Read Online St. Urbain's Horseman by Mordecai Richler - Free Book Online Page A

prison twice already, once for blackmail, and she told him about it.
    â€œAnd what does Jake say to that?”
    â€œHe thought Harry was bragging, and when he discovered it was true, he was impressed. It seemed so inventive and bitter,” and saying as much, she had to laugh too. So did Luke. “Who would have thought Hershel had the nerve, Jake said.” Harry, she added, had already approached
News of the World
to sell them the inside story after the trial.
    â€œAnd what did Jake say to
that?”
    â€œHe’s endlessly amused by it. Harry fascinates him.”
    â€œHe’s crazy.”
    Nancy tightened.
    â€œI’m joking. I mean it, well, affectionately. The whole damn thing is ridiculous. The lawyers will explain how he has always collected strays, that he was Harry’s benefactor, and how he had just flown over from the funeral in a distressed state and you were in Cornwall with the kids and –”
    â€œWhat if he wants to go to prison?”
    â€œOh, come off it, Nancy.”
    â€œBut you hardly know him any more, Luke.”
    â€œHe made it impossible. The jokes got more and more gritty. About my girls. My style of living. Everything. O.K., to put it coarsely, I’ve made it. But that doesn’t necessarily mean I’m corrupt. To see him was to apologize for myself. Especially the so-called name dropping. Hell, I’m no name dropper. I just happen to see those people all the time.”
    â€œBut he doesn’t.”
    â€œWe were like brothers once, you know. Shit. Would you care for another drink?”
    â€œI mustn’t.”
    â€œTry to think of it as funny.”
    â€œHa ha.”
    â€œIt isn’t now. I know, I know. But once it’s over – Oh, hell. We were young together,” he thought aloud, “full of hope and promise.”
    â€œNot all the candidates pass.”
    Which is what Jake had said.

8
    M RS. HERSH RAPPED ON THE WINDOW, SUMMONING Molly from the garden, and the two of them ate eggs and toast together, boiled not fried, because she knew better than to so much as touch the First Lady’s omelette pan again, it was so oily you could skate in it, but to have once given it the scrubbing it needed with hot water and soap was a criminal offense in her books.
    Then, once she had settled Molly into bed for her afternoon nap, Mrs. Hersh, still enduring hunger pangs, prepared herself a cup of instant coffee. She just happened to be standing by the living room window, she was not spying no matter what Nancy thought, when the car pulled up. A low-slung, very, very expensive type sports car. The man who slid out and walked around to open the door for Nancy (you bet she couldn’t turn the handle herself, the little
tzaske
) was taller than Jake, a skinny one, a
loksh
, with straw-colored hair and glasses.
    A
goy
.
    He embraced Nancy, he stroked her long black hair.
    â€œEverything’s going to work out.”
    â€œI mustn’t lose my milk.”
    Luke held her tight.
    â€œIf I lose my milk, I’ll hate him.”
    â€œYou won’t,” he said, rocking her. “You couldn’t.”
    â€œI’ll hate him no matter what, if I lose my milk.”
    Then, instinctively, Nancy looked up, saw her mother-in-law’s ashen face peering out of the window, and froze.
    â€œFuck!”
    Oy veh iz mir
. Mrs. Hersh retreated to the kitchen and sank into a chair, overwhelmed by hot flushes, her heart pounding. She heard the front door open, Nancy slip out of her coat, taking ages to hang it up, and then drift into the living room. Now there was the clink of a bottle against the glass-topped Italian table with the gold-painted flowery base. A cigarette lighter flicked, failed. Flicked again. Finally, Yankel’s Princess floated into the kitchen, delicately holding a glass in a hand with long silvery fingernails. Three children and still she managed the hairdresser once a week and witch’s