The street light shone full in her face. "Of course not," I said. Still feeling helpless and furious with myself for my self-pity, I took her in my arms and kissed her. I expected her to repulse me in anger, but she didn't. She only looked at me with strangely quiet eyes, stood there for a moment, and then went inside without a word.
XII
Betty Stein had given me a hundred dollars for the lawyer's first installment. With my eyes on the cuckoo clock I tried to bargain; but the lawyer was adamant. I even went so far as to tell him a little about the last few years of my life. Five hundred dollars was a big debt for me to be saddled with. "Give him a sob story," Betty had advised me. "Maybe it will do some good. And besides, it will be the truth." It didn't do any good. The lawyer told me that he had already made a sacrifice, that his usual fee was a good deal higher. When I tried the destitute refugee ploy, he only laughed. "A hundred and fifty thousand refugees like you come to America every year. There's nothing so heart-rending about your case. You're young and healthy. Most of our millionaires started out just like you. You've passed the dishwashing stage; they tell me you've got a decent job. Your situation isn't so bad. You know what's bad? To be poor and old and sick and a Jew in Germany. That's bad. And now good-by. I have more important things to do. And don't be late with the next installment."
In the end I was glad he hadn't demanded an extra fee for listening to me. Slowly I sauntered through the city. The morning sun shone from behind glittering clouds. The freshly washed cars sparkled; whichever way I looked there were blue patches in the sky. Central Park was alive with children's shouts. My annoyance with the lawyer had evaporated; now I was only annoyed with myself for the pathetic act I had put oh. He had seen through me and he had been right. I couldn't even blame Betty for her advice. It was my fault for taking it.
I went to see the seals in their pool; they glistened like polished bronzes in the sunlight. The lions and tigers, with their transparent beryl-colored eyes, were in their ouI'door cages, striding restlessly back and forth. The monkeys were playing and throwing banana peels at each other. I repressed any thought of sentimental sympathy; these animals, who might have been hungry hunters tormented by vermin and disease, looked like well-fed retired businessmen taking their morning walk. True, there was a certain monotony in their lives, but at least they were free from hunger and thirst. And how was anyone to know which they would have preferred if they had had their choice? Animals, like people, get attached to their habits, and it's only a short step from habits to boredom. I couldn't help thinking of my conversation with Natasha and my theory of happiness in a quiet corner.
I sat down on the terrace and ordered a cup of coffee. I had forty dollars to my name and I owed four hundred. But I was free and in good health, and, as the lawyer had told me, on the first rung of the millionaire's ladder. I took another cup of coffee and thought of the summer mornings in the Jardins du Luxembourg in Paris when I had impersonated a flâneur, so as not to attract the attention of the police. Today I asked a passing policeman for a light, which he gave me. The Luxembourg reminded me of the Count of Luxemburg song and its effect on me. But that had been at night, and now it was bright wind-swept day. Everything is different in the daytime.
"Where in God's name have you been?" Silvers asked "Does it take all day to pay a lawyer?"
"It takes longer when you're broke," I explained.
"Never mind the jokes," he said. "We have work to do."
I hardly recognized the man. The suave, effete art lover— a pose I had never taken seriously—had given way to the jungle beast It was clear he had scented a prey.
We went into the room with the easels. Silvers brought in two pictures and set them up. "I'm going to ask you a question," he said, "and I want a quick answer. Which one would you buy?"
Both were Degas dancing girls. Both unframed. "Quickl" said Silvers. "Don't stop to think."
I pointed to the one on the left. "This one."
"Why? It's less finished."
I shrugged. "I like it better. I can't give you reasons so quickly. You know the reasons yourself."
"Of course I know the reasons. I'm not asking you for a dissertation. I only want to know why you like it better. In two words."
"Why do you want to know?"
"Because I want the naïve impression of somebody who doesn't know too much about art."
I didn't flinch, but he saw the look in my eyes. Was putting up with his insults part of my job?
He laughed, and suddenly he was the old charmer again. "Don't feel offended," he said. "Didn't I tell you not to think? I'm interested in your first impression because it might help me to predict the customer's reaction. I know how much the pictures are worth. But the customer's opinion is always an unknown quantity. Now do you understand?"
"Yes. But why is it so important to know his preference in advance? Show him both."
Silvers gave me an amused look. 'That would be very unwise. He wouldn't be able to make up his mind." He lit a cigarette and exhaled a great cloud of smoke. "You see," he said, "there's more to this trade than meets the eye. Anybody can own pictures, but selling them, for a good price, that is, is something else again. All right, I'll let myself be guided by your impression. The one on the right is the more valuable—not the one you like. Get moving now. We've got to frame them before the customer gets here."
He led me to the next room and showed me a number of empty frames. "Standard sizes," he mumbled. 'These will fit. No time for adjustments."
It was amazing how the frames changed the pictures, Un-framed, they had seemed dispersed, as though ready to flutter off into space. The frames held them together, defined them as self-contained worlds, and made them look more finished.
"Pictures should never be shown unframed," Silvers explained. "Only dealers can judge them without frames. Which one would you choose?"
"This one."
Silvers gave me a look of approval. "Your taste is all right. However, we'll take another. This one."
He put the dancing girls into a broad, heavily ornamented frame. "Isn't that a little too rich for a picture that isn't quite finished?" I asked.
Both paintings bore a red stamp: "From the studio of Degas." The painter hadn't signed them because he didn't regard them as finished. They had been sold by his estate.
"On the contrary; it has to be rich precisely because the picture is unfinished."
"I understand. It masks the unfinished quality."
"It enhances the picture. The frame is so finished that it makes the picture look finished." He took his professorial stance. "Frames are very important things. Some dealers scrimp on frames. They think the customer won't notice. They say gilded plaster looks just like the genuine article. And it does at first sight. But only at first sight."
I fitted the first Degas carefully into the frame, while Silvers selected a frame for the other. "Have you decided to show them both?" I asked.
He smiled. "No. I'm holding the other one in reserve. You never can tell. They're both absolute virgins. Never been shown. I wasn't expecting this man until tomorrow. He just rang up and said he was coming this morning. We can't paste the backs, no time. Just bend the nails back to make them stay on."
I brought in the second frame. "Isn't it a beauty?" said Silvers. "Louis Quinze. Sumptuous. Adds five thousand to the value. At least! Even Van Gogh wanted first-class frames. Degas framed most of his in white-painted lath. Maybe he was stingy."
Or maybe he had no money, I thought. Van Gogh certainly had none. "How much is a Van Gogh worth today?" I asked.
"It all depends," said Silvers, smacking his lips. "The Dutch period from ten to thirty thousand, the Paris period from twenty-five to fifty thousand. A really good one from the Aries period will bring as much as a hundred thousand. Ten years ago you could buy them for a quarter as much. In another ten years they'll have tripled in value."
I thought of Lowy Senior's tirades about parasites; but wouldn't the Lowys have gladly turned t
hemselves into just such parasites if they could? Wouldn't I myself if I had a chance?
The pictures were framed. Silvers told me to put one of them back in its old place. "And take the other up to my wife's bedroom."
I looked at him in amazement. "You heard right," he told me. "I'll go with you. Come on." Mrs. Silvers' bedroom was pretty and very feminine. The walls were adorned with drawings and pastels. "We'll take down that Renoir drawing and put the Degas in its place. Put the Renoir over there above the dresser, and we'll remove the Berthe Morisot Now close the curtain on the right. No, not all the way. Fine, now the light is right."
He knew what he was doing. The muted light gave the painting sweetness and warmth.
We went downstairs, and he told me which pictures he had decided to show. I was to wait in the adjoining room. When he wanted a picture, he would ring for me. After the fourth or fifth he would, ask for the Degas, and I was to remind him that it was in his wife's bedroom. "Talk as much French as you like," he said. "But when I ask for the Degas, answer in English so the customer can understand."
The doorbell rang. "There he is," said Silvers.
I went into the room where the pictures were lined up on wooden racks, and sat down. Silvers went downstairs to receive his visitor. The room had a small frosted-glass window with heavy bars over it. I had the feeling that I was sitting in a prison cell which a philanthropic warden had furnished with several hundred thousand dollars' worth of paintings. The milky light reminded me of a cell in Switzerland where I had once spent two weeks for illegal entry. It had been just as neat and clean, and I would gladly have stayed more than two weeks—the food was good and the cell was heated—but one stormy night I was taken to thé French border near Annemasse. There I was given a cigarette and a powerful shove: "Now you're in France. And don't show your face in Switzerland again."
I must have dozen off. Suddenly I heard the bell. I heard Silvers' voice in the next room. I went in. A heavily built man with big red ears and little pig's eyes was sitting there. "Monsieur Ross," said Silvers in his suavest tones, "kindly bring in the Sisley landscape."
I brought it in and set it down on one of the easels. For a long while Silvers said nothing, but stood at the window watching the clouds. "Do you like it?" he finally asked in a bored tone. "A Sisley from the best period. A flood. No one would be ashamed to own it."
"Junk," said the customer in a tone of still-greâter boredom.
I waited for a moment for Silvers to tell me What to bring in next. When he failed to do so, I went out with the Sisley. As I was leaving I heard him say: "You're not in the mood, Mr. Cooper. Why don't you come another day?"
Not bad, I thought in my prison cell. Now the next move was up to Cooper. When I was called again a few minutes later, they were both smoking Silvers' special-for-customers Havanas. I brought in the other paintings one by one. And then I heard my cue: "Degas."
"It's not here, Mr. Silvers," I said.
"Of course it is. Where else could it be?"
I came over to him, leaned down, and said in a stage whisper: "It's upstairs. In Mrs. Silvers' bedroom."
"Where?"
I said it again in French.
Silvers slapped his forehead. "That's right! I'd forgotten. Well, in that case, I'm sorry . . ."
I was overcome with admiration; it was Cooper's play again. Silvers didn't tell me to get the picture and he didn't say the picture belonged to his wife. He just dropped the subject and waited.
I went back to my cell and waited, too. It was as though Silvers had a shark on the hook, and I wasn't so sure he would land him. This shark was no babe in arms. There was nothing to stop him from biting off the line and swimming away. One thing was certain: Silvers wouldn't sell for less than he intended. I had inadvertently left the door ajar and I heard the shark making interesting attempts to get the price down. The conversation turned to the economic situation and the war. The shark predicted the worst: more government spending, staggering public debt, stock-market crash, social unrest, the threat of Communism. Prices would collapse. The only thing that would have any value was hard cash. He reminded Silvers, of the crash of 1929. The man with cash was a king; he could buy what he wanted at half price—no, for a third or a quarter of the old price. And he added, with a look of profound concern: "Especially luxuries like furniture, rugs, and paintings."
Silvers poured brandy imperturbably. "Then after a while," he countered, "the prices went up, and money went down. It lost fifty per cent of its value and it never went up again. I don't have to tell you that. Paintings, on the other hand, are worth five times as much as they were then. Or more." He gave a soft, absolutely artificial laugh. "Ha! inflation! It began two thousand years ago, and we'll never see the end of it Real values go up, money goes down. There you have it" .
"If that's the case," the shark parried, "we shouldn't ever sell anything."
"If only we didn't have to," said Silvers blandly. "I sell as little as possible. But I need operating capital. Just ask my customers. To them I'm a benefactor. Five years ago I sold a Degas dancing girl, and only the other day I bought it back for twice as much."
"From whom?" asked the shark.
"I can't tell you that. Would you like me to go around telling people how much I sold you a picture for?"
"Why not?" the shark was a shrewd article.
"Most of my customers wouldn't like it one bit and their wish is my law." Silvers made sounds suggesting that he was about to rise. "I'm sorry you haven't found anything, Mr. Cooper. Perhaps another time. Of course I can't hold the prices very long. You know that"
The shark stood up. "Didn't you have another Degas you wanted to show me?" he asked offhandedly.
"Oh, you mean the one in my wife's room?" Silvers hesitated. Then I heard the bell. "Is my wife in her room?"
"She went out half an hour ago."
"Then bring down the Degas. It's hanging beside the mirror."
"It will take a few minutes, Mr. Silvers," I said. "I had to put in a dowel because the wall isn't very solid, and the picture is screwed to the dowel."
"Never mind," said Silvers. "We'll go upstairs. Do you mind, Mr. Cooper?"
"It's all right with me."
Again I huddled in my cell, feeling like Fafnir amid the treasure of the Rhine. Some minutes later the two of them came down again, and I was sent up for the picture. Since there was nothing to be unfastened, I simply waited for five minutes. I looked through one of the windows, which opened out onto the court, and saw Mrs. Silvers in the kitchen window across the way. She made a questioning gesture. I shook my head; the coast wasn't clear, yet, she should stay in the kitchen for the present.
I took the picture to the easel room and left. This time Silvers closed the door, and I could hear no more of the conversation. It would have amused me to hear Silvers intimating that his wife would have liked to keep the picture for her private collection. I was sure he did it subtly enough not to arouse the shark's suspicions.
The interview lasted about half an hour; then Silvers appeared in person to release me from my gilded cage. "No need to hang the Degas," he said. "You're to deliver it to Mr. Cooper tomorrow."
"Congratulations."
He made a face. "You see what I go through to sell a picture! And in two years the price will have doubled, and the bastard will be laughing up his sleeve."
I repeated Cooper's question. "Then why do you sell?"
"Because I can't stop. I'm a born gambler. Besides, I've got to make money. By the way, the gag with the dowel wasn't bad. You're developing."
"Maybe I ought to have a raise."
Silvers' eyes narrowed. "You're developing a little too fast. Don't forget that I'm giving you a free education that a good many museum directors would envy."
In the evening I went to Betty Stein's to thank her for the money she had loaned me. I found her with her eyes red from weeping. A few friends were there, apparently to comfort her. "I can come again tomorrow," I said. "I only wanted
to thank you."
"What for?" asked Betty with a dazed look.
"For the money," I said. "And getting me a lawyer. They've given me an extension. I don't have to leave the country."
She burst into tears. Rabinowitz, an actor, put his arm around her and tried to comfort her. "What's happened?" I asked him.
"Don't you know? Moller is dead. It happened the day before yesterday."
He helped her over to a sofa and came back to me. Rabinowitz was one of the gentlest souls I have ever known. He, too, played the parts of brutal Nazis in class-B pictures. "He hanged himself. Lipschütz found him. He must have been dead for a day or two. He was hanging from the chandelier in his room. All the lights were on. Maybe he couldn't stand the idea of dying in the dark."