Read Online The Family Moskat by Isaac Bashevis Singer - Free Book Online
Authors: Isaac Bashevis Singer
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Nyunie's.
You'll be welcome. Come to think of it, there's a sort of gathering there today, a few guests. My father-in-law--may the law catch up with him--took it into his head to get married again--some woman from Galicia. That makes her my stepmother-in-law. She's got a daughter, that makes her--let's see--my wife's step--36-sister. Yes, the whole thing's finished--wrapped up and knotted with a double knot. Wife number the--"
"Please forgive me," Asa Heshel ventured after a slight hesitation.
"Maybe I'd better not go with you."
"What? Why not? Are you embarrassed, or ashamed? Listen to me, my boy, Warsaw isn't that one-horse village of yours--what do you call it, Tereshpol Junior? This is a place where you've got to show your face. And my brother-in-law is a simple man, and a bit of a scholar. And his daughter, Hadassah--she's a beauty. One look at her and you're finished. Believe me, if I wasn't her uncle, I'd go after her myself. Besides, maybe she'll be able to give you some tutoring. Just let me see how late it is. Exactly half past one. They eat dinner at two. They live on the Panska. A droshky'll take us there in no more than fifteen minutes. First I'll go into the restaurant over there and make a telephone call. I want to find out why that female kept me sweating. Come along and wait for me."
They crossed over to the other side of the street and through an all-glass door entered a large eating-place with red-painted walls and a profusion of mirrors. From the carved ceiling an elaborate crystal chandelier hung. Waiters with white napkins draped over their arms hurried back and forth. Their reflections repeated themselves on and on in the opposing mirrors. Someone was playing a pianoforte. There was the smell of brandy, beer, roast meats, and spices. A tall, heavy man, with a bald spot round as a plate and a smooth, red neck, was dipping his mustaches into a froth-topped mug. A little man with a serviette tucked in his collar bent over a plate of meat, making a clatter with his knife and fork. A girl with blond hair, in a white apron, her eyelids blued and her cheeks rouged, stood behind a buffet loaded with a variety of bottles, glasses, trays, and plates, pouring a greenish liquor from a carafe into a goblet. Abram went off somewhere.
Asa Heshel felt his head spinning, as if the mere vapors were making him drunk. The room seemed to sway and his vision dimmed. Suddenly a figure materialized in front of him, horrify-ingly familiar and at the same time puzzlingly strange. It was his own face, his own features he was seeing in a mirror near by.
"You!" he murmured to the reflection. "Beggar!"
The night before, he had shaved his face clean. But now a faint growth again covered his chin. The collar of his shirt was wrinkled. His Adam's apple moved about under the skin of his -37-throat. He had
bought an overcoat just before he left Tereshpol Minor, but in the brilliant light of the restaurant it seemed shoddy, too tight for him, with awkwardly fitting shoulders. The toes of his shoes curled upwards. Asa Heshel knew that it was only common sense to establish contact with the wealthy families to whom this stranger wanted to take him. Timidity, according to Spinoza, was an emotion one must struggle to overcome. But the longer he remained in this ornate restaurant, the meaner he felt himself. It seemed to him that everyone was looking at him, winking and smiling contemptuously. A waiter brushed against him. The girl at the buffet grinned, showing a mouthful of brilliantly white teeth. A mad impulse swept over him to open the door and run away. At that moment he saw Abram walking rapidly toward him, his approach reflected in the mirrors.
"All right, let's go!" Abram said. "It's getting late."
He took Asa Heshel's arm and went out with him. A droshky drew up. Abram pushed Asa Heshel before him, climbed into the carriage, and dropped onto the seat, the springs groaning un-der his massive posterior.
"Is it far?" Asa
You'll be welcome. Come to think of it, there's a sort of gathering there today, a few guests. My father-in-law--may the law catch up with him--took it into his head to get married again--some woman from Galicia. That makes her my stepmother-in-law. She's got a daughter, that makes her--let's see--my wife's step--36-sister. Yes, the whole thing's finished--wrapped up and knotted with a double knot. Wife number the--"
"Please forgive me," Asa Heshel ventured after a slight hesitation.
"Maybe I'd better not go with you."
"What? Why not? Are you embarrassed, or ashamed? Listen to me, my boy, Warsaw isn't that one-horse village of yours--what do you call it, Tereshpol Junior? This is a place where you've got to show your face. And my brother-in-law is a simple man, and a bit of a scholar. And his daughter, Hadassah--she's a beauty. One look at her and you're finished. Believe me, if I wasn't her uncle, I'd go after her myself. Besides, maybe she'll be able to give you some tutoring. Just let me see how late it is. Exactly half past one. They eat dinner at two. They live on the Panska. A droshky'll take us there in no more than fifteen minutes. First I'll go into the restaurant over there and make a telephone call. I want to find out why that female kept me sweating. Come along and wait for me."
They crossed over to the other side of the street and through an all-glass door entered a large eating-place with red-painted walls and a profusion of mirrors. From the carved ceiling an elaborate crystal chandelier hung. Waiters with white napkins draped over their arms hurried back and forth. Their reflections repeated themselves on and on in the opposing mirrors. Someone was playing a pianoforte. There was the smell of brandy, beer, roast meats, and spices. A tall, heavy man, with a bald spot round as a plate and a smooth, red neck, was dipping his mustaches into a froth-topped mug. A little man with a serviette tucked in his collar bent over a plate of meat, making a clatter with his knife and fork. A girl with blond hair, in a white apron, her eyelids blued and her cheeks rouged, stood behind a buffet loaded with a variety of bottles, glasses, trays, and plates, pouring a greenish liquor from a carafe into a goblet. Abram went off somewhere.
Asa Heshel felt his head spinning, as if the mere vapors were making him drunk. The room seemed to sway and his vision dimmed. Suddenly a figure materialized in front of him, horrify-ingly familiar and at the same time puzzlingly strange. It was his own face, his own features he was seeing in a mirror near by.
"You!" he murmured to the reflection. "Beggar!"
The night before, he had shaved his face clean. But now a faint growth again covered his chin. The collar of his shirt was wrinkled. His Adam's apple moved about under the skin of his -37-throat. He had
bought an overcoat just before he left Tereshpol Minor, but in the brilliant light of the restaurant it seemed shoddy, too tight for him, with awkwardly fitting shoulders. The toes of his shoes curled upwards. Asa Heshel knew that it was only common sense to establish contact with the wealthy families to whom this stranger wanted to take him. Timidity, according to Spinoza, was an emotion one must struggle to overcome. But the longer he remained in this ornate restaurant, the meaner he felt himself. It seemed to him that everyone was looking at him, winking and smiling contemptuously. A waiter brushed against him. The girl at the buffet grinned, showing a mouthful of brilliantly white teeth. A mad impulse swept over him to open the door and run away. At that moment he saw Abram walking rapidly toward him, his approach reflected in the mirrors.
"All right, let's go!" Abram said. "It's getting late."
He took Asa Heshel's arm and went out with him. A droshky drew up. Abram pushed Asa Heshel before him, climbed into the carriage, and dropped onto the seat, the springs groaning un-der his massive posterior.
"Is it far?" Asa
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