me, what are you getting out of this?
A headache. A terrific headache and a look at your cunt. That ’ s about it.
Ah, you are doing it for idealistic reasons. You do it for literature. For altruism. You are a great American, a great humanitarian, and a great Jew.
I ’ ll give you ten thousand dollars.
Ten thousand dollars? I could use ten thousand dollars. But there ’ s no amount of money you could give me. Nothing would be worth it.
And you don ’ t care about literature.
I care about literature. I love literature. But not as much as I love to keep these things from him. And from her. You really think I am going to give you these stories so he can keep her in jewels? You really think that in New York he ’ s going to publish these stories under his father ’ s name?
Why shouldn ’ t he?
Why should he—what ’ s in it for html He ’ ll publish them under his own name. His beloved father is dead now ten times over. He ’ ll publish the stories under his own name and become famous in America like all you Jews.
I didn ’ t know you were an anti-Semite.
Only because of Sisovsky. If you would marry me, I would change. Am I so unattractive to you that you don ’ t want to marry me? Is his aging ingenue more attractive to you than I am?
I can ’ t really believe you mean all this. You ’ re an impressive character. Olga. In your own way you ’ re fighting to live.
Then marry me. if I am so impressive from fighting to live. You ’ re not married to anyone else. What are you afraid of— that I ’ ll take your millions?
Look, you want a ticket out of Czechoslovakia?
Maybe I want you.
What if I get someone to marry you. He ’ ll come here, get you to America, and when you divorce him I ’ ll give you ten thousand dollars.
Am I so revolting that I can only marry one of your queer friends?
Olga, how do I wrest these stories from you? Just tell me.
Zuckerman. if you were such an idealist about literature as you want me to be. if you would make great sacrifices for literature as you expect me to make, we would have been married twenty minutes already.
Is whatever Sisovsky did so awful that his dead father must suffer too?
When the stories are published in New York without the father ’ s name, the father will suffer more, believe me.
Suppose that doesn ’ t happen. Suppose I make that impossible.
You will outtrick Zdenek?
I ’ ll contact The New York Times. Before seeing Zdenek, I ’ ll tell them the whole story of these stories. They ’ ll run an article about them. Suppose I do that as soon as I ’ m back.
So that ’ s what you get out of it! That ’ s your idealism! The marvelous Zuckerman brings from behind the Iron Curtain two hundred unpublished Yiddish stories written by a victim of a Nazi bullet. You will be a hero to the Jews and to literature and to all of the Free World. On top of all your millions of dollars and millions of girls, you will win the American Prize for Idealism about Literature. And what will happen to me? I will go to prison for smuggling a manuscript to the West.
They won ’ t know the stories came through you.
But they know already that I have them. They know everything I have. They have a list of everything that everybody has. You get the idealism prize, he gets the royalties, she gets the jewelry, and I get se ven years. For the sake of literature.
Here she gels up from the bed. goes to the dresser, and removes from the top drawer a deep box for chocolates. I untie the ribbon on the box. Inside, hundreds of pages of unusually thick paper, rather like the heavy waxed paper that oily foodstuff ’ s used to be wrapped in at the grocery. The ink is black, the margins perfect. the Yiddish script is sharp and neat. None of the stories seems longer than five or six pages. I can ’ t read them.
[Back in bed) You don ’ t have to give me money. You don ’ t have to find me a queer to be my husband. [Beginning to cry) You don ’ t even have to fuck me, if I am such an unattractive
A headache. A terrific headache and a look at your cunt. That ’ s about it.
Ah, you are doing it for idealistic reasons. You do it for literature. For altruism. You are a great American, a great humanitarian, and a great Jew.
I ’ ll give you ten thousand dollars.
Ten thousand dollars? I could use ten thousand dollars. But there ’ s no amount of money you could give me. Nothing would be worth it.
And you don ’ t care about literature.
I care about literature. I love literature. But not as much as I love to keep these things from him. And from her. You really think I am going to give you these stories so he can keep her in jewels? You really think that in New York he ’ s going to publish these stories under his father ’ s name?
Why shouldn ’ t he?
Why should he—what ’ s in it for html He ’ ll publish them under his own name. His beloved father is dead now ten times over. He ’ ll publish the stories under his own name and become famous in America like all you Jews.
I didn ’ t know you were an anti-Semite.
Only because of Sisovsky. If you would marry me, I would change. Am I so unattractive to you that you don ’ t want to marry me? Is his aging ingenue more attractive to you than I am?
I can ’ t really believe you mean all this. You ’ re an impressive character. Olga. In your own way you ’ re fighting to live.
Then marry me. if I am so impressive from fighting to live. You ’ re not married to anyone else. What are you afraid of— that I ’ ll take your millions?
Look, you want a ticket out of Czechoslovakia?
Maybe I want you.
What if I get someone to marry you. He ’ ll come here, get you to America, and when you divorce him I ’ ll give you ten thousand dollars.
Am I so revolting that I can only marry one of your queer friends?
Olga, how do I wrest these stories from you? Just tell me.
Zuckerman. if you were such an idealist about literature as you want me to be. if you would make great sacrifices for literature as you expect me to make, we would have been married twenty minutes already.
Is whatever Sisovsky did so awful that his dead father must suffer too?
When the stories are published in New York without the father ’ s name, the father will suffer more, believe me.
Suppose that doesn ’ t happen. Suppose I make that impossible.
You will outtrick Zdenek?
I ’ ll contact The New York Times. Before seeing Zdenek, I ’ ll tell them the whole story of these stories. They ’ ll run an article about them. Suppose I do that as soon as I ’ m back.
So that ’ s what you get out of it! That ’ s your idealism! The marvelous Zuckerman brings from behind the Iron Curtain two hundred unpublished Yiddish stories written by a victim of a Nazi bullet. You will be a hero to the Jews and to literature and to all of the Free World. On top of all your millions of dollars and millions of girls, you will win the American Prize for Idealism about Literature. And what will happen to me? I will go to prison for smuggling a manuscript to the West.
They won ’ t know the stories came through you.
But they know already that I have them. They know everything I have. They have a list of everything that everybody has. You get the idealism prize, he gets the royalties, she gets the jewelry, and I get se ven years. For the sake of literature.
Here she gels up from the bed. goes to the dresser, and removes from the top drawer a deep box for chocolates. I untie the ribbon on the box. Inside, hundreds of pages of unusually thick paper, rather like the heavy waxed paper that oily foodstuff ’ s used to be wrapped in at the grocery. The ink is black, the margins perfect. the Yiddish script is sharp and neat. None of the stories seems longer than five or six pages. I can ’ t read them.
[Back in bed) You don ’ t have to give me money. You don ’ t have to find me a queer to be my husband. [Beginning to cry) You don ’ t even have to fuck me, if I am such an unattractive
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