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Authors: Taylor Caldwell
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baby. But Morris has got cancer; in the brain. They can’t do nothing about it. All those cyclotrons and X-rays. Maybe Morris got careless. Nobody knows. The cancer’s slow-growing, they tell me. Maybe a few months more, maybe another year. They pat me on the back, and the old doctor breaks down, and I got to comfort him! Funny, eh, and Morris is my boy!
“Morris? He’s still alive. I go to see him last week, and I says to him, ‘Morris, come home. You look like a skeleton. Come home with Papa, Morris’. And he says, ‘Papa, don’t you know I must be about God’s business?’ That’s what he says. And what can I say?
“I can’t sleep. The telephone’s by my bed. I look at it in the store. Any day. Any minute. They don’t know. And Morris is working in the hospital, like he’s in good health. ‘God’s business!’ Any minute. He’ll work till he dies. Saving people. With all that pain! And knowing he’s going to die. Any minute.”
Barney folded his arms on his knees and bent his head upon them and moaned over and over. The light increased about him. He looked up, dazed.
Then he got to his feet. “Anyway, I feel better, just telling you, you a doctor, too. I’ve got to go back. Maybe there’s a telephone call. Who knows? I tell you, it’s like something bleeding away inside, waiting. Only a father can understand. You a father? Only a father, watching his son suffer, waiting for him to die. Because he lived for other people and not himself. You know something? I can’t go to the temple now. I’m scared I’ll start screaming.”
Barney hesitated. He looked shyly at the curtains. And then at the button. Then slowly he approached the curtains and pushed the button.
The curtains flowed aside instantly, and Barney stepped back, trembling. He stood and looked, with the tears on his cheeks.
He said very gently, “Yes, I guess your father knew what it was like. Just like me. Yes, I guess so. So, I guess I’m not alone, after all.”
He gravely put on his hat. “I see, Landsman, that they put another kind of yarmilke on you, didn’t they? They always do. They always do.”
He went to the door, turned and looked at who stood in the light. “I guess, maybe, I’ll go to see my rabbi. The store can wait. Even the telephone. God and me, we’ve got ‘business’ too.”
SOUL SIX
The Magdalene
Wherefore I say to thee, her sins many as they are,
shall be forgiven her, because she has loved much. . .
Luke 7:47
Mary Lanska came softly into the sitting room, carrying her flowers. It was almost midnight, and, as she hoped, there was no one else there. She dropped her little note in the box and sat down to wait. It was so warm and pleasant here, this Holy Saturday night before Easter. She looked at the flowers in their large porcelain holder with that funny sort of stuff, she thought, like cotton, they put in there to keep the water. She bent her head to smell the flowers. They had cost all her tips in the restaurant for the past week. Beautiful! She loved flowers. They were much better than a lot of people. She did not know the names of all of them, but she recognized daffodils and iris and white lilies and innocent fringed daisies. They exhaled a sweet deep perfume in the lighted quiet. She hugged them to her gently, kissed the cool lip of a lily. They had cost her a lot, but flowers were expensive at Easter. She hoped the man who listened in the other room liked flowers too. They were all she had to give him.
He must be a good man, she thought. She’d read about him in the papers. No one had ever seen him, or if they had they hadn’t told. But he was very kind, and he never lectured anybody. All he did was listen. Well, that was enough; it was more than enough. He’d help her find out what to do. She was sure of it.
She sighed. It would be nice to go home to Mass tomorrow. But Father Stephen was dead now. Besides, he would be
“Morris? He’s still alive. I go to see him last week, and I says to him, ‘Morris, come home. You look like a skeleton. Come home with Papa, Morris’. And he says, ‘Papa, don’t you know I must be about God’s business?’ That’s what he says. And what can I say?
“I can’t sleep. The telephone’s by my bed. I look at it in the store. Any day. Any minute. They don’t know. And Morris is working in the hospital, like he’s in good health. ‘God’s business!’ Any minute. He’ll work till he dies. Saving people. With all that pain! And knowing he’s going to die. Any minute.”
Barney folded his arms on his knees and bent his head upon them and moaned over and over. The light increased about him. He looked up, dazed.
Then he got to his feet. “Anyway, I feel better, just telling you, you a doctor, too. I’ve got to go back. Maybe there’s a telephone call. Who knows? I tell you, it’s like something bleeding away inside, waiting. Only a father can understand. You a father? Only a father, watching his son suffer, waiting for him to die. Because he lived for other people and not himself. You know something? I can’t go to the temple now. I’m scared I’ll start screaming.”
Barney hesitated. He looked shyly at the curtains. And then at the button. Then slowly he approached the curtains and pushed the button.
The curtains flowed aside instantly, and Barney stepped back, trembling. He stood and looked, with the tears on his cheeks.
He said very gently, “Yes, I guess your father knew what it was like. Just like me. Yes, I guess so. So, I guess I’m not alone, after all.”
He gravely put on his hat. “I see, Landsman, that they put another kind of yarmilke on you, didn’t they? They always do. They always do.”
He went to the door, turned and looked at who stood in the light. “I guess, maybe, I’ll go to see my rabbi. The store can wait. Even the telephone. God and me, we’ve got ‘business’ too.”
SOUL SIX
The Magdalene
Wherefore I say to thee, her sins many as they are,
shall be forgiven her, because she has loved much. . .
Luke 7:47
Mary Lanska came softly into the sitting room, carrying her flowers. It was almost midnight, and, as she hoped, there was no one else there. She dropped her little note in the box and sat down to wait. It was so warm and pleasant here, this Holy Saturday night before Easter. She looked at the flowers in their large porcelain holder with that funny sort of stuff, she thought, like cotton, they put in there to keep the water. She bent her head to smell the flowers. They had cost all her tips in the restaurant for the past week. Beautiful! She loved flowers. They were much better than a lot of people. She did not know the names of all of them, but she recognized daffodils and iris and white lilies and innocent fringed daisies. They exhaled a sweet deep perfume in the lighted quiet. She hugged them to her gently, kissed the cool lip of a lily. They had cost her a lot, but flowers were expensive at Easter. She hoped the man who listened in the other room liked flowers too. They were all she had to give him.
He must be a good man, she thought. She’d read about him in the papers. No one had ever seen him, or if they had they hadn’t told. But he was very kind, and he never lectured anybody. All he did was listen. Well, that was enough; it was more than enough. He’d help her find out what to do. She was sure of it.
She sighed. It would be nice to go home to Mass tomorrow. But Father Stephen was dead now. Besides, he would be
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