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Authors: Nathan Englander
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it for another.
“A toothless chisel for a toothless job,” he said. And, like a
shochet
, Kaddish ran his thumbnail along the cutting edge, searching for nicks. “An inscription half again as old as you are, Pato. Not a very long life for such a thing.”
When there was one good swing left to the job, Kaddish turned to his son and offered him the tools.
“I won’t do it,” Pato said.
“I’m pretty sure you will. You’re an easy mark, Pato. Always you say no, and always you come along.”
“Fuck you.”
“That you always say too. I’m your father, and I don’t even feel it anymore. Come, this is a big money job. Finish the name and this time I’ll give you real cash, a real cut.” Kaddish held out the hammer. “By thelooks of you, it’ll be painless—stoned out of your gourd.” When Pato wouldn’t take it, Kaddish placed the tools at his feet.
“It’s like you don’t hear me at all,” Pato said. “I won’t live your life, and I don’t understand why you’re living theirs.”
“Whose?” Kaddish said. He had no idea.
“The Jews,” Pato said. “They reject you since birth and you still play the role they gave you. A son of a whore for your own self is your concern, why would you want to be that for somebody else? Why not be done with them completely? Get out of this business and out of the neighborhood and start a new life.”
“You’ll see in time. There’s no running away,” Kaddish said. “If you do, when you’re old it’s much worse. You’ll forget your name. You’ll forget what you’re saying as the words come out of your mouth. Then, without anything left, you’ll remember who you are and you’ll find yourself afraid and alone among strangers. Better to struggle at home.”
Pato pointed up through the fence in the direction from which the sun would rise. It was almost dawn. “Why not finish before we get arrested?” he said.
Kaddish switched off the flashlight and dropped it in the bag. “Swing or we stay. We can go off to jail together for all I care.” He stood face-to-face with his son. “Take the swing and we get home safe and tomorrow you’ll have money to spend.”
“You can’t make me,” Pato said.
Except Kaddish thought that he could.
He snatched his son’s wrists and, with embarrassing ease, turned the boy around and pushed Pato down beneath him. He got in position before Pato had the sense to struggle.
Kaddish squeezed Pato’s narrow rib cage between his legs and put his whole weight on Pato’s back. He slipped his strong hands off Pato’s wrists and up around his son’s hands and, clamping down with those thick fingers, Kaddish forced Pato to pick up the chisel in one and the hammer in the other.
With all his strength, Kaddish forced Pato to move the tools in place, and with all Pato’s strength, Pato kept his father from wielding them.
“You’re insane,” Pato said.
“Swing and it will be over.”
Pato pushed one way and Kaddish pushed the other and neither one moved. “It’s a deadlock,” Pato said. “Let’s both let go on the count of three.”
“Then it wouldn’t be a deadlock anymore. It would be that you’d won. How about on three you finish chipping away at the name?”
“I know why you’re doing this,” Pato said. “I’m not going to be like you. I won’t live your life.”
“Swing,” Kaddish said. “Swing and it’s over, and you can play psychologist the whole way home.” He pressed his chin against Pato’s skull. “It’s for your own good,” is what Kaddish said.
They’d maximized their respective positions and both understood they’d arrived at the point of action. Their muscles were so long tensed there was almost a hum.
In the instant when Kaddish yanked the hammer hand back with all his might, Pato knew he’d been overpowered. His smart son, his university son, already had a strategy prepared. Stronger arm to stronger arm, he’d never defeat his father. But two hands against his
“A toothless chisel for a toothless job,” he said. And, like a
shochet
, Kaddish ran his thumbnail along the cutting edge, searching for nicks. “An inscription half again as old as you are, Pato. Not a very long life for such a thing.”
When there was one good swing left to the job, Kaddish turned to his son and offered him the tools.
“I won’t do it,” Pato said.
“I’m pretty sure you will. You’re an easy mark, Pato. Always you say no, and always you come along.”
“Fuck you.”
“That you always say too. I’m your father, and I don’t even feel it anymore. Come, this is a big money job. Finish the name and this time I’ll give you real cash, a real cut.” Kaddish held out the hammer. “By thelooks of you, it’ll be painless—stoned out of your gourd.” When Pato wouldn’t take it, Kaddish placed the tools at his feet.
“It’s like you don’t hear me at all,” Pato said. “I won’t live your life, and I don’t understand why you’re living theirs.”
“Whose?” Kaddish said. He had no idea.
“The Jews,” Pato said. “They reject you since birth and you still play the role they gave you. A son of a whore for your own self is your concern, why would you want to be that for somebody else? Why not be done with them completely? Get out of this business and out of the neighborhood and start a new life.”
“You’ll see in time. There’s no running away,” Kaddish said. “If you do, when you’re old it’s much worse. You’ll forget your name. You’ll forget what you’re saying as the words come out of your mouth. Then, without anything left, you’ll remember who you are and you’ll find yourself afraid and alone among strangers. Better to struggle at home.”
Pato pointed up through the fence in the direction from which the sun would rise. It was almost dawn. “Why not finish before we get arrested?” he said.
Kaddish switched off the flashlight and dropped it in the bag. “Swing or we stay. We can go off to jail together for all I care.” He stood face-to-face with his son. “Take the swing and we get home safe and tomorrow you’ll have money to spend.”
“You can’t make me,” Pato said.
Except Kaddish thought that he could.
He snatched his son’s wrists and, with embarrassing ease, turned the boy around and pushed Pato down beneath him. He got in position before Pato had the sense to struggle.
Kaddish squeezed Pato’s narrow rib cage between his legs and put his whole weight on Pato’s back. He slipped his strong hands off Pato’s wrists and up around his son’s hands and, clamping down with those thick fingers, Kaddish forced Pato to pick up the chisel in one and the hammer in the other.
With all his strength, Kaddish forced Pato to move the tools in place, and with all Pato’s strength, Pato kept his father from wielding them.
“You’re insane,” Pato said.
“Swing and it will be over.”
Pato pushed one way and Kaddish pushed the other and neither one moved. “It’s a deadlock,” Pato said. “Let’s both let go on the count of three.”
“Then it wouldn’t be a deadlock anymore. It would be that you’d won. How about on three you finish chipping away at the name?”
“I know why you’re doing this,” Pato said. “I’m not going to be like you. I won’t live your life.”
“Swing,” Kaddish said. “Swing and it’s over, and you can play psychologist the whole way home.” He pressed his chin against Pato’s skull. “It’s for your own good,” is what Kaddish said.
They’d maximized their respective positions and both understood they’d arrived at the point of action. Their muscles were so long tensed there was almost a hum.
In the instant when Kaddish yanked the hammer hand back with all his might, Pato knew he’d been overpowered. His smart son, his university son, already had a strategy prepared. Stronger arm to stronger arm, he’d never defeat his father. But two hands against his
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