Read Online The Invisible Bridge by Julie Orringer - Free Book Online
Authors: Julie Orringer
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the rue des Ecoles. It was the same club Jozsef had recommended when Andras had arrived. For 125 francs a week they received daily dinners that relied heavily upon potatoes and beans and cabbage; they ate in an echoing underground cavern at long tables inscribed with thousands of students' names. Andras delivered the news about Tibor in his Hungarian-accented French, struggling to be heard above the din. The others raised their glasses and wished Tibor luck.
"What a delicious irony," Rosen said, once they'd drained their glasses. "Because he's a Jew, he has to leave a constitutional monarchy to study medicine in a fascist dictatorship. At least he doesn't have to join us in this fine democracy, where intelligent young men practice the right of free speech with such abandon." He cut his eyes at Polaner, who looked down at his neat white hands.
"What's that about?" Ben Yakov said.
"Nothing,"
Polaner
said.
"What happened?" asked Ben Yakov, who could not stand to be left out of gossip.
"I'll tell you what happened," Rosen said. "On the way to school yesterday, Polaner's portfolio handle broke. We had to stop and fix it with a bit of twine. We were late to morning lecture, as you'll recall--that was us, coming in at half past ten. We had to sit in the back, next to that second-year, Lemarque--that blond bastard, the snide one from studio. Tell them, Polaner, what he said when we slid into the row."
Polaner laid his spoon beside the soup bowl. "What you thought he said."
"He
said
filthy Jews . I heard it, plain as day."
Ben Yakov looked at Polaner. "Is that true?"
"I don't know," Polaner said. "He said something, but I didn't hear what."
"We both heard it. Everyone around us did."
"You're paranoid," Polaner said, the delicate skin around his eyes flushing red.
"People turned around because we were late, not because he'd called us filthy Jews."
"Maybe it's all right where you come from, but it's not all right here," Rosen said.
"I'm not going to talk about it."
"Anyway, what can you do?" said Ben Yakov. "Certain people will always be idiots."
"Teach him a lesson," Rosen said. "That's what."
"No," Polaner said. "I don't want trouble over something that may or may not have happened. I just want to keep my head down. I want to study and get my degree. Do you understand?"
Andras did. He remembered that feeling from primary school in Konyar, the desire to become invisible. But he hadn't anticipated that he or any of his Jewish classmates would feel it in Paris. "I understand," he said. "Still, Lemarque shouldn't feel"-
-he struggled to find the French words--"like he can get away with saying a thing like that. If he did say it, that is."
"Levi knows what I mean," Rosen said. But then he lowered his chin onto his hand and stared into his soup bowl. "On the other hand, I'm not at all sure what we're supposed to do about it. If we told someone, it would be our word against Lemarque's.
And he's got a lot of friends among the fourth- and fifth-years."
Polaner pushed his bowl away. "I have to get back to the studio. I've got a whole night's worth of work to do."
"Come on, Eli," Rosen said. "Don't be angry."
"I'm not angry. I just don't want trouble, that's all." Polaner put on his hat and slung his scarf around his neck, and they watched him make his way through the maze of tables, his shoulders curled beneath the worn velvet of his jacket.
"You believe me, don't you?" Rosen said to Andras. "I know what I heard."
"I believe you. But I agree there's nothing we can do about it."
"Weren't we talking about your brother a moment ago?" Ben Yakov said. "I liked that line of conversation better."
"That's right," Rosen said. "I changed the subject, and look what happened."
Andras shrugged. "According to Vago, it's too early to celebrate anyway. It may not happen after all."
"But it may," Rosen said.
"Yes. And then, as you pointed out, he'll go live in a fascist dictatorship. So it's hard to
"What a delicious irony," Rosen said, once they'd drained their glasses. "Because he's a Jew, he has to leave a constitutional monarchy to study medicine in a fascist dictatorship. At least he doesn't have to join us in this fine democracy, where intelligent young men practice the right of free speech with such abandon." He cut his eyes at Polaner, who looked down at his neat white hands.
"What's that about?" Ben Yakov said.
"Nothing,"
Polaner
said.
"What happened?" asked Ben Yakov, who could not stand to be left out of gossip.
"I'll tell you what happened," Rosen said. "On the way to school yesterday, Polaner's portfolio handle broke. We had to stop and fix it with a bit of twine. We were late to morning lecture, as you'll recall--that was us, coming in at half past ten. We had to sit in the back, next to that second-year, Lemarque--that blond bastard, the snide one from studio. Tell them, Polaner, what he said when we slid into the row."
Polaner laid his spoon beside the soup bowl. "What you thought he said."
"He
said
filthy Jews . I heard it, plain as day."
Ben Yakov looked at Polaner. "Is that true?"
"I don't know," Polaner said. "He said something, but I didn't hear what."
"We both heard it. Everyone around us did."
"You're paranoid," Polaner said, the delicate skin around his eyes flushing red.
"People turned around because we were late, not because he'd called us filthy Jews."
"Maybe it's all right where you come from, but it's not all right here," Rosen said.
"I'm not going to talk about it."
"Anyway, what can you do?" said Ben Yakov. "Certain people will always be idiots."
"Teach him a lesson," Rosen said. "That's what."
"No," Polaner said. "I don't want trouble over something that may or may not have happened. I just want to keep my head down. I want to study and get my degree. Do you understand?"
Andras did. He remembered that feeling from primary school in Konyar, the desire to become invisible. But he hadn't anticipated that he or any of his Jewish classmates would feel it in Paris. "I understand," he said. "Still, Lemarque shouldn't feel"-
-he struggled to find the French words--"like he can get away with saying a thing like that. If he did say it, that is."
"Levi knows what I mean," Rosen said. But then he lowered his chin onto his hand and stared into his soup bowl. "On the other hand, I'm not at all sure what we're supposed to do about it. If we told someone, it would be our word against Lemarque's.
And he's got a lot of friends among the fourth- and fifth-years."
Polaner pushed his bowl away. "I have to get back to the studio. I've got a whole night's worth of work to do."
"Come on, Eli," Rosen said. "Don't be angry."
"I'm not angry. I just don't want trouble, that's all." Polaner put on his hat and slung his scarf around his neck, and they watched him make his way through the maze of tables, his shoulders curled beneath the worn velvet of his jacket.
"You believe me, don't you?" Rosen said to Andras. "I know what I heard."
"I believe you. But I agree there's nothing we can do about it."
"Weren't we talking about your brother a moment ago?" Ben Yakov said. "I liked that line of conversation better."
"That's right," Rosen said. "I changed the subject, and look what happened."
Andras shrugged. "According to Vago, it's too early to celebrate anyway. It may not happen after all."
"But it may," Rosen said.
"Yes. And then, as you pointed out, he'll go live in a fascist dictatorship. So it's hard to
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