You were nuts about her, weren’t you? Now that I look back on it, she wasn’t such a bad sort. A little too old, maybe, a little sad looking, but attractive. Didn’t she have a-son about your age?
Yes, I said. He died a few years ago.
You never thought you’d get out of that entanglement, did you? Seems like a thousand years ago … And what about Una? Guess you never did get over that, eh?
Guess not, I said.
You know what, Hen? You’re lucky. God comes to your rescue every time. Look, I’m not going to keep you from your work any longer. I’ll give you a ring in a few days and see what’s cooking. Don’t let me down, that’s all I beg of you.
He picked up his hat and walked to the door. By the way, he said, grinning, and nodding toward the machine—What’s the title of the novel going to be?
The Iron Horses of Vladivostok, I replied.
No kidding.
Or maybe—This Gentile World.
That’s sure to make it a best seller, he said.
Give my best to Guelda, when you phone her again!
Think up something good now, you bastard! And give my love to…
Mona!
Yeah, Mona. Ta ta!
Later that day there came another knock at the door. This time it was Sid Essen. He seemed excited and disturbed. Apologized profusely for intruding.
I just had to see you, he began. I do hope you’ll forgive me. Chase me away, if you’re in the midst of something…
‘Sit down, sit down, I said, I’m never too busy to see you. Are you in trouble?
No, no trouble. Lonely, maybe … and disgusted with myself. Sitting there in the dark I was getting glummer and glummer. Almost suicidal. Suddenly I thought of you. I said ‘Why not see Miller? He’ll cheer you up.’ And like that I up and left. The boy is taking care of the shop … Really, I’m ashamed of myself, but I couldn’t stand it another minute.
He rose from the divan and walked over to a print hanging on the wall beside my table. It was one of Hiroshige’s, from: The Fifty-three Stages of the Tokaido.
He looked at it intently, then turned to gaze at the others. Meanwhile his expression had changed from one of anxiety and gloom to sheer joy. When he finally turned his face to me he had tears in his eyes.
Miller, Miller, what a place you have! What an atmosphere! Just to stand here in your presence, surrounded by all this beauty, makes me feel like a new man. How I wish I could change places with you! I’m a rough neck, as you know, but I do love art, every form of art. And I’m particularly fond of Oriental art. I think the Japanese are a wonderful people. Everything they do is artistic … Yes, yes, it’s good to work in a room like this. You sit there with your thoughts and you’re king of the world. Such a pure life! You know, Miller, sometimes you remind me of a Hebrew scholar. There’s something of the saint in you too. That’s why I came to see you. You give me hope and courage. Even when you don’t say anything. You don’t mind my running on like this? I have to get it off my chest. He paused, as if to summon courage. I’m a failure, there’s no getting round that. I know it and I’m reconciled to it. But what hurts is to think that my boy may think so too. I don’t want him to pity me. Despise me, yes. But not pity me.
Reb, I said, I’ve never looked upon you as a failure. You’re almost like an older brother. What’s more, you’re kind and tender, and generous to a fault.
I wish my wife could hear you say that.
Never mind what she thinks. Wives are always hard on those they love.
Love. There hasn’t been any love, not for years. She has her own world; I have mine.
There was an awkward pause.
Do you think it would do any good if I dropped out of sight?
I doubt it, Reb. What would you do? Where would you go?
Anywhere. As for making a living, to tell the truth I’d be happy shining shoes. Money means nothing to me. I like people, I like to do things for them.
He looked up at the wall again. He pointed to a drawing of Hokusai’s—from Life in the Eastern Capital.
You see all those figures, he said. Ordinary people doing ordinary everyday things. That’s what I’d like—to be one of them, to be doing something ordinary. A barrel-maker or a tinsmith—what difference? To be part of the procession, that’s the thing. Not sit in an empty store all day killing time. Damn it, I’m still good for something. What would you. do in my place?
Reb, I said, I was in exactly your position once upon a time. Yes, I used to sit all day in my father’s shop, doing nothing. I thought I’d go crazy. I loathed the place. But I didn’t know how to break loose.
How did you then?
Fate pushed me out, I guess. But I must tell you this … while I was eating my heart out I was praying too. Every day I prayed that some one—God perhaps—would show me the way. I was also thinking of writing, even that far back. But it was more a dream than a possibility. It took me years, even after I had left the tailor shop, to write a line. One should never despair…
But you were only a kid then. I’m getting to be an old man.
Even so. The years that are left you are yours. If there’s something you really want to do there’s still time.
Miller, he said, almost woefully, there’s no creative urge in me. All I ask is to get out the trap. I want to live again. I want to get back into the current. That’s all.
What’s stopping you?
Don’t say that! Please don’t say that! What’s stopping me? Everything. My wife, my kids, my obligations. Myself, most of all. I’ve got too poor an opinion of myself.
I couldn’t help smiling. Then, as if to myself, I replied:
Only we humans seem to have a low opinion of ourselves. Take a worm, for example—do you suppose a worm looks down on itself?
It’s terrible to feel guilty, he said. And for what? What have I done?
It’s what you haven’t done, isn’t it?
Yes, yes, of course.
Do you know what’s more important than doing something?
No, said Reb.
Being yourself.
But if you’re nothing?
Then be nothing. But be it absolutely.
That sounds crazy.
It is. That’s why it’s so sound.
Go on, he said, you make me feel good.
In wisdom is death, you’ve heard that, haven’t you? Isn’t it better to be a little meshuggah? Who worries about you? Only you. When you can’t sit in the store any more, why don’t you get up and take a walk? Or go to the movies? Close the shop, lock the door. A customer more or less won’t make any difference in your life, will it? Enjoy yourself! Go fishing once in a while, even if you don’t know how to fish. Or take your car and drive out into the country. Anywhere. Listen to the birds, bring home some flowers, or some, fresh oysters.
He was leaning forward, all ears, a broad smile stretched across his face.
Tell me more, he said. It sounds wonderful.
Well, remember this … the store won’t run away from you. Business won’t get any better. Nobody asks you to lock yourself in all day. You’re a free man. If by becoming more careless and negligent you grow happier, who will blame you? I’ll make a further suggestion. Instead of going off by yourself, take one of your Negro tenants with you. Show him a good time. Give him some clothing from your store. Ask him if you can lend him some money. Buy his wife a little, gift for him to take home. See what I mean?
He began to laugh. Do I see? It sounds great. That’s just what I’m going to do.
Don’t make too big a splurge all at once, I cautioned. Take it slow and easy. Follow your instincts. For instance, maybe one day you’ll feel like getting yourself a piece of tail. Don’t have a bad conscience about it. Try a piece of dark meat now and then. It’s tastier, and it costs less. Anything to make you relax, remember that. Always treat yourself well. If you feel like a worm, grovel; if you feel like a bird, fly. Don’t worry about what the neighbors may think. Don’t worry about your kids, they’ll take care of themselves. As for your wife, maybe when she sees you happy she’ll change her tune. She’s a good woman, your wife. Too conscientious, that’s all. Needs to laugh once in a while. Did you ever try a limerick on her? Here’s one for you…
There was a young girl from Peru,
Who dreamt she was raped by a Jew,
She awoke in the night,
With a scream of delight,
To find it was perfectly true!
Good, good! he exclaimed. Do you know any more?
Yes, I said, but I’ve got to get back to work now. Feel better now, don’t you? Tomorrow we visit the darkies, eh? Maybe some day next week I’ll ride out to Bluepoint with you. How’s that?
Would you? Oh, that would be dandy, just dandy. By the way, how is the book coming along? Are you nearly finished with it? I’m dying to read it, you know. So is Mrs. Essen.
Reb, you won’t like the book at all. I must tell you that straight off.
How
