thirties, tall and dark, with large black eyes, a curved nose, and a too large mouth. There was a little mole on her left cheek. A faint mustache dimmed her upper lip. Her black matron's wig--or was it her own hair, Asa Heshel wondered--was heavily braided, studded with combs, and covered with a tulle net. She wore a velvet dress and buckled shoes. Asa Heshel retreated a step or two. The woman brought her hands together in a gesture of surprise.
"See who's here! It's too bad we weren't talking about Messiah instead; he would surely have come."
"Gina, my love, I'm bringing this young man to you--a genius of geniuses."
"Forgive me, I didn't even see him; you're hiding him with your broad shoulders. Come in, please come in."
The two went into the entrance hall. This was a long corridor with a number of doors along it, all of them paned with frosted glass. The sound of voices came from beyond it. The air was heavy with the smell of cigarette smoke. The walls had been newly painted and there was a strong odor of oil and turpentine.
On the freshly waxed floor sacking and newspapers were spread.
The wooden coat hangers were laden with overcoats. Against the wall stood an assortment of galoshes and umbrellas. Gina helped Abram out of his cape and took Asa Heshel's coat.
"I could swear this young man is the son of a rabbinical house," Gina said.
"A miracle! The woman's a prophetess!" Abram exclaimed in exaggerated awe. "Deborah the prophetess!"
-59-"You can
see it in his face. Tell me, my dear child, what is your name?"
"Asa Heshel Bannet."
"And where are you from? One thing is sure, you're no Litvak."
"Are you mad!" yelled Abram. "Would I bring a Lithuanian into your house?"
"Don't shout. I have enough trouble with those lunatics in there."
"You mean Broide and Lapidus?"
"The whole bunch of them. Well, come inside."
"Just a minute, Gina. This young man needs a room."
"But, my dear Abram, all my rooms are rented. They're sleeping on the sofa, on the floor, on the mantelpiece. It's a poorhouse, not a lodging-house. If you'd brought him a couple of weeks ago it would have been different. But--wait a moment, I have an idea.
There's a girl living here--studying to be a pharmacist--or a nurse--or God knows what. Anyway, last night she got a telegram--her mother died--so she packed up and went away. To Pintshev, I think."
"Well, then, that settles everything. Give him her room."
"And what'll happen if she comes back?"
Gina opened a door at the end of the corridor and led the two into a large crowded room. People lounged all over the place, sitting on sofas, chairs, even on the windowsill and on a low chest of drawers. The walls were hung with oil paintings and drawings.
The carpeted floor was strewn with cigarette mouthpieces.
Clouds of tobacco smoke wove about under the ceiling.
Everybody seemed to be talking at once, a jumble of Yiddish, Polish, and Russian. A small man, sunburned as a gypsy, in a torn blouse, with a jet-black beard and enormous flashing eyes, was expostulating in a hoarse voice with a peppery Litvak accent, gesticulating violently and flinging his head from side to side.
His Adam's apple bobbed up and down; the hairs of his fore-lock stood upright, like wires. A girl with a mannish voice was shouting: "Clown! Idiot!"
"Don't mind him, Miss Lena," a younger man addressed her. He was wearing a pair of large, polished eyeglasses. He had a high forehead, an irregular, flat nose, and curly hair. Behind his twinkling glasses his eyes were smiling jovially. "He knows himself that he's just babbling. He's putting on a show."
-60-"It's no show.
The matter concerns our very life, our whole existence as a people!" the short man shouted. "We dance at everybody's wedding but our own. And they don't even thank us. All we'll get is a kick in the behind!"
"Feh! Gutter talk."
"It's the truth, the truth! You're all a bunch of traitors!"
"Ah, reel There's never an end to it!" Gina said with a sigh.
"That
"See who's here! It's too bad we weren't talking about Messiah instead; he would surely have come."
"Gina, my love, I'm bringing this young man to you--a genius of geniuses."
"Forgive me, I didn't even see him; you're hiding him with your broad shoulders. Come in, please come in."
The two went into the entrance hall. This was a long corridor with a number of doors along it, all of them paned with frosted glass. The sound of voices came from beyond it. The air was heavy with the smell of cigarette smoke. The walls had been newly painted and there was a strong odor of oil and turpentine.
On the freshly waxed floor sacking and newspapers were spread.
The wooden coat hangers were laden with overcoats. Against the wall stood an assortment of galoshes and umbrellas. Gina helped Abram out of his cape and took Asa Heshel's coat.
"I could swear this young man is the son of a rabbinical house," Gina said.
"A miracle! The woman's a prophetess!" Abram exclaimed in exaggerated awe. "Deborah the prophetess!"
-59-"You can
see it in his face. Tell me, my dear child, what is your name?"
"Asa Heshel Bannet."
"And where are you from? One thing is sure, you're no Litvak."
"Are you mad!" yelled Abram. "Would I bring a Lithuanian into your house?"
"Don't shout. I have enough trouble with those lunatics in there."
"You mean Broide and Lapidus?"
"The whole bunch of them. Well, come inside."
"Just a minute, Gina. This young man needs a room."
"But, my dear Abram, all my rooms are rented. They're sleeping on the sofa, on the floor, on the mantelpiece. It's a poorhouse, not a lodging-house. If you'd brought him a couple of weeks ago it would have been different. But--wait a moment, I have an idea.
There's a girl living here--studying to be a pharmacist--or a nurse--or God knows what. Anyway, last night she got a telegram--her mother died--so she packed up and went away. To Pintshev, I think."
"Well, then, that settles everything. Give him her room."
"And what'll happen if she comes back?"
Gina opened a door at the end of the corridor and led the two into a large crowded room. People lounged all over the place, sitting on sofas, chairs, even on the windowsill and on a low chest of drawers. The walls were hung with oil paintings and drawings.
The carpeted floor was strewn with cigarette mouthpieces.
Clouds of tobacco smoke wove about under the ceiling.
Everybody seemed to be talking at once, a jumble of Yiddish, Polish, and Russian. A small man, sunburned as a gypsy, in a torn blouse, with a jet-black beard and enormous flashing eyes, was expostulating in a hoarse voice with a peppery Litvak accent, gesticulating violently and flinging his head from side to side.
His Adam's apple bobbed up and down; the hairs of his fore-lock stood upright, like wires. A girl with a mannish voice was shouting: "Clown! Idiot!"
"Don't mind him, Miss Lena," a younger man addressed her. He was wearing a pair of large, polished eyeglasses. He had a high forehead, an irregular, flat nose, and curly hair. Behind his twinkling glasses his eyes were smiling jovially. "He knows himself that he's just babbling. He's putting on a show."
-60-"It's no show.
The matter concerns our very life, our whole existence as a people!" the short man shouted. "We dance at everybody's wedding but our own. And they don't even thank us. All we'll get is a kick in the behind!"
"Feh! Gutter talk."
"It's the truth, the truth! You're all a bunch of traitors!"
"Ah, reel There's never an end to it!" Gina said with a sigh.
"That
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