One evening the tension that had been gathering for so long broke out savagely between them.
“I saw Whitelaw this afternoon. He asked me point-blank if we were married. No, I said. We weren’t. He wanted to know why. I tried to explain it to him, but he didn’t understand. He’s quite sad, you know. He wanted me to return to his place with him. He said that if I left you he would …”
In the last few days men were always propositioning her; others, less bright than him, were always settling into fine jobs, getting on in the world; and numerous others were always talking about them behind her back.
He suddenly realized that she bored him.
“Miriam, you’re becoming a gossip. Let’s return to Montreal. I’ll get a job.”
“Are you going to drive a cab again?”
“I’ve told you several times that I can see no difference between driving a cab or lecturing in England or …”
“Why bring Theo into this?”
Her voice was near the breaking-point.
“I didn’t.”
“Remember, Noah, you asked me to leave him.”
“Don’t be calculating, Miriam. It’s not like you.”
“Calculating!” She leaped up and flung her hair back and laughed brutally. “Calculating! If you want to leave me will you please, please, please go ahead. I can join Whitelaw. He knows what kind of woman I am. Or there’s always my sleeping pills or …”
“Sleeping pills! What are you talking about?”
She turned away from him and began to pick ruthlessly at the screen.
“Why, that’s ridiculous. Suicide. Did you read that in one of your Ladies’ Home Journal stories?”
“I don’t see what’s wrong with my reading the Ladies’ Home Journal or Good Housekeeping, if I want to. You read what you want and I read …”
“This is awful.”
“I started it, I suppose.”
“No. I did.”
She whipped a package of cigarettes off the table and lit one, exhaling smoke furiously. Her face was scarlet beneath her tan. He got up and stepped towards her but she pushed him away.
“Perhaps you’re trying to back out of this because I’m not a Jewess? Maybe all you wanted was a couple of months with a fast woman? Maybe you’re scared and …”
“I won’t bother answering that,” he said, but as soon as she had said that he realized that she had been anticipating the quarrel for a long time.
“Don’t come on with that Jesus Holy Christ act with me, Noah. Save it for the sorority girls.”
“That’s not what I mean. I …” He was suddenly struck by the vulgarity of their predicament. As long as they had been truly lovers there had been nothing immoral about their relationship, but now that they had begun to bicker, they had become simply another sordid adulterous couple. “Never mind.”
“I get them for the recipes. So that I can bake you your goddam cakes and roasts.”
“What? You get what?”
“The Ladies’ Home Journal.” She stamped her foot on the floor. “Scalloped fish en cocotte! Liver and bacon hot-pot! Cod à la Bercy! Understand?” She dropped her butt to the floor and stamped on it.
“I’m sorry. I …”
“Can you tell me just once what you want, Noah? What you really want?”
He hung back defensively That’s unfair, he thought. What do you really want? He stared at her.
“You’re an opportunist, Noah. I realized that the first day … I realized. You’re a ruthless man. As soon as you’ve used something you …”
He jumped up angrily. “I’m not ruthless.”
“You don’t treat your mother or your father decently. You …”
The phone rang.
“Answer it,” he shouted.
“Don’t order me around.”
And rang again.
“Christ.”
Again. And again.
“Even when you quarrel,” she said, “you’ve got to be superior to that quarrel at the same time. I’ll bet you even watch yourself in bed. Don’t you ever let yourself go?”
Noah swept the receiver off the hook swiftly. “Hello,” he said belligerently. “Yes, speaking.” He turned to Miriam and shrugged his shoulders. “My mother,” he said. “Hello, Maw.” His face went suddenly white. “Oh no,” he said. “When?” Miriam watched him fearfully, and her anger passed. Noah was perspiring freely. “What,” he said. “What?” His shoulders sagged. “I’ll leave right away,” he said, “but … Yes. I understand. But … Yes. Yes.” She lit a cigarette and slipped it into his mouth. “But why did he rush into the flames?” There was a pause. “Please, Maw. Please try not to cry. I can’t understand what you’re … Yes. Yes, Maw. All right. I’m coming.” Another pause. “Yes. Good night.”
The receiver flopped back on to the hook almost of its own volition, and Noah turned to her. “My father’s dead,” he said.
“Oh, Noah.”
“I hardly knew him, Miriam. I …”
She took him into her arms. “How did it happen?”
“I don’t understand. Somebody called to tell him that the office was on fire. When he got there the whole works was blazing. The – the damn fool rushed into the flames.” Noah moved away from her and sat down. “It was an old building. A shack. It collapsed on him. He … Oh, Christ.” He held his head in his hands. She poured him a stiff drink. “He …”
“Drink this.”
“ ‘Drink this.’ God. He …”
“Drink.”
“He …”
Noah drank. He didn’t say anything for several minutes. He stared.
“Would you like another?”
“I really haven’t the right to mourn him, poor …”
She poured him another drink.
“He’s buried there. They’re still pouring water on the ruins.”
“I’ll drive you into town.”
“Somebody phoned him. Just before he left he turned to my mother and said, ‘The crazy fool. So that’s what he meant.’ I don’t understand.”
V
Shortly after seven o’clock the next morning Noah took a taxi down to the coal yard on St. Dominique Street. A mist still lingered on the streets. The sky was soupy and full but, although it might rain, it was going to be hot. That much was clear. A fireman in a rubber coat still kept watch over the dusty twisted heap that had been the office. There was a charred, bitter sting to the air. The yard was a black muddy sea. Sodden sacks floundered in puddles and even the street outside was dark with wet coal dust. An ambulance was parked across the street. The previous night Noah had arrived to find all his aunts and uncles seated around his mother like cats around a birdcage. Noah had noticed with alarm that Nat had been using the Japanese garden for an ashtray. But Leah hadn’t seen. She had been crumpled up in her chair, a dazed figure newly conscious of her widow’s role but not yet of the death that had occurred. She had looked up and gasped briefly when Noah had entered the room. “My boyele,” she had said. Noah had nodded, as though to confirm that. Max hadn’t been there. Later he had remembered that Shloime had been absent too. “Your father is dead,” Leah had said. “Yes. I know.” Noah had been conscious of the others watching him. At first he had not been able to understand their hostility but then he had remembered Miriam.
“You’re not supposed to shave,” Itzik had said contemptuously.
“Have they recovered the body?”
The men had looked away from him.
“Some son you were to him.”
That had been Goldie.
“Have they …”
“No,” Leah said.
Noah had turned to Melech. “How are you, Zeyda?”
Melech hadn’t answered. But Noah had noticed that his grandfather’s skin had yellowed. He was wizened and shrunken and his filmy eyes were rich with the rancour of the old. His skull was prominent.
“Couldn’t you even wear a hat on the day your father died?”
That had been It
zik again.
“I think you’d all better go now. My mother looks worn out.”
“Are you throwing us out?”
“It’s one o’clock. Nothing can be done until tomorrow.”
“I repeat. Are you throwing …”
“Yes. I am. I think my mother should rest.”
After they had left Noah prepared tea for his mother.
“He’s dead, Noah.”
“I know.”
“He was my husband after all. He’s dead.”
“I know.”
“You don’t remember when my father died?”
“Not very well.”
“You’re all I’ve got left, boyele.”
Noah nodded to the fireman, and remembered that his mother had made that sound like a threat. Hell, he thought. Max’s Cadillac pulled up across the street. Hell. Three of his uncles climbed out. Nat and Itzik and Lou. Noah walked across the yard and met them on the pavement. “G’morning,” he said.
“You’re not supposed to exchange greetings,” Itzik said sternly.
“Where’s Max?” Noah asked.
“D’roit. He’s flying in. He should be here before noon.”
“The cops found an empty tin of kerosene,” Lou said softly. Then he pressed Noah’s arm and shrugged his shoulders. For he liked the boy, and he liked Wolf, too, but he couldn’t put his feelings into words.
“Do you know how to say kaddish at least?” Itzik asked.
Kaddish is the prayer for the dead. Itzik, who was the most orthodox of the boys, was a lean man with wobbly blue eyes and a sour mouth. The secretary of Max’s company, he was fond of saying: “Everybody says I’m too honest. But that’s the way I like to do business.”
“Yes, I do.” Noah turned to Lou. “Is that Zeyda in the car?”
“Yup.”
“Do you think it wise for him to be here?”
“You stop him. Me, I’m gonna stay healthy.”
The crane moved into position about a half-hour later, and that’s when the crowds began to form. Only a few of the curious at first. Noah’s eyes fastened on the shovel. Jagged teeth glittered hungrily in the sun. Paquette arrived and climbed into the cab. So the shovel would soon begin to probe into that heap of twisted timber and rags and scrap for his father’s body. Noah noted absently that the scale that had been used to weigh Moore’s scrap so long ago had not been badly burnt. Nat and Lou were both wearing rubber boots. Fishing-boots. They posted themselves in the mud. That’s where the loads and ultimately his father’s body would be dumped. Itzik gave Paquette his instructions. An elderly woman pointed at Noah. “That’s the son,” she said.
The crowd thickened. There was a girl with long swift black hair and hollow eyes who sucked urgently on her thumb and obviously wanted to flee – but couldn’t. The promise of un-boredom was too big. She was a fine-looking girl though, with breasts that were just starting and lots of impatience in her manner. Clouds parted and dissolved and very soon the yellower sun was surer in the emptying sky. Noah smiled at the girl, but his smile was cut off suddenly when he heard the crane engine cough and start. His heart leaped. The shovel creaked agonizingly and broke clean of the earth. “How did the fire start?” a man asked him.
“I don’t know.”
“He doesn’t know. If you don’t wanna tell me so say so. Me, I know plenty. I was just checking. I been living on dis here street for you know how many years?”
“What do you know about the fire?”
“I know what I know. Plain enough?”
A swarthy man with dense eyes, he plucked his nose each time he made a point.
“Why won’t you …”
“I tell you, you don’t believe. You do believe, I’m a witness. I’m a witness, I go to court. I go to court, no work. No work, no food. No food, no …”
Noah walked away. Another day, he thought. He joined Lou and Nat. “How long do you think it’ll take?” he asked.
Nat stared at the wet mushy stump of his cigar and then shoved it into his mouth. When he spoke, the cigar shifted from side to side. “Until noon at least. They’ve got to go through years of scrap before they get to him.”
Noah watched the shovel dig into the grey rubbish for the first time. A puff of dust rose from the shifting heap like a protest. The shovel swung towards them slowly and dumped a first burnt-offering at their feet. Then, back towards the heap again. In order to get a better view quite a few people had climbed up on the adjoining piles of coal. Many were still reticent, for although the sun offered gladness and assured them of a long repetition of days, a contradiction, death, made many shadows among them. There were lots of children about. “Is there a dead guy in there for real?” one of them asked.
“Yes,” Noah said.
“Hey, Art! ART!”
Noah walked away and felt the sun fiercer on him. He rubbed his eyes. Itzik appeared and handed him a skull-cap. “It’s not nice,” he said, “people should see you without a hat today …” There was a slow, sucking quality to his voice. A leech on your back.
“Itzik, listen, we’ve got a long day ahead of us so …”
The Ford pulled up across the street and Noah brushed Itzik aside and walked over to it.
“I thought you were back in Ste. Adele,” Noah said.
Miriam and Noah watched as the shovel opened like a mouth, dumped another load into the mud, and then clamped shut again.
“When do they expect to …”
“Not until noon, anyway,” Noah said.
They watched the shovel dig into the rubbish again.
“You look tired,” she said.
“I haven’t slept yet.”
She stared at his hand. “What’s that?” she asked.
“A skull-cap,” he said. “You’re supposed to …”
Melech was watching them from the Cadillac.
“Darling,” she said.
He was staring at the shovel.
“I’m sorry about last night, Noah. I didn’t mean what I said.”
“Last night? Was it last night? Christ.” He smiled briefly. “I … Of course, darling.”
“I’ll be back in a couple of hours. All right?”
“Bring me a small flask of rye.”
He turned away from her and rejoined Lou and Nat.
“Listen,” Nat said. “Why look for trouble?” He plucked the cigar from his mouth. Noah stared. “Me, I’m Dorothy Dix with a ceegar, eh? Look … Tell her to stay away.”
“She’s got feelings, too.”
“Me, I’m Nehru. Neutral-shmootral. But Itzik, you know, he …”
“I know that.”
A lachrymose man wearing white linen leaned against the ambulance and chatted with that girl who had the long swift black hair. More and more children began to appear. Several of them must have had it in for Art. They chanted:
Gene, Gene, built a machine,
Joe, Joe, made it go,
Art, Art, let a fart,
And blew the whole machine apart.
The grocery store across the street ran out of Cokes around 11:30. As the heat became more intense the older people in the crowd faltered and retreated to shadier spots. Of all, they alone seemed reconciled to what had happened. “Lucky it wasn’t two. Or three. A whole family even.” Others were also suffering from the heat, but stayed more enthusiastic. “If they should find him, call me – call quick.” Many women and sometimes whole families leaned bulkily out of windows that looked out on to the coal yard. From time to time a banana peel or an apple core fell to the pavement. Soot-soiled curtains occasionally flapped against their faces and were brushed away impatiently. A few babies bawled. A sing-song of comment rolled to and fro from window to window. Passing cars slowed down. Somebody, usually Mort Shub, would walk up to the driver and explain the proceedings importantly. “I knew him. Used to see him every day. A prince of a fellow.” Sometimes the car passed on, but more often the driver parked around the corner and returned to join the crowd. Several of the d
rivers were from Outremont and were in the district on a rent-collecting tour. They carried important briefcases. One of them engaged Mort in an earnest conversation. “Haven’t these people any decency? Why don’t they go home? Think of the children.” He looked like the kind of man who did not take his employer’s name in vain and who had honoured his father and his mother ever since they had died. Mort made a feverish rebuttal. “We’re all neighbours. Wolf and me were like this. We …”
The crane shovel continued to dig into the rubbish, swing right, and drop a load at the feet of Nat and Lou. Then back into the heap again. There was a brief outburst of anxious laughter when a pair of bloomers got caught in the teeth of the shovel. Itzik rushed up to the shovel pink-faced, and Paquette waited while he freed the offending bloomers. Three cops arrived around noon and the crowd was bullied back a reasonable distance from the heap of rubbish. Noah was red-eyed and dizzy. Sweltering faces swirled before him. A pit of sorts had been dug into the rubbish, and Noah climbed up on to the rim and searched the wreckage intently. Dust clogged his nostrils. Noon came, and Paquette was allowed to break off for a half-hour.
A sign went up in the window of the grocery store.
COKES IN STOCK AGAIN. SANDWICHES. COLD SNACKS.
A bushy-haired man in a rumpled suit addressed a group of sceptical, jacketless men. “You see what I mean? Accidents like this happen every day. A man with a family,” he said, smacking the wet palm of his open hand once for every word, “should have a policy. You’ve got to …”
“How many commas in a bottle of ink?”
“Yeah, sure. But listen, you’ve got to …”
“Moishe, hold on to your calories on such a hot day. Me, I got an agreement wid Prudential. They don’t deal in kosher meat and I don’t sell policies by me in the shop.”
“… got to protect. PROTECT.”
A stooping man with dust on his boots stopped Noah. He patted his hand tenderly. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I knew your grandfather, the Zaddik. Say a word to your Maw.”
Noah walked over to the Ford and Miriam handed him a towel. He wiped his face and neck. She poured him a drink and he gulped it down wordlessly.