«But you’re not very happy right now, are you?» said Kronski, as though ignoring her words. «Tell me, what has he done to make you—?»
«He hasn’t done anything,» she said spiritedly. «He doesn’t know what’s bothering me.»
«Well, can you tell me?» said Kronski, altering his voice and moistening his eyes so that he resembled a piteous, friendly little whelp.
«Don’t press her,» I said, «she’ll tell us in due time.» I was looking at Kronski as I spoke. His expression suddenly changed. He turned his head away. I looked at Mara and there were tears in her eyes; they began to flow copiously. In a moment she excused herself and went to the washroom. Kronski looked at me with a wan dead smile, the look of the sick clam expiring in moonlight.
«Don’t take it so tragically,» I said. «She’s a brave sort, she’ll pull out of it.»
«That’s what you say! You don’t suffer. You get emotional and you call it suffering. That girl’s in trouble, can’t you see? She wants you to do something for her—not just wait till it passes. If you don’t pump her I will. This time you’ve got a real woman. And a real woman, Mister Miller, expects something of a man—not just words and gestures. If she wants you to run away with her, to leave your wife, your child, your job, I’d say do it. Listen to her and not to your own selfish promptings!» He slumped back in his seat and picked his teeth. After a pause—-«And you met her in a dance hall? Well, I must congratulate you for having the sense to recognize the genuine article. That girl can make something of you, if you’ll let her. If it’s not too late, I mean. You’re pretty far gone, you know. Another year with that wife of yours and you’re finished.» He spat on the floor in disgust. «You have luck. You get things without working for them. I work like a son of a bitch and the moment I turn my back everything crumbles.»
«That’s because I’m a Goy,» I said jestingly.
«You’re no Goy. You’re a black Jew. You’re one of those fascinating Gentiles that every Jew wants to shine up to. You’re…. Oh, good you mentioned that. Mara is a Jewess, of course? Come now, don’t pretend you don’t know. Hasn’t she told you yet?»
That Mara should be a Jewess sounded so highly preposterous I simply laughed in his face.
«You want me to prove it to you, is that it?»
«I don’t care what she is,» I said, «but I’m sure she’s not Jewish.»
«What is she then? You don’t call that a pure Aryan, I hope?»
«I never asked her,» I replied. «You ask her if you like.»
«I won’t ask her,» said Kronski, «because she might lie to me in front of you—but I’ll tell you whether I’m right or not the next time I see you. I guess I can tell a Jew when I see one.»
«You thought I was a Jew you first met me.» He laughed outright at this. «So you really believed that? Haw haw! Well, that’s pretty good. You poor sap, I told you that just to flatter you. If you had a drop of Jewish blood in you I’d lynch you, out of respect for my people. You a Jew?… Well, well….» He rolled his head from side to side with tears in his eyes. «First of all a Jew is smart,» he began again, «and you, you’re certainly not smart. And a Jew is honest—get that! Are you honest? Have you got an ounce of truth in you? And a Jew feels. A Jew is always humble, even when he’s arrogant…. Here comes Mara now. Let’s drop the subject.»
«You were talking about me, weren’t you?» said Mara, as she sat down. «Why don’t you go on? I don’t mind.»
«You’re wrong,» said Kronski, «we weren’t talking about you at all…»
«He’s a liar,» I broke in. «We were talking about you, only we didn’t get very far. I wish, Mara, you’d tell him about your family—the things you told me, I mean.»
Her face clouded up. «Why should you be concerned about my family?» she said, with an ill-disguised show of irritation. «My family is thoroughly uninteresting.»
«I don’t believe it,» said Kronski blankly. «I think you’re concealing something.»
The look that passed between them gave me a jolt. It was as if she had given him the signal to proceed cautiously. They understood one another in some subterranean fashion, in a way which excluded me. The image of the woman in the backyard of her home came vividly to my mind. That woman was no neighbor, as she had tried to insinuate. Could it have been her step-mother? I tried to recall what she had told me about her real mother but immediately became lost in the complicated maze she had woven about this obviously painful subject.
«What is it you’d like to know about my family?» she said, turning to me.
«I don’t want to ask you anything that would make you uncomfortable,» I said, «but if it isn’t indiscreet would you mind telling us about your step-mother?»
«Where did your step-mother come from?» asked Kronski.
«From Vienna,» said Mara. «And you, were you born in Vienna too?»
«No, I was born in Roumania, in a little mountain village. I may have some Gypsy blood in me.»
«You mean your mother was a Gypsy?»
«Yes, there’s a story to that effect. My father is said to have run away with her on the eve of his marriage to my step-mother. That’s why my mother hates me, I guess. I’m the black sheep of the family.»
«And you adore your father, I suppose?»
«I worship him. He’s like me. The others are strangers to me—we haven’t anything in common.»
«And you support the family, is that it?» said Kronski.
«Who told you that? I see, so that’s what you were talking about when…»
«No, Mara, nobody told me. I can see it in your face. You’re making a sacrifice of yourself—that’s why you’re unhappy.»
«I won’t deny it,» she said. «It’s for my father I’m doing it. He’s an invalid, he can’t work any more.»
«What’s the matter with your brothers?» «Nothing. Just lazy. I spoiled them. You see, I ran away when I was sixteen; I couldn’t stand the life at home. I stayed away a year; when I returned I found them in misery. They’re helpless. I’m the only one who has any initiative.»
«And you support the entire family?»
«I try to,» she said. «Sometimes I want to give up—it’s too big a burden. But I can’t. If I were to walk out they would starve to death.»
«Nonsense,» said Kronski heatedly. «That’s the very thing you ought to do.»
«But I can’t—not while my father is alive. I’d do anything, I’d prostitute myself, rather than see him in want.»
«And they’d let you do it, too,» said Kronski. «Look, Mara, you’ve put yourself in a false position. You can’t assume all the responsibility. Let the others take care of themselves. Take your father away—we’ll help you to look after him. He doesn’t know how you get the money, does he? You haven’t told him that you work in a dance hall, have you?»
«No, I haven’t. He thinks I’m in the theatre. But my mother knows.»
«And she doesn’t care?»
«Care?» said Mara, with a bitter smile. «She wouldn’t care what I did so long as I keep the house together. She says I’m no good. Calls me a whore. I’m just like my mother, she says.»
I interrupted. «Mara,» I said, «I had no idea it was as bad as this. Kronski’s right, you’ve got to extricate yourself. Why don’t you do as he suggests—leave the family and take your father along with you?»
«I’d love to,» she said, «but my father would never leave my mother. She’s got a hold over him—she’s made a child of him.»
«But if he knew what you were doing?»
«He’ll never know. I won’t let anybody tell him. My mother threatened to tell him once: I told her I’d kill her if she did.» She smiled bitterly. «Do you know what my mother said? She said I had been trying to poison her.»
At this point Kronski suggested that we continue the conversation uptown at the home of a friend of his who was away. He said we could spend the night there if we liked. In the subway his mood changed; he became again the leering, bantering, diabolical, pale-faced toad that he usually was. This meant that he considered himself seductive, felt empowered to ogle the attractive looking females. The perspiration was pouring down his face, wilting his collar. His talk became hectic, scattered, altogether without continuity. In his distorted way he was trying to create an atmosphere of drama; he flapped his arms loosely, like a demented bat caught between two powerful search-lights.
To my disgust Mara appeared to be amused by this spectacle. «He’s quite mad, your friend,» she said, «but I like him.»
Kronski overheard the remark. He grinned tragically and the perspiration began flowing more freely. The more he grinned, the more he clowned and aped it, the more melancholy he looked. He never wanted anybody to think him sad. He was Kronski, the big, vital, healthy, jovial, negligent, reckless, carefree fellow who solved everybody’s problems. He could talk for hours on end—for days, if you had
