The Family Moskat

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Authors: Isaac Bashevis Singer
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said. "You don't faint with ecstasy that I'm here, Shifra, my dear? After I went to the trouble of bringing you a present."
    He took a little box out of his pocket and handed it to her.
    Shifra wiped her hand with her apron before taking it, so as not to soil the gaily colored cover.
    "You never forget to bring something," she said. "And you shouldn't."
    "Never mind that female babble. Tell me, is her ladyship from Galicia here already?"
    "Yes, she's here."
    "And that daughter of hers?"
    "They're both in the salon."
    "What are you cooking there? I can smell it all the way out here."
    "Don't worry, it won't poison you."
    Abram took off his cape. His white starched cuffs protruded from his sleeves; diamonds twinkled from his gold cuff-links. He took off his hat and stood before a wall mirror to comb his long hair carefully over his bald spot. Asa Heshel got out of his overcoat, too. He was wearing a gaberdine, and a thin string tie was knotted around his soft collar.
    "Come along with me, young man," Abram said. "Nothing to be afraid of."
    The salon they entered was large. It had three windows. Gold-framed portraits of bearded, skullcapped Jews and their bewigged and bonneted wives hung on the walls. Wide easy chairs with long golden fringes stood about. In a corner there was a wall clock, elaborately carved. Rosa Frumetl was seated on a sofa covered with brocade. In one hand she held a small glass of brandy -40-and in the other a tiny cake. Near her was a low table with a telephone. Dacha, Nyunie's wife, an emaciated woman, dark as a crow, wearing a matron's wig, with a silk shawl over her shoulders, was talking into the mouthpiece.
    "What? Talk louder!" she was saying, in a flat accent, drawing out the vowel sounds. "I don't hear a word. What?"
    Adele sat at the piano at the other side of the room, wearing a pleated skirt and an embroidered white blouse with lace at the wrists, and a wide, old-fashioned starched collar. The sunlight shining through the curtains and hangings was reflected in her hair.
    Abram took Asa Heshel by the elbow as though to assure himself that the bashful youth would not flee.
    "Good morning, good day!" he called out. "Where is Nyunie?"
    Dacha, at the telephone, waved her hand. Adele put down the music score she had been leafing and stood up. Rosa Frumetl turned toward them.
    "What's the good of standing on ceremony?" Abram addressed Rosa Frumetl and her daughter. "My name is Abram--Abram Shapiro, Reb Meshulam Moskat's son-in-law."
    "I know, I know," Rosa Frumetl hastened to say, in her strong Galician accent. "He told me about you. This is my daughter, Adele."
    "Very honored," the girl murmured, in Polish.
    "This young man is someone I just met, Asa Heshel Bannet. A friend of the secretary of the synagogue on Tlomatska, a great Talmud scholar--very learned. Maybe you've heard of him. Dr.
    Shmaryahu Jacobi."
    "I think I have."
    A door opened and Nyunie came in. He was a small man, with a round belly and a huge head of hair on which a tiny skullcap was perched. The blond beard on his chin was carefully combed. He was wearing a wine-colored dressing-gown. Abram let go of Asa Heshel's elbow, leaped across the room to Nyunie, grabbed him by the waist, and lifted him up in the air, up and down, three times.
    Nyunie kicked back and forth, his small feet in well-polished slippers. Abram set him down on the floor, as though he were a dummy, and boomed out his thunderous laughter.
    "Greetings, my friend, my brother-in-law!" he shouted. "Give me five!" He held out his hand.
    -41-"Lunatic!
    Madman!" Nyunie gasped. "Who is this young man?"
    "What's going on here? What's everybody shouting for? Abram, stop carrying on!" Dacha had finished her telephone conversation and put down the instrument. "Who is this young man?" she continued, and held out her tapering fingers.
    "It's a long story. Here, I'll begin it from the beginning. He's a prodigy, a genius, a mathematician, a sage, a jack-of-all-trades.
    He's one of

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