Henry Roth - Mercy of a Rude Stream - The Complete Novels

“Oh, yeah.” Ira listened, contented and passive again.

“I’ve volunteered for the position,” Larry said.

“You have?”

“Yes. I’ll have to be nominated and elected at the next meeting, of course, and all that. But you can be sure nobody else wants the job.”

“Holy smoke. You just got yourself in for a lot.”

“That’s true.”

“Boyoboy.”

“It’s only once a month.” Larry’s countenance, so pensive, so level in response to Ira’s exuberance, crinkled into a playful and enticing smile. “I know somebody I can count on to help when the time comes to send out postcards.”

“What d’ye mean?”

“Don’t tell me you’ll let me down?”

“Oh. When?”

“Next term.”

“Gee. Me? Where?”

“Right here.”

“Oh. Okay. I was afraid for a minute.” Ira plainly showed his relief.

“Why?”

“I thought it was—” He gesticulated.

“I thought that’s what you meant. Edith wants to meet you anyway. She knows about you now.”

“What for?” Ira felt abashed at the very thought. “I’m CCNY.”

“Wouldn’t you like to meet her?”

“I don’t know. Jesus, I’m in biology.”

“Doesn’t make any difference. Come on, I’m a predent. It’s for anyone interested in creative writing. You can come as my guest to the next Arts Club meeting.”

“Nah. I don’t belong there. I’ll help you get the postcards off, but—” He grimaced extravagantly. “Leave me in pieces, will ye?”

“We’re having an important poet there next time. She’s giving a reading. Hortense L. You’ll enjoy it. She’s a very good lyric poet. What are you afraid of?” Larry changed tone of voice and mien. “Oh, come on, Ira! Honest, it’s an experience. And I want you to meet Edith.”

“Oh, God!” Ira cringed.

“She knows you’re shy. She’s a very fine, very sensitive and considerate person. All you have to do is say hello.”

“Yeah?”

“All right?”

“Why the hell do you want me there?” Ira was close to flaring up. “Seriously. I mean it. For Chrissake, I’m nobody. Jesus, you know how painful that goddamn thing is. You know how awkward I am. Why don’tcha leave me out of it? I’m happy.”

“Yes, but she’ll think it’s so strange — a close friend of mine, one I talk about all the time. I repeat your remarks. She says you sound very entertaining. So does Iola.” Larry’s voice rose to hold its own against Ira’s strenuous note. “Ira, you’re being childish.”

“All right, I’m childish.”

“Yes, but you’re not childish!”

“Then I’m Jewish.”

“Oh, cut it out! Listen, Ira. You’ve got to get over this business of—” The fingers of Larry’s large white hand splayed out. “This business of being Jewish. I just think you’re shy about meeting people.”

“All right, the one after this one. The next Arts Club meeting. Okay? I’ll earn my admission by helping you write postcards.”

Larry was about to turn away impatiently, but then in midmovement, to and fro abruptly, he said, “I’ll make a deal with you.”

“Yeah?” More worried than wary, Ira watched him.

“You know that English jacket I have, the one you call kasha-colored?”

“Yeah. Like those knickers I have.”

“Wait a minute.” In three strides Larry crossed the living room and entered the hallway. “I’ll be right back.”

Ira sat waiting. He became aware of an indistinct contralto voice humming in one of the rooms down the hall: the Hungarian maid’s voice? When had she come in, or had she been in her room all this time? There she went again, humming. Chrissake, that sounded like an American song: Titina, my Titina. Was it Larry’s sister? It must be. He had said the whole family had gone to Bermuda. Boy! Ira expelled despairing breath: sure, she was about three or four years older. What of it? Just imagine Mom and Pop going off for a week, and leaving him with Minnie. The prospect made his temples bulge.

“This isn’t fair.” Larry’s voice preceded him as he came back.

“What isn’t? Say, I heard somebody in the other end.”

“It was Irma.” Larry came in, bearing his oat-colored English jacket — so distinguished, with leather elbow patches. “She works for a designer. You know. They were just too busy. She was sleeping. Reading in her room. Sewing maybe.”

“Oh.” It was terrible, it was just terrible, that was all. “So what isn’t fair?”

“This isn’t fair,” Larry repeated. “But what the hell, all’s fair in love and war. You go to the next meeting of the Arts Club, it’s yours. It’s yours anyway.” A flush invaded his dappled cheek. “Try it on.”

Ira stood up. “Jesus, Larry.”

“All right, take yours off. Let’s see how it fits. It ought to. The sleeves have always been too short for me.” He slipped the garment up and over Ira’s arms to his shoulders. “Say, that’s — look at yourself. That’s better than I expected. Isn’t that good?”

The two surveyed Ira in the wall mirror.

“Boy, an English jacket,” Ira breathed, swelled with elation. “Boy, it really fits.” He bent his elbows toward the glass, hissed in pleasure at their reflection. “Real leather.”

It’s yours. I was just kidding about the deal.” Larry’s brown eyes were soft; affection played over his entire countenance. “I’m glad it fits as well as it does. Just a little bit shorter sleeves — be perfect.”

“It doesn’t matter. Boy, you sure you want to — to part with it?”

“I thought of keeping it till spring before I gave it to you,” said Larry. “You don’t have to wear it until you like. I mean, let’s forget the whole deal. It’s yours.”

“Oh, no. I’ll go.” Ira’s gaze traveled from the dark, buckwheat-colored tweed on his arm to the dark, buckwheat-colored tweed in the mirror. “Wait till Mom sees this.”

“Do you want to wear it home instead of yours?”

“Oh, no. Not till the Arts Club meeting. No, sir.” He was about to slip out of the jacket.

“Wait a minute,” Larry advised. “Hold it a second. . Irma?” he called down the hallway. “I know she’s up. Irma?” He waited for a reply. “Will you come here a minute? Please. . You don’t mind if she sees you in it?” He turned to Ira.

“No, I don’t care. I’ll bet she yells, ‘Robber, give it back!’”

A young woman with a full feminine figure, brunette, Irma shared a similarity of features with Larry, enough to make them easily recognizable as brother and sister. But Irma’s features lacked the almost perfect regularity of her brother’s, and her complexion was quite dark, while his was dappled and fair. Temperamentally, she was also far more matter-of-fact than Larry, prosaic and bored, in a sultry kind of way. She always made Ira think of the Yiddish word bukher , a guy, a suitor. There was never one in evidence, and maybe that was the trouble. But he was always on some tack or other like that, so he couldn’t trust his impressions. But what if he had a sister three or four years older than he was? Would she consider making shift with him for a while? You never knew; the funny thing was, sultry as she seemed — maybe she was too sultry, maybe too demanding; now that she stood right in front of him, he wasn’t sure how he would feel. He’d much rather have a go at Stella — of that he was sure. Minnie next.

“My, don’t we look grand.” Irma’s praise was tempered; still in her surprise at the sight of Ira in Larry’s jacket, she forgot to curl inward her very full, round lips. “Don’t we look distingué ?”

“Doesn’t he?”

“ Hic jacket,” Ira quoted uncomfortably.