Read Online When We Argued All Night by Alice Mattison - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Alice Mattison
Tags: Historical
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spent another evening with Mary, this time including a movie in between the sandwich and the sex, and again Mary didnât laugh. But Harold was bored with her, and since his purpose had been achieved, he couldnât come up with the wish to see her again. Surely she wouldnât mind: her interest in him was charitable. He was startled when he received a letter from her a month later, asking if sheâd done anything wrong, apologizing. The letter confused him, and he didnât answer it. He decided it was a kind gesture, designed to make him feel as if heâd dropped her instead of being dropped. Of course, in a sense he had dropped her, but only in a sense.
Some women said no to Harold, but more than he expected said yes. They did not laugh in his presence. He reflected that there must be even worse lovers around than he, whom women did laugh at openly.
He noted that the women he approached were rarely Jewish. He felt more Jewish, himself, as years passed, and spent gloomy hours wondering exactly what heâd be doing at the present moment if he lived in Germany. The women he dated were surprised when he told them that Jews were no longer permitted to attend German universities or that their passports had been made invalid. One womanâs face took on an abstracted, spiritual look, like Joan of Arcâs, when he told her about a story heâd seen in the Times that weekâit was March of 1938, just after Hitler had annexed Austriaâreporting that in a few weeks Germans would vote in a plebiscite. Naturally, Jews would not be permitted to vote. Voters would be asked a question Harold had memorized: Are you German, do you belong to your Germany and its Adolf Hitler or have you nothing to do with us? He waited for a reaction, but his date seemed too stunned to reply.
Then she reached across the table; they were having coffee in a little place not far from the Metropolitan Museum. Harold felt a momentary triumph when she touched him, then was horrified to feel triumphant and pulled his hand back. Deriving personal benefit from her outrage at Hitler was a trick as contemptible as the tricks of the Nazis themselves. He would have nothing further to do with this woman; she was a decent person and he didnât deserve her.
4
U nlike Haroldâs girlfriends, Evelyn Shapiro truly didnât count, according to Artie, who had been taking walks and eating ice cream with her for years. Heâd never bought her more than a soda. Evelyn, whom heâd met in the neighborhood, had graduated from Hunter College at the worst of the Depression and could get a job only in her uncleâs shoe store. Youâd be surprised how many people have ugly feet, she said to Artie. Bumps, corns, squashed toes.
âDonât they wear socks?
âNot for fancy shoes.
The store sold good shoes and Evelyn got substantial discounts. Artie liked the way her legs looked in high heels with little straps, but he also liked taking long walks. When Evelyn said her feet hurt, he teased her, offering to buy her shoes just like his own. Except for her shoes, she was practical, with wavy hair and a round face. Her big breasts made Artie sick with longing, but that was late at night on the sofa he slept on in his parentsâ crowded apartment, where his married brothers got the bedrooms. When he was with her, Evelynâs breasts were under blouses and jackets. Heâd often rest an arm on her shoulders and even stroke her neck, but that was all.
One summer night Artie and Evelyn walked all the way to the reservoir in Highland Park, past the tennis courts where Artie spent Saturdays and Sundays if possible. Then they walked around the reservoir and back home, stopping for ice cream cones. Artie began complaining. Beatrice London had threatened to give him fewer classes to teach in the fall. He couldnât get away from her. The ice cream was spoiled by anger, and before he finished his cone, he dropped
Some women said no to Harold, but more than he expected said yes. They did not laugh in his presence. He reflected that there must be even worse lovers around than he, whom women did laugh at openly.
He noted that the women he approached were rarely Jewish. He felt more Jewish, himself, as years passed, and spent gloomy hours wondering exactly what heâd be doing at the present moment if he lived in Germany. The women he dated were surprised when he told them that Jews were no longer permitted to attend German universities or that their passports had been made invalid. One womanâs face took on an abstracted, spiritual look, like Joan of Arcâs, when he told her about a story heâd seen in the Times that weekâit was March of 1938, just after Hitler had annexed Austriaâreporting that in a few weeks Germans would vote in a plebiscite. Naturally, Jews would not be permitted to vote. Voters would be asked a question Harold had memorized: Are you German, do you belong to your Germany and its Adolf Hitler or have you nothing to do with us? He waited for a reaction, but his date seemed too stunned to reply.
Then she reached across the table; they were having coffee in a little place not far from the Metropolitan Museum. Harold felt a momentary triumph when she touched him, then was horrified to feel triumphant and pulled his hand back. Deriving personal benefit from her outrage at Hitler was a trick as contemptible as the tricks of the Nazis themselves. He would have nothing further to do with this woman; she was a decent person and he didnât deserve her.
4
U nlike Haroldâs girlfriends, Evelyn Shapiro truly didnât count, according to Artie, who had been taking walks and eating ice cream with her for years. Heâd never bought her more than a soda. Evelyn, whom heâd met in the neighborhood, had graduated from Hunter College at the worst of the Depression and could get a job only in her uncleâs shoe store. Youâd be surprised how many people have ugly feet, she said to Artie. Bumps, corns, squashed toes.
âDonât they wear socks?
âNot for fancy shoes.
The store sold good shoes and Evelyn got substantial discounts. Artie liked the way her legs looked in high heels with little straps, but he also liked taking long walks. When Evelyn said her feet hurt, he teased her, offering to buy her shoes just like his own. Except for her shoes, she was practical, with wavy hair and a round face. Her big breasts made Artie sick with longing, but that was late at night on the sofa he slept on in his parentsâ crowded apartment, where his married brothers got the bedrooms. When he was with her, Evelynâs breasts were under blouses and jackets. Heâd often rest an arm on her shoulders and even stroke her neck, but that was all.
One summer night Artie and Evelyn walked all the way to the reservoir in Highland Park, past the tennis courts where Artie spent Saturdays and Sundays if possible. Then they walked around the reservoir and back home, stopping for ice cream cones. Artie began complaining. Beatrice London had threatened to give him fewer classes to teach in the fall. He couldnât get away from her. The ice cream was spoiled by anger, and before he finished his cone, he dropped
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