MRS. KAVARSKY'S COUP D'ÉTAT.
It was not until after supper time that Gitl could see Mrs. Kavarsky;
for the neighbour's husband was in the installment business, and she
generally spent all day in helping him with his collections as well as
canvassing for new customers. When Gitl came in to unburden herself of
Fanny's revelations, she found her confidante out of sorts. Something
had gone wrong in Mrs. Kavarsky's affairs, and, while she was perfectly
aware that she had only herself to blame, she had laid it all to her
husband and had nagged him out of the house before he had quite
finished his supper.
She listened to her neighbour's story with a bored and impatient air,
and when Gitl had concluded and paused for her opinion, she remarked
languidly: "It serves you right! It is all _becuss_ you will not throw
away that ugly kerchief of yours. What is the use of your asking my
advice?"
"_Oi!_ I think even that wouldn't help it now," Gitl rejoined,
forlornly. "The Uppermost knows what drug she has charmed him with. A
cholera into her, Lord of the world!" she added, fiercely.
Mrs. Kavarsky lost her temper.
"_Say_, will you stop talking nonsense?" she shouted savagely. "No
wonder your husband does not _care_ for you, seeing these stupid
greenhornlike notions of yours."
"How then could she have bewitched him, the witch that she is? Tell me,
little heart, little crown, do tell me! Take pity and be a mother to
me. I am so lonely and----" Heartrending sobs choked her voice.
"What shall I tell you? that you are a blockhead? _Oi! Oi! Oi!_" she
mocked her. "Will the crying help you? _Ull right_, cry away!"
"But what shall I do?" Gitl pleaded, wiping her tears. "It may drive me
mad. I won't wear the kerchief any more. I swear this is the last day,"
she added, propitiatingly.
"_Dot's right!_ When you talk like a man I like you. And now sit still
and listen to what an older person and a business woman has to tell
you. In the first place, who knows what that girl--Jennie, Fannie,
Shmennie, Yomtzedemennie--whatever you may call her--is after?" The
last two names Mrs. Kavarsky invented by poetical license to complete
the rhyme and for the greater emphasis of her contempt. "In the second
place, _asposel_ [supposing] he did talk to that Polish piece of
disturbance. _Vell_, what of it? It is all over with the world, isn't
it? The mourner's prayer is to be said after it, I declare! A married
man stood talking to a girl! Just think of it! May no greater evil
befall any Yiddish daughter. This is not Europe where one dares not say
a word to a strange woman! _Nu, sir!_"
"What, then, is the matter with him? At home he would hardly ever leave
my side, and never ceased looking into my eyes. Woe is me, what America
has brought me to!" And again her grief broke out into a flood of
tears.
This time Mrs. Kavarsky was moved.
"Don't be crying, my child; he may come in for you," she said,
affectionately. "Believe me you are making a mountain out of a fly--you
are imagining too much."
"_Oi_, as my ill luck would have it, it is all but too true. Have I no
eyes, then? He mocks at everything I say or do; he can not bear the
touch of my hand. America _has_ made a mountain of ashes out of me.
Really, a curse upon Columbus!" she ejaculated mournfully, quoting in
all earnestness a current joke of the Ghetto.
Mrs. Kavarsky was too deeply touched to laugh. She proceeded to examine
her pupil, in whispers, upon certain details, and thereupon her
interest in Gitl's answers gradually superseded her commiseration for
the unhappy woman.
"And how does he behave toward the boy?" she absently inquired, after a
melancholy pause.
"Would he were as kind to me!"
"Then it is _ull right_! Such things will happen between man and wife.
It is all _humbuk_. It will all come right, and you will some day be
the happiest woman in the world. You shall see. Remember that Mrs.
Kavarsky has told you so. And in the meantime stop crying. A husband
hates a sniveller for a wife. You know the story of Jacob and Leah, as
it stands written in the Holy Five Books, don't you? Her eyes became
red with weeping, and Jacob, our father, did not _care_ for her on that
account. Do you understand?"
All at once Mrs. Kavarsky bit her lip, her countenance brightening up
with a sudden inspiration. At the next instant she made a lunge at
Gitl's head, and off went the kerchief. Gitl started with a cry, at the
same moment covering her head with both hands.
"Take off your hands! Take them off at once, I say!" the other
shrieked, her eyes flashing fire and her feet performing an Irish jig.
Gitl obeyed for sheer terror. Then, pushing her toward the sink, Mrs.
Kavarsky said peremptorily: "You shall wash off your silly tears and
I'll arrange your hair, and from this day on there shall be no
kerchief, do you hear?"
Gitl offered but feeble resistance, just enough to set herself right
before her own conscience. She washed herself quietly, and when her
friend set about combing her hair, she submitted to the operation
without a murmur, save for uttering a painful hiss each time there came
a particularly violent tug at the comb; for, indeed, Mrs. Kavarsky
plied her weapon rather energetically and with a bloodthirsty air, as
if inflicting punishment. And while she was thus attacking Gitl's
luxurious raven locks she kept growling, as glibly as the progress of
the comb would allow, and modulating her voice to its movements:
"Believe me you are a lump of hunchback, _sure_; you may--may depend
up-upon it! Tell me, now, do you ever comb yourself? You have raised
quite a plica, the black year take it! Another woman would thank God
for such beau-beautiful hair, and here she keeps it hidden and makes a
bu-bugbear of herself--a _regele monkey_!" she concluded, gnashing her
teeth at the stout resistance with which her implement was at that
moment grappling.
Gitl's heart swelled with delight, but she modestly kept silent.
Suddenly Mrs. Kavarsky paused thoughtfully, as if conceiving a new
idea. In another moment a pair of scissors and curling irons appeared
on the scene. At the sight of this Gitl's blood ran chill, and when the
scissors gave their first click in her hair she felt as though her
heart snapped. Nevertheless, she endured it all without a protest,
blindly trusting that these instruments of torture would help reinstall
her in Jake's good graces.
At last, when all was ready and she found herself adorned with a pair
of rich side bangs, she was taken in front of the mirror, and ordered
to hail the transformation with joy. She viewed herself with an
unsteady glance, as if her own face struck her as unfamiliar and
forbidding. However, the change pleased her as much as it startled her.
"Do you really think he will like it?" she inquired with piteous
eagerness, in a fever of conflicting emotions.
"If he does not, I shall refund your money!" her guardian snarled, in
high glee.
For a moment or so Mrs. Kavarsky paused to admire the effect of her
art. Then, in a sudden transport of enthusiasm, she sprang upon her
ward, and with an "_Oi_, a health to you!" she smacked a hearty kiss on
her burning cheek.
"And now come, piece of wretch!" So saying, Mrs. Kavarsky grasped Gitl
by the wrist, and forcibly convoyed her into her husband's presence.
* * * * *
The two boarders were out, Jake being alone with Joey. He was seated at
the table, facing the door, with the boy on his knees.
"_Goot-evenik_, Mr. Podkovnik! Look what I have brought you: a brand
new wife!" Mrs. Kavarsky said, pointing at her charge, who stood
faintly struggling to disengage her hand from her escort's tight grip,
her eyes looking to the ground and her cheeks a vivid crimson.
Gitl's unwonted appearance impressed Jake as something unseemly and
meretricious. The sight of her revolted him.
"It becomes her like a--a--a wet cat," he faltered out with a venomous
smile, choking down a much stronger simile which would have conveyed
his impression with much more precision, but which he dared not apply
to his own wife.
The boy's first impulse upon the entrance of his mother had been to run
up to her side and to greet her merrily; but he, too, was shocked by
the change in her aspect, and he remained where he was, looking from
her to Jake in blank surprise.
"Go away, you don't mean it!" Mrs. Kavarsky remonstrated distressedly,
at the same moment releasing her prisoner, who forthwith dived into the
bedroom to bury her face in a pillow, and to give way to a stream of
tears. Then she made a few steps toward Jake, and speaking in an
undertone she proceeded to take him to task. "Another man would
consider himself happy to have such a wife," she said. "Such a quiet,
honest woman! And such a housewife! Why, look at the way she keeps
everything--like a fiddle. It is simply a treat to come into your
house. I do declare you sin!"
"What do I do to her?" he protested morosely, cursing the intruder in
his heart.
"Who says you do? Mercy and peace! Only--you understand--how shall I
say it?--she is only a young woman; _vell_, so she imagines that you do
not _care_ for her as much as you used to. Come, Mr. Podkovnik, you
know you are a sensible man! I have always thought you one--you may ask
my husband. Really you ought to be ashamed of yourself. A prohibition
upon me if I could ever have believed it of you. Do you think a stylish
girl would make you a better wife? If you do, you are grievously
mistaken. What are they good for, the hussies? To darken the life of a
husband? That, I admit, they are really great hands at. They only know
how to squander his money for a new hat or rag every Monday and
Thursday, and to tramp around with other men, fie upon the
abominations! May no good Jew know them!"
Her innuendo struck Mrs. Kavarsky as extremely ingenious, and, egged on
by the dogged silence of her auditor, she ventured a step further.
"Do you mean to tell me," she went on, emphasizing each word, and
shaking her whole body with melodramatic defiance, "that you would be
better off with a _dantzin'-school_ girl?"
"_A danshin'-shchool_ girl?" Jake repeated, turning ashen pale, and
fixing his inquisitress with a distant gaze. "Who says I care for a
danshin'-shchool girl?" he bellowed, as he let down the boy and started
to his feet red as a cockscomb. "It was she who told you that, was it?"
Joey had tripped up to the lounge where he now stood watching his
father with a stare in which there was more curiosity than fright.
The little woman lowered her crest. "Not at all! God be with you!" she
said quickly, in a tone of abject cowardice, and involuntarily
shrinking before the ferocious attitude of Jake's strapping figure.
"Who? What? When? I did not mean anything at all, _sure_. Gitl _never_
said a word to me. A prohibition if she did. Come, Mr. Podkovnik, why
should you get _ektzited_?" she pursued, beginning to recover her
presence of mind. "By-the-bye--I came near forgetting--how about the
boarder you promised to get me; do you remember, Mr. Podkovnik?"
"Talk away a toothache for your grandma, not for me. Who told her about
_danshin'_ girls?" he thundered again, re-enforcing the ejaculation
with an English oath, and bringing down a violent fist on the table as
he did so.
At this Gitl's sobs made themselves heard from the bedroom. They lashed
Jake into a still greater fury.
"What is she whimpering about, the piece of stench! _Alla right_, I do
hate her; I can not bear the sight of her; and let her do what she
likes. _I don' care!_"
"Mr. Podkovnik! To think of a _sma't_ man like you talking in this
way!"
"Dot'sh alla right!" he said, somewhat relenting. "I don't _care_ for
any _danshin'_ girls. It is a ---- ---- lie! It was that scabby
_greenhorn_ who must have taken it into her head. I don't _care_ for
anybody; not for her certainly"--pointing to the bedroom. "I am an
_American feller_, a _Yankee_--that's what I am. What punishment is due
to me, then, if I can not stand a _shnooza_ like her? It is _nu ushed_;
I can not live with her, even if she stand one foot on heaven and one
on earth. Let her take everything"--with a wave at the household
effects--"and I shall pay her as much _cash_ as she asks--I am willing
to break stones to pay her--provided she agrees to a divorce."
The word had no sooner left his lips than Gitl burst out of the
darkness of her retreat, her bangs dishevelled, her face stained and
flushed with weeping and rage, and her eyes, still suffused with tears,
flashing fire.
"May you and your Polish harlot be jumping out of your skins and
chafing with wounds as long as you will have to wait for a divorce!"
she exploded. "He thinks I don't know how they stand together near her
house making love to each other!"
Her unprecedented show of pugnacity took him aback.
"Look at the Cossack of straw!" he said quietly, with a forced smile.
"Such a piece of cholera!" he added, as if speaking to himself, as he
resumed his seat. "I wonder who tells her all these fibs?"
Gitl broke into a fresh flood of tears.
"_Vell_, what do you want now?" Mrs. Kavarsky said, addressing herself
to her. "He says it is a lie. I told you you take all sorts of silly
notions into your head."
"_Ach_, would it were a lie!" Gitl answered between her sobs.
At this juncture the boy stepped up to his mother's side, and nestled
against her skirt. She clasped his head with both her hands, as though
gratefully accepting an offer of succour against an assailant. And
then, for the vague purpose of wounding Jake's feelings, she took the
child in her arms, and huddling him close to her bosom, she half turned
from her husband, as much as to say, "We two are making common cause
against you." Jake was cut to the quick. He kept his glance fixed on
the reddened, tear-stained profile of her nose, and, choking with hate,
he was going to say, "For my part, hang yourself together with him!"
But he had self-mastery enough to repress the exclamation, confining
himself to a disdainful smile.
"Children, children! Woe, how you do sin!" Mrs. Kavarsky sermonized.
"Come now, obey an older person. Whoever takes notice of such trifles?
You have had a quarrel? _ull right!_ And now make peace. Have an
embrace and a good kiss and _dot's ull_! _Hurry yup_, Mr. Podkovnik!
Don't be ashamed!" she beckoned to him, her countenance wreathed in
voluptuous smiles in anticipation of the love scene about to enact
itself before her eyes. Mr. Podkovnik failing to hurry up, however, she
went on disappointedly: "Why, Mr. Podkovnik! Look at the boy the
Uppermost has given you. Would he might send me one like him. Really,
you ought to be ashamed of yourself."
"Vot you kickin' aboyt, anyhoy?" Jake suddenly fired out, in English.
"Min' jou on businesh an' dot'sh ull," he added indignantly, averting
his head.
Mrs. Kavarsky grew as red as a boiled lobster.
"Vo--vo--vot _you_ keeck aboyt?" she panted, drawing herself up and
putting her arms akimbo. "He must think I, too, can be scared by his
English. I declare my shirt has turned linen for fright! I was in
America while you were hauling away at the bellows in Povodye; do you
know it?"
"Are you going out of my house or not?" roared Jake, jumping to his
feet.
"And if I am not, what will you do? Will you call a _politzman_? _Ull
right_, do. That is just what I want. I shall tell him I can not leave
her alone with a murderer like you, for fear you might kill her and the
boy, so that you might dawdle around with that Polish wench of yours.
Here you have it!" Saying which, she put her thumb between her index
and third finger--the Russian version of the well-known gesture of
contempt--presenting it to her adversary together with a generous
portion of her tongue.
Jake's first impulse was to strike the meddlesome woman. As he started
toward her, however, he changed his mind. "_Alla right_, you may remain
with her!" he said, rushing up to the clothes rack, and slipping on his
coat and hat. "_Alla right_," he repeated with broken breath, "we shall
see!" And with a frantic bang of the door he disappeared.
* * * * *
The fresh autumn air of the street at once produced its salutary effect
on his overexcited nerves. As he grew more collected he felt himself in
a most awkward muddle. He cursed his outbreak of temper, and wished the
next few days were over and the breach healed. In his abject misery he
thought of suicide, of fleeing to Chicago or St. Louis, all of which
passed through his mind in a stream of the most irrelevant and the most
frivolous reminiscences. He was burning to go back, but the nerve
failing him to face Mrs. Kavarsky, he wondered where he was going to
pass the night. It was too cold to be tramping about till it was time
to go to work, and he had not change enough to pay for a night's rest
in a lodging house; so in his despair he fulminated against Gitl and,
above all, against her tutoress. Having passed as far as the limits of
the Ghetto he took a homeward course by a parallel street, knowing all
the while that he would lack the courage to enter his house. When he
came within sight of it he again turned back, yearningly thinking of
the cosey little home behind him, and invoking maledictions upon Gitl
for enjoying it now while he was exposed to the chill air without the
prospect of shelter for the night. As he thus sauntered reluctantly
about he meditated upon the scenes coming in his way, and upon the
thousand and one things which they brought to his mind. At the same
time his heart was thirsting for Mamie, and he felt himself a wretched
outcast, the target of ridicule--a martyr paying the penalty of sins,
which he failed to recognise as sins, or of which, at any rate, he
could not hold himself culpable.
Yes, he will go to Chicago, or to Baltimore, or, better still, to
England. He pictured to himself the sensation it would produce and
Gitl's despair. "It will serve her right. What does she want of me?" he
said to himself, revelling in a sense of revenge. But then it was such
a pity to part with Joey! Whereupon, in his reverie, Jake beheld
himself stealing into his house in the dead of night, and kidnapping
the boy. And what would Mamie say? Would she not be sorry to have him
disappear? Can it be that she does not care for him any longer? She
seemed to. But that was before she knew him to be a married man. And
again his heart uttered curses against Gitl. Ah, if Mamie did still
care for him, and fainted upon hearing of his flight, and then could
not sleep, and ran around wringing her hands and raving like mad! It
would serve _her_ right, too! She should have come to tell him she
loved him instead of making that scene at his house and taking a
derisive tone with him upon the occasion of his visit to her. Still,
should she come to join him in London, he would receive her, he decided
magnanimously. They speak English in London, and have cloak shops like
here. So he would be no greenhorn there, and wouldn't they be
happy--he, Mamie, and little Joey! Or, supposing his wife suddenly
died, so that he could legally marry Mamie and remain in New York----
A mad desire took hold of him to see the Polish girl, and he
involuntarily took the way to her lodging. What is he going to say to
her? Well, he will beg her not to be angry for his failure to pay his
debt, take her into his confidence on the subject of his proposed
flight, and promise to send her every cent from London. And while he
was perfectly aware that he had neither the money to take him across
the Atlantic nor the heart to forsake Gitl and Joey, and that Mamie
would never let him leave New York without paying her twenty-five
dollars, he started out on a run in the direction of Chrystie Street.
Would she might offer to join him in his flight! She must have money
enough for two passage tickets, the rogue. Wouldn't it be nice to be
with her on the steamer! he thought, as he wrathfully brushed apart a
group of street urchins impeding his way.