Dasvidaniya

Chapter 4

Chapter 4“He had your number, Mr. G, didn't he? That Frederick.”

“I suppose he did.”

“Why didn't you like him?”

I shrugged. “I don't know. Maybe it was just his blond good looks. Too Aryan. That air of superiority.”

“You were jealous maybe?”

“Maybe,” I conceded. “Just maybe.”

I suffered through the longest two weeks of my life. During the day, I toiled at the mill. After the evening meal, I submitted to whatever t*****e Frederick dreamed up – and he had a vivid imagination. We'd run to the river facing forward hands above our shoulders, then return to the villa running backward. Frederick taught me to spar, blow after blow after blow. My arms turned to lead, so heavy, I couldn't lift them above my waist. Then came the drills; up on my toes dancing, side-to-side, forward and back until my calves and arches screamed with pain. Frederick launched bombs at my head and I learned to dodge and weave. More than once, Frederick knocked me flat on my a*s, forced me to get up, then did it again. After ten days of this treatment, my anger exploded. I surged forward, wildly raining blows on Frederick's unblemished arms and chest, bellowing at him like a frenzied animal. He didn't lift a hand to protect himself, not once. Calmly, that smile twisted on his lips, Frederick pushed me away.

“Are you finished?” he asked.

I stood there, wild-eyed, staring at him, panting and sweating, drool running from my mouth.

“Are you finished?” he asked again.

“Like hell I am,” I replied.

Frederick smiled, for real this time.

“Good. Then, let's box.” From that moment, I understood. I hated him but I understood.

The morning he left for Warsaw, Frederick stopped by my room.

“I know you haven't enjoyed our time together,” he said. “But at least I feel I have given you some tools that will help you.”

“You expect me to thank you?” I asked.

Frederick smiled. “Remember,” he said. “Balance is the key. I'll be back at the end of the summer. Keep practicing. We'll see then what you can do.” Then he left.

I heard his light steps on the stairs falling away and went to the window. I saw Katya reach up, stand on her tiptoes and give Frederick a kiss on the cheek. Frederick smiled at her, then got into the waiting car and drove off.

I slammed my fist into an open palm with a vicious smack.

That Sunday I answered the door as Papa's two brothers, Herman and Mendel, brought their wives and children to dinner. Six cousins in all. Katya toiled with Mama cutting flowers for the table, polishing the good silverware, helping in the kitchen. Simmy and I didn't have to do anything and couldn't have been happier.

I didn't enjoy these occasions. My cousin Sonya who, inevitably, sat beside me at dinner, had a large wart right in the middle of her nose. She looked like a witch.

“Sonya has the evil eye. You have to spit behind her back,” Simmy said. “Then kiss the mezzuzah for luck or she'll cast a spell on you.”

“Whatever you say, Simmy,” I said. We stood together on the verandah observing the domestic activity inside. Katya glared at us. “I think Katya is giving us the evil eye right now.”

“It's not our fault girls have to do all the housework,” Simmy said. “It's better being a boy.”

Sonya, the witch, sat between me and Simmy at dinner. Simmy kept looking at me and giggling. Papa and his brothers sat at the opposite end of the table while the aunts, Ruth and Sara, sat beside them. The children were sandwiched between the adults. I didn't care for my cousins, parochial schoolboys all of them.

“So, Mordecai,” said Uncle Herman, “how do you like working in the mill?” A dribble of borscht ran down his chin.

“I don't care for it much. You can tell the boss from me, the pay is lousy.” My two uncles chuckled awkwardly while the aunts looked horrified. The conversation at the table ceased. Papa pricked up his ears and wrinkled his eyebrows.

“So, my son. You think you're not paid enough?” he asked in a querulous tone.

“I do a man's work, Papa. I should be paid a man's wages, don't you think?”

“But you're not a man. Not yet.”

“He has a point,” said Mendel.

“But a man earns a man's wages, not a boy,” insisted Papa. “This is only natural. It's how the system works.”

“Then we must change the system,” I replied.

“What are you, a communist?” my father asked, anger flashing in his dark eyes.

“No Papa. I'm asking only a question. I don't think it's fair, that's all.”

Papa stroked his beard. “I see.” He reached for the decanter and poured a glass of wine. “Since you consider yourself a man, then take a drink of wine.”

“But a whole glass?” asked Mama. “It will make him sick.”

“We'll see.” Reb Goldman stood up from the table, strode purposefully to where I sat and plunked the glass in front of me. I picked it up and took a gulp.

“Not bad,” I said.

“Don't drink too quickly,” said Herman. “You'll get a sore head.”

“And more than that,” added Mendel.

“I'll be okay.” I took another mouthful. I'd downed half of it. Papa came around behind and clapped me on the shoulders, digging his fingers through muscle into the sinew. I wanted to shrug him off but kept very still. He could be hard when he wanted to.

“You want to grow up all at once, eh Mordecai? Don't be in such a hurry. The world will wait for you.”

I tried to pull away but he held me fast.

“Maybe I won't wait for it,” I declared feeling grown up in my defiance. “So, do I earn a man's wages or not?”

My father pondered the question then released his grip. He pulled at his beard then returned to his chair. He spoke deliberately. “No, my son, you do not.”

I stared at him for a long while without saying anything. He met my gaze calmly. I picked up the wine glass and drank down the remainder.

“All right,” I said. “But I'll take another glass of wine.” The room froze into silence; all eyes turned to Papa.

Then Uncle Herman snorted and pretended to cough, finally erupting into wheezing, hacking laughter. The others stared at him in surprise as his laughter burbled around the silent dining room. Without warning, his wife began to titter, burying her face in her hands while her sister-in-law grinned. My cousins brayed like a pack of frenzied mules. Even Papa couldn't hold his composure after that and when Simmy broke out into hysterical giggles, he too opened his mouth to laugh aloud, then guffawed, his cheeks turning red, his chest heaving. I relaxed finally and looked around the table, smiling. Laughter seemed better than tears, I thought.