Sarah, and like a plant wilting in heat, her resolve was gone. She thought about Nathan's seriousness. Whenever she thought of her love for her husband, that was what came to mind. She loved him for his moral conundrums. She smiled as she thought: Who else could spend six months debating about someone trying to give him half a million dollars for nothing?
Sonia pointed out to Arnie that the book was probably worth something and she should pay him, but Arnie looked up from the sidewalk, his beret defiantly askew, and said, "Emma wouldn't approve."
Sonia smiled and added that Margarita wouldn't have, either.
As she kneaded Nathan's shoulders, she was talking about the dress. Not the "worn out garment"; Sonia was fascinated by a dress Benito Juarez gave to his wife that she took into exile and wore to meet Abraham Lincoln. "But she apologized to him in a letter for dressing in expensive clothes while Mexicans were suffering. Do you think Sarah can learn these things? Will she ever apologize for having too much?"
"Will she ever have too much?" Nathan replied, but he was really thinking about the words "You could call me."
It was still early for Mordy to be outside, and he was walking on his toes, unconsciously sneaking down the street, hoping to find strong coffee before someone ran into him and forced him to speak. Too late.
"You're Mordy Seltzer, aren't you?"
"Owww," he slowly groaned in a nonresponse.
"I am Naomi's father."
"Ohhh." Why was this happening?
As Mordy deciphered the words in vibrato echoing from a distance, he gathered that the father was worried because Naomi was not married and she was twenty-four. "Every year she will be less and less desirable."
"Yes," Mordy groaned in a soft voice barely audible to the father. "Because every year she gets more holes and tattoos. You should marry her off while she still has unused portions of skin."
"And you?"
"And me?" Why was this happening? It was starting to feel as though someone were slapping him over and over again.
"You are not married. Isn't it time?"
"Oh yes, I would love to be married. And Naomi is such a treasure." In precious metals alone, he thought to himself. "But Naomi is interested in somebody else."
"Somebody else? She is marrying him?"
"You'll have to talk to them. The—ah—what's-his-name. The bookseller."
"A bookseller? She's found herself a bookseller! He's Jewish, of course."
Mordy nodded. "I think so. He's right over there. You know, that guy over there with the pink hair."
"With the pink—"
"Yeah, right there." Mordy pointed across the avenue near Sixth Street, and there was a tall, skinny man standing by a table of used books. And though his spiky hair was bright pink, he somehow looked Jewish. He sold books that he found, and it was true that he went out with Naomi, and it was on that very corner that Mordy had met her talking to the bookseller about a paperback on the work of Hegel with an essay that had begun, "World history is not the verdict of mere might, i.e., the abstract and nonrational inevitability of a blind destiny." Mordy, like his brother, had a perverse and irrepressible fascination with Germans.
After his massage, Nathan left and Sonia was freed for paying customers. Ruth looked after Sarah, which was how Sonia could keep her business. She could hear Ruth in another room, teaching Sarah songs.
"Bay dem schtetl schteyt a schtibl," Ruth would sing.
"By da stubble, spit a stibble," Sarah would try to repeat.
"Mit a grinem dach," Ruth would continue.
Ruth admired Sonia and especially admired the way she ran her little business. She had select clientele, and she charged good prices. "You make copies all day to make what Sonia gets in an hour," she would say to Nathan, who she thought, like Harry, had a habit of undercharging. Sonia charged full prices to everyone, except the family. Even then, Ruth admired the way she would not extend her free family service to Mordy because, as Ruth put it, "she could see what
Sonia pointed out to Arnie that the book was probably worth something and she should pay him, but Arnie looked up from the sidewalk, his beret defiantly askew, and said, "Emma wouldn't approve."
Sonia smiled and added that Margarita wouldn't have, either.
As she kneaded Nathan's shoulders, she was talking about the dress. Not the "worn out garment"; Sonia was fascinated by a dress Benito Juarez gave to his wife that she took into exile and wore to meet Abraham Lincoln. "But she apologized to him in a letter for dressing in expensive clothes while Mexicans were suffering. Do you think Sarah can learn these things? Will she ever apologize for having too much?"
"Will she ever have too much?" Nathan replied, but he was really thinking about the words "You could call me."
It was still early for Mordy to be outside, and he was walking on his toes, unconsciously sneaking down the street, hoping to find strong coffee before someone ran into him and forced him to speak. Too late.
"You're Mordy Seltzer, aren't you?"
"Owww," he slowly groaned in a nonresponse.
"I am Naomi's father."
"Ohhh." Why was this happening?
As Mordy deciphered the words in vibrato echoing from a distance, he gathered that the father was worried because Naomi was not married and she was twenty-four. "Every year she will be less and less desirable."
"Yes," Mordy groaned in a soft voice barely audible to the father. "Because every year she gets more holes and tattoos. You should marry her off while she still has unused portions of skin."
"And you?"
"And me?" Why was this happening? It was starting to feel as though someone were slapping him over and over again.
"You are not married. Isn't it time?"
"Oh yes, I would love to be married. And Naomi is such a treasure." In precious metals alone, he thought to himself. "But Naomi is interested in somebody else."
"Somebody else? She is marrying him?"
"You'll have to talk to them. The—ah—what's-his-name. The bookseller."
"A bookseller? She's found herself a bookseller! He's Jewish, of course."
Mordy nodded. "I think so. He's right over there. You know, that guy over there with the pink hair."
"With the pink—"
"Yeah, right there." Mordy pointed across the avenue near Sixth Street, and there was a tall, skinny man standing by a table of used books. And though his spiky hair was bright pink, he somehow looked Jewish. He sold books that he found, and it was true that he went out with Naomi, and it was on that very corner that Mordy had met her talking to the bookseller about a paperback on the work of Hegel with an essay that had begun, "World history is not the verdict of mere might, i.e., the abstract and nonrational inevitability of a blind destiny." Mordy, like his brother, had a perverse and irrepressible fascination with Germans.
After his massage, Nathan left and Sonia was freed for paying customers. Ruth looked after Sarah, which was how Sonia could keep her business. She could hear Ruth in another room, teaching Sarah songs.
"Bay dem schtetl schteyt a schtibl," Ruth would sing.
"By da stubble, spit a stibble," Sarah would try to repeat.
"Mit a grinem dach," Ruth would continue.
Ruth admired Sonia and especially admired the way she ran her little business. She had select clientele, and she charged good prices. "You make copies all day to make what Sonia gets in an hour," she would say to Nathan, who she thought, like Harry, had a habit of undercharging. Sonia charged full prices to everyone, except the family. Even then, Ruth admired the way she would not extend her free family service to Mordy because, as Ruth put it, "she could see what
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