The Spinoza of Market Street - Isaac Bashevis Singer [28]
Helena and her mother arrived late, after the music had started. When the coachman opened the carriage door and Helena stepped down she was greeted by the admiring shrieks of the girls and whistles of the young hoodlums. She was like a portrait come alive.
IV
A KISS ON THE HAND
Helena and her mother were welcomed by the Post Natchalnik and his wife. Other guests came to greet them. The men kissed their hands, the ladies paid them compliments. Helena felt as if she were floating. She spoke, not knowing what she said, or why. Her eyes searched, not knowing for whom. Suddenly she spied Dr. Yaretzky. He was surrounded by young, attractive ladies--the wives and daughters of the gentry and the authorities. He might have been the only man in the ballroom who wore no medals. The days when Yaretzky had been branded gypsy, Jew-barber and Devil were long past. The town's ladies, particularly the young and prominent ones, adored him. They repeated his piquant witticisms, they lauded his medical ability. They even forgave him his bachelorhood and his living with the deaf-mute servant girl. He was bold with the ladies, having delivered the children of some and seen others undressed in his office.
When Helena saw him, she was stunned momentarily. She had almost forgotten about him--or had she made herself forget? He seemed so dashing now in his dress coat and highly polished shoes. The black eyes seemed wise and humorous. A young woman tried coquettishly to place a flower in his lapel where apparently there was no buttonhole. The women laughed and clapped their hands, as Dr. Yaretzky undoubtedly offered a riposte, one of his impertinent sallies, which no other man present would have dared utter in mixed company. "Do I still hate him?" Helena asked herself, and even as she asked it, she knew the answer. Her antagonism had mysteriously dissolved--and been replaced by a curiosity as strong as her enmity--perhaps even stronger. She realized something else: she had not forgotten about Dr. Yaretzky at all but had thought of him constantly, possessed as if in a dream, when one thinks with every tissue of the brain without being aware of it. "Will someone introduce us?" she wondered. "I must speak with him, dance with him."
She was jealous of the fawning women who flirted with him so casually. As if he'd been reading her mind, the Natchalnik said: "Is the esteemed Lady Helena acquainted with our Doctor Yaretzky? One moment, if you please. . . ."
He trotted over to Yaretzky, whispered something in his ear, took him by the arm and good-naturedly led him over to Helena.
The other ladies protested, half jestingly, that he was appropriating their cavalier. A few of them even trailed along, not sure of how to react. The balmy evening, the scintillating music, the fragrance of the flowers and perfumes and the drinks the ladies had had, all contributed to an atmosphere of frivolity; Yaretzky bowed to Helena, his smoldering eyes seemed to imply: "Yes, it's about time we two got together. I've anticipated this meeting!" and he offered his hand.
And then there occurred one of those mysteries, one of those imponderables, which confound human reason. Helena lifted Dr. Yaretzky's hand to her mouth--and kissed it. It happened so quickly, that she did not realize what she had done until afterwards. She laughed strangely. Her mother choked off a scream. The ladies were struck dumb. The Natchalnik looked paralyzed--his mouth remained