Fixer, The - Bernard Malamud [105]
“Shmuel, before I faint from excitement, how did you know I was in prison?”
Shmuel moved his feet restlessly. It wasn’t a dance though it looked like one.
“How I know, he asks. I knew because I knew. I know. When it came out in the Yiddish papers last year that a Jew was arrested in Kiev for murdering a Christian child, I thought to myself who can this poor Jew be, it must be my son-in-law Yakov. Then after a year I saw your name in the newspaper. A counterfeiter by the name of Gronfein got sick from his nerves and went around saying that Yakov Bok was in the Kiev prison for killing a Russian child. He saw him there. I tried to find this man but he disappeared and those who are hopeful hope he’s alive. Maybe he went to America, that’s what they hope. Yakov, maybe you don’t know, it’s a terrible tumult now all over Russia, and to tell you the truth, the Jews are frightened to death. Only a few know who you are, and some say it’s a fake, there’s nobody by that name, the goyim made it up to cast suspicion on the Jews. In the shtetl those who never liked you say it serves you right. Some have pity and would like to help you but we can’t do a thing till they give you an indictment. When I saw your name in the Jewish paper I wrote you right away a letter and they sent it back—’No such prisoner.’ I also sent you a little package, not much in it, just a few little things, but did you ever get it?”
“Poison I got but no package.”
“I tried to get in here to see you and nobody would let me till I made my profit on the sugar beets and I met the brother Zhitnyak.”
“Shmuel, I’m sorry for your forty rubles. It’s a lot of money and what are you getting for it?”
“Money is nothing. I came to see you, but if it paves my way a foot into Paradise it’s a fine investment.”
“Run, Shmuel,” the fixer said, agitated, “get out while you can or they’ll shoot you in cold blood and call it a Jewish conspiracy. If that happens I’m doomed forever.”
“I’m running,” said Shmuel, cracking his knuckles against his bony chest, “but tell me first why they blame you for this terrible crime?”
“Why they blame me? Because I was a stupid ass. I worked for a Russian factory owner in a forbidden district. Also I lived there without telling him my papers were Jewish.”
“You see, Yakov, what happens when you shave your beard and forget your God?”
“Don’t talk to me about God,” Yakov said bitterly. “I want no part of God. When you need him most he’s farthest away. Enough is enough. My past I don’t have to tell you, but if you knew what I’ve lived through since I saw you last.” He began to say but his voice cracked.
“Yakov,” said Shmuel, clasping and unclasping his excitable hands, “we’re not Jews for nothing. Without God we can’t live. Without the covenant we would have disappeared out of history. Let that be a lesson to you. He’s all we have but who wants more?”
“Me. I’ll take misery but not forever.”
“For misery don’t blame God. He gives the food but we cook it.”
“I blame him for not existing. Or if he does it’s on the moon or stars but not here. The thing is not to believe or the waiting becomes unbearable. I can’t hear his voice and never have. I don’t need him unless he appears.”
“Who are you, Yakov, Moses himself? If you don’t hear His voice so let Him hear yours. ‘When prayers go up blessings descend.’ “
“Scorpions descend, hail, fire, sharp rocks, excrement. For that I don’t need God’s help, the Russians are enough. All right, once I used to talk to him and answer myself, but what good does it do if I know so little in the first place? I used to mention once in a while the conditions of my life, my struggles, misfortunes, mistakes. On rare occasions I gave him a little good news,