Ghita Schwarz - Displaced Persons

“He stepped out.”

“Excuse me?” said Berel.

“He stepped out. He isn’t here.” The young man worked his brows together. He said, loudly, “Not here.”

“Excuse me,” said Berel. “Excuse me,” he repeated, gaining time for the sentence he wanted to squeeze from his mouth. “Please, em, Yiddish?”

“No,” shouted the young man. “ Nein .”

Berel’s chin began to itch. What was the English word for Polish ? He had no idea. But that was stupid; if the man knew Polish, he would understand. “Popolsku?” Berel tried.

“One minute,” yelled the young man. “Just a minute.” And disappeared into the back.

Berel stood still at the counter. There was a small fan near the cash register and a large fan near one of the three-way mirrors. The streams of air hitting each other collided at the back of his head and cooled the sweat behind his ears.

A smaller, older man came out. Good. The man put out a pale, wide hand. Pavel isn’t here, he said in Yiddish. I am his cousin Mayer.

Berel shook his hand. Berel Makower. My son-in-law sent me here to look for a suit. Chaim Traum.

Wonderful, said Mayer. Yes, Chaim. He’s a good customer.

I am here from Israel. On a visit.

Wonderful, repeated Mayer. Wonderful. So! He stood up a little straighter. We now do a little custom work, but of course this takes quite some time. What is your preference?

Oh, said Berel. He managed a polite smile. I can look at what you have ready. I don’t know how long I will be here.

Mayer led Berel to a rack of thin gabardines. These are right for any weather. Even the midsummer if you have air-conditioning. Thin, airy, but warm enough for winter. Really, the best material.

He took out a measuring tape from his pocket, then circled Berel’s neck. Berel shook a little: it tickled.

Stand still! Mayer muttered, sharply. He roped Berel’s waist, then bent to the floor, stretching the tape at the inside of Berel’s thigh and up the length of ankle to hip. Let’s go, he said. He had written nothing down, but at the rack he shuffled through the almost identical hues of dark colors and handed hanger after hanger to Berel, who waited by him.

Between them they carried ten suits, navy and brown and beige and gray, into an area divided off from the center of the shop. Mayer kept talking as Berel pushed off his shoes and removed his trousers: the business that wasn’t so good in New York summer, the heat that wasn’t so bad, the Hungarians who had moved into his block in Midwood, the chance he had to move to his own little shop in a few months. Berel gave nods and smiles of encouragement, then put on the first suit: double-breasted, dark blue with thin, faint maroon stripes.

Wonderful, said Mayer.

In his socks Berel slipped over to one of the three-way mirrors. The cuffs of the pants turned over around his ankles; so as not to rip or stain, he lifted the cloth at the thighs as he walked, like a woman in long skirts.

He paused before the center panel of the mirror. Under the wide set of buttons his chest and belly seemed enormous, and his neck emerged like a bent branch, small and fragile. He could see Mayer behind him in the reflection, but Berel turned around to look at the tailor directly. Do you have something simpler?

Of course! Mayer riffled through the remaining nine suits hanging on the hook of the wall. He pulled out something in gray, dark and polished, like the tip of a pencil. It had a row of black buttons up the chest and one button at each wrist.

Berel pulled the pants up, tightened the zipper. The lining of the pants felt cool against his legs. He removed the jacket from its hanger with care. The jacket created a tiny breeze as it lapped against his chest. Mayer leaned over and pulled the shoulders out from each end.

Beautiful, said Mayer.

Berel moved to the mirror. These pants weren’t so wide. And the jacket, it fit perfectly. He looked tall and elegant, his metal gray hair floating above the dark collar, his shoulders broad but not heavy, his legs-was it possible?-longer, steadier under the vents at each side of the jacket.

“I’ll take it,” said Berel, in English: he had heard this in stores.

Mayer laughed. We can alter it for you and have you pick it up, or you can wait and we’ll do it now.

Now is good, said Berel. How much will it cost?

Mayer told him.

It was more than a month’s salary, but Berel kept his face blank. A good price.

Well, it’s actually quite high for us, but the quality makes it worth it. You’ll have it for years. Mayer was bent again, pinning the ankles. Do you want cuffs at the ankles? Or just plain?

Plain, said Berel.

He went back to the stool where his own clothes lay folded and began to undress. Mayer took the pants from him and walked away. You take your time, he called to Berel. We’ll be at least twenty minutes.

Berel sat on the stool in his trousers and shirt. He felt a bit cold. The buses and taxis outside honked like animals in a zoo. He could hear the people on the street chattering nonsensically, louder and louder. The door to the shop opened and closed, opened and closed. A bell rang out whenever someone stepped across the doormat. There was chattering inside too.

Pan Berel. Berel looked up. A man who looked bitingly familiar. His head was narrow, his eyes large, his face thin, one cheekbone slightly flatter than the other.

Pavel Mandl, said the man. A good friend of your son-in-law. He told me you were coming, but I did not know when.

Berel lifted himself up and shook hands. Good day.

I see you’ve picked out something exquisite. You have good taste!

Berel swallowed, and smiled. You have very nice things. He stepped back for a moment. The man’s voice.

I’m glad you decided to wait. So I could meet you-

What is to meet? Berel thought.

Mandl was going on and on, almost hoarse. Chaim-I love him like a brother!

Then it came to Berel. I know! he blurted. We have met! In Belsen. And immediately a blush began to come over him. He tried to push up a tear to his eye, make it look like he was overcome with something other than a sudden shame.

Pavel Mandl stood still. Ah! he cried, slapping a hand to his cheek. My God! You-of course-you-you performed the marriage ceremony for my sister! To Jakub! In our house-my God-

Of course, of course. Outside the camp. You were one of the few who lived like a real-it was the first time my wife and I had been in a living room in-

Berel Makower, your name! But Chaim did not tell me-he married so quickly in Israel -I never knew his father-in-law was a rabbi!

Berel smiled, still nervous. He would not be found out, not now. What was it, Pan Mandl, twenty years ago?

What a wonderful coincidence! What a joy!

Berel was always a terrible liar. And if he remembered correctly, this Mandl had some scholarly background. What if he began to converse about some Talmudic problem Berel would not even begin to remember? What a crazy thing he had done, performing a false religious ceremony for a young couple. For what, a bit of money and a visit to a house?

Berel stood up straight, tried to affect a tone of sadness. Yes, well-what I work in now-and I went through a period of, well-I no longer am so-and I hadn’t quite finished all my-you know, so many of us lost faith, after-

But Pavel did not hear what Berel tried to say. That Chaim!

Yes, nodded Berel, his face cooling. He did not even warn me that we knew each other.

Pavel bent toward Berel. I think sometimes he forgets his past. Not forgets, exactly-he was always very intelligent-it is just that his mind is somewhere else, he doesn’t like to go back-and we love your daughter, from the moment we met her, we said-Chaim was even smarter than we thought!