently. “Papa isn’t receiving. Incidentally, I’ve been familiar with the running of all the businesses for years now. Of course I don’t have the experience of my revered father. Nonetheless, I am in a position to offer information that is at least more up to date. What is it about, Herr Brill?”

Brill looked long and thoughtfully at young Merores, who withstood his gaze casually and calmly, with just a hint of old, knowing melancholy in his almond-shaped eyes.

“I don’t need any stock tips,” Brill said at last. “I need some information, yingl , you understand! For tips and other shmontses I’m smart enough myself. But confidential information is a matter for old people. I want to speak with Hirsh Leib.”

Wolf von Merores continued responding with his eyes full of old melancholy, while Brill went on: “Back then, when I was so young as you, we listened to the old people. We worked hand in hand and not against each other. The sons, they still learned from the experiences of their tatehs. From the old people they took the experience and put it into practice. These days the young people are quicker and brighter and more up to date than what their parents were, they’re already like that while they still go caca in their nightshirt. So the old folks can just sit in their room and daven. These days they aren’t worth anything anymore. The businesses are bigger and faster and everything is efficient. But for something solid, I, Usher Brill, still turn to the old people.”

Wolf von Merores got up. “Be so kind as to wait a minute, Herr Brill,” he said, before stepping out. “I’ll be right back.”

After a short while he came back. “Please come with me,” he said.

They went through the dark corridor to the rearmost wing of the house. Wolf stopped outside a door and listened, his hand on the handle, for the length of a few breaths, and then carefully opened the door. “Please step inside,” he whispered into Brill’s ear.

Usher Brill entered a room that was almost completely dark and crammed full with the most diverse pieces of furniture. The air was stuffy. Hirsh Leib Baronet von Merores was sitting at the end of a long table, blind, a tefillin box strapped to his forehead and a fringed tallis draped over his shoulders.

Brill couldn’t help but be gentle as he approached the old man, while Wolf carefully shut the door and stood there, waiting. Hirsh Merores mumbled a quiet singsong to himself, and after the two had waited for a while in vain for the blind man to notice them, Wolf finally went up to him, placed his hand gently on the old man’s shoulder, and said: “Papa, Usher Brill wants to speak to you.”

The blind man felt for the teffilin on his forehead and took it off. “Brill?” he asked, with a high-pitched, old-man’s voice. “Where is Usher Brill. I’m listening!”

“ Zayt mir gezint , Hirsh Leib Merores!” said Brill. “It’s been so many years since we’ve seen each other.”

“Brill?” the old man piped. “Where is Brill? I’m listening!”

“Here I am, Hirsh Merores, here!” said Brill, with urgency. “Here I am, standing in front of you, after many long years, to be asking a question, one old man to another …”

“Brill!” repeated old Merores, listening to the sound of the name. “Where is Usher Brill?”

“ Nu , where is he supposed to be if he’s talking to you right here!” said Brill, already a little impatient. He looked to Wolf Merores for help, but found only the same old melancholy in the younger man’s eyes.

“Here I am, Hirsh Merores,” he cried as loud as he could, “right here in front of you!”

Wolf von Merores placed a calming hand on his arm. “Please restrain yourself, Herr Brill. Papa is blind but not deaf.”

“Brill!” said old Merores, fading away. He began to sing quietly.

Usher Brill looked to Wolf Merores.

“Come on,” said Wolf. “Let’s leave the old man alone.”

He placed the tefillin straps in his father’s hand. “I’ll just turn on a little more light, Papa,” he said tenderly, then shoved the table lamp a little nearer and switched it on — a senseless waste of electricity, Brill thought to himself, but which seemed to calm the blind man.