The Apprenticeship of Duddy Kravitz

  “Not yet.”

  “Only three Jewish kids got into med in his year. A lot of people are expecting him to get the medal. Christ.”

  “Tell me the rest, Bernie. I’m sure there’s more.”

  “Well, you know, he dropped out of sight for a while. Then the next thing I’d heard he’d picked up with the Joe College bunch. The football crowd. Well, you know, drink chug-a-lug and all that. Listen, everyone’s entitled to enjoy themselves the way they want. It’s not for me, that’s all. They’re mostly rich kids, Duddy. Goys. of them live in Westmount but most come from out of town and have rooms in the frat houses. They run sports cars and get the prettiest girls. Well, you know, the campus beauty queens. I don’t know how Lennie ever got mixed up with them. I can understand about Irwin Shubert, but —”

  “Irwin! That bastard.”

  “He’s the only other Jew in their crowd. It costs plenty to keep up with them and I don’t know where Lennie got the money.”

  “There was a broad, wasn’t there? A blonde.”

  “Sandra Calder? That’s something else that used to puzzle me. I’ve seen her around a lot with Lennie recently, but she’s really Andy Simpson’s girl. Everybody knows that. Andy’s made the Olympic hockey team.”

  Duddy got up.

  “What are you going to do?” Bernie asked.

  “First I’m going to see the girl. She’s sick at home. What I want to find out is if she’s sick like I said Lennie was sick. Maybe they eloped?”

  Bernie whistled. “If they eloped you can stop worrying. Old Man Calder is a millionaire. He’s on the Board of Governors at McGill.”

  Westmount was where the truly rich lived in stone mansions driven like stakes into the shoulder of the mountain. The higher you climbed up splendid tree-lined streets the thicker the ivy, the more massive the mansion, and the more important the man inside. Mr. Calder’s place was almost at the top. “Jeez,” Duddy said aloud, getting out of his car. He had been in Westmount before in the taxi but usually at night and never this high up. Below, the city and the river hummed obligingly under a still cloud of factory fumes. What a site for a restaurant, Duddy thought. Looking up at the Calder house again, he wondered what the bastard did with all those rooms. Maybe he’s got eighteen kids, he thought. A Catholic like.

  “Yes.”

  The butler was a British movie sprung to life.

  “I’d like to see Sandra.”

  The butler told him that she was indisposed.

  “It’s important. I’m one of her best friends.”

  “I’m so sorry, but the doctor’s with her right now. If you’d like to leave a message…”

  Duddy thought of slipping the butler a fin. That, he thought, is what the Falcon would have done.

  “Is there any message?” the butler asked sharply.

  Duddy retreated a step. “Naw. Thanks anyway. I’ll call again.”

  As the door closed gently on him Duddy began to curse himself. What’s the matter with me, he thought. I should have insisted. There was a Bentley parked in the driveway. An Austin Healey too. The third car had a doctor’s license plate on it. Well, that proves something anyway, Duddy thought, and he drove off.

  The office was lonely without Yvette. Duddy locked the door and got out the map of Lac St. Pierre. Twice already he had filled in with red crayon the land that used to belong to Brault. His land. He started to go over it with crayon again when the phone rang.

  “I thought you were out looking for Lennie?”

  “I just got in this minute, Daddy. There’s no news yet. I’m seeing more people tonight but.”

  Seigal phoned. “About the movie,” he said, “the goy here again today to look over the house. Not only did he drink up all my Johnnie Walker, but he tried to get my Selma to sit on his lap. She’s only seventeen.”

  “Artists are like children,” Duddy said.

  “It was Black Label. The best. He wrote a dirty poem to her too. It’s called, quote, Advice to Virgins to Make Much of Time, unquote. It —”

  “That verse might be worth a lot of money some day,” Duddy said. “If I were you I’d hold on to it.” But he promised to be there next time Mr. Friar came.

  Duddy met Bernie at nine and they went to the bar where the students gathered. At one table boys and girls drank beer and sang and at another a long thin Negro sat with a girl who wore slacks. The girl had dirty fingernails.

  “Steve,” Bernie said, “this is Duddy Kravitz. He’s Lennie’s brother. Steve takes a lot of classes with Lennie.”

  “What happened to Lennie today?”

  “He’s at home sick. Nothing serious, mind you.”

  “Just a nervous breakdown,” Steve said.

  “That’s a joke, Duddy,” Bernie said.

  “A joke? We’ve had two already this term. Three others have dropped out.”

  “He’s teasing you,” Bernie said.

  “Is it Leonard Kravitz talking about?” the girl asked.

  “Yeah. Why?”

  “He’s a suicidal type, isn’t he, Steve?”

  “Oh, you’re a pair,” Bernie said. “A real pair.”

  “Did he say we’re a pair?”

  “I think so. One minute I’ll ask him. Did you say we’re a pair?”

  “His brother’s sick. Can’t you see he’s worried?”

  “I think what he’s trying to say is that this guy’s brother is sick.”

  “The pair type?”

  “I’m not sure. One minute. Bernard, you were saying —”

  “Oh, that’s I thought Bernard had committed suicide.”

  “Come on, Duddy,” Bernie said, and he hurried him outside. They got into the car and drove off. Duddy didn’t speak. He chained-smoked.

  “You’re driving very fast,” Bernie said.

  “I think I’d better take you home, Bernie.” What a time for Yvette to be away, he thought. The bitch. “I’m going home too. My father must be worried sick by this time.” Duddy thanked Bernie for all he’d done and promised to ring him as soon as he had any news. “Good or bad,” he said morosely.

  “Maybe he’s home right now,” Bernie said.

  But Lennie wasn’t there.

  “Where in the hell have you been all this time?” Max asked.

  “At the movies. O.K.?”

  “Oh, you’re in that kind of mood. That’s all I need.” Max pulled his backscratcher out of the drawer. “How the zeyda out about all this I’ll never know. But he wants you to call him tomorrow. My word he won’t take.”

  “I need some coffee.”

  “O.K. Sit down before you fall down. You’re white as a sheet. Boy, have you ever got a lousy build. Why don’t you ever use my weight lifts any more?”

  “Tomorrow.”

  “A guy’s got to keep in shape, you know. This world is full of shits. When you meet one and he gives you a shove you want to be strong enough to shove him back. Right?”

  “Right.”

  “O.K.,” Max said, “now tell me what you found out today.”

  Duddy omitted the part about suicide. He didn’t say anything about Lennie’s fight with Riva, either.

  “That Altman sounds like a prince of a fella,” Max said.

  “He sure is. Oh, another thing. They expect Lennie to win the medal. A lot of people think he’ll come first.”

  “Wouldn’t that be something?”

  “Don’t worry, Daddy. We’ll find him and he’ll go back to school.”

  “Maybe Lennie’ll turn out to be the guy who finds the cure for cancer?”

  “Another Pasteur.”

  “Bigger. Wow, the cure for cancer.”

  Duddy rose and rubbed his eyes. “Tomorrow I’m going to try to see the Calder girl again. There’s also this Andy Simpson guy.”

  “That would be a big thing for the Jews. One of ours finding the cancer cure. Aw, they’d still make us trouble.”

  “I’d better call Uncle Benjy before I go to sleep. I promised.”

&nbsp
; “Don’t waste your time. He’s asleep on the sofa in the living room. Benjy’s going to be a real catch for the A.A. one of these days. He can go through a bottle of Scotch quicker than I can drink a Pepsi.”

  “What kind of signals were you trying to give me last night?”

  “One minute.” Max tiptoed into the hall and shut the living room door. “It would be a good idea if you didn’t mention Auntie Ida to him for a while.”

  “Why?”

  “She was supposed to stay here for two months. She only got here yesterday afternoon, you know. They had a big row right off and, wham, she left for Florida again the same night.”

  “You think she asked him for a divorce?”

  “Maybe. I dunno. Imagine not being able to get it up. Ever, I mean.”

  “I’m dead, Daddy. I’m going to sleep.”

  “He can’t even get into the States any more. That’s what he gets for being such a smart guy.”

  “Wha’?”

  “Listen, there wasn’t a petition invented that Uncle Benjy didn’t sign in triplicate. They don’t want commies there these days. You blame them?”

  “Good night. Go to sleep, Daddy.”

  Duddy lay on his bed with his eyes open. The police would have reported it, he thought. What if he jumped in the canal? A could stay under for two-three days. Oh, no, Duddy thought, please. You’re crazy.

  “Do you mind if I come in?”

  “Naw. Sit down, Uncle Benjy.”

  Duddy repeated the story he had told his father. “I’m going to try to see the girl tomorrow,” he said.

  “You’re holding something back. I’m not your father. I want to know all the facts.”

  Duddy jerked awake. “Why don’t you lay off my father for a change? It hasn’t been easy for him all alone since my mother died.”

  “He told you that?” Uncle Benjy asked, smiling a little.

  “Never mind.”

  A car slowed down outside. Duddy rushed to the window, but it passed.

  “Do you think he’s committed suicide?”

  “Shettup,” Duddy said.

  “I see. It’s been eating you too.”

  “Lennie hasn’t committed suicide. He’s not the type.”

  “There’s no such thing as the type. You’d be surprised at the people…”

  Aunt Ida, Duddy thought. She’s tried it, I’m sure. Duddy searched his uncle’s fat funny face in the darkness. The heavy bloodshot eyes returned the look coldly. “You were saying?” he asked.

  “It’s a possibility. Let’s face it.”

  “He took all his clothes,” Duddy said.

  “That’s true.”

  Duddy yawned.

  “You want to sleep. I’ll go.”

  “What were you trying to tell me about my mother before?”

  “Nothing. Good night.”

  “He couldn’t have killed himself. It’s impossible.”

  “I hope so, Duddele.”

  “Good night.”

  “When I was a boy in your zeyda’s Uncle Benjy said, “I used to say my prayers before I went to sleep. He used to come in and listen and then he’d kiss me. That was a long time ago.”

  “Why are you such a boozer, Uncle Benjy?”

  “Good night and God bless.”

  Uncle Benjy lurched towards the door. Outside, he belched.

  9

  At ten the next morning Duddy came charging out of a bottomless sleep, unsure of his surroundings but prepared for instant struggle, the alibi for a crime unremembered already half-born, panting, scratching, and ready to bolt if necessary. He shook his head, recognized his own room, and sighed gratefully. Staggering out of his bedroom, he tripped over a set of dumbbells that had been left before his door and stubbed his toe badly. His father had left a note for him on the kitchen table.

  Remember, the world is full of shits.

  Exercise! as you hear something phone me at Eddy’s.

  POP

  Duddy ate breakfast around the corner at Moe’s and read Dink Carroll in the Gazette. he turned to the financial page.

  “Look what’s worried about the market,” Moe said. “Only last year if he came in here it was to steal cigarettes.”

  Duddy ignored the remark and turned to the Apartments to Let “One year the nose is running,” Moe said, “and the next they buy a jockstrap for eighty-nine cents and you can’t say a word to them any more.”

  Duddy marked off some of the more interesting ads. He graded the apartments available like movies in the Tely, one place on Tupper Street three stars. “Another coffee please, sonny,” he said to Moe.

  “It talks,” Moe said.

  Duddy turned to Fitz’s column. It’s no use, he thought, I can’t stall here all morning. I’ve got to get in to see that girl somehow. Duddy tossed a quarter on the counter. “There you are, old chap,” he said.

  Duddy took the longest route to Westmount, just as if he were driving the Dodge and had an out-of-town fare in the back. He blessed every red light, too, but eventually he got there. A maid answered the door.

  “I’ve got an urgent message for Miss Sandra Calder,” he said.

  “I’m sorry, but —”

  Duddy forced his way into the hall.

  “Edgar,” the maid called. “Edgar.”

  A blonde girl in a kimono came through a glass door. “Is it for me, Doris?”

  The butler came through another door wiping his chin with a napkin.

  “I’m Lennie’s brother.”

  The blonde girl lifted a hand to her cheek. “Let him in,” she said.

  “Your father said you were to have no visitors,” Edgar said.

  “He won’t be back for hours. Come inside.”

  ” ‘Scuse me, Ed,” Duddy said, stepping past the butler, and he followed Sandra through an enormous dining room with paneled walls into the breakfast room. Sandra poured him coffee, but she didn’t speak until the maid had gone. “How’s Leonard?”

  “Oh, fine. Just fine.”

  “You have the same mouth. Otherwise there’s not much of a resemblance.”

  “So they tell me.”

  “Did he send you?”

  “Sure thing.”

  “Tell him Daddy doesn’t know. Dr. Westcott promised not to tell him.”

  “Is that so?”

  “But he’s going to try his best to find out who did it and when he does, brother, he’s threatened everything but a lynching. Look, tell Leonard not to worry, because now that I’m all right I think I can talk Dr. Westcott into keeping his mouth shut. Why don’t you say anything?”

  “Aw.”

  “You think I’m not being fair to Leonard. You think I’m using him.”

  She’s going to cry, Duddy thought. “Easy,” he said.

  “Everything’s going to work out. Tell him that, please. Dr. Westcott’s furious right now, but I can handle him. He adores me. What’s wrong?”

  Duddy bit his fingernail.

  “What is it?”

  “Lennie didn’t send me. I don’t even know where he is.”

  “What?”

  “Give me his address. I’ve got to see him.”

  “No!”

  “Listen here —”

  “Oh, God, what did I tell you? How could you lie to me like that?”

  Duddy grabbed her by the wrist. “I want his address,” he said.

  “I can’t give it to you. I promised.”

  “You promised,” he shouted. “You think I care what you promised?”

  “I can’t do it.”

  “He left a note saying he was going to quit medical school. Do you know how much sweat and struggle has gone into making Lennie —”

  “But he needn’t quit. I’ll handle Dr. Westcott.”

  “Give me his address. Come on.”

  She shook her head violently and tried to break free of him. “You see this fist,” he said. “Honest to God…”

  “Edgar!”

  Duddy let her go. “O.K.,” h
e said, “I’m sitting here until Daddy-waddy comes. I’m going to tell him Dr. Westcott knows something he doesn’t know. O.K.?”

  “You’re terrible.”

  Ver gerharget, thought. Platz.

  “That would just about ruin Leonard.”

  “Give me his address.”

  Edgar came. “It’s all right,” Sandra said. “I found what I wanted.”

  Duddy waited until he’d gone again. “Look,” he said, “all I want is to see him. Why should I do Lennie harm? He’s my brother.”

  “No. I can’t.”

  “Will you stop the waterworks please?”

  “I can’t give you his address.”

  “I’m not a busy man. I’ll just wait here until your father comes.”

  Ten minutes passed. Sandra lit a cigarette. “The coffee’s cold,” she said. “I’m not going to talk to you any more,” she said. “I’m going to ignore you.”

  “Don’t make me Duddy said.

  “I’m going up to my room.”

  There was a pause. “Well,” Duddy asked, “what’s keeping you?”

  “Aren’t you going?”

  “I’m waiting here for your father. I told you that.”

  “If I gave you his address would you promise not to make any trouble?”

  “Give me his address. Come on.”

  Sandra wrote out the address and led him through the dining room again.

  “You could fit a bowling alley into here. Jeez.”

  “I don’t even know your name. All you told me is that you’re his brother.”

  “Dudley. I’m in the film business. An indie.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “An independent producer,” he said, handing her his card. “Hey, you must know a lot of debutantes like…”

  Sandra was still absorbed by his card.

  “Listen,” Duddy said, “have you ever heard of Peter John Friar?” He told her about him. “We could do a top-notch picture on a coming-out party. A record for your grandkiddies and their grandkiddies after them.”