The Naked and the Dead - Norman Mailer [240]
"That's something I've wondered about too," Minetta said. His thoughts, ambiguous, indefinite, troubled him. He felt himself on the edge of something profound. "Sometimes I get to thinking, you know, what's it all about? There was a guy who died in the hospital in the middle of the night. Sometimes I start thinking about him."
"Oh, that's terrible," Goldstein said. "He died just like that with nobody near him." He made a clucking sound of sympathy, and surprisingly, abruptly, a few tears mounted in his eyes.
Minetta looked at him in amazement. "Jesus, what's the matter?"
"I don't know, it's just so sad. He probably had a wife, parents."
Minetta nodded. "It's a funny thing about you Jews. You know you feel sorrier for yourself and sorrier for everybody else than most people do."
Roth, who had been lying beside them, quite silent until now, roused himself. "I'd like to take exception to that." The generalization made him apprehensive, as if a drunk were mouthing abuse at him.
"What do ya mean?" Minetta snapped. Roth irritated him, reminded him that in a few minutes they would be turning back to work. It loosed the covert fear that Croft would be watching them. "Who the hell invited you, Roth?"
"I think your statement had no foundation." The rebuff keyed Roth to defiance. A twenty-year-old kid, he said to himself, even they think they know it all. He shook his head, and said in his slow pompous voice, "It's a big question. A statement like that. . ." He waved his hand slowly in contempt.
Minetta had been pleased with his observation; Roth's interference fed his malice. "Who do you think is right, Goldstein? Me or the undertaker over there?"
Despite himself, Goldstein laughed. He had some compassion for Roth when he was not near him, but Roth was always so slow, so solemn, in everything he said. It was annoying to wait for him to finish a sentence. Besides, Minetta's analysis had not displeased Goldstein. "I don't know, I thought there was a lot of sense in what you said."
Roth smiled sourly. He was used to it, he told himself. Everybody always sided against him. Earlier, when they were working, he had resented the way Goldstein was so efficient. In some manner he had felt it to be a betrayal. That Goldstein agreed with Minetta now, caused him no surprise. "Absolutely without foundation," he repeated.
"Is that all you can say?" Minetta sneered. "Ab-so-lute-ly without foun-da-tion," he mimicked.
"All right, then, consider me." Roth ignored his sarcasm. "I'm a Jew, but I'm not religious. I probably am less well informed about it than you are, Minetta. Who are you to say what I feel? I have never detected any similarities in Jews. I consider myself an American."
Goldstein shrugged. "Are you ashamed?" he asked softly.
Roth expelled his breath with annoyance. "That's a species of question I don't like." His heart was thumping powerfully from the tension he felt at arguing into their blank unsympathetic faces. A strong, apparently irrational, anxiety moistened the palms of his; hands. "Is that the only answer you can think of?" he snapped. His voice tapered shrilly.
Aaah, the guineas and Jews are all the same, Minetta told himself. Always getting worked up over nothing. It made him feel superior to the argument.
"Listen, Roth," Goldstein said. "Why do you think Croft and Brown don't like you? It's not because of you, it's because of your religion, because of something that you say has nothing to do with you." Yes, he was uncertain. Roth disturbed him; he was always a little chagrined that Roth was Jewish, for he felt he would give a bad impression to Gentiles.
Roth had a pang because Croft and Brown didn't like him. He knew it, and yet it hurt somehow, hearing it put into words. "I wouldn't say that," he protested. "It's got nothing to do with religion." He was completely confused. It would be comforting if he could believe his religion was the cause of their antipathy, but other problems issued from it, other portents of future failure. He wanted