A New Life by Bernard Malamud Page B

horrified him and he preferred not to do a major Lysol job there—on these occasions Levin talked to the waitress and learned her name was Laverne. He had told her he was Levin but she showed no interest. He wished he had the nerve to move up close and attempt to deal directly with the consumer, but this flair, or means of incitement, was beyond his talent and timidity, although the torment of his unexpected desire for the girl was now something to contend with.
    It grew late—towards one. The college students had gone; only two silent drinkers stood at the bar, the bartender-boss on a stool near the cash register, glasses on, scanning a newspaper. The booths, except for Sadek and Levin, were empty. Laverne, dreamy-eyed, hugged the wall close to where the Syrian sat. He spoke to all of her now and she responded with smiles and laughter. At midnight Sadek had turned to Levin and asked him to leave, but Levin coldly replied he ran his own business. He sat in the pale beyond their acceptance, greedy for the girl and contemptuous of himself because of her indifference. Sadek got up and they moved away from the booth. The Syrian spoke quietly, she answered in low tones. Levin, straining to hear, grew tense with frustrated desire. He struggled to free himself from this degrading emotion but sat as if will-less. Sadek returned to his seat, not glancing at Levin, his dark face serene as he fondled his beer glass. Levin considered dashing out of the place to gulp fresh air but couldn’t move because something he had often wished might happen to him, had happened instead to this freak. He longed to know from Sadek if he had made a date with Laverne, thinking that if he had he would accept the inevitable and depart, but he could not bring himself to ask, because he knew the answer. Sadek impassively scraped his nails. At closing time the girl changed her shoes and put on her coat as the Syrian, having drained his beer glass, ducked through the back door into the alley for a quick one.

    Ten minutes later, as the bartender was putting out the window lights and the girl was standing impatiently by a clothes tree near the phone booth, a young policeman entered the back door and seeing Levin, spoke to him.
    “Say, are you a friend of Sadek A. Meheen?” He read the name from a small black notebook.
    Levin cautiously admitted he had heard of him.
    “If it’s all the same to you,” said the cop, “would you want to come around to the police station and talk to the assistant chief? We just caught this guy committing a nuisance in the alley behind here. He was pissing against the wall, and my buddy issued him a summons returnable in Municipal Court tomorrow morning, but then this guy, or whatever his name is, got sore and called us some pretty filthy names, so we drove him to the clink to cool his ass off. The assistant chief wanted to call the dean of men and tell him what happened, but he don’t like to be waked up past eleven, so when this guy said a friend of his was here and you were a professor at the college, the assistant chief sent me over because your friend might throw a fit if somebody don’t calm him down. I’m telling you because if he keeps on acting this way he might get himself bounced out of college. Also we are worried because he’s a foreigner and everybody is touchy on that subject nowadays.”
    Excitement boiled up in Levin as he foresaw adventure, although he warned himself not to be tempted. The battle he fought was short, nor would he admit he had lost, for adventure was adventure and how much of it had he had in his life?
    “I’ll drop in if I can,” he said.
    The cop answered, “It’s no hair off us if you don’t. We wanted you to know where your buddy was, and what for.”
    “I’m much obliged.”
    The policeman left by the back door.
    Laverne, who had been standing near the bar with the boss, both curiously looking on, approached Levin.
    “What happened to your boy friend?” she asked.

    Levin