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

And each one, affected in his or her own way by awe of the patriarchal invocation, all the assembled relatives, devoutly sealed his prayer with their “ O-omehn. ”

“ Gey gesinteheit. ” Zaida opened his arms.

“Thanks, Zaida.”

“ S’kimteh dir tockin a shekheyooni, Tateh. ” Whose voice was it that Ira heard behind his back as he turned to leave? Mamie’s, ever solicitous, protective where Zaida was concerned, no matter how lacking in sign of gratitude his response. Obese Mamie, alacritous to attend to his wants — his loyal daughter. She followed behind Ira down the hall to the door. “It’s a pity my Jonas isn’t here to view your Yiddishkeit with the others. How he would enjoy it. He was here celebrating the first day of Rosh Hashanah.” And as they reached the door, “The partners thought of closing the cafeteria for the holiday, but the neighborhood is so goyish , Saul said no. So the others went in the first day. Saul took cash, Harry behind the counter, Max cooked, and later Moe — so Joe had to take cash the second day. All day, my poor husband.”

“Always seemed to me one day was enough.”

“ Azoy id es shoyn. ”

“Yeah, G’bye, Mamie.”

“Greet Leah for me.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

Once again into the street, and striding toward the carbide pushcart lights under the trestle on Park Avenue— Oh, fare thee well, for ill fare I . Housman’s lines, spontaneous and succinct, welled up. Why did everything turn out so differently from what you expected? Jesus, it was supposed to be a joke, supposed to entertain the old boy. But it didn’t. The Yiddles at the pushcarts when he got there wouldn’t know the difference between him right now and another ehrlikher yeet , one who bound his phylacteries on his arm and brow in the morning, one who davened : swayed and prayed under his striped prayer shawl. He never expected to be reminded of it. Kid among the pushcarts on the East Side. Cheder yingle , commended for his glibness in making the right sounds to match the Hebrew characters on the page. Jesus, you met yourself all the time, really all the time. What did Hannah say about his becoming a rov , a rabbinical sage? Instead he was coming fresh from a goyish two-week holiday at Woodstock, with Larry and Edith, his English instructor-lover, older gentile woman from New Mexico. Boyoboy. Could you blame anyone for shaking his head in disbelief?

“ Bulbas, bulbas, sheineh bulbas! ” The bearded peddler stretched a hand out toward Ira, familiarly, enticingly, exhibited a large potato.

The guy’s trying to sell you potatoes. The next guy, tomatoes. Moe’s joke on himself when he first came to America: he took them for ripe plums: pomatoes. Ira began the ascent to 116th Street — you go to see Zaida to duck out of, you call it circumvent, Mom’s nagging that you go with her tomorrow morning to show off her sonny boy’s beard — and you lose the chance of a casual weekday gamble, yeah, gambol with Stella Monday night. But look at what it contrasts with: all that courtesy and politeness and tenderness he was witness to just this very morning, when Edith and Larry parted. Figure it out, and the nerve of you, transfixed by lust for Stella, in the same second you took Zaida’s kiss, his benison. Excruciating. No? The flesh wouldn’t stop.

Away from the hustle and chalky light below, he climbed upward, heard overhead a train, its wheels muted by the solid steel trestle. He headed down the incline past the squat brick comfort station at the summit of 116th Street, where the trestle seemed to dip nearest to the ground, how wonderful to see from there the trolley tracks, east-west trolley tracks gleaming at night as they passed by a hundred stoops and stores and a thousand people out Saturday-night shopping. Listen to the drone, way deep, steady. Tenor you call it, right? Tenor of the city.

What star was that, he paused to wonder, visible after he crossed the sidewalk, in the dark again between the tenements and the trestle: the uptown star he called it, came up first in September in constellation Bronx — Jesus Christ, it was different being a Jew, alienated — as Edith had used the word on one of those strolls — from other Jews — which Edith said he was, and Larry wasn’t. Alienated, not assimilated, alienated.

Nearing the show-window lights of Biolov’s drugstore, the ruby and cobalt amphorae casting their glow on the corner, he was almost home at last for supper, barley-mushroom soup, chicken fricassee, for a festive night it was.

IX

Ever since Ira had come back from Woodstock and had told Minnie — lied to her — that he had had intimacies with Edith, laid her in Woodstock, Minnie’s attitude toward her brother had undergone a change. And even though he later confessed that he had lied, and she laughed indulgently, and called him ligner , prevaricator, her attitude toward him had clearly shifted. Was it those few dates with Rodney, and the fact that he had wanted to propose to her? Or was it the beard that had wrought the change?

Suddenly, Minnie saw him as the man he had become, no longer her rapscallion brother, and affectionately she greeted her brother, not having seen him for such a long time.

“She hasn’t seen her brother in two weeks,” Mom explained Minnie’s warm demeanor.

“Not so. What are you saying?” Pop gainsaid. “Can’t you see? It’s her Yiddishkeit surging up in her. Noo , Minneleh?” he addressed her humorously. “Whether you like him or not, it’s his Yiddishkeit that appeals to you?” Pop chuckled again.

The transformation in her was startling. She disclosed a new, an actual fondness for him, in touch of hand, tone of voice, slapping his hand in homey caress. Her actions with him when everyone was home were impish, sportive — always traced with a slight, easing detraction of voice, or modified by her peculiar short chuckle, that ended in the faintest derisive snort, but still fond.

“Ira, I know it’s only been a summer, but I’ve become a grown woman, an adult. I’m no longer a girl you can have your way with. I’m in high school, Ira. Sometimes I think you still think of me as an object, as your kid sister.”

Reproach and sultriness mingled in her voice. “You only think about what you want. What about what I want? Did you ever think of that? Just when I’m starting to fall in love with Rod, my goyish friend, somebody I can’t marry, and it’s no use going on, and you come home looking like a man, like a real mensh . What d’ye think I’m gonna feel?”

He was silent.

“You know, my darling brother, I could tell you something, but I don’t wanna hurt your feelings, but you’re just like all the rest of the Farbs. You men only understand how to satisfy yourselves, nothing about love. Moe is different.”

“I’m not a Farb. I’m a Stigman,” Ira replied proudly. He paused as he drank another cup of coffee in the kitchen. “What about the Farbs?”

“Sadie Farb told Mama all about Harry: ‘It’s in and out with him, with my husband.’ Mama had to laugh.”

“Yeah?”

“And it’s the same with Saul. As soon as she puts on her corset Saul likes, it’s in and out with him. She thinks maybe he’s different with shiksas .”

“Mom told me about Saul too. So I’m not an athlete.”

“Athlete yet!” Minnie scoffed, waved him away.

Disbelief and fond forgiveness connected raised eyebrow to moue. “All right.” Minnie turned toward the bedroom door, un-provocatively. “Tell Mama to let me sleep a little. I’m really tired this morning.”

He sat down in the kitchen chair over which he had draped most of his clothes the night before, meditating, dressing slowly. Mom seemed to be taking longer this Sunday shopping — or paying her visit to Zaida at Mamie’s. His frustration was increasing. What if? Jesus, he’d break Mom’s heart. He would if he got caught — or they got caught. Pop couldn’t thrash him anymore. He was bigger than Pop. Order him out of the house maybe. Well, it almost didn’t matter. He’d break Mom’s heart. What the hell are you gonna do?