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diff --git a/old/56178-h/56178-h.htm b/old/56178-h/56178-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index c456c8c..0000000 --- a/old/56178-h/56178-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,16029 +0,0 @@ -<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.1//EN" - "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml11/DTD/xhtml11.dtd"> - -<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en"> - -<head> - -<link rel="coverpage" href="images/img-cover.jpg" /> - -<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=ISO-8859-1" /> - -<title> -The Project Gutenberg E-text of Forward from Babylon, by Louis Golding -</title> - -<style type="text/css"> -body { color: black; - background: white; - margin-right: 10%; - margin-left: 10%; - font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; - text-align: justify } - -p {text-indent: 4% } - -p.noindent {text-indent: 0% } - -p.t1 {text-indent: 0% ; - font-size: 200%; - text-align: center } - -p.t2 {text-indent: 0% ; - font-size: 150%; - text-align: center } - -p.t2b {text-indent: 0% ; - font-size: 150%; - font-weight: bold; - text-align: center } - -p.t3 {text-indent: 0% ; - font-size: 100%; - text-align: center } - -p.t3b {text-indent: 0% ; - font-size: 100%; - font-weight: bold; - text-align: center } - -p.t4 {text-indent: 0% ; - font-size: 80%; - text-align: center } - -p.t4b {text-indent: 0% ; - font-size: 80%; - font-weight: bold; - text-align: center } - -p.t5 {text-indent: 0% ; - font-size: 60%; - text-align: center } - -h1 { text-align: center } -h2 { text-align: center } -h3 { text-align: center } -h4 { text-align: center } -h5 { text-align: center } - -p.poem {text-indent: 0%; - margin-left: 10%; } - -p.thought {text-indent: 0% ; - letter-spacing: 4em ; - text-align: center } - -p.letter {text-indent: 0%; - margin-left: 10% ; - margin-right: 10% } - -p.footnote {text-indent: 0% ; - font-size: 80%; - margin-left: 10% ; - margin-right: 10% } - -.smcap { font-variant: small-caps } - -p.transnote {text-indent: 0% ; - margin-left: 10% ; - margin-right: 10% } - -p.intro {font-size: 90% ; - text-indent: -5% ; - margin-left: 5% ; - margin-right: 0% } - -p.quote {text-indent: 4% ; - margin-left: 0% ; - margin-right: 0% } - -p.finis { font-size: larger ; - text-align: center ; - text-indent: 0% ; - margin-left: 0% ; - margin-right: 0% } - -</style> - -</head> - -<body> - - -<pre> - -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Forward from Babylon, by Louis Golding - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: Forward from Babylon - -Author: Louis Golding - -Release Date: December 13, 2017 [EBook #56178] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FORWARD FROM BABYLON *** - - - - -Produced by Al Haines - - - - - -</pre> - - -<h1> -<br /><br /> - FORWARD FROM BABYLON<br /> -</h1> - -<p class="t2"> - BY<br /> -</p> - -<p class="t2b"> - LOUIS GOLDING<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> - 1921<br /> - MOFFAT, YARD & COMPANY<br /> - NEW YORK<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> -FOR MY FATHER -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t4"> -<a href="#glossary"><i>A Glossary of some Yiddish words is given on p.</i> 308.</a> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3b"> - CONTENTS<br /> -</p> - -<p class="t3"> - BOOK I<br /> -</p> - -<p class="t3b"> - FORWARD FROM DOOMINGTON WALLS<br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> - CHAPTER<br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> - <a href="#chap0101">I</a><br /> - <a href="#chap0102">II</a><br /> - <a href="#chap0103">III</a><br /> - <a href="#chap0104">IV</a><br /> - <a href="#chap0105">V</a><br /> -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> - BOOK II<br /> -</p> - -<p class="t3b"> - FORWARD FROM PHYLACTERIES<br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> - <a href="#chap0206">VI</a><br /> - <a href="#chap0207">VII</a><br /> - <a href="#chap0208">VIII</a><br /> - <a href="#chap0209">IX</a><br /> - <a href="#chap0210">X</a><br /> -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> - BOOK III<br /> -</p> - -<p class="t3b"> - APHRODITE<br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> - <a href="#chap0311">XI</a><br /> - <a href="#chap0312">XII</a><br /> - <a href="#chap0313">XIII</a><br /> - <a href="#chap0314">XIV</a><br /> - <a href="#chap0315">XV</a><br /> - <a href="#chap0316">XVI</a><br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap0101"></a></p> - -<h2> -FORWARD FROM BABYLON -</h2> - -<p class="t3b"> -BOOK I -</p> - -<p class="t3b"> -FORWARD FROM DOOMINGTON WALLS -</p> - -<p><br /><br /></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER I -</h3> - -<p> -Russia—here was the first Babylon. Sitting on -the metal stool, his second-hand velvet suit -fraying against the heat of the oven, Philip's big eyes -were round with horror of this immense, inscrutable -place. Everything they said was portentous, not -wholly real. Many of their words attained a meaning -only after laborious thinking. -</p> - -<p> -"<i>Kossacken</i>—big as trees!" -</p> - -<p> -"Big spikes in front of the Gubernator's house! -Babies stuck! Rachel, the parchment-maker's daughter, -caught up on a white horse! Never heard of again!" -</p> - -<p> -"Blood in the streets, thick!" -</p> - -<p> -A fear and a helpless rage seized the faces there, -always only half seen in the gloom of the kitchen. By -day, beyond the bars which uselessly scowled against -the small glass panes, the drab walls of the house next -door kept away everything but a dirty and dubious -light. By night, the flare of the coal-gas jet distorted -his father, Reb Monash, and his own feet on the fender, -and the sofa into things of blurred, awkward lines. -</p> - -<p> -It must be confessed that Reb Monash Massel was -not wholly unconscious of his power to produce this -atmosphere where terrible and impalpable presences -flowed from his lips in a shadowy rout. Sabres flashing! -Hilarious ponderous blasphemies tangled in the beards -of <i>Kossacken</i> storming onward and away! -</p> - -<p> -"You've heard me talk of Mendel, the Red One? -No, not the shoemaker, the clerk! It was when -a clerk he was, in the woods! They were cutting -the Posne firs. They knew he was a Jew, the -wood-cutters, and they put their heads together. -Can one be a Jew without stabbing the <i>goyishke</i> eyes, -eh? He was working very late one night; it was near -the end of the month and he had all his accounts to make -up. Well, he was bending over his papers very busy, -and it was late, after midnight. There were owls -hooting and two or three mad dogs in the woods crying -now and again. It was very miserable, but he was bent -over his figures. Above his head the air sang suddenly. -He lifted his head and a knife he saw, quivering in the -log wall beyond him, to his left. The window on his -right was wide open because it was a sultry night. He -got up quietly and closed the window, then took the -knife out to give back to its owner next day. He was -settling down to his work again when his eye was caught -by something gleaming in the opposite wall. They were -very badly built log cottages, these, pulled down as -soon as the trees in that part of the forest were cleared. -Badly built, big chinks between the logs. It was the -gleam of a gun pointing at him through a chink...." -</p> - -<p> -Somebody uttered a sharp cry. Philip on the fender-stool -sat with the points of his elbows striking into his -thighs, his chin pressed down into the palms of his -hands. A burning coke exploded in the fire and a -fragment jumped out on the mat. Mrs. Massel stooped to it -and swiftly, with unprotected hands, threw it back into -the fire. -</p> - -<p> -"It's already a long time ago," said Reb Monash. "I -wasn't fifteen yet. I wasn't married. It's all over now, -it's all over. Besides," he went on comfortably, at the -risk of disturbing the atmosphere he had created by his -subtle modulations of tone, his pauses, his notes of -drawn tension, "besides, they'll all be frying in hell, -the wood-cutters, one and all! What will you?" -</p> - -<p> -A slight murmur of satisfaction went round among -the women. The assurance coming from so authoritative -a source as Reb Monash himself, no one could -doubt that the wood-cutters had long ago met their -deserts and were still adequately enduring them. -</p> - -<p> -"<i>Nu tatte</i>, what about Mendel, the Red One?" This -from Philip in an anxious quaver. -</p> - -<p> -Reb Monash looked round and down on Philip, a -significant droop in his eyelids, his lips tightening a -little. -</p> - -<p> -"<i>Schweig</i>," he said. "Silence! is thy <i>tatte</i> running -away?" -</p> - -<p> -"Hush!" Mrs. Massel echoed, very quietly, from -her corner of the sofa. -</p> - -<p> -Reb Monash could not resist the temptation of taking -out one of his Silver Virginia cigarettes, deliberately -setting it in his mouthpiece, lighting it, and drawing -smoke two or three times contemplatively. -</p> - -<p> -Somebody's foot tapped in a corner. He resumed. -"<i>Yah</i>, a gun pointing at him through a chink. What -was there to do, I ask you? If they fired—well, they -fired, and he was dead. If they didn't fire, he was alive. -And if a man's alive, a man must live. Not so? So he -took his quill in his hand again ... and he heard a -little noise in the wall behind him. He looked round. -Another gun. There, held by unseen hands in the night. -Another gun. Pointing at him. Two guns pointing at -him. He turned round to his table again. A Jew's not -a Jew for nothing. He said a few blessings. Thou -hearest, Feivel?" turning to Philip. -</p> - -<p> -Philip swallowed a lump in his throat fearfully. He -was afraid to answer. It was perhaps one of those -rhetorical questions to which an answer was somehow, -mysteriously, an offence. He thrust his head deeper -into his hands and blinked. -</p> - -<p> -"He said a few blessings," Reb Monash repeated, to -press the moral home upon his listeners. "Well, what -will you? He was a good clerk, very neat. And while -the minutes in his clock were ticking as slowly as the -years during the Time of Bondage, his figures he brought -over from column to column. When came the first sign -of morning so that the lamp shone less strongly on the -two guns in the walls there, pointed at his heart," these -last words with slow emphasis and repeated, "pointed -at his heart—he dipped his head and hands into his -bowl of water, took out his <i>tallus</i> and his <i>tephilim</i>; -and when he was passing the strap round his arm, he -heard very faintly the guns withdrawn through the -chinks in the walls. But he could hear no feet creeping -away. Besides, he was <i>davenning</i>; how could he -listen to anything else? It's only God you must think -about when you're <i>davenning</i>, no? -</p> - -<p> -"He finished when it was already day in his hut. -His beard—it was a small beard, only a young man's -beard—was grey, like the snow in Angel Street. He did -his accounts so well, did Mendel, the Red One—they -always called him the Red One, even after that night, -and strangers wondered why Red One—so well, that the -merchant he worked for increased his wages by a rouble -a month soon after. Oh, a Russia it was! What say -you?" -</p> - -<p> -By this time Mrs. Levine, from Number Seven, was -soaked in tears, her face, her blouse, and even the flour -on her apron was streaky and damp. She had come in -half-way through, but any anecdote, sad or merry, or -merely a parable to illustrate a point of law, invariably -reduced her to tears. -</p> - -<p> -"<i>Nu, nu!</i>" said Reb Monash, "over a year in Jerusalem!" -which was a signal that no further ramification -was to be expected from that anecdote, and -moreover, that it might not be unwise for Mrs. Massel to -drop her knitting and prepare for him a tumblerful of -tea and lemon, with a lump of sugar—not too much -lemon, for these were hard times; not like Russia, -where people hung round your neck to beg the privilege -from you of staying with them as a guest for two months, -three months, as long as you liked. Well, that was -Russia, but what could you expect from England? -Pah! <i>Yidishkeit</i> going to the dogs! Young men he'd -seen with his own eyes shamelessly boarding those -new-fangled electric tramcars on a <i>Shabbos</i>! Which involved -a double offence; not only riding but also carrying -money in their pockets to pay for this dissipation—money -on <i>Shabbos</i>! -</p> - -<p> -So it seemed, Philip was fitfully made aware, that -there were aspects of this Russian Babylon which -compared very favourably with the situation in England, or, -more precisely, in the drab Northern city of Doomington, -where Philip first saw the light, seven years before; or, -perhaps, to be accurate, in Angel Street, where the -wire factory at one end and the grocer's shop at the -other were the limits of his confident experience. -Beyond Moishele's shop ("grocer's" shop only for -convenience, seeing that his stock-in-trade extended from -sewing-machines to fish and beetroot), Doomington -Road extended its sonorous length, where, sole oases -in this desert of terror, Philip recognized the Bridgeway -Elementary School and the Polish Synagogue, the -<i>Polisher Shool</i>. -</p> - -<p> -It was not wholly that the young scions of Judća in -Russia were so far from committing definite sins against -God and Man that their days were a positive round of -gratuitous holiness. Much as Philip tried dutifully to -rejoice with his father over this sanctity of young -Russian Jewry, even when Reb Monash significantly -expatiated on the talents of young gentlemen only -seven years old who steered their own vessels through -the dark seas of Kaballah—it was not this piety which -set Philip brooding. -</p> - -<p> -The landscape which his elders painted, unconsciously -and incidentally, as a background to their memories, -filled his mind with inchoate sequences of pictures. -To the Jewish mind there is only one landscape which -purely for its own sake arrests the mind and the heart. -Each detail of Jordan or Lebanon is impressed centuries -too deep for its deletion under snow or dissolution under -fire. Plateau of Spain, the turbid flow of Volga, the -squalid nightmare of Doomington Road, are matters of -indifference to the Judaic protagonists while the great -drama develops along its austere and shoddy ways -towards some <i>dénouement</i> far beyond the invisible hills. -To Reb Monash the Orthodox Greek Church he had -known at home and from which his eyes turned bitterly -away, whence the black-hearted pappas came forth -and, on seeing Reb Monash, grimaced and bit his lips, -had imperceptibly become the Baptist Missionary -Chapel at the corner of Travers Row, whence the -Rev. Wilberforce Wilkinson emerged from time to time, -bestowing on every Reb Monash or Philip Massel who -came that way a smile beatific with missionary invitation. -</p> - -<p> -But it was a matter of much concern to Philip that -the Dniester which flowed beyond the pear-orchards -(pear-orchards! he tried wistfully to recreate them -spreading their splendid snows beyond the kitchen -wallpaper) was clean as—clean as the water in the scullery tap. -Which seemed mythological. Philip's acquaintance with -rivers was limited to the River Mitchen that flowed on -the further side of the wire factory and parallel with -Doomington Road. The river stank—literally and -abundantly. When it rose after the spring floods of two -years ago, the cellars of Angel Street were a wash of -noisome and greasy waters. -</p> - -<p> -"It happened in the centre of a forest..." said one. -"Trees—the sun never got through their leaves in -summer..." said another. "Yes, she had her own -vines and fig trees...." "... Corn, barley, all -rotten in the rains..." "... and after that, to -finish them, they had five haystacks burned to the -ground;" "the orchard by the river, near the Woman's -Pool ..." they said to each other. -</p> - -<p> -It was little more than words to Philip. It seemed -illogical that there should be a river, which, being a river, -did not stink. Fruit could hardly be dissociated from -the baskets and trays at Moishele's shop. True, there -were unconvincing pictures of fruit trees in the classroom -at school, but they lent only a feeble corroboration. -</p> - -<p> -And then inevitably the talk came round from -orchards and clean rivers to the old Babylonian horrors. -</p> - -<p> -"It happened in winter. I stood in the trunk of a -rotten tree till nightfall. All day I could hear the -women screaming and the horses of the <i>Kossacken</i> -storming in from the country. They set fire to Miriam's -house, and when she came to the window holding her -hands out to the crowd ... they threw a broken -wine bottle in her face...." -</p> - -<p> -When Reb Monash fell into his best anecdotic form, -Philip sometimes, only a year or two ago, had been -afraid to venture beyond the front door, in fear of -<i>Kossacken</i> galloping in with drawn sabres from -Doomington Road. Indubitably the night was compact with -their menace. Only gradually he shook off these alarms. -England, he realized, the very filth of the Mitchen river -impressing it upon him, and the grime of these grassless, -clangorous streets, England was not Russia—a knowledge -won only after thick agony and his brow soaked -with midnight terror. Russia—the first Babylon—the -dread, the enmity, faded into the murky Doomington -skies. -</p> - -<p> -One scene remained with him to consummate this -nightmare. Reb Monash told the story frequently. -If he had played a part whereat women lowered their -respectful eyes with a fleeting gesture of disapproval -or impatience, his piety none the less was confirmed, -if it needed confirmation, in the eyes of the Lord -Himself. -</p> - -<p> -It was many years ago now, years before Philip was -born. Reb Monash at last was emigrating from Russia to -the Western world. His family and half a dozen other -families had been packed into the uncovered emigrants' -cart which was to take them to the railway terminus -many leagues away, where they would entrain for -Germany and Hamburg. It was a matter of no interest -to the authorities that at most a dozen people could -breathe comfortably and stretch their limbs in the -vehicle they provided. Family after family was bundled -in, every half-foot of extra space was crammed with -bedding and the few household goods which, the more -cumbrous they were, they found the more indispensable. -</p> - -<p> -Why, indeed, Reb Monash was emigrating he had not -precisely satisfied himself. Though fear of a <i>pogrom</i> -hovered ever on the horizon, a cloud no bigger than a -man's hand, but liable, any wind of prejudice blowing, -to streak the sky with more sanguine hues than sunset, -this had been beyond memory so much a normal feature -of existence that it could not have been the determining -factor. If the traditional <i>wanderlust</i> animated him, he -was too much in demand as an orator in the synagogues -hundreds of miles round Terkass to lack means to gratify -his instinct. It cannot have been the sentiment that -young Jewry in England and America (where he was -intending to end his provisional pilgrimage) had so far -fallen from grace that it needed the example of his -physical presence before it could resume the narrow -road; it can hardly have been that—for such ungodliness -as prevailed in England and America needed to be -seen before it could be imagined. -</p> - -<p> -"But there we were," said Reb Monash, "Chayah," -this being Mrs. Massel, "with little Rochke, peace be -upon her, at her breast, and myself and Dorah and little -Channah. Oh, what a wind was blowing! Knives! -Packed like dead men in coffins we were! Then the -driver cracked his whip and we were away. It was a -desolate country, only we could see the long road in -front and overhead the cold clouds and the fir trees -running along the road by our side, patiently, like -wolves! We could only hear the wind and the bells of -the horses and their hoofs, click-click, click-click, -hour after hour. But though the wind blew so cold in -our faces, there was no room to breathe, no room. -To stretch out the chest, an impossible thing. And -then there was a station at the roadside where we -stopped and—imagine it! they put another five, six -people in the cart. Think of it! We started to grumble -and some of the women and girls began to cry. What do -you expect? They were half-dead for sleep. But how -could they sleep, crushed like that, standing, with no -room to bend, let alone lie down, and the wind driving -through their chattering teeth. There was an official -there. 'Curse you!' shouted he, when he heard us -lift our voices, 'Curse you!' -</p> - -<p> -"May he be cursed to his father's father!" every one -in the kitchen muttered bitterly. -</p> - -<p> -"'Curse you for a lousy lot—you beggars, you rats! -Ugh!' He spat into the cart, in amongst us. <i>Nu</i>, we -did what possible was to let the new people come in. -Can you picture for yourselves—Oh! you can't—what -it was like? Rochke, peace be upon her, was at the -breast. We could hear the poor baby crying for food, -eh, Chayah?" -</p> - -<p> -But Mrs. Massel could never bear the telling of this -tale. She would be in the scullery peeling potatoes. -Not washing up. It was indiscreet to make a noise -when Reb Monash was talking. If Philip dropped a -book, Reb Monash had to pause a full minute until he -recovered the evenness of his flow. -</p> - -<p> -"Poor little Rochke, peace be upon her, crying for -food! And so crushed were we that there wasn't even -room to feed the child, though everybody understood -and tried to make room. Now, perhaps you'll realize -what it was like. As the child became more and more -hungry she became too weak even to cry. It was getting -dark and I started my night prayers. Then I heard -Chayah shout to me, 'Monash! Monash!' It was not -the first time she'd cried 'Monash!' to me that day. -What could I do? What help was there? I just went -on <i>davenning</i>. Ah, the poor child, the poor child, God -wanted thee!" -</p> - -<p> -His eyes softened. There was a huskiness in his -throat. The women in the kitchen lifted their aprons to -their eyes. If there were any men there they cleared -their throats staunchly. Philip sat on the fender stool, -his heart bursting with pity for his mother. "Poor -mother! my own poor mother!" he felt like whispering -into her ear and throwing his arms round her neck and -assuring her that he was alive and <i>he</i> would love her -and die for her at the last. But he remembered that he -was not encouraged to display vehemently his passion -for his mother. Very gently he slipped from the stool, -turned round into the scullery and took a knife to help -her peel the potatoes. At all events, he would not allow -her to work so cruelly hard. Why, her fingers were dry -and thin! No! he would never let her work like this. -Never mind, when he grew up... -</p> - -<p> -"Poor child, poor child!" Reb Monash continued, -his voice a trifle unsteady. "How can I tell you? -She was suffocating there. No room for her little lungs -to open and draw breath! 'Monash, the child, the -child!' Chayah was saying. What could I do? -How could I understand? Besides, I was <i>davvenning</i>—how -could I interrupt? And her little face was growing -grey. What? Do you understand? There was no -room for her heart to beat ... so her heart stopped -beating!" -</p> - -<p> -Again there was a pause. The suffocation which had -gripped the child in that monstrous cart years ago -seemed to occupy the kitchen in Angel Street. It was -not only the shut window; the beneficence of the -architects of Angel Street had declared that -kitchen-windows should be close-sealed as a wall. It was -not the shut doors; the doors were always shut -because a "draught" aggravated Reb Monash's -cough and rendered him speechless for minutes. That -suffocation from the Russian road had descended upon -Angel Street. Some one opened his collar and craned his -neck for air. -</p> - -<p> -"But, of course, Chayah would not believe that -anything had happened to the child. I could only see -Rochke very indistinctly because we'd been separated -by the crowd. 'It's only a fit! Shake her, shake her, -if thou canst!' I said. 'Or perhaps a sickness of the -stomach!' said Chayah. 'It will be well with the child -when we stop and get down! She'll have some air and -food, and she'll be all right, no? Oh yes, she will, she -will! Sleep then, sleep then, babynu, all in mammy's -arms!' she sang. -</p> - -<p> -"God alone knows what the place was where we -stopped to change horses. And Rochke, peace be upon -her? Well, what need to talk? She's happier than you -or me. Oh, but what an ornament to the race she would -have been! Such eyes, the little one, holy, like an old -woman's! But wait, the story's not finished yet. -Can it be believed? The officials there, they wanted us -to continue the journey with the dead child! The -smirched of soul, the godless ones! Wanted us to go on -with the dead child! And when even they saw it was -against God and Man, they wanted to bury her there -and then, in unconsecrated ground! Oi! Oi! has it -been heard of since Moses? But always put your -trust in the Above One and all will be well with you. -Know that! Think of us, in the wilderness, with a -dead baby, and no holy ground to bury her and not a -friend anywhere. The cart had gone on to the next -stage, with Dorah and Channah. Think of us! -</p> - -<p> -"It was then the Above One came to our help. A -Jewish merchant was on the road with a load of dried -fruit. He stopped, God be thanked, at the station, -and we told him how things lay with us. And would you -believe it? Not a penny he would take—not much was -there to give—but he took the baby away and gave her -holy burial in his own town! Be his years long in the -land! May his seed multiply to the fourth and fifth -generation! And so all is well with Rochke, peace be -upon her!" -</p> - -<p> -Reb Monash obviously drew much consolation for -the whole episode from the fact that the Above One had -shown him this signal favour, and the last offices had been -performed unimpeachably over Rochke's body. -</p> - -<p> -But perhaps Philip was too young to be comforted -by the thoughts of the propriety with which the incident -had closed. He could only see very clearly the figures of -his mother, blank-eyed, her hands empty, standing alone -in Babylon, in that bleak Russian night. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap0102"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER II -</h3> - -<p> -Philip had not yet recovered from the dull -dismay with which he had found himself installed as -a scholar in the Infants' Class of the Bridgeway -Elementary School. He had attained the age of five. -Within quite recent memory he had been breeched. -He still remembered the pocket in his skirt which -was crammed with "stuffs"—the main merchandise -of his companions, snippets of prints, calicoes, -alpacas and linen rags picked up below the maternal -needles and generally on the doorsteps of Angel -Street. -</p> - -<p> -Reb Monash was by no means hostile to the idea that -Philip should acquire a Gentile education, on the broad -understanding that it should not outshadow Philip's -accomplishment in Hebrew lore. It went without -saying that labour on the Saturday should be anathema -under any concatenation of the links of Fate. Moreover, -the law of the land, in the person of the "School Board," -had been eyeing him significantly. -</p> - -<p> -"It's time Philip should begin school!" said Reb -Monash shatteringly one evening. Philip lay dozing on -the horse-hair sofa. His heart shook before the joint -assault of a great joy and a great fear. "School"—that -unfathomable place of red brick and towering -windows, where the "lads" went, the swaggering young -men who jumped from pavement to pavement of Angel -Street in five jumps; where one was brought into -direct visual contact with "pleaseteacher," a thing -beyond all imagination lovely and terrible. -</p> - -<p> -"So Channah, thou wilt not go to work to-morrow -morning. He's an old man, Philip, and he must make -his start in life." -</p> - -<p> -"All right, <i>tatte</i>!" Channah murmured. She thought -ruefully of the fourpence or eightpence less it would -mean in her week's total as a buttonhole hand. But -she was devoted to Philip and his wise, elderly ways, and -the thought of setting his feet upon the paths of that -learning whence her own feet had been rudely torn on -the morning of Philip's birth was worth the sacrifice of -many fourpences. -</p> - -<p> -Philip's face shone soapily next morning. His -black hair lay stretched in rigidly parallel formations on -both sides of his impeccable parting. Channah had -shined his button-boots with so much rubbing and -spitting into congealed blacking that his boots seemed to -focus all the light in the kitchen. His mother had -adorned his blouse with a great bow of vermilion -sateen. -</p> - -<p> -"Is pleaseteachers like policemans?" Philip asked, -as Channah led him by a hand clammy with apprehension -along the Doomington Road to the Bridgeway -Elementary School. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh no! Pleaseteachers are much more lovely!" -was the reply. "Policemen only lock little boys up, but -pleaseteachers give 'em toffee—and flowers!" -</p> - -<p> -"And flowers?" echoed Philip incredulously. -</p> - -<p> -When they arrived at the entrance to the school, a -sudden nausea overwhelmed Philip. -</p> - -<p> -"I'se not going to school!" he said suddenly and -firmly. -</p> - -<p> -"Feivele, what do you mean?" -</p> - -<p> -"I'se not going!" -</p> - -<p> -"What's the matter with you? Why aren't you going?" -</p> - -<p> -"<i>Dat's</i> why!" -</p> - -<p> -But Channah had not come unprepared for such an -emergency. Mrs. Massel had anticipated it with a stick-jaw -of Moishele's best. She held it towards the child and -made provocative labial noises. -</p> - -<p> -"Aren't you going now?" -</p> - -<p> -"No!" he said a little more doubtfully. -</p> - -<p> -She had another weapon in the armoury. -</p> - -<p> -"<i>Tatte</i> will give you such a <i>pitch-patch</i>!" she said -threateningly—<i>pitch-patch</i> being a form of castigation -among all nations as constant in method as it is variable -in name. -</p> - -<p> -In the surge of new fears, Reb Monash had been -temporarily obscured. Philip's mind travelled back -swiftly to the knees of Reb Monash where at so sinless -an age he had already lain transversely more than once. -He contemplated the possibility of <i>pitch-patch</i> for some -moments. -</p> - -<p> -"Gib me de stickjaw, den!" he said. -</p> - -<p> -"You can't eat it now!" -</p> - -<p> -"One suck!" he wheedled. -</p> - -<p> -They passed duly through the vestibule into the great -"infants' hall." At its geometrical centre the principal -pleaseteacher sat, pavilioned in terrors. A few words of -high import passed between Miss Featherstone and -Channah. Before Philip's eyes the walls soared -endlessly into perpendicular space. There was no ceiling. -He made the hideous discovery that there was no floor -to the room. His shining boots hung suspended in -space. Strange antiphonies propounded and expounded -the cosmic mysteries. He was lost. He was rolling -headlong among the winds, like a piece of cotton-fluff -lifted high above the roofs of Angel Street. -</p> - -<p> -What was this? The pleaseteacher was looking at -him; her mouth was opening; there were big cracks -on each side of her nose. Yes, she was smiling into him. -He resumed his ponderable qualities. He was a little -boy dismally sick in the infants' hall of the Bridgeway -Elementary School. He preferred to be a piece of -cotton-fluff. It was a more impersonal doom. -</p> - -<p> -"What's your name, little boy?" -</p> - -<p> -He wondered whether it was an impertinence to reply. -It was funny and dry at the back of his throat. He -stared fixedly at the crack on the left side of her nose. -</p> - -<p> -"What's your name, little boy?" A certain acidulation -had thinned her voice. -</p> - -<p> -"My name Feivele an' I live at ten Angel Street an' I'm -five years old an' my farver's Rebbie Massel!" he said, -the words trembling out in a bewildered spate. -</p> - -<p> -"Will you ask your brother to speak a little more -slowly and distinctly, Miss Massel? Thank you. Now -what's your name, little boy?" -</p> - -<p> -"Philip Massel, pleaseteacher!" -</p> - -<p> -"Now, Philip Massel. I'm your head mistress. You -must call <i>me</i> Miss Featherstone. Miss Briggs!" she -called, "Miss Briggs! Will you please put Philip -Massel into your class?" Then turning to Philip, -"You will kindly call Miss Briggs 'teacher.' You -understand?" -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, pleaseteacher!" -</p> - -<p> -"Stupid! But he'll soon know better," she assured -Channah. -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, Miss Featherstone!" Channah corroborated. -Philip's hand feverishly held his sister's all this -while. -</p> - -<p> -"You'd better just see him to his place," said Miss -Featherstone to Channah, as Miss Briggs led the way to -her class. -</p> - -<p> -"Sit here, Philip," said Miss Briggs, "next to Hyman -Marks!" -</p> - -<p> -"Don't go 'way, don't go 'way!" Philip huskily -implored Channah. Hundreds of scornful eyes were -stripping him bare of his blouse, his shined boots, his -bow of vermilion sateen, till they all lay at his feet in a -miserable heap and he shivered there in the cold, naked, -despised. "Don't go 'way!" he moaned. -</p> - -<p> -Channah looked despairingly towards Miss Briggs. -</p> - -<p> -Miss Briggs seized her chalk significantly. It was time -the new-comer had settled down. -</p> - -<p> -"I'll tell you what," said Channah, "I'll go to -Moishele's and buy you a ha'pny tiger nuts and a box of -crayons. And I'll come back straight away." -</p> - -<p> -"Promise!" he demanded in anguish. -</p> - -<p> -"<i>Emmes!</i>" she said, invoking the Hebrew name of Truth. -</p> - -<p> -"<i>Emmes what?</i>" He knew that Truth unsupported -by an invocation to the Lord was a weak buttress. -</p> - -<p> -"<i>Emmes adoshem!</i>" she said, her heart sinking at the -perjury. But, she consoled herself, it was not as if she -had sworn by the undiluted form of the oath, "<i>Emmes -adonoi!</i>" from the violation of which solemnity there -is no redemption. -</p> - -<p> -Philip saw her disappear through the doors. A black -cloud of loneliness enveloped him until he could hardly -breathe. The terrifying sing-song of these young -celebrants at their fathomless ceremony had begun -again. -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - <i>Twice one are two,<br /> - One and one are two!<br /> - Twice two are four,<br /> - Two and two are four!</i><br /> -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -Fantastic hieroglyphs danced across the blackboard -at the dictate of Miss Briggs' chalk. The heavy minutes -ticked and ticked in a reiteration of monochrome and -despair. -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - <i>Twice one are two,<br /> - One and one are two!</i><br /> -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -What teeth she had, Miss Briggs! Not like his -mother's! A little yellow his mother's were, but small -and neat, as he observed whenever she smiled one of her -tired and sweet smiles. What was the specific purpose -of Miss Briggs' teeth? Why should those two at the -top in front be so large and pointed? He had heard -old Mo who sold newspapers tell tales about canninbles. -Wass Miss Briggs a canninble? Oh the long, long -Channahless minutes! When would she come? What? -Some one was whispering behind him. -</p> - -<p> -"Say, kid!" -</p> - -<p> -Philip was afraid to turn round. What would Miss -Briggs do if he turned round? And she had two such -horrid teeth, at the top, in front! -</p> - -<p> -"Say, kid! Got anyfing?" -</p> - -<p> -Philip turned his head round fearfully. A villainously -scowling face was bent over from the bench behind -towards his own. -</p> - -<p> -"Aven't yer got nuffing?" -</p> - -<p> -Philip looked helplessly into the forbidding face. -</p> - -<p> -"I tell yer, kid!" the voice menaced, "if yer don't -gib me anyfing, I'll spifflicate yer!" -</p> - -<p> -The process of spifflication sounded as terrible as it -certainly was vague. Philip put his hand into his -trouser-pocket where the lump of stickjaw lay warmly -spreading its seductive bounties over the lining. To -part with a whole lump of stickjaw from which the one -due he had extracted was a single suck! But, on the -other hand, spifflication! And moreover, soon, oh -surely very, very soon, Channah would come back with -the tiger nuts, not to mention the box of crayons. -He drew the lump of sticky languor from his pocket. A -grubby fist from behind closed round it. -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - <i>Twice two are four,<br /> - Two and two are four!</i><br /> -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -Faithless Channah! How could the mere passing of -time be such a labour? He subsided into a daze of -stupefaction; only the hope of Channah's appearance -buzzed and buzzed like a fly on the ear-drum. A great -tear rolled slowly down his face. Another followed -and another. They dropped into the bow of vermilion -sateen. Suppose his mother should die in his absence? -Or there might be a big, big fire! And just suppose.... -</p> - -<p> -A great clangour of bells! Miss Featherstone on her -dais shut a book with a loud snap. Miss Briggs -definitively placed her chalk on her desk. A pleaseteacher -from another class walked with dignity over to the piano -at the far end of the hall. She lifted the lid and played -a slow march. The top class filed out from the desks, -advanced in single order to a red line which, starting a -few feet from Miss Featherstone's dais, led to the door; -the class marched along the red line and passed with -decorum from the hall. When Philip walked the red -line in his turn he was wondering whether he ought to be -placing each foot centrally upon the line. Dizzily he -staggered along. When at last he rushed out into the -road, wild with the relief from servitude, Mrs. Massel -was waiting for him outside the school entrance, and -when she lifted him from his feet, he howled with -fearful delight. -</p> - -<p> -His heart was full of resentment against Channah for -her ignoble desertion. "Channah de Pannah, de -big fat fing!" he jeered, when he saw her at dinner. Only -the surface of his wound was healed when she bestowed -upon him not only the tiger nuts and the box of crayons -but a gratuitous tin trumpet gay with scarlet wools. -</p> - -<p> -He refused vehemently to return to school that -afternoon. But Reb Monash, entering the kitchen from the -sitting-room where his <i>chayder</i>, his Hebrew school, was -installed, speedily convinced him that the morning's -bitter destiny must again be pursued. -</p> - -<p> -For days his tiny faculties were flattened beneath the -weight of his bewilderment. When, one morning, he -went with the others into the playground for the -interval, he crept inconspicuously on the skirts of the -shrieking masses to the furthest corner in the wall, -where he crouched, huddled, wondering what it was like -to be grown up. When a lady came into the playground -and vigorously rang a bell, he felt that no bell had any -meaning to him. He was apart, unwanted. When he saw -the children lining up in their classes and passing into -the school with their teachers at their head, he turned -towards them a dull abstracted eye. But when the -appalling quiet of the playground impressed itself upon -him, and he heard the choruses droning through the -windows, "Twice One are Two," he realized with a -sickening pang of alarm that he too was a cog in that -machine, that he ought to have been minutes and -minutes ago on the inner side of those walls. -</p> - -<p> -His face was hot with shame as he dragged his feet -through the door, and along the red line which burned -down the hall like a trail of fire. When he slunk into -his place like a cat with a stolen steak into a cellar, -he found the eyes of Miss Briggs turned towards him so -round with stony horror that he feared they must drop -from their sockets. Hyman Marks next door gazed -virtuously at him and turned away with a sniff. -</p> - -<p> -Something of this early stupefaction remained with -him, even though he had passed from the infants' hall -to the upstairs department. "Pleaseteacher" had long -been attenuated into "teacher," and Miss Green, who was -the genius president over Standard Two, had entertained -for him more than a teacherly regard ever since -Philip had raised his hand in the middle of a lesson and -inquired from her, "Please, Miss Green, can pupils -marry teachers?" They frequently maintained long -conversations when school was over, until Philip suddenly -would bethink himself of the duties his racial tongue -demanded and which awaited him in <i>chayder</i> under the -unremitting vigilance of Reb Monash; whereon, with -a troubled "Please, good afternoon, teacher!" he -would scamper off. Miss Green liked the sonority with -which he delivered the recitations she taught in class. -He had a premature sense of tragedy. -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - <i>On Linden when the sun was low,<br /> - All darkly lay the untrodden snow—</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -he delivered with the long modulations of a funeral -dirge. He seemed to have discovered a new delight in -the mere utterance of rhythmic lines. "On Linden -when the sun was low," he chanted on his way home -from school, bringing his right foot down heavily upon -the iambic stresses of the line. There was a Saturday -morning when Reb Monash tested his knowledge of the -Bible portion to be read in the synagogue that day with -"Say then, Feivele, what is the chapter in <i>shool</i> to-day?" -</p> - -<p> -Philip was abstracted. His mind was recreating his -latest conversation with Miss Green. -</p> - -<p> -"On Linden when the sun was low!" he replied. -Reb Monash stared at him. "Proselytized one!" -he exclaimed. "What means this?" He led Philip -to a copy of the Pentateuch and summarily refreshed -his mind. -</p> - -<p> -They were great friends, Miss Green and Philip, -a fact which did not leave Philip's behaviour -uninfluenced. The class was filing through the open door, -(in the upstairs department the classes had single -rooms instead of a common hall). He had not noticed -that an unfamiliar teacher was standing at the door in -Miss Green's place, and just before entering he turned -round to exchange a few words with his successor in the -procession. -</p> - -<p> -"You bad boy!" exclaimed the voice of the strange -lady. "Do not sit down in your place! You will -stand in the corner till I ask for you!" -</p> - -<p> -Philip's ears were rimmed with hot shame. The -procession ended. "Come here!" said the lady. -"Hold your hand out! Now!" Five, ten, twenty -times, she brought a ruler down on his knuckles. It -was not the pain which mattered. It was the disgrace! -He, Miss Green's young friend—or, as his class-mates -with characteristic envy and vulgarity called it, her -"sucker-up!" Acute as his humiliation was, he kept -strict count of the ruler's descent upon his knuckles. -Twenty-four! Wouldn't Miss Green have something to -say about it! -</p> - -<p> -When the class filed into the room next day, Miss -Green was looking down upon Philip with so affectionate -a regard that the shame and anger pent within him -since yesterday burst their bounds and he broke into -tears. -</p> - -<p> -Horror upon horror! Miss Green, touched to the -heart by these sudden tears, bent down from her -Olympian five-foot-four and kissed him loudly on the -forehead! It was too much to bear! A platonic -display of mutual respect was an excellent arrangement. -But this descent into the murky ether of physical -contact injured his sense of fitness. The sudden drought -of his tears, the bright red spot in the centre of each -cheek, instructed Miss Green that she had erred. -"These inscrutable little Jew-boys!" she mused, and -turned to Alfred and the cakes. -</p> - -<p> -Next day she asked him to stay a moment with her -after school. They both realized the impropriety of any -reference to yesterday's incident. There followed a little -small talk, then— -</p> - -<p> -"Tell me, Philip," she said quietly, "tell me which -you'd rather be, Jew or Christian?" -</p> - -<p> -The wheels of the whole world for one instant ceased -their revolutions. Here in truth was the end of an -epoch and the beginning of another. Here was an -issue which nothing had ever before presented to his -mind, and an issue stated so simply. "Tell me, Philip, -which would you rather be, Jew or Christian?" He -caught his breath as he envisioned the state of affairs -when such things as being Jew or Christian depended -upon one's own volition. For one instant cool as snow -and loud with the volume of plunging waters a something -beyond even this came from far off and looked mournfully -and intensely into his eyes: he beheld a state of -things where nothing bound him with chains, where -dispassionately he looked at Jew and Christian, and -walked away, onward, up the slopes of a hill, where -words like these had lost all meaning. -</p> - -<p> -He staggered on the locker where Miss Green had -placed him. His forehead was damp with a slight dew -of sweat. The blackboard caught his eyes. -</p> - -<p> - 26 - 34 - --- - 104 - 78 - --- - 884 -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -Yes, yes, that was more intelligent. He scratched -his head and looked down at his feet. Really when you -come to think of it, Christians did eat repulsive things. -There was a Christian boy in the playground one -afternoon eating a <i>brawn</i> sandwich—despicable food, -spotted and pale pink like the white cat at home after -the kettle of boiling water had fallen on its fur. True! it -seemed that Christian boys occasionally went for their -holidays and saw cows and trees and things—a distinct -feather in the Christian hat. But on the other hand, -Mr. Barkle was a Christian, and only Christians could -kill rabbits like Mr. Barkle. The slaughtering of animals -was a very peculiar and limited privilege among his -own folk—a rite performed, as Reb Monash had made -clear to the <i>chayder</i>, swiftly, painlessly and -professionally. Mr. Barkle, on the other hand, had brought a -rabbit into Standard Two for "object lesson" and -murdered it, slowly, publicly. Mr. Barkle himself was -not unlike a rabbit. He was very fat and his grey -waistcoat resembled the rabbit's belly. But his eyes -sparkled somewhat unpleasantly—very different from -the rabbit's big, brown frightened eyes. And Mr. Barkle -had pressed the rabbit's neck between his hands, -till the eyes became bigger and bigger, and the legs -moved convulsively, and a long low whistle came out -mournfully from the rabbit's throat, and the legs -twitched only faintly and then hung quite limp. -</p> - -<p> -After Mr. Barkle had cut up the animal to describe -its parts, a little Christian boy had said: -</p> - -<p> -"Please, Mister Barkle, can I take the rabbit 'ome? -Farver luvs rabbits!" -</p> - -<p> -No! Philip determined. <i>No!</i> he would never be a -Christian! -</p> - -<p> -Yet Miss Green was a Christian. It would be impolite -to be too decided about it. -</p> - -<p> -"Please, Miss Green," he said, looking up, "I'd -rarver stay wot I was born!" -</p> - -<p> -"There's a wise boy!" said Miss Green, with the -faintest touch of chagrin. And the conversation pursued -less transcendental roads. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap0103"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER III -</h3> - -<p> -At no time did Philip find the society of his coevals -congenial; the society at least of the young males -of his age; which was an element in his composition -not, I venture, to be crudely dismissed as one form or -another of priggishness. -</p> - -<p> -Whatever the defects were of Philip's education, and -these were not inconsiderable, he was never warned to -have no truck with Barney of next door because his -father was a presser and rigidly banished collars from his -wardrobe, excepting on <i>Yom Kippur</i>, the Day of -Atonement, on which occasion a waterproof collar did -annual service with much <i>éclat</i>; nor were fogs of -dubiety sedulously created around Mr. and Mrs. Lavinsky, -whose premarital relations were, it was rumoured, -not free from stain. -</p> - -<p> -Yet inherently Philip held himself aloof from all the -"lads" in Angel Street. He felt, not consciously and -certainly not in defined words, that everything coarse -and cruel in the architecture of Angel Street had taken -hold of their spirit. There was as much of the frankly -and repulsively animal in them as in the sharp-ribbed -cats who chattered obscenely on the walls. He felt at -times when he saw the boys slithering along the roofs -that fragments of the very roofs, steeped in grime and -dirty rain as they were, had detached themselves and -become animate. -</p> - -<p> -He turned with relief to the latest "poetry" he had -been taught; in the reverberant recessions of rhythm -the boys were rolled over and sucked down like pebbles -in an ebbing tide. The fustian of "Horatius" gave him -unmeasured delight, and soaked in the yellow flood of -Tiber he would forget the malodorous imminence of -Mitchen. -</p> - -<p> -But in the girls of Angel Street he satisfied his need -for human companionship. They did not bandy the -filth of gesture and word which were the traffic of the -boys and which turned him sick, made him faintly but -dismally aware of yawning abysses of uncleanness -hidden from his feet. -</p> - -<p> -So he would sit with the girls at their doorsteps -while the boys shrieked in the entries. The girls were a -willing audience for his declamations of verse; they -accepted Kaspar's reiteration of "But it was a famous -victory" with sympathy and evident pleasure. When -they realized the full implications of the question, -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - <i>Oh, is it weed, or fish, or floating hair,<br /> - A tress o' golden hair,<br /> - O' drowned maiden's hair?</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -they took out their handkerchiefs and wept. -</p> - -<p> -Philip was sitting among the girls cutting out from -the advertisement pages of magazines pictures of ladies -with artificially perfected busts. The pictures thus -obtained were inserted among the leaves of books and -the custom of the possessors of pins was solicited. -Three pricks among the pages of the books were -allowed, with whatsoever bounty fell to the adventure. -</p> - -<p> -Philip had never quite decided which was the happier -state—the being endowed with pictures of many well-busted -ladies, or the possession of many pins. The latter -at least held the prospect of a service he might render -to his mother, to whom a stock of pins should, he -presumed, be an inestimable boon. But opulence in pins -meant a dearth in busted ladies—a barren state of affairs -only to be remedied by a fresh outlay of capital. -</p> - -<p> -A "gang" came by whooping. "Gang" was a -popular word in the vocabulary of Angel Street. It was -sinister with warnings of Red Indians crawling on their -bellies from the pampas beyond Doomington Road. -It evoked images of Red Signs found on the necks of -the murdered daughters of millionaires. -</p> - -<p> -"Yah! look at Philip Massel!" a voice jeered from -the "gang." Philip shivered. He disliked the "gang," -he had no point of contact with it. -</p> - -<p> -"Stick-to-my-muvver-an-don't-touch-me!" the voice -continued. The girls were silent, for chivalry was -not a predominant trait in the psychology of the -"gang." Jessie still bore a black eye inflicted by Barney -in unequal war. It was Barney took up the cry: -</p> - -<p> -"Philip Massel, Queen-of-the-Girls!" -</p> - -<p> -This was a slogan which appealed to his comrades. -"Philip Massel, Queen-of-the-Girls!" they reiterated -shrilly. Philip's face was pale. His hand trembled as he -cut the pictures. The bust of the next lady he delimitated -sadly belied the merits claimed by the advertisement. -</p> - -<p> -"Oo—oo! 'Oo kissed Jessie in the back entry?" -Barney howled. -</p> - -<p> -"Philip Massel, Queen-of-the-Girls!" the rest sang -in choric delight. Oh, the black cavernous lie! Was -Jehovah silent? Philip's eyes blazed. He flung his -scissors down with a crash. The further side of Angel -Street rose and sank as he rushed towards Barney. -The rules of the ring had not yet been studied in Angel -Street. Murderously he buffeted his fists against -Barney's abdomen. Barney turned green and subsided. -The rest of the "gang" jumped upon Philip and were -comfortably pummelling him when Reb Monash appeared -on the scene. Mrs. Levine had lost no time in informing -him that a brawl was in progress. Reb Monash had no -doubt it involved those of his scholars who were already -scandalously late for <i>chayder</i>. -</p> - -<p> -The "gang" wilted before him. At his feet lay -Philip, gasping and bleeding. -</p> - -<p> -"Feivele at the bottom of it!" he thundered. -"Oh, a credit thou art to thy race! An eight-year old, -and this is the sum of thy knowledge! Come then, I -will instruct thee!" and he led Philip sternly home by a -familiar grasp of the brachial muscle between finger and -thumb. Jessie picked up the scissors ruminatively and -turned the pages of the <i>Strand Magazine</i>. -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -The idea shortly after occurred to Philip that some -compromise with his sex ought to be possible. It -occurred simultaneously with the appearance in his -library of a new type of American hero. He was now -able to read without difficulty the "bloods" which -described with impartial gusto sandbaggings in the -Bowery and the slaughter of travellers conducted by -Poncho-clad desperadoes in the Argentine. Lurid as -the "gang" was in behaviour, their literature was still -extremely tepid. Intellectually, they had not outstepped -Lady Kathleen's tender limits as laid down in her -<i>Books for the Bairns</i>, whereas Philip's heart had for -months hovered and exulted with the hearts of -fully-fledged errand boys, twelve and fourteen years old. -</p> - -<p> -But a new hero had crossed the Atlantic. He was in -soul much more turbulent than the heroes of the conservative -school. His morals, purely, be it understood, in -order to achieve a virtuous end, were even more elastic. -The terror of his name was even more astounding. But -all his villainous qualities were kept strictly below the -surface, though, of course, his assistants were as -coarse-grained and blasphemous as tradition demanded. His -manners were so exquisite that hotel-keepers did not -presume to ask for the payment of their bills. When -he slipped from his chambers to undertake a midnight -escapade, he would insert into one pocket his revolver, -into another a silver-mounted bottle of hair-oil. Whilst -his minions were grappling with the objects of his -displeasure and bullet shots ripped across the shack, he -would lift the wick of the lamp in order to manicure his -nails. His speech was so full of gracious evasions -that—that, in short, he completely captured Philip's -heart. -</p> - -<p> -Here was a mode of making artistic capital out of -those very qualities of the young men in Angel Street -which so revolted him, whilst at the same time he would -himself accentuate those features of aloof refinement -for which they had dubbed him "bouncer," a word -particularly repugnant to him, accentuate them actually -amid deference and applause. -</p> - -<p> -How, then, was a reversal of the Angel Street relationships -to be effected? Philip hardly knew. His first -discovery was the gratifying fact that on a certain -non-physical plane the "gang" regarded him with a -measure of positive awe. Not only was he the son of his -father, but he had the Kabbalistic faculty of uttering -rhymes, a faculty which influenced them precisely as a -barbarian village might be influenced by a medicine-man's -incantations. His uprising against Barney had not -been barren of result, though the fierce splendour -of it had been mitigated somewhat by the parental -sequel. -</p> - -<p> -But most of the battle was won when, by a stroke of -fortune, Philip, for whom a new hat was long overdue, -was supplied with a sample of the head-gear associated -with captaincy from time immemorial. His new hat was -dowered with a shiny peak and a ribbon splendid with -the legend "H.M.S. IMMACULATE," and when pressed -slantwise over Philip's left eye gave him an air of -authority not generally associated with his small face. -A certain calm persuasive eloquence, assisted by a -number of "alleys," both "blood" and "conker," -vastly advanced his cause. He read, finally, certain -convincing passages from the career of the Dandy Dave by -which not only was Philip Massel's claim to be his -European representative rendered incontrovertible, -but it was proved also that any actual immersion -of his own person in the filth of affairs was as -unbecoming to Philip's new dignity as to the dignity of -Dandy Dave. -</p> - -<p> -The character Philip now assumed was undoubtedly -a composite affair. Dandy Dave was predominant, -but it was not immune from the vocabulary and -behaviour of pirates, explorers, trappers and other species -of emancipated men. The trapper element did not -persist, as shall be rendered credible. -</p> - -<p> -"Do you see that skunk?" Captain Philip exclaimed -to Lieutenant Barney one day. -</p> - -<p> -"Aye, aye, sir!" replied Lieutenant Barney, "Aye, -aye, sir!" being, in fact, Lieutenant Barney's only and -final achievement in the diction of romance. -</p> - -<p> -The "skunk" was a notorious piebald cat even at -that moment slinking with a torso of fried fish along the -yard wall of an empty house where the "gang" was -foregathered. -</p> - -<p> -"'E must be captured! We shall sell 'is 'ide to the -next ship wot calls at yonder port!" -</p> - -<p> -An exciting chase, which extended over two days, -followed. On the evening of the second day the corpse -of the piebald cat was laid at Captain Philip's feet. -</p> - -<p> -"Wot now, Captain?" said Lieutenant Barney, -whose wavering loyalties had been steadied only an -hour ago by the gift of an india-rubber sucker. Philip's -heart fluttered a little unquietly. In the mere abstract -conception of chase there had been much of the poetical. -In the presence of the dead cat the fogs of illusion -thinned. Shame tugged at his heart-strings. But the -faultless figure of Dandy Dave stood before him. With -little knowledge of the implication of his words, "Flay -'im!" he said harshly. "The merchants call this morn!" -</p> - -<p> -Lieutenant Barney inserted a broken blade below the -fringe of the cat's eye. He tugged. Philip looked -down. The hideous mess which ensued spattered Philip's -brain like a pat of filth. He ran quickly from the yard -and was violently sick for many minutes.... The -trapper aspect of Captain Philip's authority did not -again assert itself. -</p> - -<p> -Behind the Bridgeway Elementary School extended -a huge and desolate brick-croft. Here the "gang" -frequently undertook expeditions to the Himalayas -and the two Poles. Volcanoes were discovered and duly -charted. Wide lakes of clayey yellow water were -navigated. It was a point of honour with the "gang" -that the lakes must be definitely crossed from border -to border, not merely circumvented. But while the -"gang" miserably splashed along and drew their -clogged boots to the further side, Captain Philip serenely -walked the whole way round and from his dry vantage -encouraged his men to safety. It would never do for the -Doomington counterpart of Dandy Dave to smirch his -own limbs alongside of the vulgar herd. -</p> - -<p> -The last episode in the captaincy of Philip was the -Liberation of Princess Lena, the immediate inspiration -of which was the gallant rescue by Dandy Dave of the -daughter of the President of the American Republic -from a cellar below the very basement of the White -House. -</p> - -<p> -Lena Myer lived in Angel Street and kept irregular -hours. The days of her flirtations had already begun. -When she returned one evening it was arranged that the -"gang" was to seize her, gag her, and carry her away -to the stable of the lemonade works adjacent to the wire -factory—whither Lieutenant Barney had discovered a -secret entrance. Here for the space of an hour she was -to be bound to a support. The clattering of horses was -to be heard in the courtyard and Captain Philip, -sweeping in magnificently, was to cut her bonds, lay her -captors in the dust and deliver her with a flourish to her -distracted parents. -</p> - -<p> -Of course, Lena herself was not to be informed of the -somewhat negative part reserved for her. She had -already attained her "stuck-up" days, but her -beauty and her father's wealth, (he was a barber), -evidently cast her for the situation. -</p> - -<p> -All fell out as arranged. As she entered the darkest -patch of Angel Street a black mass fell on her, choked -her with rags, and bore her kicking furiously to the -stable, where she was fastened to a wooden support. -Many desolate minutes passed, during which her moans -struck so heavy a chill into the hearts of the desperadoes -that at last they removed the rags from her mouth. -Immediately such a foul stream of imprecation fell from -her virginal lips, that the bloodthirsty gang withdrew -trembling towards the spider-webbed walls. She -threatened them venomously with the vengeance of her -admirers. Some one made a tentative advance in her -direction. She uttered a piercing scream and he recoiled -with knocking knees. The "gang" had experienced -fights with "gangs" from other streets; the "gang" -even had compassed the discomfiture of a policeman. -But a situation like this, where the incalculable feminine -threw all their generalizations into rout, left them shorn -of philosophy. -</p> - -<p> -"Jem Cohen 'll 'ave your eyes out, yer rotten lot 'er -lice!" said the maiden delicately. -</p> - -<p> -A clatter in the yard beyond the stable, cunningly -caused by the play of two slates on the cobbles, -produced sudden silence. Captain Philip! A tremendous -wave of dislike for Captain Philip swept over his -supporters! Nobody but a "bouncer" like that Philip -Massel could have involved them in so unnatural a -situation. By crikey! <i>They'd</i> show him, by jemmy, -wouldn't they just! -</p> - -<p> -Philip rushed into the stable's darkness. -</p> - -<p> -Rigid with hate, Princess Lena lay taut against her -support. With a fine curve Philip drew the captainly -knife. The braces-and-rope fetters fell from the lady's -limbs. With the hiss of an escaping valve, Lena threw -herself upon the astounded hero. Two great scratches -ripped redly down Philip's cheeks. -</p> - -<p> -"Take that an' that an' that' an that!" she howled -as she thumped him, bit him, scratched him, tore his -hair. Then her nerves gave way, and she sank to the -ground, all of a heap, sobbing. -</p> - -<p> -Beyond a scowling, laughing, shaking of fists, the -"gang" had remained passive hitherto, but the moment -Lena subsided, with convulsive unanimity they fell upon -their captain. When at length the sated gang emerged -from the stable, there was no superficial point of -resemblance between Dandy Dave and the quivering youth -moaning lugubriously in the darkness. -</p> - -<p> -Philip had not yet found a key to the Happy Life. -His experiment among the young gentlemen of Angel -Street had doubtless been foredoomed to failure. He was -not of them. He had been a "bouncer" and would, -in their eyes, remain a "bouncer" unto the world's end. -They realized cunningly how he winced when they -shouted filthy words after him. Their experience with -Lena Myer had widened their vocabulary, and they -filled the air with enthusiastic impurity as he passed by. -He was approaching his ninth birthday, but still the -little girls of Angel Street gave him his one illusion of -society. -</p> - -<p> -School, too, filled him with leaden ennui. Miss Green's -class was only a memory of his later infancy. Miss -Tibbet, his present teacher, was a hopeless automaton. -She wore masculine boots and impenetrable tortoise-shell -spectacles. When she opened her lips, sound issued; -when she closed her lips, sound did not issue. Her -personality was capable of no further differentiation. -Nothing happened. A waking sleep buzzed in her -classroom like a bluebottle. -</p> - -<p> -For his years he was early in Miss Tibbet's class. -There was something about him which much endeared -Philip to the young ladies of ten and eleven who sat in -the same benches. The emotion at first was one of -somewhat elderly amusement and compassion. But -when Jane Freedman declared herself in love with him, -it became a universal discovery that Philip lay wedged -between the split sections of every heart. They brought -offerings to him—cigarette cards, jujubes and raw -carrots, (Philip had an unholy appetite for raw carrots). -One day Jane Freedman waylaid him with a large lump -of pine-apple rock. -</p> - -<p> -"Kiss me, and it is yours!" she said. It was a very -large and inviting piece of pine-apple rock; it had only -been slightly sucked, not more than a taste. He kissed -her. -</p> - -<p> -The other girls promptly waylaid him with larger -pieces of pine-apple rock. The whole thing really was -very unpleasant. On the other hand pine-apple rock -had its compensation. Yet Philip developed a great -distaste for humanity. Boys, at one extreme, were more -unclean than cats, (cats being the predominant fauna -of Angel Street, they were a useful starting point for all -philosophy). Girls, at the other, were more sentimental -than fish. Pine-apple rock began speedily to pall upon -him. -</p> - -<p> -School was wearying beyond words. Not a chance -gleam of gold filtered through the pall of cloud. Miss -Tibbet's mouth opened; then it closed. It would have -been an incident, even if you could have seen her eyelids -blink beyond her spectacles. She taught poetry as -she taught vulgar fractions. A mad impulse began to -seize upon Philip. He must separate his own lips -further, wider, more hilariously than ever Miss Tibbet -was capable. Then to deliver himself of one prolonged -shout—no more. One prolonged shout which would -cleave a path through the clouds of monotony -wherethrough the dizzy horses of adventure might come -tumbling from the spacious blue winds beyond. Not a -shout of pain or of desperation. A shout merely from -the whole capacity of his lungs, a human shout, a -challenge of the body in ennui. -</p> - -<p> -His lips opened trembling. Miss Tibbet's spectacles -swept blankly towards his face. He bent down over his -paper. The impulse waxed within him and became a -passion. He began to say to himself that the whole -future of his life depended upon his courage. If he did -not open his lips and yell he would be one thing. If he -did open his lips and yell, he would be another thing, and -a bigger, freer thing. One day he stretched his jaws to -make the effort. The back of his mouth was crammed -with sand. He lifted his hand as if to hide a yawn. -</p> - -<p> -A mystic conviction took possession of him. If he had -any value, that shout would be achieved. But its agent -would be something greater than himself. Prepared or -unprepared for it, the shout would come, if he was -worthy. -</p> - -<p> -It was a very hot afternoon. Miss Tibbet croaked at -the blackboard like a machine. A desultory dog was -barking somewhere with insensate yelps. The geranium -before the closed windows drooped in the heat. Flies -were droning aimlessly. -</p> - -<p> -A huge shout swept suddenly into every corner of the -room, slapped Miss Tibbet's face like the palm of a -hand. There was an intense silence. All eyes turned to -Philip's face, which was flushed furiously red, unhappy, -exultant. -</p> - -<p> -"Philip Massel, stand up!" He shuffled to his feet. -</p> - -<p> -"Was it you who made that noise?" -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, Miss Tibbet!" -</p> - -<p> -"Why did you make that noise?" -</p> - -<p> -"I don't know!" -</p> - -<p> -"Did somebody stick a pin into you?" -</p> - -<p> -"No!" -</p> - -<p> -"Did anybody stick a pin into Philip Massel?" -</p> - -<p> -No reply. -</p> - -<p> -Here was something entirely beyond Miss Tibbet's -experience. -</p> - -<p> -"Will the monitors keep order, please, while I take -this boy to the head master!" -</p> - -<p> -Philip knew that sooner or later he would burst into -tears. But a great load was off his mind. He was free, -he was free! For one moment of dizzy elation a pang of -that emotion struck him which long ago made him -tremble on a locker in Miss Green's room before the -fateful question—"Tell me, Philip, which would you rather -be, Jew or Christian?" The sheer poignancy passed, -but something of his elation remained, even in the -cadaverous sanctum of the head master. -</p> - -<p> -Mr. Tomlinson sat ominous in his chair as he listened -to Miss Tibbet's recital. -</p> - -<p> -"Why did you behave in that disgraceful way, -Philip Massel?" -</p> - -<p> -"I—I—don't know, sir!" -</p> - -<p> -"What do you mean, you don't know?" -</p> - -<p> -"I don't know, sir!" -</p> - -<p> -"Are you sure it wasn't a pin?" -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, sir!" -</p> - -<p> -"Are you in pain?" -</p> - -<p> -"No, sir!" -</p> - -<p> -"Am I to understand that..." But Philip's -shoulders were shaking. Big tears rolled down his face. -He hid his face in a dirty, frayed handkerchief. He -heard Mr. Tomlinson and Miss Tibbet whispering -overhead. -</p> - -<p> -"The heat..." said one. -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, I should think ... the heat...." -</p> - -<p> -"You may go home, Philip Massel!" said Mr. Tomlinson. -"Tell your mother to put you to bed at -once. Say I told her she must keep you quiet. Don't -come to school to-morrow if your head is aching.... -And never let it happen again, young man! Understand -that!" -</p> - -<p> -Philip withdrew. A grin mingled maliciously with -his tears. -</p> - -<p> -A day or two later he was standing contemplatively -against the playground wall during the interval, when -he observed Harry Sewelson approaching. Sewelson, -though he was about a year older, was in Philip's class. -He lived in a draper's shop some minutes along -Doomington Road. They had had no commerce hitherto. -Philip made a new friend with extreme difficulty, and -though he realized that there was a quality in Sewelson, -a keenness in his grey eyes, which distinguished him from -the rest, there was a garlic vulgarity about him, a -strongly-flavoured bluster, which, he had learned from -Reb Monash, was inseparable from Roumanian Jewry. -</p> - -<p> -"I say!" declared Sewelson, "I bet you I know -what was the matter on Tuesday! I bet I know why -you gave that shout!" -</p> - -<p> -"<i>Bet</i> you don't!" Philip replied. He was vaguely -proud of the complex of motives which had induced him -to behave in so baffling a manner. -</p> - -<p> -"Nobody pricked you!" Sewelson asserted. -</p> - -<p> -"Right for once!" Philip agreed. -</p> - -<p> -"And you weren't ill! I bet I know!" -</p> - -<p> -Philip looked up curiously. -</p> - -<p> -"<i>You just wanted to!</i>" Sewelson whispered in a -somewhat melodramatic manner. "You felt you just -had to. You couldn't get away. You were sick and -tired!" -</p> - -<p> -Philip's brown eyes looked up shyly, with a certain -pleasure, with a certain distrust, into the grey eyes -before him. -</p> - -<p> -"You're right!" said Philip. "It wasn't my fault!" -</p> - -<p> -"I say," Sewelson said, after a pause. "I say..." Then -he paused again. -</p> - -<p> -"Yes?" asked Philip. -</p> - -<p> -"I say, what about being pals?" -</p> - -<p> -Philip blushed slightly. "Let's!" he said. -</p> - -<p> -They walked down the playground with linked arms. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, yes!" accepted Philip innocently. "I <i>do</i> think -Miss Tibbet is a narky bitch!" -</p> - -<p> -"Carried <i>nem-con</i>!" exclaimed Sewelson, proud of -his elegant introduction of a foreign tongue. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap0104"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER IV -</h3> - -<p> -The vicissitudes of school and Angel Street -represented only the secular side of Philip's existence. -The Jewish, the clerical side, claimed his servitude -as soon as he pushed open the door of the house. -The whole day, of course, was punctuated with greater -or lesser ceremonies; but a considerable portion of it, -at least of that part not taken up by school, was spent in -his father's <i>chayder</i>. Beyond <i>chayder</i>, to gather together -and confirm the saintliness ardently desired and pursued -for him by his father, lay the synagogue in Doomington -Road, the <i>Polisher Shool</i>. -</p> - -<p> -The room in which the <i>chayder</i> was housed was -distinctly dismal, despite the fountain of spiritual light -playing perpetually there, the fountain whereof Reb -Monash himself was the head. It lay between the -"parlour," a chilly room upholstered in yellow plush, -which was on the right as you passed into the "lobby," -and the kitchen in the recesses of the house, to enter -which you descended two invisible steps. Beyond the -window of the <i>chayder</i> and beyond the yard, hung a -grim, blank-windowed hat-and-cap factory. -</p> - -<p> -Low forms, where the two dozen scholars were disposed, -ran round the four walls of the room. Before a -table facing the window Reb Monash sat, in the additional -shadow cast by the large oblong of cardboard which -occupied a fourth of the window-space so as to hide the -damage caused by a malicious Gentile stone. More for -minatory gesture than for punishment, a bone-handled -walking-stick lay to his hand, along the table. Facing -the door a large cupboard stood invariably open. Here -on the lowest shelf were the Prayer Books, from the -first page of which the youngest scholars learned their -Hebrew capitals. Here also were the penny exercise -books where the scholars proficient in the cursive script -wrote letters of a totally imaginary politeness to their -parents. "My dear and most esteemed Father and -Mother," they ran, "I am full of concern for your health. -Reb Monash joins me in respectful greeting. The High -Festivals are approaching, God be thanked, and I -trust the Above One will bless our ways with milk and -honey and will much increase our progeny, even as the -sands on the shore. Believe I am your to-death-devoted son." -</p> - -<p> -Upon one wall hung a chart where an adventurous -red line traced the forty years' wandering of the Jewish -race between the House of Bondage and the Promised -Land. A portrait of Dr. Theodor Herzl, every feature -cleverly pricked out in Hebrew letters, hung opposite. -There were enlargements from photographs of Mr. and -Mrs. Massel, and portraits of Heine and Disraeli, which -had been hung not without compunction, although -each had made so generous a death-bed recantation of -his errors. -</p> - -<p> -The payment to Reb Monash for a week's tuition -ranged between one shilling and eighteenpence. He -sometimes accepted ninepence, but on the condition that -other parents should not be informed and the market -be thus demoralized. He even accepted no payment at -all, in cases of extreme indigence, where it meant that a -scion of Israel would otherwise run riot in pagan -ignorance. The attendances of his pupils were as -follows:—In the week-days, a few frantic minutes -between morning and afternoon school for the recital of -<i>minchah</i>, the midday prayer, and more importantly, -several long hours in the evening; on the Saturday, -once, after dinner. -</p> - -<p> -During the evening session, while the maturer boys -were biting their pens over their letters home, and the -boys less mature were transcribing for page after page a -sample line in Reb Monash's own script, <i>rebbie</i> himself -dealt with the infants, five, four, three years old. -Patiently, gently, the meat skewer he used as a pointer -moved from capital to capital. (A safe way to win -temporary harbourage in <i>rebbie's</i> good graces was to -provide him with a new pointer.) -</p> - -<p> -"<i>Aleph!</i>" said Reb Monash. "<i>Aleph!</i>" piped the -little voice. -</p> - -<p> -"<i>Baze!</i>" "<i>Baze!</i>" "<i>Gimmel, doled!</i>" "<i>Gimmel, doled!</i>" -</p> - -<p> -With the young he had enormous patience. When -at last they knew all the letters in their consecutive -order, his pointer would dart bewilderingly from letter -to letter. -</p> - -<p> -"<i>Lange mem, tsadik, coff....</i>" -</p> - -<p> -Ignorance, up to a certain age, Reb Monash could -condone. It was inattention against which he -maintained a fiery crusade. -</p> - -<p> -"What, thou canst not distinguish between <i>baze</i> and -<i>shloss mem</i>? Playest thou then alleys already? Thou -art a lump-Gentile, a <i>shtik-goy</i>!" After the youngsters -had been thus instructed, a snap of his Prayer Book was -the signal for a deathly calm. All the exercise books -were closed and put away upon their shelf. Everybody -sat down upon the benches round the wall and each -face assumed a look of virtue bordering upon imbecility. -Reb Monash then produced a thin notebook where in -three columns down each page he had written a large -number of Hebrew words. These words had, excepting -rarely, no connection with each other. One leaped -abruptly from "pepper" to "son-in-law" and thence -to "chair," "snake," "pomegranate" and "yesterday." -</p> - -<p> -Starting with any boy indiscriminately he read out -word after word, receiving an English or Yiddish -equivalent. Here again, to introduce a complexity, he -suddenly interrupted the written order of the words, or, -indeed, himself gave the profane equivalent of the -vocabulary and demanded the "Holy Speech" in -return. With as little warning he transferred his -attention to another of his scholars, and woe upon him if the -black crime of inattention had sent his wits scattering, -woe if his lips could not repeat the word just translated! -A silence intense as the silence of the antechamber -where the High Priest three times demands from -Radames his defence, occupied the breathless <i>chayder</i> -during the process of "Hebrew." -</p> - -<p> -Yet for all his sallies and alarms the tragedy of Reb -Monash was no more apparent than in the heart-broken -monotone in which he uttered his list of inconsequent -words. All the ghettoes of Russia had known the silver -of his voice. If there had been sorrows of Israel none -had told them more poignantly; if Zion still were to raise -tall towers, none so joyfully had prophesied her new -splendours. Still in many synagogues beyond the -<i>Polisher Shool</i> his oratory was in demand. But the glow -of his old dreams? Was it because no single reality had -called him to concrete endeavours, that no single dream -had found fulfilment? -</p> - -<p> -But all this lay deep down, deeper than himself dared -to pursue. -</p> - -<p> -"<i>Pilpelim?</i>" "Pepper!" -</p> - -<p> -"<i>Lo mit a vov?</i>" "To him!" -</p> - -<p> -"Philip, where holds one?" -</p> - -<p> -"... er ... er..." -</p> - -<p> -"What! thou knowest not?" -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, <i>tatte</i>, yes ... <i>odom</i>, a man!" -</p> - -<p> -Reb Monash's lips set tight. Philip's back curved -under his father's fist. He pressed his head down upon -his neck. He knew that the nearer he attained to -immobility, the sooner would his punishment be -over. -</p> - -<p> -Reb Monash sat down again. -</p> - -<p> -"<i>Roshoh?</i>" he asked significantly. -</p> - -<p> -"Evil one!" -</p> - -<p> -"<i>Boruch?</i>" to point the contrast. -</p> - -<p> -"Blessed!" the voice translated. -</p> - -<p> -And so till "Hebrew" was at an end. Then followed -translation from the week's portion of the -Pentateuch; and perhaps if one or two scholars of such -holy state remained under his care, an excursion into -the Talmud. -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -The combination of Miss Tibbet and <i>chayder</i> left -Philip limp with fatigue and dejection. Life under Miss -Tibbet was clockwork, barren of adventure and hope. -<i>Chayder</i> was a cycle that each year returned to the same -spot through a round of indignities and petty tyrannies. -All its nightly incidents were the same as last week's and -last year's and seemed destined to reduplication world -without end. Walls seemed to rise frowning before him -wherever he looked. It was hard to breathe. Were -these days the pattern of all the days he should ever -know, till he died at last and half-hearted funeral -eulogies were uttered over his coffin? -</p> - -<p> -Yet now and again there were incidents which slightly -relieved the tedium of existence. As for instance when -the notorious Jakey arrived in <i>chayder</i> about an hour -late one stifling summer evening. Jakey was in truth a -desperate character. His stockings lay invariably over -his boots, and the boots themselves knew no other -fastening than string. Among the layers of dirt on his -face his right eye or his left emerged livid in purple and -salmon hues. On numerous occasions he had "wagged" -school in order to play pitch and toss with coins, derived -who knew whence? in the company of stalwarts fifteen -years old, three years his senior. -</p> - -<p> -It was in fact during the solemn stillness of "Hebrew" -that he arrived. Upon his appearance the hush was -intensified into something acute as shrill sound or pain. -Slowly, with tight-browed condemnation, Reb Monash -turned his head to the truant. "So thou art come!" -he said. "Enter! we are incomplete without thee!" With -withering courtesy he motioned him to the end of -a bench. Nonchalantly moving the tip of his tongue -from one cheek to the other Jakey sat down. -</p> - -<p> -"<i>Nu</i>, Jakele, what hast thou for thyself to say?" he -asked, still couchant, as it were, upon his chair. Jakey -for several seconds longer kept his tongue in his left -cheek. He lifted his brows in interested contemplation. -</p> - -<p> -"I had the stomach-ache!" he suggested, clasping -his hands against his liver as a piece of convincing by-play. -</p> - -<p> -"<i>Ligner!</i>" thundered Reb Monash, "Thou art sound -as a Hottentot!" -</p> - -<p> -Jakey withdrew one hand from his stomach, and -lifted a thumb to his mouth. -</p> - -<p> -"My muvver's dying!" he said after further meditation. -</p> - -<p> -Reb Monash quivered with wrath. -</p> - -<p> -"Such a year upon thee! Long live they mother, but -thou, thou art a proselytized one!" -</p> - -<p> -He advanced to make Jakey more immediately aware -of the jeopardy into which his soul had fallen. Jakey -looked up shiftily, his eyes watchful. Reb Monash's -fist came down upon empty air. Swift as a lizard Jakey -darted across to the table. He stood there, Reb Monash's -bone-handled stick uplifted. A murmur of horror went -round the <i>chayder</i>. Reb Monash with a shout of anger -advanced raging. And then it was that his own stick, -the symbol of more absolute authority than the Shah's, -was brought down upon his own shoulder. There was a -silence. Then immediately a tremendous hubbub -filled the room. Reb Monash sank into his chair. A few -of the youngest lads lifted up their voices and wept. -A boy in a corner was giggling nervously. -</p> - -<p> -"Where is he? Where is he?" asked Reb Monash -weakly. An enormity had been perpetrated unknown -in the annals of <i>chayders</i>. And in his, Reb Monash's, -where discipline and holiness were equal stars. -</p> - -<p> -"'E's ran away! I seen 'im!" the cry rose. -</p> - -<p> -Reb Monash grimly took up once more his book of -Hebrew words. The long monotone began again. -</p> - -<p> -"<i>Ishoh?</i>" "A woman!" -</p> - -<p> -"<i>Sachin?</i>" "A knife!" -</p> - -<p> -The door was flung open. A storm of flying apron-strings -filled the threshold, and a cloud of loose hair. -It was the mother of Jakey. -</p> - -<p> -"Reb Monash, what is for such a thing?" she -demanded indignantly. "One might think a policeman, -not a <i>rebbie</i>. My poor Jakele, gentle as a dove, a credit -in Israel! What for a new thing is this?" -</p> - -<p> -Reb Monash lifted his hands deprecatingly. "What -say you, Mrs. Gerber? An hour later he comes...." -</p> - -<p> -She gave him no time to continue. "And then to -lay about him with a walking-stick! A Tartar, not a -Jew! Never a word of complaint from God or man -about my poor orphan and ... to come to <i>chayder</i> -... and a pogrom! <i>Oi, a shkandal</i>! A walking-stick like -a tree! A moujik, God should so help me, not a <i>rebbie</i>! -Poor Jakele, crying his heart out like a dove! I'll take -him away from a so crooked <i>chayder</i>!" -</p> - -<p> -"But that concerns me little!" broke in Reb Monash. -"For each one that goes, come four each time!" (This -confident mathematic invariably puzzled Philip. -He knew how necessary to the Massel family was an -increased income. Why should not Reb Monash dismiss -his whole <i>chayder</i> and then automatically increase -his clientele fourfold?) -</p> - -<p> -"Like a tree a walking-stick!" continued -Mrs. Gerber. She flounced through the door. "Such a -year! Such a black year shall seize you!" she spat. -The door closed with a loud bang. It was impossible to -sit down under it. Not only to have been assaulted, but -to be accused of being the assailant was too much to -bear. Reb Monash took his skull-cap, his <i>yamelke</i>, -from his head, placed it on the mantelshelf, and assumed -his silk hat. -</p> - -<p> -"Learn over your passages!" he rapped out as he -followed furiously to the house of Jakey. -</p> - -<p> -There was subdued whispering at first. -</p> - -<p> -"Wot a lark!" said some one. "Oo—aye! Wot -a lark!" some one else repeated. Then every one -laughed. Philip was hilarious. It really was too -funny—Jakey the dove! -</p> - -<p> -"I've got the stomach-ache, <i>rebbie</i>!" -</p> - -<p> -"No you've not, you mean your muvver's dying!" -</p> - -<p> -Some one lifted the walking-stick. Barney did a <i>pas -seul</i> in the corner. The gaiety of the situation -intoxicated everybody. Philip was swept off his feet by the -general merriment. He reached up for his father's -skull-cap, put it on and looked round solemnly. Barney -imitated Mrs. Gerber with great distinction. -</p> - -<p> -"A moujik, not a <i>rebbie</i>!" -</p> - -<p> -At this moment the door opened. Reb Monash's -face looked round glowering below his silk hat. Quick -as thought Philip covered the borrowed skull-cap, -knowing there was no time to replace it, with his own -cap. He felt the unfortunate load pressing guiltily -against his head. -</p> - -<p> -Reb Monash took off the silk hat and looked round -for the <i>yamelke</i>. -</p> - -<p> -"Where's my <i>yamelke</i>?" he demanded fiercely. -</p> - -<p> -"Dunno!" a murmur rose. -</p> - -<p> -"Did I not place it on the mantelshelf?" -</p> - -<p> -"Didn' see yer!" -</p> - -<p> -"Dost thou know?" -</p> - -<p> -"No, <i>rebbie</i>!" -</p> - -<p> -"Dost thou, Philip?" -</p> - -<p> -"No, <i>tatte</i>!" -</p> - -<p> -"Dost thou, Barney?" -</p> - -<p> -"No, <i>rebbie</i>!" -</p> - -<p> -"Empty ye out all your pockets!" -</p> - -<p> -The <i>yamelke</i> was nowhere to be found. It was a very -hot evening and it produced on Philip an unholy delight -to see his father sitting there in the close heat, with -bright red carpet slippers, thin black trousers, a thin -alpaca coat—and to crown all, the stately and stuffy -tall hat, malevolent and quite definitely absurd. -</p> - -<p> -It was towards the end of the evening that Philip -lifted his cap to scratch his head over some knotty -point in the <i>chumish</i>, the Pentateuch, they were translating. -He had wholly forgotten the abstracted <i>yamelke</i>, -so, whilst his own cap fell with a soft slur on the table -before him, the <i>yamelke</i> sat revealed like a toad under a -lifted stone. -</p> - -<p> -Reb Monash looked up. It was too late to hide the -<i>yamelke</i>. Reb Monash's eyes glinted unpleasantly. -<i>Chayder</i> drew to an immediate end. -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -The drizzle falling beyond the <i>chayder</i> window next -day was like a curtain of liquid soot. The interview -between Reb Monash and Philip on the conclusion of last -evening's episode had made them both, for different, -for opposite, reasons, very tired. Philip, though the -hard form where he sat left him at no time unconscious -of his wounds, was only a little more listless than his -father. His mind was too numbed even to appreciate -the exquisite irony of his letter to his "esteemed and -beloved parents." When the ritual of "Hebrew" -recommenced, it was only with an effort that he -suspended the mechanical scrawling of his pen. The dirge -of question and reply proceeded mournfully, broken -only by the occasional "where holds one?" like the -surface of a pond on a dull day when the fish seem to rise -rather to assert their rights than to satisfy their hunger. -Oh, to get away from it all, mused Philip dimly. To -where there are trees and grass like Longton Park, but -freer, larger. To go there alone and to come back to -mother, perhaps with an offering of cowslips, whatever -they were. There would be a bird there who would -sing. Not like a canary. He couldn't bear the singing -of canaries. They reminded him of a pale girl whom he -saw sometimes at a window of the hat-and-cap factory. -She sang sometimes, like a canary, ever so sweetly, but -a captive. He had once seen a canary cage hanging -on an outside wall. A great rain-storm had burst, -but the people on the doorstep had gone in, -forgetting all about the bird. He had knocked at their -door and told them, and though the man had sworn -at him, he took the bird in, a sickly sodden mass, -greyish-yellow. That bird had not sung again. It -uttered only a little broken cheep each morning when -the sun came. Now out there ... Oh, what was all -this useless droning, droning about ... "<i>Pilpelim?</i>" -"Pepper!" ... out there, when the rain came, there -would be thick branches to shelter that singing bird. -He would walk alone, clean, free. "Alone I walked, I -walked alone." There was music in that! "Alone I -walked, I walked alone." Yes of course! the sense was -quite different, but there was something about it -identical with his "On Linden when the sun was -low." "Alone I walked, I walked alone," he stressed. "I -sat upon a mossy stone," he followed swiftly. What -fun! That was like real poetry. He repeated the words, -trembling with delight. -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - <i>Alone I walked, I walked alone.<br /> - I sat upon a mossy stone.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -What about that bird? We must introduce that bird! -"I heard a bird singing up in the sky." No, that wouldn't -do! Something was wrong! Gosh! it was very easy! -Just leave out that "singing," thus: "I heard a bird -up in the sky." But we can't end there! "I heard a -bird up in the sky," and ... and ... "He sang so -sweet and so did I!" His thighs trembled. His heart -stormed. He had beaten down the walls of <i>chayder</i>; -he was away beyond somewhere; he was elected into -the fellowship of poetry; what did Miss Tibbet matter -for ever and ever? Again, again ... how did it -go? ... lest he should lose it! Listen! Ah, the surge -the fullness of it! -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Alone I walked, I walked alone,<br /> - I sat upon a mossy stone.<br /> - I heard a bird up in the sky.<br /> - He sang so sweet and so did I!<br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -Green fields stretching away, trees, stones with soft -moss, a bird, a bird! -</p> - -<p> -"Feivel, where holds one?" -</p> - -<p> -Sickeningly, with the click of a trap, the walls of -<i>chayder</i> shut to about him. An ecstasy was in his eyes. -A mist of stupidity, helplessness, obscured their light. -Oh, no! oh, no! he would make no pretence about it. -He'd not been listening, he'd been away, singing! ... What -did it matter? Let the fist come down on his -aching back! Let the muscles of his arm be pinched -and wrenched again. Listen, oh listen! -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - <i>I heard a bird up in the sky.<br /> - He sang so sweet and so did I.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -He lifted his wide eyes to his father. In an even voice -he said, "<i>Tatte</i>, I've not been listening!" -</p> - -<p> -A thrill of subdued expectance went round the <i>chayder</i>. -His enemies rubbed their grubby hands gleefully. One -or two looked anxious. -</p> - -<p> -But there was no explosion. In the same even tones -Reb Monash said, "<i>Nu</i>, and what hast thou been -doing?" -</p> - -<p> -Slowly Philip's sallow face flushed a deep crimson. -Must he tell? Must he stand there stripped of this new -garment which had covered him, fragrant with spices -and touched with the colours of a new dawn? But it -was the voice not of his own free lips, the voice ordered -by some blind, strong dictate of the heart, that said, -"I was writing a poetry!" -</p> - -<p> -A slight sound came from Reb Monash's lips. It was -only dimly anger; it was also resignation, dismay. -His lips closed. The fires of his wrath last night had -burned round his son, till at last Philip lay on the -sofa, spent, lightless, like a cinder. He had thereon -turned to Mrs. Massel who at one stage had ventured to -intervene. Would she like to see her son stuff his maws -with pig; or perhaps grow up to take a <i>shiksah</i> to his -arms? All that night low sobbing came from the room -where Philip slept. Even when Reb Monash thought -his wife sleeping, there came an answering moan from -her bed as the sobbing of the boy entered the room like a -frail ghost. Reb Monash turned his eyes upon his -Hebrew notebook. -</p> - -<p> -"Go thou! go thou! go!" he said heavily. "I'll -deal with thee later!" -</p> - -<p> -Philip passed from the room. The walls of <i>chayder</i> -were no more round him; his head rang again with the -poor music he had made. -</p> - -<p> -"Mamma!" he said, bursting into the kitchen, "I've -made a poetry!" -</p> - -<p> -"Feivele!" she exclaimed with horror. "Why art -thou not in <i>chayder</i>?" -</p> - -<p> -"He sent me out!" he answered, his lips quivering. -"I've been a bad boy!" -</p> - -<p> -"Then go out into the street!" she said. "He'll -see thee here and say I'm petting thee!" -</p> - -<p> -He ran out into Angel Street. The lines were singing -in his head. He skipped along Angel Street, from the -wire factory to Doomington Road and back again, -chanting his lines. Then Harry Sewelson, his pal, -came into his mind. He would make use of his unusual -liberty to go and tell him about the "poetry." He ran -breathlessly along Doomington Road to "Sewelson's -High-Class Drapery and Hosiery Establishment." He -passed through the side non-professional door along a -dark lobby to the kitchen. Harry sat in a corner -reading. -</p> - -<p> -A sudden shame and reluctance overwhelmed Philip. -What was he making all this fuss about? Harry would -only laugh at him, and why shouldn't he? -</p> - -<p> -"Hello!" said Harry, "come in!" -</p> - -<p> -Philip came forward. "What are you reading?" -he asked. -</p> - -<p> -"Poetry!" Harry replied. -</p> - -<p> -This put a different complexion on affairs. -</p> - -<p> -"<i>I've</i> just done a poetry!" Philip declared proudly, -throwing his scruples aside. He had established an -affinity with a printed book. -</p> - -<p> -"G-arn!" said Harry sceptically. -</p> - -<p> -"<i>Emmes!</i>" -</p> - -<p> -"Tell us then!" -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - "<i>Alone I walked, I walked alone.<br /> - I sat upon a mossy stone.<br /> - I heard a bird up in the sky.<br /> - He sang so sweet and so did I.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -There, what d'you think of that?" -</p> - -<p> -"It's not your own!" -</p> - -<p> -"<i>Emmes adonoi!</i>" -</p> - -<p> -Harry looked up with warm commendation in his -eyes. -</p> - -<p> -"You know," he said, "it's like this feller!" -</p> - -<p> -"Who's that?" -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, this feller's called Tennyson!" he said, turning -the leaves. -</p> - -<p> -Philip drew a chair close and together they examined -the faded penny reprint. -</p> - -<p> -"Gosh!" exclaimed Philip excitedly. "Isn't that -spiff!" -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -If the episode of the profane poem written during the -sanctity of "Hebrew" had rendered Reb Monash sadly -and half-consciously aware that in Philip he had nurtured -a son who lay beyond the theoretic and practical bounds -of his knowledge; a son who was so bewilderingly unlike -and unworthy of himself as he had been like and worthy -of his father, and his father had been like and worthy -of his grandfather, and so backward to whichever of -the Twelve Tribes had fathered his race—if the episode -of the poem produced in him only fears and doubts, it -was the appearance of Mottele which crystallized for him -the difference between the actual Philip and the Philip -of his dreams. -</p> - -<p> -The parents of Mottele had removed to Doomington -from a smaller town in an adjacent county for the -specific reason that Mottele had demanded more -adequate instruction in Hebrew. They had moved even -though the father had achieved a fair clientele as a -tailor in the town where he had settled, whereas the -market in tailors for Doomington was already -hopelessly glutted. -</p> - -<p> -At the time when Mottele entered Reb Monash's -<i>chayder</i> Mottele had passed his ninth, and Philip his -tenth birthday. His mother, as she floated in amply -behind the compact figure of Mottele, seemed rather -an exhalation from Mottele than an important author of -his existence. She was vague and large and benignant as -a moon, shining with pale piety reflected from the central -sun of Mottele. Mottele himself entered as one doomed -only for a short while to range the treacherous zone of -the fleshly. By an inverse law of gravity, his eyes were -drawn upwards to the ceiling and thence to the mudless -floors of Heaven where his elder brethren, the medićval -Rabbis and the early Prophets, awaited the quietus to -the mundane phase of Mottele's piety. His general -appearance betokened a rigid aloofness from the vulgar -delights of the body. Both stud-holes of his waterproof -collar were in excellent condition; the pockets which -in most entrants to <i>chayder</i> were associated with the -fecund bulges of boy-merchandise, displayed only a -<i>sidder</i>, a Prayer Book, emerging with propriety; his -stainless boots proved that the rapturous puddles of the -roadway were unknown of his fastidious feet. Upon his -head sat a little round peakless cap from which fell a -demure fringe over his forehead. There was something -sweet and thin, a little sickly almost, in the tender -flute of his voice as it piped to Reb Monash's question a -response as innocent as honey. -</p> - -<p> -Upon Reb Monash Mottele produced an immediate and -visible effect. He fell naturally into a manner towards -him of affection, mingled with respect. "Here," he -declared, "here truly is a Judaic child! Just as at home! -No blackguarding in the streets, and his head never -running this way and that to nothingness and -Gentilehood. A credit to God and Man!" -</p> - -<p> -Mottele seemed almost audibly to lap up the instruction -tendered him, almost audibly, as a cat audibly laps -milk; you might almost see his sharp little tongue wash -round the corners of his mouth to make sure that no -drop of Jewish wisdom should be unabsorbed. During -"Hebrew," he sat upon his corner of the form with a -rapture of concentration worthy of some infant mystic -vouchsafed the Beatific Vision. It was with no vulgar -assertion of rights that his claim to one especial end on one -especial form was recognized. His claim existed merely, -and one might question as easily the claim of Reb -Monash to thump the back for inattention. There was -something both ludicrous and infuriating in the sight -of some hulking fellow of twelve shuffling heavily away -from the sacrosanct seat, as the result of some slight -pathetic quiver in Mottele's eyelids. -</p> - -<p> -Before long Mottele's bark was sailing the deep waters -of the post-Pentateuchal Bible, while Philip's keel -was still grinding against the elementary shingles of -the "weekly portion." Mottele now became Reb -Monash's standard, before which all things else, at but -a cursory reference, were revealed as dross. The state -of Philip's spiritual health was shown to be perilous in the -extreme. Now too Reb Monash developed a new theory. -</p> - -<p> -"It is not that Feivel cannot!" he declared bitterly. -"He will not! It suits him not to be a good Jew! -Regard then Mottele! There is a jewel for you, there -is an ornament for England, one shakes with delight -of him in the <i>Polisher Shool</i>. One says in looking upon -Mottele that there is hope still for the Hebrew race! -Mottele ... Mottele ... Mottele! ..." -</p> - -<p> -Day after day the word Mottele droned or thundered -in Philip's ears. All that was stifling in Angel Street and -repressive in <i>chayder</i> took to itself for a name the three -syllables of Mottele. The word began to lose for him all -its physical connotation. Increasingly it became for -him a symbol of injustice and despair. -</p> - -<p> -Reb Monash had felt hitherto that the child of his -dreams, such a child as would have been a living glory -in Terkass, was almost of too exquisite a lineament for -the reality of this godless England. But Mottele had -undeceived him, for here in the very flesh was a child actually -born in England and yet recalling irresistibly the piety -of his own boyhood in Russia; a child such as he had -been himself, at ten years an intimate of greybeards and -an object of almost superstitious affection and reverence -among the old women of the Synagogue. He would not -confess it to himself, yet there seemed an element of -injustice in the fact that he, Reb Monash, to whom -surely, on the grounds of his own holiness and the -uninterrupted holiness of his ancestry generation behind -generation, such a son as Mottele was due, that he should -be the father of so unsatisfactory a child as Philip. There -was much he loved in Philip. Because of the very -strength of his love for Philip, he assured himself, he -grieved so much to find Philip so far from his heart's -desire. It was as much a matter of the happiness of -Philip's own soul as of the happiness and credit of himself. -But, he realized, to display to Philip or to Philip's -mother, how deep was his love for his son, would be -tantamount to an offence against God. It would -sanction the delusion that he accepted Philip such as he -was, whereas the Philip he strove after was far less like -Philip than like himself or Mottele, after which image, -with God's grace, he would yet convert his son. For -there was much, he repeated, he loved in Philip; as for -instance his poetry, his imagination, which, wedded to -Jewishness, the spiritual state called <i>Yidishkeit</i>, were -a valuable possession, as he, in his oratory, himself -frequently realized. On the other hand, the quality -of poetry, unhealthily developed, might nourish errors -concerning the primal verity of <i>Yidishkeit</i> which might -land him into the pits of the unclean. There was a -certain quality of the <i>rational</i> which up to a certain limit -was likewise a decoration. It was a quality which could -excellently elucidate a parable or examine an obscure -text with the possible result of throwing upon it a -naive and modern light very entertaining to the elders at -the Synagogue; but again, like all Philip's positive -qualities, it had a negative aspect of the greatest -spiritual danger. It was a God-sent bounty that had sent -Mottele in his way—Mottele, who had imagination, but -not to excess, who was rational, but not unhealthily. -By placing the virtues of Mottele in a clear light before -Philip, by the spectacle of the affection and esteem -which Mottele commanded in the exercise of these -virtues, both in <i>chayder</i> and in <i>shool</i>, the increasing -contumacy he had observed with alarm in Philip would -be broken down, and a son worthy of the traditions of -Reb Monash adorn his home. -</p> - -<p> -"I hate him!" Philip was saying to Harry, "I -hate him!" His face was still wet with tears of -vexation. His fists were clenched and his jaws were set -viciously. He had only escaped that evening by -slipping out through the front door after opening it for -a septuagenarian panegyrist of Mottele. -</p> - -<p> -"He's only a liar and a sucker-up!" he exclaimed. -"He does it for just what he can get out of it! Thinks -I can't see! Yah!" he growled in disgust. -</p> - -<p> -"But listen!" said Harry, "Just listen to this! -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - <i>How could I look upon the day?<br /> - They should have stabb'd me where I lay,<br /> - Oriana—<br /> - They should have trod me into clay,<br /> - Oriana!</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -What do you think of that? Isn't it fine? He -seems to have had a rottener time even than Mottele's -giving you! But isn't it grand stuff?" -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, I know, I know! But tell me what I can do! -I hate him! I want to kill him!" -</p> - -<p> -Harry looked up reflectively. "Kill him?" he asked. -"Stab him where he lies, Oriana! That's an idea, -Philip! I can lend you a peashooter. Or, why not try -a gonfalon? Gonfalons are awfully tricky!" -</p> - -<p> -"You're laughing!" said Philip indignantly. "I -wish you came to our <i>chayder</i>, you wouldn't laugh then, -I can tell you!" -</p> - -<p> -"But you talked about killing yourself, didn't you? -Really, I don't know what to say! Kill him or try to -forget about him!" -</p> - -<p> -"Oh God, God!" said Philip, banging his forehead -in despair. "It's so miserable! While I'm being half -killed, he sits smiling and wiping his rotten nose!" -</p> - -<p> -Harry looked up sympathetically. -</p> - -<p> -"Else you could run away and be Two Little Vagabonds!" -he suggested. -</p> - -<p> -"Don't want to run away! He'd swank like one -o'clock, the pig!" Philip said morosely. "Besides," -he added in a slightly altered tone, "don't want to run -away from mother! She'd be lonely! Oh, Harry, you're -no help to a chap, you aren't!" -</p> - -<p> -Yet the conversation was not wholly fruitless. It -implanted in Philip the germ of more than one idea. -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -"<i>Rebbie</i>," said Mottele at dinner one Saturday afternoon, -"my uncle, peace-be-upon-him, died on Thursday, -no? I want to go and join the <i>minyon</i> at my auntie's -house to-night." -</p> - -<p> -"What good art thou at a minyon? Thou canst not -make a tenth! Thou art in years still far from thy -thirteenth year." -</p> - -<p> -"But all the same it's a <i>mitzvah</i>?" -</p> - -<p> -"Ah, true, true!" said Reb Monash, his eye full of -benignant appreciation. "Go thou then. Thou art no big -one and they will make room for thee. Bring thou in the -best bread thou hast forgotten, Chayah," he said turning -to his wife. -</p> - -<p> -She rose and entered the parlour where Reb Monash -kept the "best bread" locked in the sideboard. She -placed the bread dutifully before her husband. It -had latterly become the custom for Mottele to join -the Massel family for dinner on the Sabbath -mid-day. Reb Monash felt that his punctilious -washing before meals, his prayers before food and his -evident appreciation of the long blessing after food, -could have nothing but the most exemplary effect upon -Philip. -</p> - -<p> -Philip writhed inwardly to find Reb Monash cut a -couple of slices of the "best bread" (so dignified because -the flour was of a slightly superior brand and was -varnished and sprinkled with black grain), one for -Mottele and one for himself. The "second bread" lay at -the other end of the table for the consumption of his -mother, of Channah and, of course, of Philip. The -treatment meted out respectively to Mottele and himself -in <i>chayder</i> had inured him to indignity. This seemed, -however, an unnecessary slight upon his mother, even -if she was only a woman and therefore somewhat beyond -the pale of masculine courtesies. -</p> - -<p> -"As for thee, Feivel," said Reb Monash, "after -dinner thou wilt stay indoors to say over to thyself the -week's portion, while I take my few minutes' sleep. -It was badly said by thee in <i>chayder</i> on Thursday evening. -Thou didst halt three times, four times. When wilt thou -learn to say it like Mottele? It was like a stream -running, Chayah, the way Mottele said it, so clear, oh, a -pleasure!" -</p> - -<p> -Mottele's eyes were turned ceilingwards in a direction -which had become habitual with him during the chanting -of his praises. Praise produced in him no tremor of -self-consciousness. It was his due. Being a good Jew -had, there was ample authority, its celestial reward, but -that did not render superfluous a certain meed of -appreciation in this lesser mundane state. -</p> - -<p> -It might be remonstrated here that Mottele displayed -in abundant measure the qualities of "priggishness" -already repudiated as an essential element in Philip's -character. To which allegation the only reply must be -that "priggishness" simply does not meet the Mottele -case. "Priggishness" is a word defining a totally -different collection of qualities; those persons to whom -Mottele was a delight, and they were many, might have -admitted that he was distinguished by a sort of precocity, -but they felt this precocity definitely to demonstrate -how pleasant an odour was Mottele in the nostrils -of the Lord, Whose providence had caused Rebecca to -conceive at the premature age of three, the youthful -Rabbi Achivah to develop the beard of senility in the -course of a single night, and Mottele to be the thing he -was. Those persons, on the other hand, to whom Mottele -was more a stink than an odour, and it is to be regretted -that Philip was one of these, would have laughed with -pale scorn at the idea of disposing of Mottele as a "prig," -Mottele, whose sweet face was a cauldron of infamy and -whose voice was harsher than a Hell hag's lament over -an escaped soul. -</p> - -<p> -"But, <i>tatte</i>, can't I just go out to the corner of Angel -Street?" asked Philip mournfully. He knew instinctively -that utterance of the possibility put it effectively -out of court. -</p> - -<p> -"Thou wilt not go! Have I not spoken? Enough! -<i>Nu</i>, Mottele, when thou goest to study in the Yeshivah, -thou wilt come to see me, yes?" -</p> - -<p> -Mottele began ingeniously to pun upon the word -Yeshivah. Reb Monash beamed with delight. -</p> - -<p> -"Well," said Reb Monash, when the carrot and potato -dessert had been cleared away, "I go to sleep. One will -see thee in the afternoon <i>shool</i>, Mottele, for <i>minchah</i>, -eh?" -</p> - -<p> -"God being so good, Reb Monash!" -</p> - -<p> -"And forget thou not, Feivel! Not a foot into the -street or thou wilt see then!" -</p> - -<p> -"But Monash," broke in Mrs. Massel, "see how it is a -fine day! Can't he just go out and get some air in the -street?" -</p> - -<p> -"So thou must take his part, Chayah, <i>nu</i>? It will not -harm him to go without air. The Torah if he will imbibe -will do him more good!" -</p> - -<p> -"<i>A guten Shabbos!</i>" said Mottele quietly as he slid -through the door, "A good Sabbath!" Philip looked -towards him in a passion of dumb hate. Mottele halted -for the fraction of a moment with a trace of virtuous -aloofness and a slightly lifted head. There followed a -quick flash of vivid red thrust through his teeth, and -the door closed softly behind him. -</p> - -<p> -"I'll show him! I'll show him! I'll show him!" -the words pealed through Philip's head. "The devil! -I'll give it him! Oh, s'elp me if I don't!" -</p> - -<p> -"To thy <i>chumish</i> then!" said Reb Monash as he -climbed the stairs. -</p> - -<p> -Philip sat down on a dusty form in the deserted <i>chayder</i>. -He turned to a chapter in Genesis and started mumbling -aloud. He mumbled on to the end. He repeated the -portion again, having already ascertained that his -knowledge of it was as thorough as his knowledge of -anything could be. He repeated it stupidly a third -and a fourth time. He knew that his father would be -sleeping for an hour—no more, no less. Was he to go on -mumbling and mumbling for a hot solid hour? Oh, -what did it all mean, this soupy stuff, what sense had -it, what poetry? -</p> - -<p> -He remembered with a qualm of longing a line or two -Harry had found somewhere: -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - <i>O Brignall banks are wild and fair<br /> - And Greta woods are green....</i><br /> -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -But this! ... mumble, mumble, mumble, that's -all it was ... rubb-ish! as Miss Tibbet used to say. -What! Rubbish? Oh, sinful thought! He laid his -fingers dismayfully against his sinning lips. After all, -Mottele had nothing to do with the inception of the -Bible; neither had father, for that matter. The Bible -was something awful and unutterable and it was... -Oh, there weren't any words for it! And he'd said -rubbish! Yet God would understand he hadn't really -meant it. Besides, if God were a young boy kept in -mumbling all a Saturday afternoon, He might say -unfortunate things about the Bible, even though He's -written it all Himself. But how close it was in here! -What a headache he had! He wasn't supposed to go -into the kitchen and talk to his mother. But it was -stuffy, horribly stuffy ... and he knew every word in -his <i>chumish</i> seven times over. Oh, not so well as Mottele, -oh, no, oh, no! That wasn't to be expected! Did -anybody know anything so well as Mottele? How he -hated Mottele! He knew that poetry was beginning to -have a hold over his affections second only to his mother. -But he didn't love poetry half so passionately as he -hated Mottele. That reminded him. <i>He</i> wasn't going -to let Mottele stick his tongue out at him, after Mottele -had polluted the house with his presence at dinner. -No, he'd first cut his throat three times, that he -would! -</p> - -<p> -Where was it now, where was it? He hunted about -in his pockets. One possession, and not for intrinsic -reasons, Philip prized above all others. It was a smooth -chip, several inches long. Some months ago now he had -determined to assure himself of some record of the -indignities heaped upon him, directly or indirectly -caused by Mottele! The idea of the notched stick was -very popular with the heroes of romance. Yes, that -would be just the thing, a notched stick! His stick was -already notched all the way down one side and well -down the other. Oh, yes, it was in the left trouser -pocket! Strictly he wasn't supposed to transfer anything -from his weekday to his Saturday pockets. Nothing -must be carried on a Saturday. But he could not -afford to be without his notched stick even on Saturdays. -It was the only thing which maintained in him a degree -of sanity when some peculiarly injurious comparison had -been made between Mottele and himself. He clutched -t grimly inside his pocket and assured himself of some -ultimate and lurid vengeance. Torture perhaps, some -form of slow assassination during which Mottele was all -the time precisely aware of the assassin. "Kill him!" -Harry had suggested. What was that phrase of -Channah's? ... "Many a true word's spoken in jest!" -</p> - -<p> -He hardly dared to notch the stick while it was still -Shabbos. Besides, his knife was in his weekday trousers. -He'd not forget ... But this headache! Father -would be safely sleeping for a time yet. He'd just -creep along the lobby tip-toe and see what his mother -was doing. -</p> - -<p> -"Mamma, Mamma, hello!" She was sitting in the -meagre light of the window. The kitchen around her -was scrupulously clean. A pair of cheap steel-rimmed -spectacles lay on her nose; she was reading the -Yiddish version of the Bible, intended especially for -women. -</p> - -<p> -"Fievele," she said, "thou shouldst be repeating thy -<i>chumish</i> now, thou shouldst not be here!" -</p> - -<p> -"I've got such a headache, Mamma," he murmured -clasping his forehead with a somewhat exaggerated -gesture. "I want to go out for a minute or two! I'm -stuffed!" -</p> - -<p> -"But he said 'no'!" -</p> - -<p> -"I've finished now. I know it all. What more can -I do?" -</p> - -<p> -"Thou must not think of it!" -</p> - -<p> -"Ah, let me," he said appealingly, "only a minute or -two!" -</p> - -<p> -"What will he say to me, Feivele? Better go not!" -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, I'll be back straight away! Or I'll tell you what; -you stand at the front door, and when he starts getting up -wave your hand and I'll be back in a jiffy, long before he's -down. Ah <i>do</i>, Mamma!" -</p> - -<p> -"If thou hast a headache it is best for thee to be -outside!" she said uneasily. "Go then. But forget not -the moment I wave to thee, thou art back!" -</p> - -<p> -Philip darted to the door. -</p> - -<p> -"One second!" she said, "here's an apple for thee! -I got just one—for thee!" -</p> - -<p> -"What a lovely Mamma! Thank you, thank you!" -</p> - -<p> -It was a forlorn little figure stood at the Angel Street -corner of Doomington Road. He saw the crowded -tram-cars go up the road towards an urban simulation -of moorland called "Baxter's Hill." But beyond it -green, real country began ... and there was a river -... He saw the boys of Angel Street playing games with -a positively weekday enthusiasm. He had wanted -particularly to go and talk about Tennyson and things -with Harry this afternoon! How much luckier a lot -had been cast for Harry! There was a genial, vaguely -terrifying unorthodoxy about his parents which -sometimes verged upon the license of the sheerly Gentile. -They carried money on Saturdays! Mrs. Sewelson -put the kettle on the fire with her own hands on -Saturdays. But he wouldn't change his own mother -for a hundred anybody-else's mothers, he vowed, his -eyes softening, his teeth biting into the apple she had -given him. -</p> - -<p> -Would it be congenial to bite Mottele! No! that -was girlish—and he'd have such a sweet, nasty taste. -No! he'd just pommel him, the "dog's body" (he had -heard the phrase on the lips of Lena Myer in description -of a young gentleman who had transferred his attention -from Miss Myer to another lady). Ah, one minute! -What was that Mottele had said about going to attend -a prayer-for-the-dead meeting at his auntie's house? -Gosh! Here was an idea! S'elp me if Mottele wouldn't -have to attend his own prayer-for-the-dead meeting! -By heaven, Mottele had gone far enough! It was about -time he got some of his own back! -</p> - -<p> -Surely, Mother was waving! Oh, yes, certainly she -was! He doubled back like a rabbit surprised on the -edge of a thicket. When his father entered the room he -was safely mumbling away. -</p> - -<p> -"Feivel, thou art panting!" said Reb Monash suspiciously. -</p> - -<p> -"I've been crying!" replied Philip sullenly. -</p> - -<p> -"So? Well, let me hear what thou dost with thy -<i>chumish</i> now! Mind not one mistake, or thou wilt not -stir from the house after <i>Shabbos</i> one step!" -</p> - -<p> -Philip recited the portion with flawless accuracy. The -week was duly ushered in with the night service of the -Sabbath. It was dark when Philip made his way along -Doomington Road and turned to the right past the -Bridgeway Elementary School along the side of it skirted -by Blenheim Road. The road led to a slightly loftier -stratum of Doomington, past gloomy brick-crofts -which rose into the muddy hills on one side and sank -into clayey pools on the other, and it was along -this road that Mottele was bound to pass after -the service on his return home. Force of habit -would lead him along the right side, from which the -ground sloped downwards. Rain brought the yellow -mud sluicing from the hills on the opposite side, -rendering it therefore unpalatable for such delicate -boots as Mottele's. -</p> - -<p> -The red tongue of his enemy, a slight enough offence -in itself, but by accident a consummation of so much -preceding injury, had gone more venomously to Philip's -heart than Mottele had intended. Disregarding the -unwisdom of soiling his Saturday suit, Philip lay down -to begin his vigil. Mottele was a long time in arriving. -No doubt, Philip mused, he was sucking in the praise -due to him for gratuitously walking up to Longton -to take part in the service. Philip passed his fingernail -down the notches in his stick. Twenty-five, twenty-six -... a dull anger stupefied him ... twenty-nine -... One after one in gibbering disorder, the occasions -immortalized on the notched stick recreated themselves -in his mind. -</p> - -<p> -"Mottele, oh, an Israel glory is Mottele!" -</p> - -<p> -"Mottele, Mottele, Mottele! ..." -</p> - -<p> -Curse Mottele ... the "dog's body"! And here was -Mottele turning round the bend in the road, his detestable -little figure caught in the rays of a lamp. Good, -good! He was bound to pass that way. He slid his -body a couple of yards cautiously. That brought him -nearly to the deep part of the pond ... Two feet deep, -at most, but that would do! Ah, glory to God, here he -was! -</p> - -<p> -It was over surprisingly quickly. He rushed out upon -the unsuspecting Mottele, fell upon him and dragged him -irresistibly over the edge of the pavement towards the -pond. They swung there for a moment or two against -its edge. Philip felt Mottele's fingers tighten in his hair. -Mottele seemed to remove not only his cap but half his -scalp. The next moment Mottele lay squelching in the ooze. -</p> - -<p> -"Yah, Israel's glory, how d'you like that? Yah, -dog's body!" -</p> - -<p> -There was a spluttering. Then in Yiddish, "The -God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob will show thee!" In -English followed, "Yer bloody bastard!" -</p> - -<p> -But a sudden and ghastly fear had gripped Philip. -A realization of the enormity of his crime possessed him. -He swept the grass blindly for a cap, lifted it, and ran -down the Blenheim Road, his heart thumping in a -tumult of dismay. -</p> - -<p> -He had been in the house for about twenty minutes -when Reb Monash asked: "Feivel, whose cap art thou -wearing?" -</p> - -<p> -Philip took his cap off. With a grimace he discovered -it was Mottele's. He'd know sooner or later anyhow. -It was quite useless to lie about it. -</p> - -<p> -"Mottele's!" he replied. -</p> - -<p> -"Where didst thou get it?" -</p> - -<p> -No answer. -</p> - -<p> -Threateningly, in crescendo: -</p> - -<p> -"Where didst thou get it?" -</p> - -<p> -"Found it!" -</p> - -<p> -"Where? Say thou where, at once!" -</p> - -<p> -There was a loud knocking at the door. Reb Monash -remained in ignorance but a few seconds longer. A -deputation poured into the kitchen. It consisted of -two or three women, an old man gabbling indignantly, -the father of Mottele, the mother of Mottele, and in her -arms, swathed in a shawl, the soaked, screaming Mottele -himself. -</p> - -<p> -"It is well!" said Reb Monash shortly. "It is well!" -he said quietly and grimly. "You may go! We shall -be happy together, Feivel and I!" he added with acid -humour. -</p> - -<p> -Philip was conscious of the strained white face -of his mother staring from the candle-lit gloom -of the scullery. He didn't mind these things -himself so fearfully much ... but somehow she -never seemed able to get used to them ... ah -well, he'd had his whack ... the sooner it was over! -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap0105"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER V -</h3> - -<p> -Not the most enthusiastic observer could have -foretold the growth of a friendship between -Philip and Mottele. On the other hand, Reb Monash -regarded with some alarm the growing relations -between his son and Harry Sewelson. He was not wholly -satisfied that a sound Jewish atmosphere ruled in the -Sewelson household, but his own path and theirs were -too far apart for any accurate ascertainment. Though -they did not live far away the Sewelsons were neither -relatives nor <i>landsleit</i>; and it was a fact that <i>landsleit</i>, -that is, folk who have emigrated from the same region -or township in Eastern Europe, knew more of each -other's affairs though they lived at opposite ends of -Doomington, than folk who had originated from different -provinces of the Exile, even though these lived in the -same street. He remembered with a certain dismay -how upon the first occasion that Philip had invited -his friend to Angel Street, Sewelson had instinctively -removed his cap upon entering the kitchen—an act -which, perversely enough to non-Jewish minds, is not -merely bad manners in an orthodox Jewish house, but -positively savours of sin. -</p> - -<p> -Harry had sat there quietly, but his grey eyes keenly -observant. He had entered the conversation, however, -with a certain fertility of Yiddish vocabulary and idea -which more nonplussed Reb Monash than won him -over. When he sat down to bread and butter and tea -with Philip, his prayer-before-food was so rapid and -brief a mumble as to suggest either ignorance or contempt. -</p> - -<p> -"It likes me him not, this young man!" declared -Reb Monash with some anxiety. But there was not at -this time any specific reason for forbidding the friendship -between the two lads; so that when <i>chayder</i> and -<i>shool</i> left room for the dissipation, Philip was away up -Doomington Road and in the kitchen beyond the -Drapery and Hosiery Establishment. -</p> - -<p> -"I don't know what it is," Philip was saying, "I -don't know what it is about poetry. Somehow, you -can get away with it. It's like a ... it's like a road, -isn't it? You start in Angel Street and you start -walking and hey, hullo! where are you?" -</p> - -<p> -"You're right and you're wrong!" declared Harry. -He was now a mature man of twelve, and in ways more -or less subtle was fond of rendering the disparity of a -year between them apparent to Philip. "It's more'n -that, I think. It can take you away, but it can keep -you there as well. You understand better what it all -means. You understand, that's what poetry means!" -he declared solemnly, his face assuming an aspect of -such inscrutable wisdom as Philip might or might not -penetrate. -</p> - -<p> -"I can't understand!" said Philip morosely. "It's -too big to try. Besides I <i>don't</i> want to understand, so -there! It's rotten, the whole thing's rotten, <i>chayder</i> -and Angel Street and <i>shool</i> and the lads and everything. -I hate it all and I don't want to understand it. I just -<i>feel</i> that poetry's nice, a million times nicer than all this -everywhere...." He pointed comprehensively beyond -and round the walls of the kitchen to include the whole -of life as it presented itself to him. -</p> - -<p> -"What a girly-girly word, nice!" scoffed Harry. -"You ought to be careful what words you say or you'll -never get a scholarship. Poetry is not nice—it's splendid, -and magnificent and all that sort of thing. <i>Nice</i>! Ugh!" -</p> - -<p> -"Well, you know what I mean!" said Philip uncomfortably. -The tendency to jibe at him was a somewhat -distracting trait that had manifested itself in his -relations with Harry. The wholly undefined idea stirred -vaguely within him that Harry treated him somewhat -as he treated poetry—as something out of which he could -make intellectual capital, something to make use -of—like chewing gum which you kept on chewing and -chewing until there wasn't any more chew in it, and then you -just stuck it under a chair and forgot about it. But he -speedily shook off ideas of this disturbing kind. Life -was already sufficiently complicated without mixing it -up with silly old bogeys which led nowhere. Moreover, -his friendship with Harry was worth it, if only for the -sake of discussing poetry. -</p> - -<p> -"Poetry makes you <i>feel</i> funny!" said Philip. "It's -nicer'n singing or pictures. It doesn't let you think at -all ... I mean thinking like thinking out sums about -how many herrings in a barrel at twelve and sixpence -what's one and a half next week! See?" -</p> - -<p> -"There's thinking and thinking!" Harry postulated. -"There's thinking about herrings and a half—and -thinking about philoserphy!" he declared pompously. -</p> - -<p> -"Philwhaterphy?" asked Philip with a mixture of -scepticism and reverence. -</p> - -<p> -"Philoserphy!" -</p> - -<p> -"Whatever does that mean?" -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, knowing all about things upside down!" -</p> - -<p> -"What's that got to do with Tennyson?" Philip -asked smartly, as if he had rather scored a point. -</p> - -<p> -"Tennyson never says anything at all about jography -or mensuration. I suppose he forgot all about 'em when -he left school!" Philip continued. -</p> - -<p> -"That shows all you know! Philoserphy is something -bigger'n jography. Got nothing to do with it!" -</p> - -<p> -"What's Tennyson's philoserphy?" -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, it's better to be an Englishman than a Chinee!" -Harry decided, expanding his bosom with vicarious -patriotism. -</p> - -<p> -"I like carrots more'n cabbage! Is that philoserphy?" -asked Philip, in some slight fear of his intellectual -patron. -</p> - -<p> -"There's a lot more in it, too!" replied Harry somewhat -uneasily, disregarding his friend's levity. "In the -spring a young man comes out all spots and goes and -gets married! There!" -</p> - -<p> -"Humph! I s'pose there's lots of philoserphies and -things in Tennyson!" agreed Philip, not wholly -convinced. "But I like poetry because it's ... because -it's got ... Oh, I don't know what to say! <i>You</i> -know!" -</p> - -<p> -"Well anyhow, <i>I</i> know why I like poetry!" Harry -insisted. -</p> - -<p> -"You know the song we're singing in school? It -goes: -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - <i>Come unto these yellow sands,<br /> - And then take hands.<br /> - Curtsey'd when you have and kissed,<br /> - The wild waves whist!</i><br /> -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -"Now when they're all singing it, I hate singing it. It -all gets lost in twiddly-bits. I just <i>say</i> it, slowly, and -not listening to the class. See how it goes, like kids -dancing at Mother-Ice-cream's organ, -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - <i>Come unto these yellow sands!</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -and then you all sort of stop a minute and go slowly, like -drilling, only beautifuller. -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - <i>And then take hands!</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -And have you ever seen what a lot of 'w's' there is in -that line. Just listen:— -</p> - -<p> - <i>The wild waves whist!</i><br /> -</p> - -<p> -I wonder if that's done on purpose?" -</p> - -<p> -"Of course it is!" Harry said with a note of superiority -in his voice. "That's what they call 'alliteration!' They -have a dictionary and put down all the nice words -beginning with one letter and then they start writing -poetry. It's very clever!" -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, it is <i>too</i> clever!" agreed Philip, embarrassingly -conscious of a whole field of technical difficulty yet to be -ploughed before attaining the happy position of a -Tennyson. "Now she didn't tell us who wrote that -poem? Who was it?" -</p> - -<p> -"That <i>poetry</i>!" stressed Harry, with an ironic -reminiscence of an error not long thrown over by his -friend, "was by William Shakespeare. Better than -Tennyson they <i>do</i> say!" -</p> - -<p> -"Better than Tennyson!" Philip repeated with -something of horror at the irreverence. "But Tennyson -was a <i>Lord</i>!" -</p> - -<p> -"Well, Lords are not everything! Some Lords' -grandfathers were just beer-house men!" exclaimed a -democratic Harry. -</p> - -<p> -"What was this Shakespeare, anyhow? I think we -used to do a recitation by him all about stiffening the -sinews, didn't we?" -</p> - -<p> -"He was in a stable, and pinched rabbits from a -woman called 'Lowsy Lucy'! That's <i>his</i> life story!" -</p> - -<p> -"And yet he wrote all that about coming to these -yellow sands and then holding hands! But he can't -really be better than Tennyson. He never wrote those -lines about hollyhocks. Do you remember? Like this: -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - <i>Heavily hangs the hollyhock,<br /> - Heavily hangs the tiger-lily!</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -Those are the beautifullest lines all over anywhere!" -</p> - -<p> -"A bit of a tongue twister, eh? Makes you pronounce -all your aitches like "hammer hammer hammer -on the hard high road!" Harry blasphemed, twinkling. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh don't, don't!" exclaimed Philip, a catch of -pain in his voice. -</p> - -<p> -"Anyhow there isn't any philoserphy in those lines! -And you don't know what hollyhocks are? How can -you like the lines? It's swank!" -</p> - -<p> -"I don't know! It might be because I don't know, I -like the lines. But I <i>do</i> know it's a flower; and when I -see the real flower I'll be glad to see it. But it's got -nothing to do with the poetry. That's just by itself: -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - <i>Heavily hangs the hollyhock,<br /> - Heavily hangs the tiger-lily!"</i><br /> -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -"Never mind, never mind!" said Harry sapiently, -"you'll grow older some day!" -</p> - -<p> -"I wonder!" mused Philip. "But look here, what's -the time? Crutches! Half-past eight! Got to be in -bed at nine! So-long, Mr. Philoserphy!" -</p> - -<p> -"So long till next time!" returned the sage, settling -himself down to his book. "<i>O revower!</i>" -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -As Philip ran along Doomington Road he could not -help halting at the floral establishment half-way home -which recently had initiated a forlorn crusade against -the artistic apathy of the neighbourhood. Already, it -was evident, the high ideals of Madame Smythe, Floriste, -were being tarnished by the rust of compromise. She -had opened her establishment with a blaze of purely -floral splendour. There were rose trees entering into -bloom, lilies, bunches of garden flowers, democratic -pots of geranium and fuchsia, tall tulips, narcissi; and -as a subfusc groundwork, wooden boxes of bulbs, -manures, weed killers, syringes and packets of seed. -It was not long before young vegetables were introduced, -ostensibly on the ground that vegetables such as -potatoes and peas had a floral as well as a dietetic -significance. And now hoary potatoes, full-grown -carrots, unblushing turnips, made an almost animal -show among the fragility of creeper and flowers. -</p> - -<p> -None the less Madame Smythe's shop was the nearest -thing to poetry in the concrete that Philip had yet -encountered. Not a day passed but that Philip on his -return from school flattened his nose against the floristic -window-pane, his eyes dazzled with delight, albeit -calceolaria and hyacinth equally were mere words to him. -</p> - -<p> -One day he observed that a new glory arose from -Madame Smythe's tallest and most expensive vase. It -took the shape of three flowers which he had not seen -before (he had not seen them for the reason that Madame -Smythe opened the shop in spring, and the new-comers -were autumn flowers). They were fluffy masses of -numberless soft yellow petals, bending slightly on their -stalks like a gracious and lovely woman. Oh, the -rapture of burying a nose in these fragrant sweet cushions, -the rapture of seeing one of them upon his mother's -blouse till her own brown eyes caught additional gold -from the gold of these blooms! -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - <i>Heavily hangs the hollyhock,<br /> - Heavily hangs the tiger-lily,</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -he murmured. Ah, the scrumptious hollyhocks! That's -what they were of course! Hollyhocks! "Heavily -hangs the hollyhock!" That's just what these flowers -were doing! He had no sooner coupled the name with -the flower than by the easiest process in the world the -flower and the name became one. No wonder Tennyson -wrote poetry about hollyhocks! Just look how each -little petal curled so exquisitely, each petal fresh as -morning, yet chiselled finely into perfect form! -</p> - -<p> -"Wouldn't it be spiff to buy a hollyhock and give it to -mother, saying (as one always said in romance), 'For -the Fairest!' then bowing gallantly!" he mused. -"What can I do? I get a ha'p'ny a week, when I'm good, -from father. I'll be good for three weeks. That'll be -three-ha'pence. Then I'll go in and buy a hollyhock. -Oo, what fun!" -</p> - -<p> -The second and third halfpennies were added to the -first, not without depressions in the barometer of virtue. -He shyly entered the shop of his ambitions. -</p> - -<p> -"Can I have a hollyhock, please, ma'am!" -</p> - -<p> -"<i>A hollyhock</i>? I'm sorry, young man, we don't -keep no hollyhocks!" -</p> - -<p> -A look of grievous disappointment came into Philip's -face. His voice trembled. -</p> - -<p> -"But please, ma'am," he said, "you've had some -hollyhocks in the window and somebody's bought 'em -and now you've got some more hollyhocks!" -</p> - -<p> -"Gracious! what can the young man want! We -ain't got no hollyhocks! Just show me what you -mean!" -</p> - -<p> -Philip approached the lattice-work which separated -the shop from the shop window. He pointed to -the vase where his hollyhocks bloomed rich and -desirable. -</p> - -<p> -"One of those hollyhocks, please!" he said. -</p> - -<p> -"Hollyhocks!" she snorted. "Hollyhocks! Haw, -haw, haw! Lawks! Them's chrysanthemums! Haw, -haw, haw!" -</p> - -<p> -Philip's disappointment deepened. It was the glamour -of the word no less than the actual flower that had -drawn his feet to pilgrimage. But Madame Smythe -had lifted the vase of chrysanthemums from the -window. -</p> - -<p> -"One, did you say?" she inquired, resuming business. -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, one, please!" he assented, with trepidation. -</p> - -<p> -"Here you are, sir, thank you!" -</p> - -<p> -He opened his hands where the halfpennies lay -warm and wet. He placed his three coins on the -counter. -</p> - -<p> -"What!" she snapped, somewhat dangerously. -"Sixpence, if you please!" -</p> - -<p> -"I—I—I'm sorry!" he said weakly and blushing -violently, "I'm sorry! I haven't got any more!" -</p> - -<p> -"Go home!" said Madame Smythe more genially, -melting as she perceived the lad's embarrassment. "Go -home and tickle your fat aunt! Tell her I told you!" -</p> - -<p> -Now even if they weren't hollyhocks, and he reflected -bitterly that he had had no warrant for calling them -hollyhocks, he wasn't going to be humiliated in this way. -No! not even if they cost ninepence, let alone sixpence. -No, he was going to buy a hollyhock, that is to say a -chrysanthemum, for his mother, even if he died for it! -How could he get sixpence? An appalling sum, -on the further side even of avarice, but he was -going to get it, and he already had three-ha'pence, -anyhow! -</p> - -<p> -Another three weeks of comparative virtue swelled his -total to threepence. Two separate ha'p'nies from his -sister Dorah (who had been married for years and lived -up in Longton), and he was worth fourpence. It was a -point of honour not to receive the slightest subsidy from -his mother towards her own gift. A ha'p'ny borrowed -from Harry and three-ha'pence from the sale of an -enormous number of Dandy Dave's chronicled exploits -brought him the desired total. -</p> - -<p> -He marched boldly into Madame Smythe's establishment. -"One chrysanthemum, please!" he demanded. -</p> - -<p> -"Come again, Johnny, eh? Got the money this time?" -</p> - -<p> -"Of course I have!" -</p> - -<p> -"Hoity-toity! All right, my lord!" -</p> - -<p> -"Here you are, ma'am!" he said, as he received the -flower wrapped in tissue-paper and handed over his -coins. -</p> - -<p> -"I say! I say! Mr. Rich! You've given me too much!" -</p> - -<p> -"But you said sixpence!" -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, that was weeks ago! They're cheaper now; -they're only threepence!" -</p> - -<p> -He was sickened to think he had allowed the extra -weeks to pass by thus unchrysanthemumed. "Give me -another!" he demanded haughtily to convince Madame -Smythe of his superiority to all consideration of -money. -</p> - -<p> -The kitchen was crowded when Philip entered with -his flowers and he slipped in unnoticed to join his mother -in the scullery. -</p> - -<p> -"Mamma," he said shyly, "I've brought you a present -all for yourself!" -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, Feivele, sweet child, how lovely! But the -money, where didst thou get the money from?" -</p> - -<p> -"I've been saving up, Mamma. But never mind -about that! You've got to take these flowers and wear -them on your blouse!" -</p> - -<p> -"But I can't, Feivele! It's not right a married -woman should wear flowers. Knowest thou not a -Jewish woman must not wear her own hair? How then -shall I wear flowers? And what will thy <i>tatte</i> say? I -can't, my child!" -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, Mamma I've been saving up for such a long time -just to buy 'em for you. And now you don't want 'em. -It's rotten, it's real rotten of you!" -</p> - -<p> -"I do want them; see, look where I put them in this -jar. They'll be here a long time, while I'm standing in -the scullery, washing up and peeling potatoes. And when -they're dead, Feivele, they'll still be living inside me. -Dost thou understand? Thou art a good child!" she -said, "God bless thee!" She bent down and kissed his -forehead. -</p> - -<p> -... It was memories such as these and such chance -snatches of poetry that kept Philip that evening against -the window-pane of Madame Smythe, Floriste, for many -contemplative minutes. Nine o'clock had passed -when at last he entered the kitchen of Number Ten -Angel Street. -</p> - -<p> -"Regard the hour!" said Reb Monash. "Thou -hast been squandering the hours with Sewelson! It -likes me not that Sewelson! What about thy scholarship! -Thou shouldst have been in to-night studying -for thy scholarship after <i>chayder</i>. Much success thou -wilt win!" -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, I forgot about the scholarship!" said Philip -apologetically. "<i>Emmes, tatte</i>, I'll be in all to-morrow -night studying the history book!" -</p> - -<p> -"Well, we shall see then! Go to bed now, at once! -Good night!" -</p> - -<p> -"Good night all!" -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -Philip had recently been chosen as one of the candidates -for the Doomington School Scholarship Examination -by the master of Standard Seven, whither Philip's -talents in "Grammar and Composition" had brought him -with unusual rapidity. Reb Monash was delighted that -his son was progressing at least along the road to Gentile -scholarship. His experience contained the records of -several young men whose earlier years had been devoted -to the mastery of secular knowledge, which, in due time, -only turned them with the more zeal to Jewish wisdom, -whereto all other accomplishments were but footnotes -and commentaries; these young men had actually -been enabled through their Gentile wisdom to study the -Bible and the Talmud from a new, and sometimes from -a broader, point of view. He himself could read English -well and was no mean scholar of the Russian and German -literatures. In addition to which, of course, was his -profundity in Hebrew lore, which gave him an -honoured position among the very circle of the Rabbis. -</p> - -<p> -"It will do him no harm!" said Reb Monash. "If -he will be like Moishe Nearford I will not be displeased. -You know Moishe Nearford, the Long One? Not only -was he high in Doomington School but he went on to the -university where one respected him, God and Man. -And yet a Jew is he, a perfect one. Never goes out with -any other girl, only his sister you'll see on his arm, week -after week. A real Jew, say I, and a real brother! And -what about Moses Montefiore? He would stand up in -the House of Parliament while one talked of taxes and -India and face the East and start shaking himself -over his <i>davenning</i>! But let him be like Moishe -Nearford, let alone Moses Montefiore, and I am -content!" -</p> - -<p> -So it came about that a tacit understanding existed for -the next few months between Reb Monash and Philip -that the old Spartan devotion to <i>chayder</i> and <i>shool</i> was -temporarily not expected from him. It was not in the -least that Reb Monash deviated one whit from the ideal -by whose pattern he had determined to shape Philip; -nor that Philip found one whit more congenial the ideal -thus created, an ideal so near to Mottele as by that -reason alone to be repugnant. It was, to simplify the -issue, a state of truce. -</p> - -<p> -During this period, while Philip was reading for his own -examination, Harry was elected to a scholarship, not -indeed to the older foundation of Doomington School, -which was the goal of Philip's endeavours, but to the -modern Council institution called the Highfield Grade -School, for which Harry's more astute and vehement -personality seemed to fit him more readily than for the -fourth-century romanticism of Doomington School. Yet -only partly to keep abreast with his friend did Philip -apply himself to hard reading of a less congenial kind -than poetry. It is at a very early stage in the fortunes -of Angel Street youth that the shadows of tailor shop and -grocery stores begin to cloud the dawn. Before the -meaning of such liberty as Angel Street can afford has -been grasped, it is time to study the lines of slavery. So -early then had the grinding fear of a sweated agony in a -factory over the Mitchen turned Philip's mind towards -his only escape, to further and further schooling, beyond -the boundaries of the Bridgeway Elementary School. -Perhaps more immediately he felt that Doomington -School would leave him free to tread the primrose path -of poetry. He envisioned such black-gowned masters as -figured in the adventures of Master Tom Merry; saw -them walking along groves academe hidden somewhere -behind the walls of Doomington School; and at their -heels, imbibing the poetry these gentlemen read from -gold-clasped poets illuminated upon parchment richer -than the Scrolls of the Law at the <i>Polisher Shool</i>, a crowd -of emotional youths, who only turned from poetry in -order to practise at the nets or consume at Ma Pott's -tuck-shop illimitable pastry. -</p> - -<p> -He applied himself with fervour to French verbs, the -Gulf Stream, and the vexed question of herrings in -barrels. He discovered that at a certain stage in his -reading the letters on the page before him lost their -antique stability and began to pirouette across the page, -bowing their heads, and, in the case of the genus "f" -and "g," swishing their tails indecorously; soon everything -would melt in a mist of grey until only by shutting -his eyes and relaxing every ocular nerve he could resume -his vision. -</p> - -<p> -"Father!" he declared, "it gets all mixed up on the -paper when I've been reading a long time. I think I -need spectacles!" -</p> - -<p> -"Thou canst not study," asked Reb Monash, "without -wanting to be like thy elders? Go then, go! I did -not want spectacles till I was five-and-thirty and I read -more by the time I was ten than thou shalt have read -when thou art thirty! Go then, go! Thine eyes are -well enough!" -</p> - -<p> -It was in the paper on geometry that his bad sight -brought swiftest disaster. He had solved one or two -propositions with infinite difficulty. He stared so hard -and long at the paper before him on an indecipherable -mass of angles and lines that the <i>danse funčbre</i> began -sooner than usual. When his vision arrived at the stage -of opacity he laid his pen down in a mood of bitter -resentment.... He felt himself for the first time -hating his father with a conscious hate. -</p> - -<p> -The examination was being held in the Meeting Hall of -Doomington School. He looked over the backs of his -bent industrious competitors towards the tall arched -windows. These, on their outer side, were cut by a black -parapet, leaving only the upper half of the windows on -that side of the hall open to the daylight. He saw dimly -a dark mass moving leisurely along the parapet, now -appearing behind the windows, now disappearing behind -the intervening walls. It seemed almost like one of the -peccant letters on his paper, incarnate in bulk. The long -tail wagged playfully. Philip blinked and stared -intently. It was a large and amiable rat. The rat -disappeared beyond the further windows and left Philip -staring blankly. The rat found the destination he had -been making for unworthy of his continuous esteem. -He sauntered pleasantly back and then, discovering that -an incident of more than usual interest was taking place -in the hall, he sat down on his haunches and looked on in -friendly concern. Philip felt the rat's eyes looking -interestedly down upon his own. He could have sworn -that the rat inclined his head with the gesture of a -commendatory uncle. -</p> - -<p> -"Never mind, old lad!" said the rat. "You're -making a howling mess of your geometry, it's true! -If Mister Blabberthwaite, the geometry man, had the -least say in the matter there'd be no chance for you, my -hearty. And you've by no means gratified my expectations -regarding your geography paper, I must say. It -was, perhaps, coming it a bit thick to ask the names of -all the capes on the American sea-board, that I admit; -but that wasn't any excuse for chucking Flamborough -Head at the mouth of the Irrawaddy which, if I mistake -not, is not in America at all. It's in Queensland or -something of the sort. However, <i>that's</i> no odds! Don't -worry, I feel a strong suspicion that Doomington School -will make room for you yet ... although don't breathe -a word, or it's all u.p., to use a vulgarism. No, not a -word! The truth is," whispered the rat, lifting a silencing -paw to his nose, "Mr. Furness and I have got something -up our sleeves for you, something you can't guess; -but it's there right enough. <i>Verb. sap.</i>, as people -invariably say upon arriving at my own respectable age. But -Esmeralda's squeaking, old chap! Sorry I can't stay -... but these wives, you know! ... Well, so long, so long, -and keep going! So long!" And the rat resumed his -urbane path. -</p> - -<p> -It was impossible to get down to his geometry again, -his head was swimming. He rose and deposited his -papers before the dignified grey-haired worthy at the -door, who, if he wasn't Mr. Furness, the head master, -was at least, surely, the Principal Governor of the -School. -</p> - -<p> -When they placed the subjects for an English essay -before him and he read: -</p> - -<p> - "A day in my favourite church."<br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -or -</p> - -<p> - "What is the meaning of Empire Day?"<br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -or -</p> - -<p> - "The Place of Poetry in Cities,"<br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -with a shout of inner exultance which, he feared, would -lift the roof of his skull, he realized precisely the good -fortune which Messrs. Furness and Rat had been -retaining for him up their joint sleeves. He betook -himself to "The Place of Poetry in Cities" with a secret -fear that the ink-pot could not possibly contain sufficient -ink, a fear counteracted by the dismal thought that only -one hour was allowed him to express his opinion upon -the subject of which he was the prime authority in all -Britain. -</p> - -<p> -"The Place of Poetry in Cities," he began with anticipatory -panache, "is so great that it abolishes cities and -turns the mud rivers into rivers of silver. There is," -he continued with anti-climax, "nothing like it." But -he soon resumed the tenour of his flight. Philip was, in -fact, affirming his creed, affirming the philosophy he -had attained after eleven and a half years of brick and -mud, of stupidity, error, false ideals, of that living -poetry spelled by the half-hidden love between his mother -and himself, of that poetry in words which, without this -living poetry, could not have unfolded her secrets to a -child immersed in an almost unbroken despair. His pen -scratched furiously along. Too swiftly, too swiftly, the -minutes raced round the rim of his borrowed watch. -Frequently the green meadows of his writing were -patined with flowers from the poets he had discovered, -Campbell, Moore, Tennyson, Longfellow, and when these -failed him, an impromptu verse from Philip Massel -bubbled from his simmering brain. He was vaguely -conscious of the approach towards him of a clean-shaven -man, with a strong, red face, firm of jaw; but clad in -such inexpensive clothing as obviously to denote him -the caretaker or, perhaps, the drilling instructor. He -was aware with a slight annoyance that the man hung -for some minutes over his paper and then very lightly -placed his hand on Philip's head. There was something -quiet and fine and firm in that gesture. Perhaps he -wasn't the drilling instructor? Perhaps he was a real -master with a large family and he couldn't afford to -wear brand-new clothing? What did it matter? ... "so -that the chimneys all seem to be made of gold and -the poor men are like princes...." -</p> - -<p> -The stage arrived when he could no longer see the -lines on which he was writing or the letters he was -forming. Still his pen raced along. The tip of his pen -disappeared in a mist like the top of a telegraph pole in a -November fog. His forehead was clammy with sweat. -His forefinger and thumb hurt horribly. And what was -that? Some fool was clanging the bell! That meant -he must stop! Oh, the fool! Faster still and faster! -He felt that his eyes must fall from his sockets. Tears -of effort were rolling down his face. At last! At last! -"... for Poetry takes us from the cities of bricks -and mud to a land full of beauty like the night is full of -stars!" -</p> - -<p> -The dignitary of the receiving-desk by the door -stared curiously at him. He staggered out, half-blind, -but filled with a great calm. The days that followed were -days of a confident lassitude. The decision lay on the -knees of the Rat and Mr. Furness, and he was content -to wait. -</p> - -<p> -When the information arrived that Philip Massel had -won his scholarship, Reb Monash buried Philip's head -in his moustache and beard. "Now," he said, his voice -quivering, "thou wilt be a Jew and a Human, a credit -to God and Man!" -</p> - -<p> -Another matter of satisfaction was the fact that -Mottele looked enviously towards him and made deliberate -advances. And when he went to tell his sister Dorah, -in Longton, it was surprising to find her stiff angular -figure bending down and the hard mouth with strange -vehemence kissing him. Sixpence and a new overcoat -of a wonderful fluffy grey followed from the same -quarter. Channah cried and bought him a little volume -of selections from a poet called Shelley. -</p> - -<p> -But he appreciated nothing as he appreciated the pan -of onions his mother fried for him, all in curly brown -strips and steeped in butter; and more onions, and more -onions, until he had had enough. And his mother looked -at him, and he understood, for the voice that asked -for another plateful was choked not merely by fried -onions. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap0206"></a></p> - -<p class="t3b"> -BOOK II -</p> - -<p class="t3b"> -FORWARD FROM PHYLACTERIES -</p> - -<p><br /><br /></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER VI -</h3> - -<p> -Philip realized at no earlier age than is customary -that life, anyhow externally, is a succession of -illusions, and that, if reality actually exists, it must be -isolated from facts and days, this inner reality being -governed by one set of laws and the outer appearance -by another. So that while poetry still dominated the -inner boy as with a rod of changeless reality, he found -it necessary to abandon, for instance, the old fancy of -Doomington School in favour of the present fact. -</p> - -<p> -It was a matter of acute disappointment to him that -one convention laid down by all his reading was not -observed; for he was not seized by a group of young -gentlemen clad principally in Eton suits and top hats to -be immersed in a stream which ought surely to have -flowed somewhere through the precincts of the school. -The front of the building solidly enough lined a narrow -central street of Doomington. A further aspect, and one -which seemed to conclude its periphery, was seen beyond -the grassless ground adjoining an even older institution. -From no vantage were the leafy summits of trees to be -seen and no stream issued from any portcullised arch -in the walls. It was the antique Mitchen alone which -thrust turbid ink in any visible proximity. But what -secret bowers and what green places were hidden beyond -the walls, some mysterious how contained in her -unfathomed spaces, who could tell? -</p> - -<p> -He was not ducked in some shy water. On the other -hand it did not approach his concept of an awesome -initiation that a group of quite grubby boys seized him -and bore him, frightened but not wholly unwilling, -towards an underground lavatory where pallid basins -gleamed in the interrupted light. His head was thrust -into one of these prosaic basins and water sent -unpleasantly down his neck. He was with some solemnity -declared then to be fully a member of Transition A, -and allowed to proceed to his lunch in the main section -of this underground world, where he sat on the water -pipes that lined the walls, eating bread and cheese -timidly. The air tingled with the bloodthirsty shouts of -footballers, violently kicking balls of crushed paper and -twine. A lady with tawny hair in a corner of the -basement dispensed Jersey caramels to appeased footballers. -Indubitably the triumph of the day was the purchase of -a cap, green, with blue circular stripes, crested with an -eagle invincibly—a cap which proclaimed to the whole -abashed world that here was one who was of the world's -elect, here was one who was no lesser a mortal than a -scholar at Doomington School. -</p> - -<p> -As he walked home that afternoon, he took slow and -measured steps, so that none should be denied the -privilege of gazing upon his cap. It seemed that less -a thing of cloth texture sat on his head than a crest of -fire. As he walked along Doomington Road, he paused -before each mirrored window as if to tie a shoelace, and -actually to compare his eagle, to their enormous -disfavour, with all fowls in the lists of fable or biology. -But a climax, which seemed on the whole rather to be -overdoing it, occurred as he passed below the windows -of the factory where his sister Channah was a button-hole -hand. For the shrill bravas of feminine throats -attracted his gaze upwards and there he saw and heard -the clustered buttonhole hands cheering and waving -enthusiastically. And before Philip had time to lower -his blushing face a cloud of confetti descended upon this -youthful bridegroom of our fair Lady of Wisdom, -accentuating his discomfort into an ordeal of shame. -At this moment a schoolmate, not much older than -Philip, but his faded cap displaying a far more advanced -stage of sophistication, passed by, bestowing a sour look -upon the object of this public debasement of the -masculine values of Doomington School. When he arrived -home his mother laid before him a steaming plate of -soup which she almost upset in her proud concentration -upon the eagle-crested cap. -</p> - -<p> -"And do you know, Mother," Philip declared during -his breathless repetition of the day's events, "there was -a man there who put us into our classes and he was -reading my composition at the scholarship and I thought -he was the drilling man but he isn't really, he's the -head master, Mr. Furness, and he's like Jupiter, only -Jupiter's got a great big black beard and Mr. Furness -hasn't and he's not got much on the top of his head -either. There's a huge statue of Jupiter..." -</p> - -<p> -"To thy soup, Feivel!" said Mrs. Massel, "It will -get cold and Mr. Foniss will not come and heat it for thee. -Calm then, calm!" she demanded, by no means less -aquiver with excitement than the boy. -</p> - -<p> -Yet it must be here said that for some considerable -time to come, Doomington School had no serious -influence upon Philip's real life. There was of course -something <i>genteel</i> about the atmosphere compared with the -crudities of the Bridgeway Elementary School, and this -demanded from Philip a much more rigid discipline in -the matter of boots and ties. His master, he was informed, -hailed from an Olympian institution called Oxford -University, and for this reason wore a sombre black -gown which would have made of a less imposing figure -than this gentleman an object to be treated with remote -awe. Mr. Mathers was distinguished from Miss Tibbet, -at least by the fact that he did not wear tortoise-shell -spectacles, and from Miss Briggs of the infants' hall, by -the fact that the two front teeth of his top jaw were not -disproportionate. Yet Philip felt in his presence a -combination of the Briggs terror and the Tibbet ennui. -There was in him a monomaniac insistence on the correct -orders of Latin sentences which produced the sensation -half-way during the lesson that the orders of Latin -sentences and the orders of the stars in their courses were -of like fundamental gravity. Mr. Mathers presented an -interesting contrast to little Mr. Costar who taught -French, and who sat in his high desk like a little bird -twittering on a bough. Twitter—twitter! the notes -came, in a sequence of trills not musical but shrill and -frequent. Yet sometimes, and without warning, the -tree-top twitter would cease, the eyes of Mr. Costar -would become glacially severe, some delinquent would -be lifted in his beak like a pink quivering worm, the -throat of Mr. Costar would vibrate in the processes of -swallowing, and immediately the twitter would be -resumed, twitter—twitter, shrill, without humour. The -boys seemed no less strange and unreal than Mr. Mathers -and Mr. Costar. They came mysteriously from -townships scattered round the central and gloomy sun of -Doomington, and disappeared with their daily quotum -of Latin orders and French verbs into the same dim -places, beyond the pale of knowledge. There was a -community of Jewish boys at Doomington, but he -seemed at once only too familiar with their -characteristics. They were a blend of Mottele and Barney, -Mottele being the predominant element. Doomington -School lay outside him, poetry lay within. Doomington -School did not want him. He would wait. Perhaps he -too would some day attain the heavy-browed responsibilities -of a form monitor, might be even the monitor -elected by the form itself and not the monitor arbitrarily -appointed by the master. But now all these concerns -were beyond him, unintelligible. -</p> - -<p> -On the other hand, the rearrangement in his daily -times produced by the school day was a matter of -considerable importance. It meant that he arrived -home nearly two hours before the nightly session of -<i>chayder</i>; with the consequence that Reb Monash was -still wrapped in his afternoon doze. Mrs. Massel had -by this time cleared away every vestige of the mid-day -meal and the kitchen was smelling delightfully fresh -and clean. The brasses on the mantelshelf shone -broad and lustrous—trays and samovar brought over -from Russia, and the array of candlesticks which -glorified the table every Sabbath eve. The floor had been -energetically scrubbed and the windows so polished as to -seduce into the kitchen whatever light lingered beyond -the iron bars. On the sofa sat Mrs. Massel herself, in a -clean afternoon apron, her fingers busy with knitting, -allowing herself in Philip's honour the few minutes she -spent idly in a day which began at six in the morning -and ended at eleven. Mrs. Massel was a woman of -middle age, slim, but her whole body eloquent of hard -work. When Reb Monash had gone to seek his rhetorical -fortunes in America, before Philip was born, she had -tried to combine the housework with some form of -itinerant business; the strain was still visible in the -long lines across her forehead. Her face was small and -wrinkled and superficially older than her actual years. -When, however, she smiled, the clouds of her sorrow and -tiredness seemed to chase each other out of the skies of -her face. She was then wistful and childish as one to -whom the world still had all her tragedies to reveal. -Her nose was a little too broad for the small lines of her -face, and this only added to her smile an element of the -elfin and unreal, as if she had been instructed in some -wisdom of dim mirth by little people far beyond the -circle of her recurrent drudgeries. This childlike -sweetness lay in her eyes even in repose; for they seemed -large and luminous with some inner steady light, they -were brown like hill tarns when autumn is on the bracken -slopes round them. On her smiling this light seemed to -be broken into little ripples which coursed over the brown -waters of her eyes; but a surprise and a doubt at no -time deserted them, as if beyond the horizon clouds lay -ever waiting to veil these brown lights with mist. -</p> - -<p> -The love between Mrs. Massel and her son was a -thing which never or rarely found expression in the -usual endearments. It was a love much more of silences -than of speech. Philip did not like kissing her, as feeling -somehow that the relation between them lay too deep -for the lips. It made him self-conscious, and of his love -a duty and a convention instead of the sacrament too -deep for any deliberate thought. Kissing in Christian -families, he learned from books and his meagre -experience, was a routine, where every member of the family -kissed all others on recognized sections of the face at -organized hours. From his mother the endearments -he received were a broken word which unwittingly left -her lips, a gentle wind-like caress on the head, a goodly -something pressed secretly into his hand, or merely a -glance from her brown and childish eyes which might -rest on his own for two moments, silent with sanctity. -</p> - -<p> -This concealment of their affection had always come -naturally to them, though it was found also to be the most -discreet policy. Reb Monash had long discovered that -the way to confirm impiety was to cherish the impious. -He therefore expected from his wife that at those periods -when he was displaying in no mild manner his objection -to the latest phase of Philip's heathenism, his wife -should loyally and actively second his displeasure. Any -manifestation of affection towards Philip at such times -caused him with so little restraint to lift his voice that -(to the humiliation of his wife) it was obvious that their -neighbours on both sides of the house were no less -participant of his eloquence than himself. -</p> - -<p> -It was because during a whole hour they could sit and -talk without fear, that Philip's return from school now -became the brightest period of the day for both. Quite -quickly Philip would switch from the day's events to -the latest poetry that had fastened on his imagination. -</p> - -<p> -"Mamma," he said, "Listen and be very quiet. I'm -going to read you something from Shelley. Oh, it's a -lovely thing about a plant in a garden where there was -hyacinths and roses like nymphs and about a Lady who -came with osier bands and things to hold the flowers up. -I say, Mamma, I say!" -</p> - -<p> -"<i>Nu</i>, what is it? Thy meat's not well cooked?" -</p> - -<p> -"No, no! I'm talking about lilies, not meat! I -wonder which you are!" -</p> - -<p> -"What I am? I am thy mother! What more -needest thou?" -</p> - -<p> -"Which are you? Are you the Sensitive Plant or are -you the Lady in the garden? When <i>tatte</i> starts shouting -you look lonely, like the Sensitive Plant, but when he's -upstairs you're all lovely like the Lady!" -</p> - -<p> -"Foolishness! Foolishness!" -</p> - -<p> -"But then the Lady died, so it can't be you, can it? -And so did the Sensitive Plant, so what are we to do -about it?" -</p> - -<p> -"Of course she died! What then? And thy mother -also, over a hundred years! She too! But why must -thou talk about Death like this, thou not thirteen yet? -Wait till thou art older and thou hast a wife and family -and hast married a son and a daughter, then it will be -time! But for thy Lady, she's only a story, so of course -she's dead! How else?" -</p> - -<p> -"Ah, that's where you're wrong, see! Shelley knows -all about it. He makes you feel awfully miserable and -then he comes back right at the very end: -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - <i>That garden sweet, that lady fair,<br /> - And all sweet shapes and odours there,<br /> - In truth have never past away!<br /> - 'Tis we, 'tis ours, are changed; not they.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -I suppose all that's what Harry means by 'philosophy.' Anyhow, -that's not the part I like so much. What -d'you think of this? -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - <i>... Narcissi, the fairest among them all<br /> - Who gaze on their eyes in the stream's recess<br /> - Till they die of their own dear loveliness."</i><br /> -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -"What does thy mother think of it? My head's -aching; what can I understand thereof?" -</p> - -<p> -"Oh yes, you can understand it right enough! You -understand it better than I do, but you don't want to -show off! But listen ... Oh, where's that Shelley -Channah bought me? Good, here it is! Listen to this -now!" And he ran through another poem recently -discovered. This reading and chanting would take place -daily. Mrs. Massel sat on the sofa bewildered by this -spate of melody, but keenly happy in the enthusiasm -of her son. If she ever ventured a "Philip, but not one -word do I understand!" "Ah! what does that matter?" -Philip replied. "Do you remember when I asked <i>tatte</i> -what good I would do to God by saying a lot of prayers -I can't understand a bit about—you remember, he was in -a good temper?—he answered that it didn't matter if -you can't understand; it's so holy to say things in -Hebrew that God likes it just the same. Well, there you -are, it's just poetry! It's like singing, only much -finer!" -</p> - -<p> -Sometimes he would get her to repeat lines after him. -She might make a feeble attempt to remonstrate with -him, but saw that her humorous efforts made him so -beam with delight, that awkwardly, with an entirely -false distribution of accents and meanings, she stammered -out her lines. It was "Arethusa" finally brought -this diversion to an end. -</p> - -<p> -"From her couch of snows," said Philip. She made -an effort to imitate him. -</p> - -<p> -"In the Acroceraunian mountains." -</p> - -<p> -"In de Ac—ac—ac ... It cannot be, Feivel. I can't!" -</p> - -<p> -"In the Ac—ro—ce—rau—nian mountains." -</p> - -<p> -"Ac—roc—Ac—roc—roc— No, Feivel, my teeth! -Tell me all the rest thyself, I will listen; it will be better -so! I cannot thy croc—croc!" -</p> - -<p> -When at last the feet of Reb Monash were heard in the -bedroom overhead, the poetry séance came abruptly to -an end. Mrs. Massel turned to the fire to put on the -kettle for his pre-<i>chayder</i> tea. Philip regretfully hid -away his poet and turned to the intricacies of -algebra. -</p> - -<p> -Schoolboys have an unerring instinct for the presence -or absence of what at Doomington School was called -"public spirit." It was in fact so essential a part of the -non-material composition of the school that the lists -of forms which were drawn up terminally, a little -invidiously distinguished with an asterisk those hearts -where "public spirit" was a constant flame. -</p> - -<p> -Philip, though his first year was well advanced, still -came to school somewhat as a stranger. While he -himself anticipated little the vehement passion which would -some day absorb him into the fabric of the school, his -form mates anticipated it far less. So that the cold -disregard for Philip general in the form was in certain boys -concentrated into active persecution, and in Jeremy -Higson, into an attitude mournfully reminiscent of the -Babylonian <i>Kossacken</i>. The spirit was similar but the -methods differed vitally. Higson might be standing -loosely against a desk when Philip entered the room -after the luncheon interval. A nail-studded boot would -sweep like Jove's bolt from the void into Philip's rear. -But turning towards Higson, Philip would find only a -heavy-faced youth talking sleepily with his friends. -Higson senior was a mild Episcopalian gentleman who -had written sixteen pamphlets to prove the identity of -the Anglo-Saxons, including the Higsons senior and -junior, with the Lost Tribes. For some perverse reason -Higson junior was exceedingly antipathetic to the Found -Tribes, when, to be logical, it was for Higson junior to rush -forward in consanguineous ecstasy to kiss Philip on the -forehead and to repudiate his principal friend, Evan -Evans, an indisputable Celt, as an outlander, an -unsanctified. -</p> - -<p> -"Where was Moses when the light went out?" he -jeered with criminal disrespect. "Who killed Christ?" -he insisted frequently, turning towards Philip an eye so -baleful that it was evident he considered Philip an -actual participant in the crucifixion. -</p> - -<p> -"Out of my way, you <i>smog</i>!" he growled, realizing -that smog was a more acid irritant to Philip than <i>sheeny</i>. -Yet he discovered and practised a more exquisite -infliction. He knew that pig was anathema in Judća, -because Higson senior had once made a pathetic effort -to veto this commodity from his household in response -to Pentateuchal inhibition, an effort done to nought by -the severe displeasure of Mrs. Higson and Higson junior. -</p> - -<p> -Higson junior therefore introduced into the classroom -the most succulent morsels from his midday ham -sandwiches to devour them in lengthy bliss before -Philip's sickened eyes. Philip began to discover little -blobs of ham fat in his pockets and school bag. Upon one -calamitous day he found as he devoured the first -mouthful of his lunch a taste of unutterable impiety in his -mouth. Looking with horror into his paper bag he -found that its contents had been skilfully tampered with, -(he kept his lunch stowed in the pockets of his coat -hanging in the basement cloakroom), and that his mouth -was now tainted with the abomination of desolation. -He withdrew on the wings of disgust and scoured his -mouth with water for the remainder of that interval, -a process he repeated impetuously during the next few -days as often as he recalled the dishonour of his mouth. -</p> - -<p> -"What do you mean by it?" Higson asked Philip -one afternoon. -</p> - -<p> -"By what?" -</p> - -<p> -"Killing Christ!" -</p> - -<p> -Philip winced and turned away. -</p> - -<p> -"I say, lads!" Higson said winking. "Let's have -a lark with <i>smoggie</i>!" -</p> - -<p> -"What's on, Turnips?" -</p> - -<p> -"Let's crucify him!" -</p> - -<p> -A slight gasp of horror rose from the Higson clientele. -</p> - -<p> -"It's quite easy! Let's first stretch him out on the -wall...." -</p> - -<p> -Philip ran to the foot of Mr. Mathers' desk. His -desperate eye had caught sight of a large earthenware -bottle of ink. He lifted it and with twitching lips he -whispered, "Touch me, that's all!" -</p> - -<p> -"You little squib!" said Higson, swaggering -forward nonchalantly. He looked round to his friends. -</p> - -<p> -"Just give me a hand, you fellows!" -</p> - -<p> -"This is your job, Turnips! You bring him to the -wall! We'll do the rest!" -</p> - -<p> -"Just you touch me, that's all!" Philip said wildly, -his whole body tense against the desk. -</p> - -<p> -"And what will you do?" -</p> - -<p> -"I'll throw this in your face! You'll see!" -</p> - -<p> -"Go it, Turnips!" the retinue encouraged. "He's -littler than you!" -</p> - -<p> -Higson looked round with a growing expression of -despair. It was impossible to withdraw. He moved -towards Philip. Philip's arm shot forward. -"Oogh—oogh—oogh!" A great volume of muddy ink was -streaming down Higson's face and over his light green -suit. "Oh, you bloody little devil! Oh, by Christ, I'll -show you!" -</p> - -<p> -"No you don't!" a quiet voice said. It was Forrester, -the football captain for the form. "You've had -your whack! You'd better go and wash before Mathers -comes in!" -</p> - -<p> -"Yah!" howled the retinue with swift veer of sails. -"Look at Turnips!" -</p> - -<p> -Bullying was one thing, in fact, and dirty blasphemy -another, particularly when attended by public ignominy. -</p> - -<p> -Philip, it is true, was not more beloved after this -incident than before, but Higson certainly receded into a -background of smouldering impotence. -</p> - -<p> -It can readily be seen then that Transition A was not -likely to render Philip's old interests less attractive. -</p> - -<p> -A new planet now was beginning to swim into Sewelson's -ken. The planet attained soon the fixity of a star. -The star soon almost rivalled the sun of poetry as the -prime luminary of Philip's intellectual sky. The name -of the new focus was Socialism. -</p> - -<p> -"Don't talk to me about poetry!" Harry declared -impatiently one day. "What's the good of poetry -while children are starving in garrets? For God's sake -keep it in its place, like a lap-dog in a basket. I tell -you, Philip, I tell you, there's nothing else but Socialism. -Liberals are Conservatives with their hands in -somebody else's pockets. Conservatives are Liberals with -their hands in their own pockets! Chalk and cheese! -We working men have got beyond 'em; we can see 'em -through and through. Dead Sea Fruit, that's what they -are, all lies and hypocrisy inside, and red smiles outside. -What did Churchill promise and how much has he done? -No, Philip, a good time's coming! Socialism for ever!" -</p> - -<p> -"But listen, Harry, not so fast! What does it all -mean? And why should it knock poetry out like that? -There can't be much good in it, if it hasn't got any room -for poetry, I don't care what you say!" -</p> - -<p> -Harry glared for a moment. "I didn't say that!" -he snapped. "I said it's bigger than poetry! It is -poetry! How do you like that? Real poetry!" -</p> - -<p> -The relation between the boys at this moment presented -in a lively manner their differences and similarities. -When any fresh intellectual concept was presented -to Philip, he was constitutionally distrustful of it until -he had ascertained its position regarding his previous -intellectual experience. With an unease which expressed -itself in a sort of timid humour, he held back from the -idea, fearful of any separative influence upon the current -of his emotions. Harry, on the other hand, was borne -away completely by any new proposition which made, -through material disharmony, towards intellectual -harmony. But he was as instinctively afraid of a new -emotional enthusiasm as Philip was hospitable to it, -and here he adopted the protective coloration of a -humour somewhat lambent and mischievous, to disguise -the essentially sluggish setting of his sympathies -towards an enlargement of his non-rational existence. -</p> - -<p> -"Well, define it!" challenged Philip. "I know that -I don't know anything about it excepting that all sorts -of filthy people are called Socialists. People who get -full of poetry begin to live a more beautiful life inside. -I suppose it ought to be the same with Socialists!" -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, there you are, just as I thought!" exclaimed -Harry rather shrilly. "Talking about Socialists, -Socialists! What about poets, poets, if it comes to that? -You know Shelley was an absolute pig with that girl -Harriet and Cowper was mad and Tennyson became a -Lord! What on earth's that got to do with poetry! -I was talking about Socialism, and I say there's nothing -in the world but Socialism! That's what I say! ..." -</p> - -<p> -"How long have you been like this, Harry? It -sounds uncomfortable!" -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, ages!" replied Harry loosely. -</p> - -<p> -"You said nothing about it when I saw you two -Saturdays ago. Not that that's got anything to do with -it, either! But still, lend a poor chap a hand! Where -does it all want to get to?" -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, there's millions of books been written about it. -You know you couldn't put poetry into a word or two, -but it means something like 'Government of the People -for the People by the People'—that sort of thing. -No millionaires paddling about in fat motor-cars and -boys getting consumptive in mines! No plush and -palaces for the lords and sweat and a crust for the -working people. No rotten old kings on thrones and -dying men scrubbing on their knees in workhouses! ... Oh, -don't you see how we want it in Doomington of all -places in the world! <i>There's</i> something—what is it -you're always gassing about?—which is going to sweep -away the muck and the chimneys quicker than mooning -about with hollyhocks!" -</p> - -<p> -"Have you got a book about it?" asked Philip -uneasily. -</p> - -<p> -"A book? Yes, I <i>suppose</i> you'd better have a book -to help you along. I've got a fine book all about it, -by a chap called Blatchford. <i>Britain for the British</i>, -that's what it's called! It'll knock you off your feet, -first read. Oh damn, I've lent it to Segal! I don't -think you've met Segal! No? Oh, he's a clever -devil! Yes, I'll get it back from Segal and you can have -it." -</p> - -<p> -"Right! I'd like to see what it's all about." -</p> - -<p> -"Look here! You've done your homework, haven't -you? You haven't? Well, <i>I</i> haven't, it doesn't matter! -There's a Socialist meeting outside Ward's Engineering -Works to-night! They're thinking of putting up a -Socialist candidate instead of the lousy Liberal. What -do you say to coming along just now?" -</p> - -<p> -"I'll never get home in time. The old man's getting -a bit radgy again." -</p> - -<p> -"Well, of course, if you're always going to be tied to -your father's apron strings...." -</p> - -<p> -"I didn't say I wasn't coming!" Philip broke in hotly. -</p> - -<p> -"Right-ho! We'll go through the back. It's nearer!" -</p> - -<p> -It is almost no exaggeration to say that when Philip -came home that night, his head was clamorous with a -new gospel, his eyes shone with revelation, his too -inflammable nature was ablaze! He walked in unsteadily -as if he had been drinking a heady wine. He looked -towards his father with a certain pity in his glance. Was -he not too a victim of these iniquitous conditions which -the fiery-bearded man had described with such -blood-freezing fury? Did Reb Monash know it? Of course -he did not know it! "Hapathy!" the man had -thundered, "Hapathy! 'Ere is the henemy! Your -fathers is strangling their children. What for? -Hapathy! Your children is drinking the blood of -their fathers! What for? What for, I ask? -Hapathy! Deny it who can!" -</p> - -<p> -Reb Monash was engaged in a conversation with a -lady who had two sons to dispose into a <i>chayder</i>. He -thought it discreet for the moment to remain outwardly -unaware of the sinful hour Philip had chosen for his -return. Open disapproval would have displayed Philip -as no satisfactory sample, so to speak, of the paternal -wares. He turned to Philip and with a gentle significance -the two-sonned lady could not have fathomed, -inquired, "Sewelson?" -</p> - -<p> -"No!" replied Philip, "Socialism!" -</p> - -<p> -Reb Monash's lips tightened imperceptibly. He -resumed the conversation with his client. -</p> - -<p> -"Of course," declared Philip enthusiastically some -time later, "there's absolutely no doubt of it! Shelley -was an out-and-out Socialist! As much of a -Socialist as that candidate fellow, Dan what's-his-name!" -</p> - -<p> -"You're right! Shelley was all there!" affirmed -Harry. He beamed pleasantly upon his convert. "All -the decent chaps have been Socialists from the beginning. -Christ too, he was no end of a Socialist!" -</p> - -<p> -"Don't know anything about Christ!" said Philip -uneasily. There was something disturbing in this -treatment of Christ. Christ belonged in the first place -to Russia, where they impaled babies in His honour; -and then to the Baptist Missionary Chapel, where He -was associated with soup and magic lanterns; and to the -Christian prayers at school wherein, of course, Philip -had no part. -</p> - -<p> -"Christ was a Jew, after all," Harry put in tentatively, -"like Karl Marx." -</p> - -<p> -"Karl Marx?" -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, that's the chap who wrote the big book you -were looking at, on the chair near you. I can't say I -quite understand it, but they all say you've got to read -it, so I got it out of the library." -</p> - -<p> -"Oh that! I don't like that sort of Socialism, it's as -bad as Mathers' Latin! I prefer Shelley's. How does -it go? Oh yes, don't you think this is fine poetry and -fine Socialism, both together in one? -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - <i>Arise like lions after slumber<br /> - In unvanquishable number.<br /> - Shake your chains to earth like dew<br /> - Which in sleep had fatten upon you.<br /> - Ye are many. They are few!</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -Isn't it fine?" -</p> - -<p> -"Whist! Yes, that beats the song we sing at the -Socialist meetings—all about keeping the red flag flying, -eh? It leaves old man Tennyson a bit husky, what do -you think?" -</p> - -<p> -"Steady dog, isn't he, Tennyson? Wants to take -his time about it. Doesn't he say something like -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - <i>Freedom slowly broadens down<br /> - From precedent to precedent....?</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -Doesn't that mean you've got to take things sort of -quietly?" -</p> - -<p> -"... While mothers haven't got any milk for -their kids and Doomington stinks with corpses! By -God! It makes me sick! But there's no point rubbing -it into you, you dark horse. You've been a Socialist for -the last—how many—fourteen years? But listen, I've -not told you? Dan Jamieson wants me to get on my -hind legs and say a few words at one of his meetings. -What do you say to that?" -</p> - -<p> -"I'd be frightened out of my life. But how does he -know you'll not make a muck of it?" -</p> - -<p> -"That's what I wanted to know. But he said he -overhead me barging at a lot of kids at a street corner, -and he said to himself, 'that's the goods for me,' -he said." -</p> - -<p> -"Gee! You'll start crying in the middle!" -</p> - -<p> -"Don't be so sure! It matters too much for me to -start howling like a kid. I'm as good as that weedy -fellow with no chin at the Liberal meeting yesterday, any -time of the year!" -</p> - -<p> -"What are you going to talk about? Will you spit -out this here Marx of yours?" -</p> - -<p> -"I saw Jamieson on Tuesday and asked him what he -wanted. 'Never tha mind, lad!' he said, 'it'll serve -our purpose seeing a lad like thee get oop on's feet. -That'll fetch 'em. Doan't think in advance about it. -Just oppen tha lips and t'rest'll coom.' That's the way -he went on. It <i>does</i> make me feel rather goosy -sometimes," Harry admitted, "but I've got hopes in that -line, so all I can say is I ought to be damn glad of the -chance!" -</p> - -<p> -"Well, you're a game 'un, anyhow. I shouldn't like -to be in your shoes." -</p> - -<p> -"You never know, my lad, you never know!" -Harry speculated with dubious prophecy. -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -Again some time has passed. Reb Monash sits -upright upon that corner chair wherein none shall sit -whether Reb Monash be asleep upstairs or at the -furthest limit of his peregrinations—because -"Respect! respect!" he declares, "What means it to be sitting -on a father's chair!" He is sitting upright and his left -fist clenched angrily beats the table before him in -punctuation of his utterances. -</p> - -<p> -"Has one ever heard of such a thing? A <i>yungatsch</i> -of fifteen, not more, to stand up in the market-place with -the enemies of Israel and talk black things! That's -what it means, your schools and your teachers! His -parent, what is he? An <i>isvostchik</i>! I never had any -trust in these Rumanians. The town rings with it. -Imagine! standing up on a cart among the Atheists -and Free-Lovers and Socialists! It's a <i>shkandal</i>. It -will bring his mother's grey hairs in sorrow to the grave. -Sooner my son should in the grave himself be than -behave like that proselytized Sewelson. Understand, -not a word, Feivel! Thou must never put foot into the -heathen's house! I forbid it! I have had my doubts -for long. Would that I had so commanded before this -day. God knows what poison thou canst have drunk -from his lips. What, what sayest thou, Philip?" -</p> - -<p> -"<i>Tatte</i>, I can't, he's my only pal! I'll be alone -without him. And he doesn't do it every week, -anyhow. It's only this once!" -</p> - -<p> -"Never must he enter this house! And if thou art -ever seen with him, I will break for thee thy bones, all -of them. No more now!" He brought the palm of -his hand down emphatically. "Chayah, bring me a -glass of tea! Tell thy son to go to bed! If not it will be -the worse for him!" -</p> - -<p> -Philip's heart shook with resentment and grief. -"I won't give him up," he muttered fiercely behind his -teeth. "He won't stop me! He can't! I'll be damned -if I give him up! He'll see!" -</p> - -<p> -Heavy wings were brooding over the kitchen in -Angel Street. The gas jet drooped dejectedly as if -reluctant to light up the scared faces of Mrs. Massel and -her daughter. They sat side by side on the sofa -nervously rubbing together the palms of their hands. The -thin white cat scratched his ribs against their ankles and -howled into their faces inquiringly. -</p> - -<p> -"Never mind," said Channah, "perhaps he'll just -give him a good hiding and send him off without supper. -It's happened before, mother. Don't look so worried!" -</p> - -<p> -"Thou dost not know, Channah, what he's been saying -to me in bed the last few nights. He said if he'll go again -with Sewelson he'll <i>shmeis</i> him till he begs for mercy. -He said he'll keep him in the cellar all night, he'll <i>shmeis</i> -him till he can't even cry. Oh, what a year has fallen -upon us, Channah!" -</p> - -<p> -"I hate Sewelson, it's all his fault! I wish he -was at the bottom of the sea!" Channah burst out -bitterly. -</p> - -<p> -"But it was wrong of Feivel. It was wrong to go out -with Sewelson again. I told him. He deserves it. -But no, the poor dove, not ..." -</p> - -<p> -"Not what he'll get. Do you know who it was told -father he was talking to Sewelson? Oh, the -sneak—I could murder him!" -</p> - -<p> -"I don't know! I don't know! It was one of the -<i>chayder</i> boys, I think. But hush, here come they! -Don't say a word to him, Channah, or he'll turn round on -me and keep on shouting in bed all night! Oi, look at -the child!" -</p> - -<p> -Reb Monash entered the room, his face bloodless with -anger and cold determination. Philip followed behind, -his hands sunk in his pockets, his chin on his breast. -Reb Monash took from the pocket of his alpaca coat a -long thin strip of black hide. He sat down on a chair, -and without looking towards Philip, commanded "Thy -trousers down!" Philip obeyed. -</p> - -<p> -"Now I will teach thee whether thou wilt mix with -all the filth in the land. Over my knees!" -</p> - -<p> -The venomous strap descended, twice, three times, -four times. A swift catch came from Philip's throat. -Again and once again. Her whole body shuddering -dismally, Mrs. Massel stole from the room. From the -scullery came Channah's voice, moaning. Again the -strap came down. A thin cry of pain shrilled through -Philip's teeth. -</p> - -<p> -"And wilt thou again go with Sewelson?" -</p> - -<p> -No answer. -</p> - -<p> -"And wilt thou again go with Sewelson. Say no!" -</p> - -<p> -"I will! I will!" -</p> - -<p> -"Well, we will see who will prevail. Say no!" -</p> - -<p> -"I will!" -</p> - -<p> -"I am stronger than thou. Say no!" -</p> - -<p> -For answer Philip's body rolled slackly from his -father's knees. -</p> - -<p> -"No, my son, no! It is not yet finished. Wilt thou -say no? One word, no!" -</p> - -<p> -The strap whistled through the air. Remotely, -brokenly, Philip's voice came from far off. -</p> - -<p> -"No!" -</p> - -<p> -"That is as I thought! Thou wilt bless me some time -with tears in thine eyes for what has been done -to-night. Thy mother can give thee supper if she will, I -do not forbid." -</p> - -<p> -But the crushed figure of Philip had writhed from the -room. Soon he was lying on his bed, limp, not daring to -stir because each movement stabbed him acutely. He -buried his face in the pillow. He could not think. He -could not remember. He knew only that he was a mass -of intolerable pain. Yet he knew that something hurt -him even more than his pain. He had forsworn himself. -He had lost something. All life was a fight, was a -movement forward, away from the darkness into the places -of light. He had forsworn himself. He had fallen back -into Babylon. The dark was closing round him and the -pitchy waters were gurgling in his throat. -</p> - -<p> -There was a whisper beside him. -</p> - -<p> -"Philip, Philip, it's Channah!" -</p> - -<p> -Who was Channah? A girl, a sister. She had a rolled -gold brooch with two holes where diamonds should -have been. One of her boots was very worn at the heel. -</p> - -<p> -"Go away, go away! I don't want you!" -</p> - -<p> -"Philip, poor old kid, I'm so sorry! Mother's -crying her heart out! Listen, Philip! Mother sent me -up with a cup of milk and some cake!" -</p> - -<p> -How the pain licked round him, like flames. Sewelson -was a fine chap, anyhow. God, what a wonderful speech -he had made that night! When he came down his face -was pouring with sweat. Somebody threw a brick at -him.... -</p> - -<p> -"Philip, well?" -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, go away, go away! I don't want anything! -Leave me alone!" -</p> - -<p> -"I'm leaving the milk and the cake on the chair by -your bed, see? Good night, kid! Drink up and try and -go to sleep!" -</p> - -<p> -Dimly he heard the sound of his father and mother -entering their bedroom. Then a long monologue followed. -It was very loud, but his ears were sealed against -it. Pitch blackness was all round him, and something -had made a breach in the walls of his soul and the pitch -blackness was flooding through. Would they all be -drowned, Sewelson and Shelley and the big bluff face -of Dan Jamieson? He had forsworn Shelley. The -image of Shelley's body tossing forlornly on the waters of -Spezzia reproached him. Why had Shelley died if -Philip Massel were to forget him, leave him tossing -endlessly on the grey seas? A melancholy cat gibbered -beyond the window, down in the yard. Wearily, -wearily, the hours passed. He could not tolerate it. -With his guilt keeping his shoulders below the waters -he would never breathe clean airs again, he would never -fall asleep, never awake. -</p> - -<p> -What could he do? He must gainsay his disloyalty! -There was nothing for it. Thus only would the forward -march from Babylon be resumed. What? What? -He started from his bed! Repudiate his treachery -before the man in whose pocket lay dreadfully coiled the -black snake? There was nothing, nothing but this! -Else all liberty was vain, poetry was vain. Poetry was -a plaything, not the incense in the House of the Lord. -A clock in a church steeple tolled once, twice. The night -was passing; the dawn would come. He would find -his soul lost with the dawn. Nothing of glamour or -struggle would be left for him. -</p> - -<p> -Yet what could he do? Renounce his renunciation? -Nothing less, nothing else! Vividly each stroke of the -strap was reiterated in his memory. Was liberty worth -it, was poetry? He remembered Harry's bleeding -forehead where the lout had thrown the brick. He imagined -the floating, sodden hair of Shelley adrift on the -indifferent waters. -</p> - -<p> -He rose from his bed. It felt as if he were tearing his -body into strips. Every bone ached, every muscle was -raw. He opened his door and crept down the stairs till he -stood outside his father's bedroom. He knocked. His -father had at last fallen asleep. The monologue for that -night was ended at last. There was no reply. He -knocked again. A sudden and tremendous panic seized -him. What a fool he was! What was he doing it all -for? Why shouldn't he settle down and be what his -father wanted him to be and what the masters at school -wanted him to be. It was the easier way. How easy it -would be to gain the applause of the Polish Synagogue, -the applause of Doomington School! On the other side, -what? Poetry, Shelley! A swift agony of pain as he -moved recalled him to his determination. Forward, -forward! He knocked a third time, more loudly. -</p> - -<p> -"Yah, yah!" came the startled, sleepy voice of Reb -Monash. "Who is it? What is it?" -</p> - -<p> -Philip opened the door. -</p> - -<p> -"It's me!" -</p> - -<p> -"What hast thou come about?" -</p> - -<p> -"I've come about Sewelson. I said I won't go out -again with Sewelson..." There was a pause. The -boy heard his heart drumming across the night. Then -followed—"Well—I will!" -</p> - -<p> -He heard a gasp from the bed. -</p> - -<p> -"Gott!" -</p> - -<p> -Silence, complete silence. -</p> - -<p> -Philip closed the door and crept upstairs again. -The pain of his lacerated flesh was somehow easier to -bear. A faint finger of moonlight pointed ghostlily -into the room as he entered. He made out vaguely the -milk and cake his mother had sent up for him. He -discovered he was ravenously hungry and devoured the -food. He took his clothes off and with great caution -hunched himself between the blankets. The moonlight -washed over his face and showed him sound asleep. -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -The truce was over. During Philip's first year at -school it had already worn a little thin. The emotion -of pride with which Reb Monash had seen his son -enrolled among the scholars of Doomington School was -now considerably reduced. Philip's second year at -school seemed by no means likely to bear out his father's -prognostications that the study of Gentile lore would so -work upon his stubborn brain as to turn him with -warmth towards the <i>Yidishkeit</i> of home and synagogue. -<i>Chayder</i> was now out of the question. It was easy -enough for Philip to plead home-work when a tentative -invitation in that direction was held out, and he was now -nearly fourteen years old, too fully fledged for the -compass of <i>chayder's</i> wing. -</p> - -<p> -Yet Reb Monash was certainly going to see that the -boy's other duties were not neglected—his washings -before food, his three several bodies of prayer at morning, -noon and night, his rigid application to the matutinal -phylacteries, his countless other duties. In the degree -that Philip's enthusiasm for that whole aspect of his -existence symbolized by his phylacteries flagged, a -process considerably accelerated by the distintegrative -tide of Socialism, Reb Monash himself determined that -his son's feet should be held forcefully upon the precise -road. He frequently threatened a visit to Mr. Furness, -an issue to which Philip could not help looking forward -with both pleasure and apprehension. Philip had come -into contact with the Head Master on very few occasions, -during one of which he was soundly snubbed for an -effort to display to Mr. Furness how much more -intimate was his knowledge of Shelley's philosophy -than Mr. Furness'. Yet he felt that there was a faculty -in Mr. Furness for seeing with those deep-set stone-blue -eyes so deeply into a proposition that the difficult -nature of his case would be manifest to him. He -felt at the same time a little discomfort at the thought -that the distinctly mediocre position he occupied in the -fortnightly form lists might attain a prominence he did -not desire. But, he reassured himself, there was -always time to pick up in that line, when he felt like -it; in the meanwhile his friendship with Sewelson was -far more absorbing, particularly when it now became an -occupation which involved a savour of the perils incident -to big game hunting. In short, whenever the opportunity -presented itself, he was in Sewelson's company, -and whenever Reb Monash discovered the fact he -received the punishment he risked. -</p> - -<p> -Dan Jamieson had received a paltry hundred and -thirty-five votes at the General Election. But he had -brought a blush of intense pleasure and pride to Harry's -cheeks by assuring him that to Harry he owed the odd -thirty-five. -</p> - -<p> -"The foäk canna stand oop agin a babe!" he declared. -Philip was standing by at the time, shyly -enough, and Jamieson added kindly, "and I expect -another thirty-five voäts from thee, lad, next time we -sets ball rollin'!" -</p> - -<p> -Harry refused to let his friend forget the thirty-five -votes which were due from him to the Socialist cause. -"It's not enough for you," he insisted, "to talk to the -chaps at the dinner hour. That's an average of a man a -month. I know. I've been doing it. You'll have to get -up and spout!" -</p> - -<p> -"Don't be a fool, Harry! You know it's not my -line! I'm not old enough, anyhow!" -</p> - -<p> -"Fiddle! What about me?" -</p> - -<p> -Philip's career as an orator began with a question -he tried to ask at a Conservative meeting, with a mouth -which felt as if it were dilated with an india-rubber ball. -No one took the least notice. After many minutes his -blush of discomfort faded away, but he swore fervently -that he wasn't going to be such a blithering idiot next -time. Some days later, when the tide of a Liberal orator's -eloquence seemed to be momentarily checked, he burst -in shrilly with a long premeditated question, "But -what's the good of trying to patch the roof when the -foundations are rotten?" The orator closed his mouth -with a spasm of fright. A number of heavy democrats -in the crowd said genially, "Good for you, sonny! -That's stumped him! Yes, what d'you say to that?" -they shouted to the orator, "What's the good of trying -to patch the roof when the foundations are rotten?" -</p> - -<p> -"My concern is not with children," said the orator -unhappily, "I'm after the vote, the men with the vote. -I leave it to the other parties to canvass the children!" -</p> - -<p> -"Down with him, down with him!" a woman -shrieked excitedly. "He wants to starve the kids!" -</p> - -<p> -"Where's the young 'un? Give him a chance!" -</p> - -<p> -But Philip had withdrawn, having tasted blood. -A sweet music was jingling in his ears. He had heard his -own voice lifted in the presence of a crowd and the -crowd had responded generously. He abandoned -momentarily his ambition to become Poet Laureate and -determined to shape his course towards the Premiership -of the United Kingdom. -</p> - -<p> -Now and again during this period Philip went to have -a few words with an old Bridgeway School friend of his -who worked in one of the coat and mantle factories -bordering the Mitchen. It was an experience which -lifted his Socialism from a theory and a somewhat -sentimental abstraction to a clamant and immediate need. -"Sweated labour" became a phrase which he could -endow with the actual physical associations it was -intended to conjure. He saw the men in their filthy shirts -spitting upon their pressing-irons and the floor -indiscriminately. Their sweat fell unregarded on the material -below them. The tailors sitting about on the littered -tables seemed to be more perversions of men, grotesques, -than men actually. The windows were fouled with an -opaque mist of dirt and sweat. Little boys shuffled -uneasily about like subterranean gnomes. Girls cackled -hideously after him, and when the men started an -obscene catch which lifted his gorge, girl after girl in the -adjoining rooms accepted the sexual challenge and -cackled in return. He saw a thick-nosed foreman whose -waistcoat glimmered evilly with countless soup droppings -fuddling his fingers in the bosom of a girl. He saw -another girl, a recent recruit, leaning, ivory-yellow, -through a window which looked down on the Mitchen -slime. There was no reason why her body should not -follow where her eyes looked down so stupidly. What -else was there? Nothing but the reeking room and the -dirty songs and the swinish waistcoat of the foreman! -The picture of this sick girl remained abidingly with him. -When Harry turned suddenly to him one evening and -announced that he had given Philip's name to the Longton -secretary as a speaker for next Sunday evening, at the -very moment of dismay and revolt her image came back -to him and filled him with a blind fury against the -ordinances of men. -</p> - -<p> -"All right, I'll come!" he said thickly. "You know -I'll make a filthy mess of it, but that's your fault. I've -got nothing to say and I don't know how to say it and -I'll just get up and open my mouth and shut it and fall -off. Good God, Harry Sewelson, you're a pig!" -</p> - -<p> -"And you're a good Socialist! There's two first-rate -lies. It's on the croft outside Longton Park. -But don't worry, Philip, old man, you've got the stuff, -never fear! Sunday, May the something-or-other, is -the date. Anyhow, that doesn't matter, it's next Sunday, -at half-past six! So that's all right!" -</p> - -<p> -Philip carefully prepared a little speech. He repeated -it several times before his mother, assuring her that -it was one of Antony's many orations over the corpse -of Cćsar. So long as Philip did not declaim loud enough -to wake Reb Monash she was happy enough to listen -obediently to Antony's denunciation of the House of -Lords. -</p> - -<p> -Next Sunday Philip turned up and sat below the -oratorial cart biting his nails nervously and recapitulating -his speech. He was called upon immediately after -an emancipated coal-heaver, whose jocosity had tickled -the crowd into unrest. -</p> - -<p> -When Philip rose blinking and with a heart full of the -most unmitigated hatred for Harry, a gentleman adorned -with a muffler and a slant Tweed hat exclaimed ribaldly, -"Crikey! Look what's come! Johnny, go back to -your mummy's titty-bottle!" -</p> - -<p> -There was a prompt evanescence from Philip's brain -of his carefully prepared speech. He was at that stage -of nervousness which endows its victims with a degree -of courage no ordinary frame of mind could conceivably -induce. He turned fiercely towards the humorous -gentleman and forgetting completely his brothers in the -cause who were round him on the cart, forgetting the -upturned, sceptical faces of his audience, he vented -upon the humorous gentleman so turbid a stream of -denunciation, dazzled his head with such a storm of -rapiers furnished as much from his own shrill temper as -from the prose of Blatchford and the poetry of Shelley, -convinced him so thoroughly that both the continuance -of the House of Lords along its bloody path of rapacity -and the putrefaction of the factories along the Mitchen -River were due to his criminal indifference and abysmal -stupidity, that the humorous gentleman straightened -his Tweed hat, tied his muffler into a different knot, -buttoned all the buttons in his jacket, in the vain effort -to present as different an appearance as possible from the -humorist who had twitted the firebrand on his first -appearance upon the platform. -</p> - -<p> -Philip was sweating and shivering when he descended; -he was, moreover, consumed with a secret dread lest the -object of his denunciations should wait for him in a -dark corner to conclude the episode in Philip's disfavour. -The Longton secretary shook Philip's hand respectfully -as if the limb were made of a clay slightly superior -to his own. He checked himself when he found he was -addressing Philip as "sir" and substituted "comrade." And -Philip, when he descended the Blenheim Road, -found himself booked to speak at a meeting on the -Longton croft some time ahead. -</p> - -<p> -Philip instinctively realized that whatever the future -held in store for him as a speaker (but, to be candid, the -glories of the Premiership seemed speedily to dissipate), -his talent lay rather in the field of inspiration than of -discipline. He knew (and this confirmed his orientation -towards the Laureateship) that he would invariably -be a catspaw of circumstances either for success or -failure, as soon as he had laid aside the pen for the tongue. -For this reason he deliberately withheld from the <i>Book of -Pros and Cons for Debating Societies</i> out of which, -as his friend confessed, Harry made golden capital. -As he sat again below the cart on the evening of his -second public appearance, he made a strenuous effort -to keep his mind as blank as possible. Overhead his -precedent orator was thundering. The sanguine hues -of his bellying and flamboyant tie had already won for -him half his battle. Who could impeach the politics of -a man whose neckwear flung a defiance in the teeth of -sunset and whose eloquence paled both? With a -consistent massacre of aitches he triumphed across the -turbulent field, until at last, when he ended with "and -your children will get down on their knees and praise -God that their parents took the right path!", the -crowd generally, and Philip in particular, were swept -high and dry upon the beach of enthusiasm by the wave -of the man's argument. -</p> - -<p> -It was impossible to be self-conscious at such a -moment. Philip sprang valiantly on to the cart and -with tremendous effect his treble, like woodwind -ardently repeating the theme of brass, reiterated "and -your children will get down on their knees and praise -God that their parents took the right path!" -</p> - -<p> -There was no holding him back. Repeatedly he -brought his left fist upon the palm of his right hand to -clinch his indisputable conclusions. The other speakers -on the platform were shocked out of mere admiration -into submission to his cogency. Harry could hardly -realize that this was the hesitant young friend who -followed his lead with such blundering perseverance, -and who was, when you came to think of it, rather a -muff on the whole. It was a stranger, small, ungainly, -irresistible. The crowd below stared, their mouths -gaping, their heads swaying slightly to the rhythm of -his gestures. -</p> - -<p> -It was an incoherent enough medley, and perhaps the -precocity of the youth was more exhibited in the -uncanny earnestness of his manner than in the intellectual -quality of the stuff he uttered. The crowd he was -addressing consisted of serious artisans, -night-school-educated clerks, filmy half-existent women, whose -mental development at fifty would in all likehood not -transcend Harry's at fifteen, to whom they listened -indeed, not because they were interested in his crystal -arguments, but because his wit, his adroitness, pleased -them like the froth on their evening pints. They were -therefore an easier prey to Philip's uncouth flood of -undigested emotions. He attempted, as often as he -remembered this episode, to reconstruct his speech, to -examine what potent eloquence had carried himself -away even more completely than the crowd. He only -remembered the moment when he returned to the -concluding remark of the last speaker. "Our fathers," he -began, "our fathers have tried ... I say, our fathers -... our fathers ..." -</p> - -<p> -The crowd breathed anxiously. What was happening -to the young feller? Had he seen a ghost, he was that -pale? He'd been as red as a turkey cock only just now, -he had! There weren't no stopping him a minute ago, -and now the words were sticking in the back of his -throat. It was a shame, it was! It was too much to -expect of a kid! Just like these Socialist fellers to put -it across a kid once they got hold of him! Couldn't be -more than fifteen, or sixteen at the most, he couldn't! -It wasn't good enough, don't care what you say! He'd -faint if they wasn't careful.... -</p> - -<p> -But look, he was starting again. -</p> - -<p> -"Our fathers have tried for all they are worth. -Your fathers and mine have tried..." The lad's -eyes were starting from his head. He gulped and started -again, "Have tried, I say..." -</p> - -<p> -It was as if some spell of physical evocation resided -in his words. Whilst his lips were still shaping the first -vowel of "fathers," something black and aloof and -ominous had drifted from the vague towards the limit -of his audience. A tall shining silk hat, familiar symbol -of repressions and disaster, threw a deep gloom over -against his eyes. -</p> - -<p> -"Our fathers have tried..." -</p> - -<p> -But his own father was here, whose love for him was -like hate, and whose hate pierced at once his son's -heart and his own. What should he do? It was he, of -course it was he! Whose else could those mournful and -hostile eyes be, their orbs large with a stricken -indignation? There passed across the fringe of his stupor a -recollection like the vague white wing of an owl at -dayfall. Hadn't his father said something about going -to see Dorah up in Longton this evening? Why had -he not taken warning and kept away? His father must -have noticed from the road some hundred yards away -the gathering on the croft against the railings of -Longton Park. He must then have determined to go home -through the croft instead of down the straight Blenheim -Road, so to discover whether the proselytized one, the -forbidden Harry Sewelson, was uttering his nefarious -doctrine here, with Philip, perhaps, at his feet. And -here he stood, his brow contracted with pent fury, -biting his upper lip! With what dexterity of the sloping -brush had he stroked the silky fibre of his hat to-day! -How white, deathly white, was the white bow on his -stiff white front! There were signs of white in his black -beard. He was getting old, old. His eyes blazed. Old? -He was young, proud, strong—younger than his son, -young as his race, the eternal child, the stubborn -stripling that would not change nor grow though God -were visible, though the hills melted, though the stars -cried across the void "Lo! you must change or you -shall die!" -</p> - -<p> -In this moment with tense clarity an alternative -presented itself before Philip's swooning eyes. He might -withdraw; he had carried them with him so clearly -that they would let him go with but a sympathetic -murmur if he stammered out that he was unwell. He -could withdraw with grace, and at the same time go to -meet the inevitable trouble half-way. There discretion -pointed. He must decide at once. -</p> - -<p> -Or else, or else he could set the seal on his victories. -He would not have uttered that dismal shout in school -vainly, he would not have recanted vainly upon that -strange dim night. He would, seeking for courage in -the very depth of his spirit, in the very height of this -sky where his father and he stood face to face, while -Doomington waited, and his race waited, he would -gather together once more the reins of his daring. Who -should withstand his horses? Who should gainsay the -thunder of their nostrils and the death in their feet! -Was it his own battle alone that awaited decision? -Himself, he existed no more! The unborn brothers of -his race, the unborn children of his country, lifted -towards him their ghostly hands. Do not desert us, -they said, for in a boy's hand lies the issue, and God is -silent, waiting that a boy should speak. A boy was he? -A boy? He was a man amongst the men of eld! Isaiah -was by his side! Dimly the exquisite voice of Shelley -said to him, "Do not despair!" -</p> - -<p> -What if it should break him, what if it meant he could -never lift his voice again? Yet his voice though silent, -his voice though a frail boy's, should be voluminous on -the winds of the world, and if his body were cast aside, -his heart's blood would be red energy in the hearts of -the cohorts of Joy. -</p> - -<p> -His figure suddenly, with the automatic gesture of -the marionette, straightened itself. With something of -defiance he flung his chest forward and clenched both -his fists. A wave of swift colour flushed into his cheeks -and as swiftly withdrew. He was speaking once more. -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -The passion that moved the lad now was too swift -merely for swift diction. He spoke evenly, his voice was -almost a whisper. The black-bearded man who had -stood for some moments on the edge of the crowd, -disappeared. No one noticed him. At last Philip -dropped loosely into the chair behind him on the -cart. -</p> - -<p> -For an hour or two that evening hardly a man moved -from the gathering in front of the railings of the Longton -Park. -</p> - -<p> -"Come to our house and have some grub!" said -Harry apprehensively to Philip, who leaned against -the railings, ashen-pale. -</p> - -<p> -Philip turned away wearily. "Go away, Harry, -I'm done!" He walked home very slowly, carefully -avoiding the lines between the pavement slabs. He -trod on the foot of a dignitary from the <i>Polisher Shool</i>, -who swore at him and spat into the street. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap0207"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER VII -</h3> - -<p> -When the storm had subsided, Philip felt like a -sea-battered hulk, shorn of spars, incompetent -to face wind and tide. The muscle of his left arm -suffered peculiarly. Really, the way it had been wrenched -and bruised was almost comical. As if his arm had -espoused Blatchford and orated on the waste croft -which his father had so persistently misnamed the -"Public ways and the market-places." Poor old muscle! -He dropped his forearm tenderly to see if the movement -did not circle the upper arm with bracelets of fire. He -took his shirt off and licked the coloured wound with -his tongue, like an animal released from a trap. He -stared into a jagged fragment of mirror, and seeing his -face so grey and drawn burst unaccountably into a roar -of laughter. He drowned the noise at once by biting his -lip fiercely. "The Romance of a Brachial Muscle!" What -a fine subject for a long narrative poem in -countless cantos! Oh, by God, he was miserable! What was -wrong with Life? Why were Life and he always at -daggers drawn? He recapitulated the sum of his -conscious crimes. He had once stolen carrots from the -cellar, it was true! But equipoise had been asserted: -he had been rewarded by an ample stomach-ache. And -finally, when physical calm had been established, to -round off his state with spiritual calm, he had bought -two penn'orth of carrots and replaced them in the cellar. -Also, he was bound to confess, he invariably kept his -book open in school during the reciting of prepared -passages. But then the boy behind him used his own -collar as he himself used the collar of the boy in front. -It wasn't really cheating because Gibson was such an -ass in so many ways! Anyhow there was no doubt the -world hated him. The world had always hated him. -He had never got on with anybody in Angel Street. -He had a filthy time at school, and then there was all -this business, and oh, hell! what a rotten arm he had! -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -He had determined against committing suicide. He -remembered once saying to his mother after a row, -saying with a strange mordant humour, "Mother, I think -it'll be happier for the whole family if I commit -suicide!" -</p> - -<p> -"If thou what? Speak plain!" -</p> - -<p> -"Kill myself! Throw myself in the river!" -</p> - -<p> -She had made no reply. She merely went to the sofa -and sat trembling for a few minutes. She said "Feivel!" -once, less with reproach than raw, ugly pain. All that day -she did her housework unsteadily and said not a word to -Philip. He hadn't liked it. No, it was better not to -commit suicide. It savoured too imitatively, moreover, -of the <i>Mighty Atom</i>, whom he had disliked. Then, -in addition, the wife of somebody the watchmaker had -recently tried it and succeeded. She obviously could -have reaped no satisfaction from the episode. If only he -could die accidentally! Would even that make his father -sorry for his abominable treatment? The youthful -corpse would lie on the parlour floor under a black cloth -and everybody would sympathize frightfully with his -mother and be pointedly chilly towards Reb Monash. -Wouldn't he be sick about it! Wouldn't he ask God -for another chance to behave like a decent sort of -father, but all to no use! There would be his son's -pale and romantic corpse lying stately beneath the cloth, -with candles and things about. "Easeful Death," one -of the poets said somewhere. That wasn't half strong -enough. It was a triumph, a pageant! But it meant -being carted off, didn't it, to the cold ground somewhere, -and the weepers would go away and the candles be -extinguished, and the rain would come down, and the -coffin be sodden and fall away! That was where the -worm-element came in, and with the worm-element he -could pretend no sympathy; "where the worm became -top-dog," as he had once brilliantly said in comment -upon "And the play is the Tragedy, Man—the hero, -the Conqueror—Worm!" -</p> - -<p> -It was at this moment that the idea of running away -occurred to him. He had lately been reading the -triumphant career of a runner-away. Harry had once -recommended running away, sceptically enough, but it would -be tremendously interesting to take his casual advice -seriously. He was quite definitely conscious how -melodramatic the idea was, and just as conscious that he had -already decided on its execution. The fellow in the book -had performed no end of valiant deeds in fires, shipwrecks -and revolutions. It was a thin book, duller even -than Mr. Henty, whom he had long ago discarded. Of -course, he was not going to be taken in by that sort of -thing, but any proposal was more satisfactory than the -shoutings and the bruised arms of which his life now -was constituted. -</p> - -<p> -It was settled! He was going to run away! When? -Obviously now, at once! There was no point in -to-morrow. To-morrow would be like yesterday. It was -evening now. He'd set out and by the time night came -... Oh, there wasn't any need to worry about it! -Something would happen. Something always happened, -Yet everything was rather frighteningly vague. Was -there any need to carry anything off with him? -Doubtless it would be more independent and proud to go -just as he was, and he wouldn't need an overcoat for -months. Oh yes, he might as well stick that Shelley -in his pocket. He would finish the "Revolt of Islam," -though he had tried three times already. He lifted his -injured arm to reach the book and dropped it again, -wincing. He sat down before his rickety table, and -wrote a brief note to his mother, slipped it into an -envelope and descended into the kitchen. He looked -mournfully and significantly upon his mother, murmuring -to himself bitterly, "If she only knew!" He felt -a disgraceful impulse to utter a loud howl of remorse, but -manfully repressed it and, realizing that each moment in -the kitchen endangered his resolution, went to the door. -As he closed the door behind him, he dropped the -envelope through. -</p> - -<p> -He carefully examined his feelings. He was running -away, wasn't he? It was the most dramatic moment in -all his life. There had been psychological crises before, -but here was something palpable, dramatic. He was -putting himself into immediate communion with some of -the choicest spirits of history or legend. Not many other -chaps dared do this sort of thing. Then why on earth -wasn't he more excited about it? His heart ought to -be storming valiantly, but its workings seemed to respect -their usual method and speed. He only felt a little -dazed and stupid. He was under the ridiculous -impression he was only acting! That was absurd, at such -a crisis! The vague, the vast, into which he was -adventuring, were not merely uninviting, they were, in some -inexplicable fashion, not even there. Home and his -father and his mother and his arm, all these were realities -enough, and the only realities. But this running -away, upon which at this very moment he was -actually embarked, was a thin dream. And here was -another reality, here was Channah coming down the -street. -</p> - -<p> -"Good-bye, Channah!" he said darkly. -</p> - -<p> -"You're not off to a meeting?" she ventured confidently. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh no! Oh no!" he replied gloomily. She walked -on. It was necessary to be moving. She would probably -find the note and the finding would lead to immediate -results. He ran along into Doomington Road, and almost -mechanically turned up into Blenheim Road. They'd -not know which way he was going, he needn't fear that. -He slowed down and sauntered along. Where the devil -should he go now? that question ought to be decided. -His mind was torpid. No sooner was the question -formulated than it passed from his mind. Somebody -was gesticulating to a crowd on the croft. Aimlessly -he turned in that direction. They were talking about -Tariff Reform, statistics, Poor Laws, molasses and -things. He lacked the resolution to go further, so he -stood, neither listening nor thinking, just dull, dimly -unhappy. -</p> - -<p> -He felt an arm slip round his neck. An anguished -voice said, "Philip, don't be such a donkey! Mother's -half-mad with worry, you <i>meshugener</i>! Is this your -idea of a joke, you little fool?" -</p> - -<p> -Channah must have realized which way his steps -would instinctively turn. -</p> - -<p> -Philip threw the arm off and turned to a dishevelled -Channah. "I'm not a fool! I'm dead sick of him and -I'm going to get out of it!" -</p> - -<p> -"Where?" she asked. -</p> - -<p> -"Anywhere!" he exclaimed desperately. -</p> - -<p> -"Come on now, there's a good lad!" She got hold -of his arm. "He'll not know anything about it if you -come at once!" -</p> - -<p> -"I want him to know! Let go! Oh, you won't, -won't you? There!" He wrenched his arm free. He -fled along the croft and found his sister following in -forlorn pursuit. When he had put a safe distance -between them he turned round. Channah was standing, -wringing her hands, and her hair, escaped from her combs -and pins, flew about her head. It made him feel an -unutterable scoundrel. He knew that he was acting like -a fool and a blackguard! "Come home, Philip, oh, do -come home!" her voice shrilled. -</p> - -<p> -But he couldn't. He had a little dignity after all. -He was getting on in life and it was about time he could -think out and pursue his own plan of campaign. -</p> - -<p> -"I can't!" he said. "Give Mother my love! -Good-bye! Tell her it's not my fault!" he insisted -anxiously. "Good-bye!" -</p> - -<p> -He followed up the road and left Channah standing -blankly. Definitely he was running away. An almost -complete numbness now gripped his brain. He had -a faint idea of getting out into the country but -he found himself penetrating deeper and deeper into -the town. Night was gathering thickly over Doomington. -He felt too stupid even to be aware of his hunger. -For hours and hours, it seemed, he walked through the -dark streets. Indifferent people jostled him into the -roadway. Every now and again he found his journeying -had brought him before the same ugly squat little church. -He must get out of this. He turned off in a direction he -was certain he had not pursued before. He found himself -in a murky hidden square, with feet heavy as blocks -of stone. Blocks of stone seemed to be tugging his -eyelids down to close over his eyes. He was suddenly -aware of a tremendous need of sleep. There was a form -in the flagged path which led through the square. A -man and a woman were sitting very close together on it; -but there was room for him. He threw himself down and -his head fell immediately upon his chest. He plunged -at once into a tired sleep. When he awoke, it was very -dark and quiet. He remembered that there had been -a man and a woman beside him, but they had moved -away! What was it he was doing here? Of course, -he'd run away! What a thick heavy business it was, -running away! How many hours ago was it since he had -started? Nothing had happened yet. Nothing. He just -felt foolish and extremely miserable. Well, he must keep -going till something did happen. As he rose, he heard -the bell in the steeple over him toll hollowly. One -o'clock! Oh, the desolate hour! Somewhere deep in -Doomington, alone, hungry, tired, at one o'clock! -He shuffled wearily from the square and up through one -or two towering and narrow streets. He heard a man -prowling about in a doorway. His heart stood still -with terror. Steps came forward and a lantern -surrounded him with ghostly light. A policeman peered -suspiciously into his face and lumbered on. Here was a -main road. How wide and lonely and terrible it was! -He dared not stand still, the policeman would come -after him and ask questions which he would not be able -to answer. He must keep moving, moving, God knew -where, but moving. His feet made an alarming sound -on the deserted pavements. Oh, what was he doing -here? Why hadn't he waited till he got some money -from somewhere, somehow, before he ran away? How -formidably the doorways were barred against him! -The plate-glass windows stared leering with baleful -eyes. Some one had moved from a side street into the -main road and was coming towards him. A lady it was. -A real lady too, she seemed, as she came nearer and he -saw the opulent nature of her clothing. Her skirts -swished richly. There was a feather bobbing over the -side of her hat. Channah had only one feather which -she kept securely from year to year, dyeing it -occasionally. There were three feathers in the lady's hat. -What was she doing out just now? She couldn't -possibly be running away, like himself. She was rather -fat, she ought to be quite a decent sort. She introduced -a sense of companionship into the appalling void of -night. Joy! She had stopped and was talking to him! -</p> - -<p> -"Well, cockie!" she said, "it's rather late for a little -'un!" -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, ma'am!" he said respectfully. -</p> - -<p> -"Haven't you got a home? You look all right, -your clothes and that!" -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, I have got a home!" -</p> - -<p> -"'Xcuse my asking like, but why aren't you in it? -It's gone two, you know!" -</p> - -<p> -"Well, because ... it's because ... I ... I mean, -he ..." -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, I understand, cockie!" she said kindly. "He's -been and gone and chucked you out like, eh?" -</p> - -<p> -"He <i>hasn't</i> chucked me out!" declared Philip -hotly. "I've chucked myself out. I've run away from -home!" -</p> - -<p> -"Phew!" she whistled. "That's the ticket, eh? -You're a plucked 'un! But what are you going to do -now?" -</p> - -<p> -"I don't know. Just walk, I suppose. I'll see!" -</p> - -<p> -"I like you, sonnie, I like your voice. Let's keep on, -it'll never do to stand in one place, they don't like it. -Just come to the lamp there. I'd like to look at you!" -</p> - -<p> -He found that a large, warm, somewhat flabby hand -had taken his own. They walked together to a lamp. -His friend got hold of his forehead with one hand and -his chin with the other, and exposed his face to the falling -lamplight. He caught a glimpse of the lady's face above -the heavy chain of rolled gold that lay on her bosom. -Her face was pallid round the fringes of the cheeks and -on the tip of her nose, and by contrast, her cheeks were -singularly red. Her lips too were red, quite unlike the -red of Channah's lips and his mother's. It was a sleepy, -fat face, rather kindly. There was something strange -about her eyes, something like—well, funny eyes, -anyhow! Hungry eyes they were, a little wild, yet they -were sleepy and kind, too. Surely her breath didn't -smell the least bit of beer? No, not such a thoroughly -estimable lady! Perhaps it was beer ... the poor -lady had to take for her health? -</p> - -<p> -"Sonnie!" she said. "You've been having a heavy -time, eh? Poor kid! You've got nice eyes, you know! -Be careful what you do with 'em. It was eyes like yours -what did for Bertha. Poor Bertha! She was a slim -lass once, Prayer Book and all, and parasol on Sundays, -all complete!" -</p> - -<p> -"Who's Bertha, please?" -</p> - -<p> -"Hush, sonnie, hush, I'm talking! Bertha? Don't -tell Reginald—I'm Bertha! He wasn't a big feller -neither, what done her in! And it wasn't for money, -anyways, <i>I</i> can tell you. Love it was, and it isn't all -the girls can say that! And he went with his lips this -way and with his eyes that way, and where was you? -Yes, he had eyes just like yours, Arthur! Your name -is Arthur, isn't it?" -</p> - -<p> -"No, my name's Philip!" -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, we are a gentleman, aren't we? 'No, my name's -Philip!' Haw! haw! Your name's not Philip, see? -Your name's Arthur! What's good enough for him is -good enough for <i>you</i>, Arthur. So there, Arthur! ... I'm -sorry, kid, I'm not laughing at you. You see, I'm -feeling all funny like...." She passed the back of -her hand across her forehead. A big bead of clammy -sweat was thrust backward into the maze of her -yellowish hair. "To tell you the honest, Arthur," she -whispered, leaning over towards the boy, "he's been -and pitched me out!" She lifted her voice. "Pitched -me out, he has, the dirty heathen, at two o'clock in the -morning! After all the times we've had together. -Scarborough! Oh, Scarborough! The waiters stand -round you and says 'Lobster, ma'am, <i>with</i> hock?' -polite as polite! And here am I! Not good enough -for the likes of him, ain't I? I'll show him up! Pitched -me out...." She took a fluffy handkerchief from the -depths of her blouse and tapped each eye. -</p> - -<p> -"I beg your pardon," said Philip with uneasy politeness, -"have you had to leave home too?" -</p> - -<p> -"Home, sonnie, home? I've got a <i>home</i>! Oh, it's -all right about my <i>home</i>! But now and again a night -out, eh, is the goods for Bertha! I'm one of the girls! -I'm a bird! I'm not too particular about my perch, -though I <i>have</i> got a little perch of my own! But I was -... hello! Some one's coming! Can you see who it is?" -</p> - -<p> -"Yes," said Philip. "It's a policeman, I think!" -</p> - -<p> -She whispered into his ear anxiously. "Listen, I'm -going to be your ma when he comes up, if he asks things. -Understand? You've got the sick sudden, and I thought -a walk would settle your stomach. Now...." -</p> - -<p> -The policeman advanced and halted. "Hello, -missus!" he said. "Burglars or what?" -</p> - -<p> -"No, constable," replied the lady with quiet dignity, -"my poor Arthur's got a touch of the colic so I thought -it best to give him a breath of air like." She was wiping -Philip's forehead with the little handkerchief. "Are -you feeling better now, Arthur boy?" -</p> - -<p> -"Best go and stow him between the sheets, lady. -He'll catch his death in the damp air," the policeman -growled amiably, and walked away. -</p> - -<p> -The situation was altogether so inexplicable that -Philip clutched feebly after the expression "I'm a -bird!" as a clue which might perhaps lead him through -the maze. -</p> - -<p> -"A bird?" he asked. "Do you mean you sell birds?" -</p> - -<p> -"Now you <i>are</i> a funny kid. No, I don't sell birds. -Leastwise, I only sell one bird. See? That's a joke like. -Ec, Arthur, but I did feel all goosy when that policeman -came, didn't you? My heart's going like a pendulick -yet, up and down, down and up. Well, I hopes -your kidneys are better, anyhow. But you <i>do</i> look pale, -kid! Anything wrong! How old did you say you -was? Fourteen and a half? So am I, next birthday, -ha, ha! Fourteen and a half! What must it -be like to have a kid fourteen and a half? Sometimes -I wishes ..." -</p> - -<p> -"Have you got no children yourself, ma'am?" -</p> - -<p> -"What do you mean by asking me questions, Arthur? -An honest woman like me! If it hadn't been for you, -Arthur, and that time you kissed me under the -mulberry tree ... Remember? Oh kid, kid, I'm all sort -of melted inside! Is your mother still living? She -is, is she? Does she ever kiss you, Arthur? Here, like -this, on your lips ... like this ... like this ... Oh, -my Arthur boy!" -</p> - -<p> -She had seized him round the shoulders. Her great -soft lips were hungrily raining kisses on his own. And her -breath smelt beerily. -</p> - -<p> -"Let me go!" he shouted with sudden fright. "Who -are you? What do you want?" He broke away and -rubbed his lips savagely with his sleeve. -</p> - -<p> -She was mopping large tears from her eyes. "Oh, -I'm lonely, I'm so lonely!" she moaned. "He's gone -and pitched me out and here's Arthur, and he shakes me -off like a dog. Why ever was I born, God help me!" -</p> - -<p> -A swift intense pang gripped Philip's stomach. He -staggered against the wall. Globes of red fire juggled -before his eyes. -</p> - -<p> -"What's the matter? I didn't mean anything!" -the woman exclaimed with alarm. "Tell me what's -wrong!" -</p> - -<p> -"I'm ... I'm ... hungry! ..." moaned Philip. -</p> - -<p> -"Hungry? When did you last have a bite?" -</p> - -<p> -"Dinner-time!" -</p> - -<p> -"And what have you been doing since?" -</p> - -<p> -"I don't know! I'm only hungry!" -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, poor dove, poor dove! Hungry are you? And -here was me standing and you hungry and standing I -was and talking, talking. Come to his own Bertha's. -Come to my little perch, Arthur, sonnie, and I'll soon -set you right. What about a rasher, eh, and some new -bread and butter and a cup of strong hot tea? I'll put -him on his little feet again! This way, sonnie ... Lord -God, what a life is Bertha's! It ain't far. It's just -beyond the church straight along and the second to the -left ... unsteady on his legs, he's that hungry...! -Come with Bertha!" -</p> - -<p> -Again Philip's hand was enclosed in the hand of the -lady. Nothing in the world mattered except that strong -hot cup of tea, that bread and butter, that rasher, -whatever a rasher was! As they walked through the -empty streets, the kettle boiled before him on a fire of -mirage, the slaver of his hunger rimmed his tongue, -the "rasher" was frying ghostlily like a tail of fish on -his mother's pan. -</p> - -<p> -He heard her moaning musically over his head, like -the doves in the immemorial elms. It was a strange -farrago of Arthurs and Berthas and mulberry trees. -He made no effort to follow the wanderings of her mind, -which now and again would reach indignantly the brick -wall of her late dismissal. Street succeeded street -blankly and he found her shuffling at last for a key. -They entered the dark lobby of a house. -</p> - -<p> -"Go quiet, kid!" she murmured, "Rosie's got a pal -in the parlour to-night, I think!" -</p> - -<p> -They entered a room and the lady lit the gas, revealing -a large soft bed that dominated the apartment. -There was a table in a corner where stood a few utensils -and a portable cooking-jet on a small round of oilcloth. -</p> - -<p> -"I'll tell you what, Arthur!" she said, "You'd -best undress yourself and get into bed. I'll get your -rasher ready in a jiffy." -</p> - -<p> -Philip looked shyly up to her. He was not too faint -to be unaffected by the thought of undressing before a -strange lady. "I don't like," he muttered. -</p> - -<p> -"It's all right," she assured him, "I'm used to it!" -</p> - -<p> -"Perhaps you've got boys of your own?" Philip -suggested helpfully. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh yes, I've got lots of boys!" -</p> - -<p> -He was tremendously tired. How invitingly that -soft bed displayed its fat pillows. "I say, please!" -he said awkwardly. "Will you look the other way?" -</p> - -<p> -She tittered soundlessly. He saw she had a succession -of chins and that each vibrated to her mirth. "All -right, kid, I'm getting on with the food." As he -undressed, she cut the white bread into healthy slices -and buttered them abundantly. Drowsily he saw her -making the tea and he was almost asleep when he -heard a loud simmering in a pan. He looked up, his -mouth watering, and saw, impaled on her fork, a -semi-translucent wafer of striped meat. He shook off the -mist of sleep. "Tell me, if you don't mind. Is that a -rasher?" -</p> - -<p> -"Of course it is!" -</p> - -<p> -"What is a rasher?" -</p> - -<p> -"Bless my soul, bacon, <i>of</i> course!" -</p> - -<p> -"Please, please!" he exclaimed. "I daren't eat -bacon. I can't eat bacon!" -</p> - -<p> -"That's how it is, is it?" She came closer curiously -and examined his face. "Hum, yes! You're a little -Jew-boy, aren't you?" -</p> - -<p> -"I am!" He wondered what it was going to mean. -Would she send him back into the night hungry, faint -to death? Who could fathom the attitude of a given -Gentile, man or woman, towards any accidental -Jew-boy? -</p> - -<p> -"Funny!" she pondered. "One Jew-boy pushes -me out and I takes another Jew-boy in! All right, -Arthur! Nothing's going to happen. You're still my -own Arthur! Don't get frightened. But if you won't -have bacon, you can only have sardines. I wasn't -expecting no visitors to-night." -</p> - -<p> -"Anything!" he murmured weakly. -</p> - -<p> -He ate greedily. She took the food away when he had -finished and sat by the bedside, looking into his face. -She held his hand between her own soft hands. In two -moments he was asleep. -</p> - -<p> -When he awoke next morning amid the clank of trams -and the calling of boys, he found himself embraced by -two great white arms. With a sudden shudder of -realization, the events of yesterday and last night came -back to him. The lady who had been so kind had gone -into bed after him. It was rather stifling in the bed, -he didn't like it! He didn't like lying in the arms of a -strange lady. A qualm of dislike passed over him. As -gently as possible, so as not to waken her, he slipped -from her arms and from the bed and started to dress. -Her face was distinctly unpleasant in the cold morning -light. It was heavy and layers of fat swelled all round -it. She had been crying, for the marks of tears ran -dirtily down the bleared crimson of her cheeks. Her -hair lay about lankly on the pillow. Yet there was -something unutterably pathetic about her expression. -How could he show her his gratitude? Where would -he have been without her? -</p> - -<p> -"It's all right, Arthur," he heard her say. "I know -you're getting up. It's all right, just keep on -dressing!" She did not open her eyes. -</p> - -<p> -"I want to thank you very much!" he said lamely. -</p> - -<p> -"No, kid, I want to thank you. I've never had it -before. I don't suppose it'll ever come again. If ever -you tells your mother about it, just say as Bertha -thanks her. She's a mother and she'll understand -maybe. So long, kiddie, so long!" -</p> - -<p> -He was fully dressed. He made a movement in her -direction. "No, kid. Don't shake my hand. Don't -touch me. Before you have anything to do with Bertha -again, just walk into the river without looking where -you're going. Go away, for God's sake, go away! -You'll find the front door open! Go back home! -Your mother wants you!" Her unwieldy body turned -round on the bed and the great face was buried in -the pillow. He stole from the room, down the stairs, -and through the front door. The door closed behind -him and he saw a milk cart drive by cheerily. -Suddenly the figure of the strange kind lady became -terrible and sad and very remote. He turned away -from her house. Mechanically he set his face in the -direction of home. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap0208"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER VIII -</h3> - -<p> -If Philip's oration on the croft, despite its immediate -consequences, had been a triumph for Philip, the -fatality which had irresistibly drawn his feet homeward -after his escapade with Bertha, without any reference -to his will, was a triumph, if that was not too vulgar a -word, for Reb Monash. It made clear to both the father -and the son that Philip could not yet exist on his own -initiative; however refractory a cog he was in the -machinery of the house in Angel Street, that machinery -was still the condition of his existence at all. It was the -consciousness that this position had been made starkly -clear by the issue of this latest event, and that this -latest event was itself so tangible a grievance, that -induced Reb Monash to interview Mr. Furness. After -school on that same day, summoned by a special note -from the Head, Philip stood apprehensively outside his -door. He knocked timidly. A tremendous bellow -filled the room and came gustily out into the corridor. -</p> - -<p> -"COME in!" the first word reduplicate and reverberant -like a shout in the cleft of hills. Philip entered, -his ears singing. But the next moment the shout ebbed -wholly from his ears when he saw Mr. Furness rise and -come towards him with a smile at once admonitory and -encouraging. -</p> - -<p> -"Well, Philip, how are you?" -</p> - -<p> -"I'm all right, sir, thank you, sir!" -</p> - -<p> -"Who is the latest poet? Still Shelley? Keep to -Shelley, Philip; he knew more of the spirit of God than -all the churches!" -</p> - -<p> -"I've been reading Edgar Allan Poe, sir." -</p> - -<p> -"Humph! I'm not so sure! Unhealthy, morbid! -Hard time, poor fellow, on the other hand! Don't -overdo him!" -</p> - -<p> -"No, sir!" -</p> - -<p> -"But to the matter in hand. You know why I've -sent for you?" -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, sir. He told me he was coming, sir." -</p> - -<p> -"Your father's a great man, Philip. If in twenty -years you're half the man he is, I'll be proud of you. -You've been distressing him, he tells me. He's very -concerned about you. Come now, what's wrong?" -</p> - -<p> -"I can't explain, sir. We're different." -</p> - -<p> -"You ran away from home lately and were out all -night?" -</p> - -<p> -Philip bit his lip. "Yes, sir." -</p> - -<p> -"You're too old for that mock-romantic sort -of thing. There's a strain of it in your essays. -Mr. Gibson sent me up your essay on Julius Cćsar—something -about 'he shall endure while the luminaries -of history rot in oblivion!' Luminaries don't rot. -Leave all that to the journalists, my boy, you can do -better stuff. It wasn't only mock-romantic, it was -cruel! Can you imagine how your mother slept that -night? I'm rather ashamed of you. It was selfish. It -was a pose." -</p> - -<p> -"But you don't know, sir, what had happened the -day before. I was nearly dead." -</p> - -<p> -"I can understand. Public speaking, Socialism! -All in their time! You're forcing things, you'll burn out -and be cinders when you ought to be a man. No, you've -not got the foundation for it. You've been slacking in -form. What is it you go to poetry for, do you know?" -</p> - -<p> -"I can't say, sir. Beauty, perhaps?" -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, beauty! You don't know the beauty of labour, -though. When you've mastered your Cćsar and your -Greek Grammar—dull work, my boy, dull work!—you'll -find poetry finer than Shelley, the poetry Shelley thought -made his own like a marsh-lamp, the poetry of the Greeks. -You started well, but your place in form has been going -down steadily. Listen, Philip," he drew the boy nearer -to him, "there's the question of your scholarship. Think -what it'll mean to her if anything happened to your -scholarship. You're not going to allow it, are you? -And if you go down as steadily as you have been going -down of late, I don't see what else can happen. What -do you feel?" -</p> - -<p> -There was a lump in Philip's throat. "I don't want -anything to happen which will hurt her." -</p> - -<p> -"Well, Philip, we understand each other. Put your -hand to the plough like a man. Make a clean furrow -and a deep one. I don't think we need say more, need -we? Come and see me when you've made a fresh discovery -in poetry, we'll talk about him. So good-bye -now, Philip!" -</p> - -<p> -Philip took the big man's hand and withdrew, feeling -at once tearful, chastened, and absurdly exalted, and a -solemn determination now possessed him to do some -serious work before the examination which ended the -year. Every evening he withdrew to his own back room -which, out of most unpromising materials, his mother -had converted into the semblance of a study. She had -inserted ledges into soap boxes where his textbooks and -poets were ranged above frills of pinky-white paper. -She had covered the doddering table with a neat piece -of parti-coloured cloth. A few bright pictures from -magazines were tacked upon the walls. In recognition -of the new spirit of industry earnestly avowed before her -she substituted for the deficiently-seated chair a -rocking-chair which gave Philip an especial delight and won him -to sympathy with aorist tenses and the optative mood. -Not a word passed between Reb Monash and Philip. -No current of sympathy ran to connect them. Philip -displayed no readiness to compromise in the matter of a -more ardent ritual. He would gabble off his prayers as -quickly as possible, and then, with no attempt to hide -his relief, turn to his books. His prayers were still -tolerable, if barely, during the period when he lavished -his enthusiasm on active Socialism. Now that he began -to forswear his Socialistic delights, they began to be -dust in his mouth. The half-hour long morning prayers -of which he might understand one word in twenty, so -wrought upon his nerves, that he felt like crying aloud -sharply, particularly during that section of the devotion -when he stood towards the East, placing together the -inner sides of his feet, looking blankly through the wall -into nothingness. One morning, during the sheer -meaningless drift of his utterance, he curiously found -himself repeating something of sweet and significant -import. He was reciting, not the torpid Hebrew, but -the languorous chimes of "Ulalume." Delightedly he -continued the poem to its end and once more repeated it, -till he realized that the time expected from him in the -recapitulation of the "Nineteen Prayers" was at an -end. He completed his morning's devotion with -"Alastor." He had made a valuable discovery. The -ennui of prayer was not now to gloom his faculties -thrice daily. He could now pass in pageant before him -all the comely shapes of poetry he had known. -</p> - -<p> -He at no time made the definite discovery that Reb -Monash had realized his substitution of poetry for -prayer. If Reb Monash had made the discovery, it -was not succeeded by such immediate castigation as -Philip knew well. It was as if Reb Monash had at last -found out that at the end of these episodes the cause of -piety, if anything, was weaker in his son's bosom than -before. Darkness gathered over the house in Angel -Street. A dim premonition of failure had settled upon -Reb Monash's eyes, but sternly he fought against it. -Mrs. Massel moved wanly and fearfully about the house, -fearful of satisfying her hunger for Philip with a stroke -of the hand or a word. Channah stayed out as long and -discreetly as possible with her friends. A silence hung -over the house, for Reb Monash's popularity as a -raconteur was at an end. Not for years had the -gathering in the kitchen taken place, where, centrally, -Mrs. Levine sniffed, and the tale of Rochke's interment was -told 'mid indignation and tears. Only at night was the -silence broken when Philip had taken his books down to -study in the kitchen and Mr. and Mrs. Massel had gone -to bed. Then for an hour, or for two hours, Reb Monash -would recount the iniquities of his son in a voice of loud, -persistent monotony, still persistent while the advance -of sleep was clogging its clarity. -</p> - -<p> -Peculiarly Philip resented the incident of the rocking-chair. -He had betrayed his liking for the chair in a casual -conversation, comparing it with the inadequacy of the -chair it had superseded. He found next day that his -father had removed the chair. It was not wanted nor -used by Reb Monash. It was, he reflected bitterly, pure -dislike of the thought that he should enjoy even so -feeble a pleasure as this. The action seemed almost -automatic on the part of Reb Monash and was significant -of the whole relation between the father and son. -</p> - -<p> -As Philip sat on the lame, cracking chair before his -table, the pointlessness of it worked him up to a white -heat. It was not merely pointless. It lacked dignity. -Reb Monash was the symbol of the older world, with iron -and austere traditions, with a forehead lit by the far -lights of antiquity. But the incident of the rocking-chair -stood stupidly out of keeping with the conflict of which -now Philip was becoming intellectually conscious. -</p> - -<p> -At this time, too, the domestic finances were more -miserable than they had ever been before. The threat -began to take shape that, at the end of the year, with the -conclusion of his present scholarship, Philip would be -expected to bring in his contribution to the household. -All the more passionately, therefore, Philip applied -himself to his books in the hope of a continuance of his -scholarship allowance. Each evening, when the big -kitchen table was cleared, he descended from the room -upstairs with its meagre table and spread his books over -the whole extent of the kitchen table. It was understood -that in the constriction of finances, Philip was on -no account to work by gaslight, a single candle being, -Reb Monash affirmed, more than expensive enough. -</p> - -<p> -In truth these nights were cheerless almost as a -charnel-house. It was not merely that the ghost of his -mother seemed always hovering ineffectually about the -room, as if she lifted her hands for a peace which came -not, or that his own personality surged uneasily and -wretchedly in undecided war against the immanent -personality of his father. Presences more tangible and -numerous filled the room with detestable sounds. -Black, heavy beetles came drowsily and innumerably -ambling from the wainscotting and from among the -embers of the extinguished fire. He could hear them -crackling and rustling where the wall-paper had swollen -from the wall. They filled him with loathing. They were -the quintessence of the ugliness of Doomington; but -much of Doomington had been charmed away for him -by poetry, the beetles no charm could exorcise. -Sometimes his hatred so swept him away that he ran about -the room, treading quashily on the hordes of beetles -where they lumbered along the floor. But the more -their black bodies burst into white paste below his boot, -the more unconcernedly they emerged from their hiding -places. They seemed in their pompous progression to -wink and leer at him, where the dim light of the candle -caught their oily shells. Then a nausea gripped him, -his feet were sticky and unclean, the gall churned in his -body. They crept on the table sometimes, they dropped -with a sucking thud from the bulging whitewash of the -ceiling. Once he lifted a glass of water from the table -to his lips and found his lips in contact with the body of a -beetle on the rim. That night he was so wild with -terror that he lit the gas—unconscionable extravagance, -but as he sat feebly in the chair, he could hear the foul -battalions rustling, whispering, smirking towards their -chinks. -</p> - -<p> -His eyes had always been weak. The working by -candle-light gave him so much pain that he now formed -the habit of lighting the gas when the last syllables of -the monologue upstairs had died away. One night he -left the kitchen-door open and the light staggered out -into the hall. A dim beam thrown upward somehow -attracted the attention of Reb Monash, who had ceased -intoning that night more from weariness than sleep. A -shout of anger filled the house. Tremblingly Philip -extinguished the gas and pored aching over his texts by -dim candle-light. It was with infinite caution, and when -his eyes stood almost blindly in his skull, that now he -ventured to light the gas. More than an hour after -midnight on one occasion he stood on the table and applied -the candle to the gas-jet. It was a heavy and oppressive -night, but he had much work to do; the examinations -were at hand. Again a long time passed. The sweat -stood clammily on Philip's head. His lungs gaped for -air. He placed a chair against the door and held it -half-open, so that, while a little light escaped, a little -air came in. Once more he buried himself deep in his -work. Wearily his eyes went on from page to page. He -entered almost into a trance of dull pre-occupation with -the lifeless books. Nothing existed for him beyond the -poor round of grammar, dictionary, text, notebook. -Life was neither a freedom nor a slavery; it was a -concentration upon unimportant importances, emptily -insistent upon themselves. The sense which informed him -that Reb Monash stood at the door was neither sight -nor sound. He was <i>aware</i> of his presence. His -heart seemed to flicker hesitantly down the depths -of his being, until it left a blank behind his ribs, -where a mouth entered whose teeth were fear and -pain and anger. Anger! Surely it was not right -for any man, in any relation, let alone a father, -to steal like a criminal from his bed, soundlessly, -terribly, and stand there with shut, pale lips! There were -limits to the methods correct in the most comprehensive -fatherhood. And his crime? He was doing his work, -nothing more than his work! His tongue was chafed -and sick. Perhaps it was an illusion after all. Surely -he was alone, he had heard nothing. He lifted his -eyes. The actual physical presence of Reb Monash -struck him sharply and heavily like a blow on the cheek. -He gasped with fright. He stood there forbidding and -dark, but a strange light round him and his dim -nightclothes. He was supernatural. He stood there taut -with hate. He said not a word. Philip's jaw relaxed, -his eyes staring dazed into his father's eyes. They -stared at each other across a gulf of deafening noise and of -ghastly silence. Whose feet had brought him down -silent as death from his bed, who invested him with -that cadaverous power? Illimitably beyond him -stretched ancestral influences into the bowels of time. -There was one slipping away, fruit of their loins, one for -whom each had been a Christ crucified, slipping from -the fold of their pride into the pagan vast. Behind the -boy's head boyish presences groped towards him.... -</p> - -<p> -The spell was snapped by a hurried pattering of feet -downstairs. The scared face of Mrs. Massel appeared. -</p> - -<p> -"What dost thou mean?" she wailed, "what dost -thou mean? Go! Touch him not! He might have -died with fright! What art thou? What dost thou -mean by it?" She had at last asserted herself. With -weak hands she pushed him away from the door. "Come, -leave the boy! He will go to bed at once! See, his face -is like a tablecloth! Come, oi, oi, come!" -</p> - -<p> -"Go thou in front!" said Reb Monash. He entered -the kitchen, where Philip cowered on his chair. He -turned out the gas and without a word went upstairs to -his room. A dull idiocy numbed Philip's brain. He -put his head down between his hands, and it slipped -before long on to the table. Here Mrs. Massel found him -after some hours when she came down to light the fire. -As he shook himself, a beetle fell sleepily from his sleeve. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap0209"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER IX -</h3> - -<p> -Some time previously, in the spring of the same year, -the walls of Doomington had fallen to their last -stone upon the blast of the trumpets of spring. Philip -and Harry had adventured one afternoon beyond the -moor called "Baxter's Hill" at the north of the town -and found themselves by the side of a Mitchen distinctly -cleaner than the river which flowed behind the wire -factory at the bottom of Angel Street. They had walked -up-stream for several miles out to a place of fresh fields -and young lambs skipping. It was true that chimneys -still punctuated every horizon with smoky fingers. -But here and there were thickets of trees where the lads -lay embowered in green peace, conscious of thick grass -only and the speech of leaves. They both claimed the -distinction of having first sighted the shimmering and -enchanted carpet of blue below a sun-pierced canopy of -foliage. Here they abandoned themselves to the first -wild rapture of Spring—the first rapture of Spring Philip -had known—burying their faces among the dewy bells. -Further and further to the dusk they went, until a new -town, flinging its van to meet them and to meet the -Spring in their button-holes and hearts, said, "Advance -no more!" Weary and sleepy and very hungry they -came home that night, but their arms were lush with -heaped bluebells and the knowledge of Spring was steady -in them. They knew a place where Doomington was a -lie and earth was soft. -</p> - -<p> -Into this place, in the attenuated figure of Alec Segal, -the "clever devil" whose acquaintance Philip had made -several months ago, came Atheism. The recent years -of his history had not left Philip wholly unprepared for -the assault against Judaism. But when Segal said -casually that the Holy Bible's self was just a bundle -of musty papyri, and God a dispensable formula, he was -painfully shocked. -</p> - -<p> -"Look here, Segal!" he said, "How can you say -such a thing? Anything might happen to a chap!" -</p> - -<p> -Segal took off his cap and made an awkward gesture -towards the implicit deity. "Right-ho!" he exclaimed, -"Happen away!" -</p> - -<p> -Philip held his breath for a moment. Nothing took -place. Only a cow mooed contentedly. -</p> - -<p> -Segal was slightly taller than Harry and a little his -senior. The angle of his nose related him more directly -than either of his two friends to the root stock of his -race. Yet he had neither the Heinesque vehemence of -the one nor the inveterate romance of the other. He -could, in fact, hardly be thought of in terms of character. -He seemed to be the sum of certain intellectual qualities. -His sole morbidity was a ruthless passion for logic. -Poetry, which in various ways had brought the three -youths together, interested him, but neither for ethical -nor for ćsthetic reasons. Each poem was an interesting -proposition in itself, like a mixture in a test tube at his -school laboratory. It had the mechanical attributes -of rhythm and rhyme and metaphor constructing a -mechanical whole. -</p> - -<p> -But on thinking the matter over, after frequent and -painful discussion, Philip realized that Segal's attitude -so shocked him because it dared to put into blunt words -something he had long been timorously feeling. By the -Bible, of course, Segal meant religion generally. The -Bible was the foundation of Judaism and therefore of -Christianity, which, he had long ago decided, in any -case hadn't much claim to serious consideration. His -own remark had been sound enough; he had declared -that the disappearance of religion would leave the world -"jolly empty." But empty of what things? Empty -as a garden without weeds. What stupidity, cruelty, -ignorance, flourished below the damp boughs of -religion from border to border of the world! And what -things would still flourish if religion were cut down! -Tall trees of liberty, fine flowers of poetry! -</p> - -<p> -What was it he had always felt wrong with Judaism? -What did it lack? It was a quality not entirely missing -even from the garbled Christianity that came his way. -The Baptist Missionary Chapel was as fervent an enemy -of this quality as the most vigorous Judaism. But dim -intimations had come by him on the wind of another -Christian spirit. Here there were white lilies and blue -gowns pointed with stars; there was soft singing at -evening and the burning of many candles; there were -superb altars, marble and kingly. Superb altars—the -Baptist Missionary Chapel! Christianity contained -both. But this quality was eternally triumphant in the -grand false superstitions of Greece and Rome. Here -there were white pillars in a noon of hyacinth; baskets of -wrought gold held violets and primroses; there were -processions of chiselled gods before whom maidens -scattered a long foam of petals; there were lads running -races and the wind was in their hair; the wind was a -god, there were gods in the thickets of olive and in the -translucent caves of the sea. -</p> - -<p> -Beauty! Poetry! This was what he needed most. -This was what that old world gave. What delight did -his fathers know, generation beyond generation, in the -comely things of the world? What statuary had come -down and what pictures of burnished gold and azure? -What dances were there to the rising sun and in procession -with the slow stars? If any of his fathers had made -him a graven image, he was stoned and the thunders of -those hoary enemies of lovely things shook over the -cowering tribes. There had descended to him a tradition -of tragedy and pride. Of beauty, none. There was, for -example, the <i>shool</i>. How the air was foetid! How the -walls were bare! How the hangings before the ark were -tawdry! How the prayers were raucous, how the air -drooped for lack of poetry! -</p> - -<p> -Ah! the sense of relief which began to possess him -when now, throwing forward his chest, and breathing -even in midmost Doomington the deep air of liberty, he -realized how vain were all his innumerable ceremonies; -that God did not require of him these things and these; -He did not sit there watchfully counting the syllables of -prayer His votaries uttered, sit there like a miser counting -his pieces of gold; that the subterfuges and evasions -of ritual which had given him frequent unease were not -fraught with more than a merely local and temporary -danger. Forward from phylacteries! They had -slipped from his arms like manacles. They lay discarded -like the slough of a serpent, coiled round his feet. What -there was now of poetry in the Feast of Tabernacles, in -the prophetic and vague beards of the old men, in the -synagogue-chanting on darkening Saturday evenings, -in the mingled array of the Passover Tables, in the -puckered faces of the antique women muttering their -year-long prayers, in the blast of the liberating horn -upon the Fast of Atonement—what there was of poetry -in them, he was free to understand; for they were -shorn of all that had made them forbidding; they were -not symbols of dark terror, they were pathways into the -heart of the world. And with these he was free to -understand what there was of poetry in the vague -Christian lilies, in the burning of candles before the -shrines of picturesque saints, brothers of those other and -marble gods. All that these Greek gods had of poetry -and all their groves and their broad-browed morning lads -and the virginal worshippers before those altars of -poetry—all, all these things were his. He was winning -to freedom after much slavery. -</p> - -<p> -But the acceptance of a general diminution in the -divine attributes, through which the Godhead gradually -became a vague half-credible abstraction, was attended -by a campaign much more injurious to Philip's ease. His -elders had approached God with as much terror as -understanding when they made any advances in the celestial -direction. It was reassuring to realize that if God was -being divested of His raiment of love, He was losing -proportionately the lightning of His jealousy and the -bolt of His somewhat sectarian wrath. Yet simultaneously, -as Segal and Harry agreed with no apparent -remorse, it was imperative to abandon the immortality -of the soul. To Philip there was something homicidal, -matricidal, in the facile way with which they consigned -to worms as their ultimate doom the folk whom they -might be expected to love most dearly. They admitted -it was an unpleasant pill to swallow, but in the wind of -truth their personal predilections, they avowed, were -as chaff! Who were they to stand up against Logic, -against Law? "Truth the grand," a poet had said, -"has blown my dreams into grains of sand!" -</p> - -<p> -Segal remained imperturbable amid the crash of -boyish comfort and illusion. His own extinction being -the disintegration of a number of acute faculties, there -would be no wraith of frustrated passion and insatiate -hungers to move forlornly through the Godless void. -There was a keen, bright fascination in this -self-sufficiency for both the tempestuous utilitarianism of Harry -and the inchoate poetry of Philip for whom this friendship -involved almost a pungent ecstasy of self-extinction, -like the repeated assault of the moth against the poised, -unreluctant flame. These conclusions plunged Harry -into a more fiery round of Socialistic activities than he -had yet known. If the oppressed classes of the world -would in no future state achieve equality, if the capitalists -in no democracy of spirits would be set by counter-balance -to hew wood and draw water for wage slaves -there triumphant, all the more reason then to achieve an -earthly Utopia, to rouse young Doomington to a sense of -its manifold wrongs and, in the concrete, to stand as -Socialist candidate for the coming parliamentary -election at the Highfield Grade School. Philip, on the -other hand, felt what happened in this miserable and -abortive world hardly mattered, when all its insignificant -schemes were doomed, collectively and individually, to -sudden and absolute annihilation. The extinction of -souls was not an attractive philosophy, he reflected -bitterly, but there seemed no alternative but to accept -it as a general truth. Not wholly consciously and with a -passionate stupidity he applied three individual cases -to the test of the general assertion; the survival of -Shelley's soul, his mother's and his own. What arguing -could there be about these three and, least of all, about -Shelley's. His mother's death and his own being so -utterly incredible, so much <i>contra naturam</i>, their souls -existed in an ether beyond all jeopardy. Yet Shelley was -demonstrably dead. But was he dead indeed? He -realized now for the first time how Shelley was the <i>lar</i> -of all his years. He might vaguely and unhappily -acquiesce in the destruction of souls <i>en masse</i>, but -nothing could convince him that Shelley did not triumph, -personally, separately, in the clouds of morning and ride -the horses of the wind; that he was not still the conscious -spirit of song wherever birds and waters sang; that the -pyre had dissipated for ever that unconquerable spirit. -</p> - -<p> -Such then was the dubious and difficult current of -Philip's atheism. And it was a strange fortune that -these speculations should most have waged war within -him at that period of the Jewish year when the festivals -which culminate in the New Year and the Day of -Atonement demanded unusually frequent attendance -within the walls of the <i>Polisher Shool</i>, the inner temple -of phylacteries, where Philip still so long and so -frequently was held captive. -</p> - -<p> -The worshipper entered the synagogue through a -narrow door to the left of an establishment for fried -fish and chips. The odour, therefore, of these commodities -rising through the building interpenetrated the -atmosphere of prayer, until prayer and chipped potatoes -became inextricably woven together, and at no period -in his life could Philip pass beyond a fried fish shop -without feeling a far-off refluence from the old call to -worship. Indeed, Philip's earliest anthropomorphism -represented the Deity as some immense celestial figure -in white cloth and a white hat standing above the fume -and splendour of a great concave oven where He -shovelled upon his tray the souls of human beings, -brown and crisp, and resembling mystically the strips -of potatoes shovelled by Mr. Marks upon a less divine -tray in a chip-shop less august. -</p> - -<p> -The worshipper now climbed a narrow staircase, and -passing by the women's door entered the synagogue -proper. If he had endured some recent loss in his -family, the beadle from within would declare robustly, -"Look ye towards the bereaved one!" who would -enter with drooped head, the object of the regulated -curiosity of bearded and beardless alike. Only a thin -wooden partition divided the women's from the men's -section, so that on one side praise was lifted to the Lord -by the women because He had made them what they -were, on the other, in unabashed juxtaposition, heartier -praise was lifted by the men because He had made them -men. Little boys could stand quite easily upon the forms -and look down upon the women swaying in their old -black silks and beneath their crazy cherry-garlanded -bonnets. Here stood the <i>rebitsin</i>, Serra Golda, the -most pious and wrinkled of Hebrew woman, who, because -it is a <i>mitzvah</i>, an act of grace, to stand as long as possible -during the Day of Atonement, stood all that hot long -day on her ulcered feet, even though the mere creeping -from her own dun parlour not far away had been one -hard agony. Here too stood Mrs. Massel, very quiet and -shy among the voluble women, wiping her eyes sometimes -and repeating the prayers quietly, or perhaps, -becoming conscious of the dark watchful scrutiny of her -boy beyond the partition, lifting to him her face for one -sweet moment and dropping it again towards her -Prayer Book. -</p> - -<p> -Against the centre of the Eastern wall, which was at -right angles with this partition, stood the Ark wherein -the Scrolls of the Law reposed among mothy velvet, -themselves enveloped in a petticoat of plush whence -hung silver bells. The whole Ark was curtained by a -pall of scarlet, lettered with gold thread. At the centre -of the masculine section (whose dimensions were some -fifty by forty feet) stood the pulpit, some inches above -the general level, where the whole service was incanted -and the occasional auxiliaries from the audience were -summoned. Below the pulpit and facing the Ark, a -coffin-like desk drawn closely against their amplitudes, -sat the elected officers for the year, the <i>parnass</i> and the -two <i>gabboim</i>. Reb Monash, the power of whose oratory -was so signal an ornament to the <i>Polisher Shool</i>, sat -upon the right-hand side of the Ark itself, against the -wall. The benches ran parallel along the <i>shool</i> on both -sides of the pulpit. In the strict, if uncongenial, interests -of truth it is necessary to say that every member of the -synagogue above the age of thirty spat, and not a few -below that age, these last retaining the easier hygiene of -Poland and further Europe. The more honourable -worthies had their own particular joints in the boarding -for their expectorations, although, if they were more than -usually afflicted, they would proceed to the doorway, -returning thence purged. Hence experience alone was -an adequate pilot for an unscathed journey between any -point of the synagogue and the door. There were times -when such tender breasts as Philip's were so nauseated -by the persistent spitting that their hearts seemed to -suspend beating from sheer sickness. On two occasions -Philip's head fell back bloodlessly and with a bang -on the hard wood behind him and he was taken away to -the lavatory, where several men and women filled their -mouths with water and cascaded his face for some -minutes until he opened his eyes. No season in the year -was hot enough to justify the opening of the windows. -A current of the comparatively clean air from -Doomington Road was declared with horror to be "A draught! -A draught!" and with patriarchical fury the windows -were closed to. Sometimes on a particularly sultry day -an enterprising youth might open a window for several -inches without drawing the attention of the elders. -It would be unobserved for perhaps half an hour as no -slightest movement of air was created. Then the alarm -would be given. Immediately angry shouts of "A -draught! A draught!" would be heard, some would -huddle their arms in the cold, some would cough vehemently -in the blizzard of self-suggestion. Occasionally -the younger generation might make the effort to stand -up shoulder to shoulder for the rights of ventilation, -but so furious a hubbub would be created, the unease -spreading itself into the women's department where a -clucking would be heard as of an apprehensive farmyard; -but especially the thunders of Mr. Linsky would be so -olympically august, that the younger generation would -subside and once more the opaque odours coagulate. -</p> - -<p> -The <i>Polisher Shool</i> was, it may be deduced, a somewhat -reactionary institution. But occasionally Reb Monash -was called upon to deliver an oration in a synagogue of -such Ćsculapian sanity that the atmosphere seemed -positively to evoke the vacant silence of Gentile worship. -The definitely English congregations were assembled -actually in superseded chapels, and here the laws of -ventilation were no less rigorous than in the offices of -the Doomington Board of Health. But these lacked -the element of personality with which the <i>Polisher Shool</i> -was perhaps too copiously endowed. And if all his life -Philip had not been made unceasingly conscious of the -dislike entertained for him in cordial measure by the -body politic of the synagogue, he would have derived -much consolation from the study of its personalities, of -the rotund Reb Yonah, of Reb Shimmon like an army -with banners, and the wizened <i>shammos</i>, the beadle, -flapping about on loose soles like a disreputable ghost. -</p> - -<p> -Philip's attitude towards <i>shool</i> was immediately -prejudiced on his mere going thither. For almost from -earliest times, not appreciably long, it seemed, after he -had discarded the blue wool and tassels of infancy, he -had been expected to crown his small figure with a large -black bowler hat; and bowler hats, as could not be -denied, were <i>bloody</i>. He felt stupidly self-conscious as -he walked along by his father's side, as if all Doomington -stared and jeered. If Reb Monash met a friend and these -pursued a common way to the synagogue, Philip would -hover behind, remove the bowler hat, and pretend it was -somebody else's—he was only "holding it like." -</p> - -<p> -There was a brood of young gentlemen very popular -among their elders at the <i>Polisher Shool</i>. There was -Hymie, whose eyes were large and innocent and who -helped himself daily from his father's till. His voice was -the voice of an exceptionally guileless thrush and he sang -Yiddish songs at <i>Shalla-shudos</i>, the Saturday afternoon -gatherings. There was Moishe, who asked such clever -questions so sweetly concerning the weekly portion, that -they were answered with delight by the expository old -men, excepting when, as they somewhat frequently did, -they involved sexual references. Moishe's mind was -prematurely a cesspool. Others also there were to whom -piety was a paying proposition, and two were pious -because they were thus made. Philip could not throw -in his lot with this company. And the whole <i>shool</i> -remembered how the synagogue-president, the <i>parnass</i>, -had, some years ago, pressed him to drink of the Sabbath -night cup of wine; how Philip had refused it both -because he didn't like wine and because he didn't like a -public exhibition of a deed tinged with piety; how the -pride of the <i>parnass</i> had been aroused and how he -endeavoured to force the wine between Philip's lips while -the whole <i>shool</i> awaited the issue; how Philip had -suddenly thrust aside the foot of the beaker so that the -wine fell stickily round the respective trousers of himself -and the <i>parnass</i>. -</p> - -<p> -Philip felt instinctively how everybody stiffened with -dislike when he entered the synagogue, a dislike -accentuated by the universal honour with which his father -was regarded. Had he but been the son of a bootmaker, -the Judaic virtues would not have been so prominently -expected from him; they would have said "a -bootmaker remains a bootmaker, even to his remote -posterity!" But being the son of Reb Monash, whose black -hair and beard his son was even now dimming with -disastrous grey, Philip was a public scorn. -</p> - -<p> -All which did not embarrass Philip so much as the -interminable hours he spent behind the shut windows -in the stale air—while bluebells lilted afar off and birds -spoke their foreign exquisite languages. And now above -all a widening had thrust his horizon far away and far -away from the smoky limits of Doomington, far from the -mythic circuit of green waves wherein England lay, -far from the last hills of the world, out to the tingling -spaces and the royal stars. -</p> - -<p> -For Segal, who had brought the dissolution of atheism -with him, had brought also astronomy: with a singing -for the quiet sun and a meaning for the hollows of sky. -It was, of course, a long time now that for both Philip -and Harry the flat layer of earth had dropped away, -coiling round themselves to produce the globe they had -seen in effigy, so far back as the days of Miss Green. -But Segal introduced, as preliminaries, Sir Robert Ball -and Proctor and Camille Flammarion, and a knowledge -of constellations, the nature of nebulć, star dust and -the Milky Way, which united the three boys with a bond -of fervent interest. For Segal it meant illimitable fresh -spaces for the plummet of logic; and because Space was -infinite, no room was left for God, who, if He existed at -all, could thus only be attenuated into nothingness. -Harry dreamed of an undiscoverable planet where -equity among its mortals prevailed; for in the infinite -types of star which space permitted through infinite time, -it was evident that one such star had been or was or -might be developed; it was to this ideal star that he -hitched the lumbering wagon of earth. To Philip, the -Milky Way was a divine bluebell bank dancing by the -borders of a celestial river. The stars fed him with -innumerable new images, giving to his conception of -poetry a depth and height. And here once more, as if to -consummate the significance Shelley had involved -through each succeeding phase of Philip's adolescence, -just as he had been found to crystallize a world in which -complete escape from Doomington mud and brick might -be realized; to hold the stormy banner of Socialism; -to smite down the hydra-heads of religion; so now -Shelley was seen to be a poet to whom the fields of stars -were more naturally a place for wandering and singing -than deathly fields of sorrel and marguerite; he was the -Starry Poet. -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -"I say, you chaps!" Harry said excitedly one day, -"there's a telescope in the Curiosity Shop opposite the -gaol! What about it?" -</p> - -<p> -"The inference being," suggested Segal, "that as -soon as we've pinched the telescope the gaol's waiting on -the other side of the road?" -</p> - -<p> -"No, old Cartwright's too watchful and the gaol too -uncomfortable. Didn't you say so yourself when you -came out after your last six months' hard? What -about clubbing together and buying it?" -</p> - -<p> -"I've got fourpence!" said Philip. -</p> - -<p> -"I've not got that!" said Segal. "But let's find out -about it. It's just the thing we want. Ye Gods, we -might find a new comet! Beware, Halley!" -</p> - -<p> -They appeared at Mr. Cartwright's shop and asked the -price nonchalantly of a set of chessmen. "And what's -the price of this telescope?" asked Harry with such an -exaggerated gesture of indifference that Mr. Cartwright -could not fail to perceive the yearning of his bowels. -</p> - -<p> -"A quid!" said Mr. Cartwright. -</p> - -<p> -It was so shattering a sum that, whereas they would -have attempted bargaining if he had said, "Three-and-sixpence," -they now said brokenly, "All right! We'll buy it." -</p> - -<p> -Mr. Cartwright was so astonished at this acquiescence -that, taken similarly off his guard, "You can have it for -twelve bob!" he gasped. -</p> - -<p> -"O—er—I'm sorry! We've not got more than three -just now! We'll save up the rest!" -</p> - -<p> -Quick change of tactics on the part of General Cartwright, -who has time to recover his breath. "All right!" -he declared, mouth tight at the corners, "Leave that -as a deposit and I'll reduce the price to eighteen and six!" -he said munificently. -</p> - -<p> -Hence the telescope, which, though its actual -magnifying powers were somewhat scanty, served both as an -outward symbol of their devotion to stars and moon and -as the token of their friendship. A new experience now -entered their lives, a state, an exaltation, a mystic -absorption of themselves into the heart of night from -which the logician was by no means immune and which -he anticipated with as much fearful joy as his friends. -It was called "going deep," and was a state which they -could not cajole or anticipate but came when it listed and -departed as mysteriously. It was the fine flower of their -friendship, coming only at night during their -contemplation of skies. -</p> - -<p> -They would find as they talked of Cassiopeia or the -far-flung wing of Aquila or Vega's blue swords or the misty -Pleiad sisters, a thinning of their own voices, a growing -outward and aloft. It seemed that the hulk of body -lay supine on the grimy soil of Doomington while their -souls quietly adventured among the high places. It was -an ether where extremes met, the young logician carried -along a steep straight line by the inherent ecstasy of -Law to a place where, by different curves of passionate -imagination, his friends had ascended mysteriously -those ladders of poetry between earth and heaven. It -was perhaps a shadow of that state of fleshly innocence -towards which the mystics have yearned, that state -which Adam supremely knew when Eve had not yet -been torn from his side. It was a state doomed to -last not long, to re-occur less frequently as the mists began -to cloud their eyes insistently and to stifle in their ears -the clarity of starry silence. They did not know how -long a time lasted their "goings deep"—some moments -only, perhaps, sometimes a dim trance of a fleshless hour. -But when they descended from those places, their -chaffings and bickerings were resumed with difficulty, as -if their bickering gainsaid a stilled voice they had heard. -</p> - -<p> -One incident each of them remembered most clearly -out of this time of astronomy—the night of the moon's -eclipse. With various degrees of difficulty they obtained -permission to stay out till morning, and at midnight -they met upon the highest point of Baxter's Hill. A -moorland air came wandering in from the adjacent -country, and because the chimneys had ceased for the -night to thicken the atmosphere, this strange sweet air -came timidly towards them, as a stranger little welcomed -in these parts. They lay back upon the grass looking -towards those regions of the sky where the moon did -not yet dim the stars to extinction. The telescope -passed from hand to hand and they spoke of the ashen -hollows in the moon, Segal naming her features, and -emphasizing placidly how, soon or late, this earth -whereon they lay now should have exhausted all her -fires. -</p> - -<p> -Very quietly they spoke in the still night air until a -sound of terror was heard from some hidden hollow and -the words were stricken on their lips. The sound was -heard again and again, curdling their blood. -</p> - -<p> -"A woman's being murdered somewhere!" exclaimed -Philip. -</p> - -<p> -"Baxter's Hill has got a dirty reputation. I wonder -if a fellow's trying to get the better of a girl?" Harry -whispered. -</p> - -<p> -"Listen! Isn't it a rotten sound!" -</p> - -<p> -The truth occurred to Segal. "You prize fools! Oh, -you ultra prize fools!" he cackled. "It's a sheep! -Ha, ha! A sheep! And you're two more!" -</p> - -<p> -They found the midnight full of curious noises in -which man and his works had no concern. An owl -hooted. A nightjar skimmed an edge of darkness -silently, then turned his hoarse wheel. Insects -crepitated below grasses. The boys had little known how -the watchful forces of nature crept back to the place -Doomington had usurped when, during the night, the -town's fumy power was relaxed. -</p> - -<p> -When at last the dark band of eclipse sliced the rim -of the moon, Philip was drowsing. Harry seized him -suddenly. Philip sprang to his feet. "Look! Look! -The moon! The eclipse!" -</p> - -<p> -Slowly the transformation took place. The three lads -stood there tensely straining towards the moon. It -seemed that the world had no sound during this breathless -miracle. No owl cried and no sheep lifted a voice -from the hollows. The moorland wind stopped, the -scant grasses did not move. A train in a far cutting -uttered a startled cry and subsided. Until out of -the white purity was made a disk of lurid and burnished -splendour, like the bossed shield of a Titan who strode -across space while the issues were still dubious of -celestial wars. -</p> - -<p> -The lads waited on the moor till dawn came, so that -the fringe of that night should not be sullied by their -return to Doomington dust. Dawn came with a cool -breath from the East and a line of pale green lying -like a blade on the far-seen Mitchen. A sword was -swung above the slopes, glancing with gold and crimson. -The edge of the sun was at last visible. The boys made -their way homeward along the quiet streets. -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -As Reb Monash ascended the pulpit on the second -morning of <i>Rosh Hashonah</i>, the New Year festival, to -deliver a <i>drosheh</i>, an oration, in his capacity as professional -orator or <i>maggid</i>, the incidents of the eclipse were -hazily passing through Philip's mind. For some time -Reb Monash's utterance was calm and measured, not -interfering with the flow of Philip's recollections. -But a sudden note of passion rising and again falling -away flickered across Philip's brain, as a vein of fire -smoulders with the turning of an opal, and when the -opal is turned away is swallowed in pearl-mist and blue. -He was occupying the seat vacated by his father against -the side of the Ark. He looked up towards Reb Monash -who again was speaking abstractly, evenly, as if he -were finding his way somewhither. There was still on -his face a certain air of preoccupation which Philip had -noticed all that morning. It had been a morning -signalized also by a few low kind words he had said to -Philip which had touched the boy curiously; and, -at one moment, he had looked sombrely, gently, into -his son's eyes, placing a hand on his shoulder as if to -hold him back from the darkness towards which his -steps were tending. Philip had looked back uneasily -into his eyes, wondering. A shadow of so much sadness -in his father's face had produced a sick yearning in -the deeps of the boy's body. His own eyes had filled -strangely, but he had clenched his fists and set his -teeth. His father had turned away from him and -walked back into the <i>chayder</i>.... -</p> - -<p> -Reb Monash standing in the pulpit became mysteriously -depersonalized. He became a force capable at -one moment of bringing tears to the eyes of his harshest -listeners and the next of convulsing them with laughter. -Philip realized from what deep well of oratory sprang -that runlet which had burst forth upon the Longton -croft from his lips. In the pulpit Reb Monash lost sight -of his personal sorrow and became the voice of the -age-long sorrow of his race. At such a time he stood like -a bard, his <i>tallus</i> hanging down in great folds, his -voice of such strength and sweetness that a weeping -came from the women's section upon its first syllables. -</p> - -<p> -The first part of the morning's oration proceeded -on traditional lines. He subtly interwove the text he -had chosen with the message of the festival now -celebrated. Upon single words he threw such diverse -and strange lights that they were opened up gallery -beyond gallery, like a mine of meanings. Each -sentence was illuminated by his inexhaustible fertility -of quotation, each quotation prefaced by the "as it -stands in the passage." He elaborated each point by -a swift "<i>zu moshel</i>," to give a parallel. But all this -skill was the routine of the <i>maggid's</i> profession; he -had graduated with these arts in many schools. He -was proceeding further than this; his voice still was -subdued, patient, as if realizing that beyond these -thickets was a clearing of intense light, if but steadily -he made his way. Then suddenly he emerged from the -tortuous paths and the tangle of undergrowth, with a -loud resonant cry as he came upon the clear space at -the centre of his heart. -</p> - -<p> -"But is it truly the beginning of the year? Shall -it be a rejoicing for our fathers and for our sons if -the birth of to-day is not a birth but a death? <i>Hayom -harras olom</i>! But think, my brothers and my sisters, -into what world the Year, the Law, came first! For the -world was void and dark, and the spirit of God moved -upon the waters, and the spirit of God was the Law. -The godlings were of stone and of wood whom you -would kick and they were fallen down, and their number -was the sands of the sea. Then to Abraham and to -Isaac and to Jacob the one God vouchsafed Himself -and in His book His breath is fire. How He was -gracious to our fathers beyond all their deserts when, -recollecting the impieties of Egypt, they made themselves -a false God, a Calf of Gold. But yet He did not abandon -them, nor in after times. Always he held out His -right arm over them, yea He shattered the gathered -enemies, even with the jawbone of an ass He shattered -them. Whole races of the godless were destroyed in -His love for the Law He had uttered and the Chosen -People to whom He had entrusted the Law. Then our -parents fell upon evil ways, they took to themselves -the daughters of the Gentile, they no more circumcised -their sons into the company of the Chosen. Too many, -too many to tell were the sorrows that came down upon -us. Our vineyards were taken away, our crops were -wasted, our daughters stolen away from us. The gold -and the ivory of Solomon's temple were despoiled, -the Holy City was a waste of weeds. Yet once more in -His goodness Jerusalem arose and once more in their -hardness of heart the people sought the false gods: -until the accursed Titus came upon us and the walls -for ever fell. By the waters of Babylon, we sat down and -wept; yea, we wept when we remembered Zion; we -hanged our harps on the willows in the midst thereof. -But lo, my brothers, do not weep; my sisters, one thing -was left to us, as a tabernacle in the wilderness, a dove -on the void of waters, a sword in our right hand, a -burning bush; that Law which each year begins and -ends but has no ending. For upon it once again when -the years of the <i>gollus</i> are numbered shall the Temple -be rebuilt. Yea, when the trumpet shall sound, the -corpses of the Chosen shall be awakened; they shall -rise from their graves and roll from the scattered lands, -beyond seas and hills, once more to the hills of Zion. -How shall the gems on the breast of the High Priest -shine and his garments be of dazzling white! How a -Miriam shall sing a sweeter song on further shores of -deeper waters and more divinely cloven than the waters -of the Red Sea! Then at last shall Moses arise from his -undiscovered grave to enter that land he had but seen -afar off. The land shall be flowing with milk and -honey and the grapes on the vines be fat. Our matrons -shall be fruitful with blessed children and our daughters -be glad. The Law shall be as a sign upon the forehead -of our sons. -</p> - -<p> -How it shall all be forgotten, the valley of the shadow, -the centuries of <i>gollus</i>! Did our fathers lie on the rack -of the Spaniards and were their thumbs torn from their -hands? It shall be as a mist of ten years gone by. -There were they crouched in cellars, old <i>bobbies</i> leaning -against the damp walls, an old <i>zadie</i> reading by the -little candle of the goodness of the God of Israel. The -boys looked up listening with shining eyes. There was -the sound of bursting doors, but the old voice did not -falter. There was the clatter of iron boots down the -stone stairway; but there was no ceasing in the praise -of God. And though the old men, the women, yea, the -children sucking still quietly at their mothers' breasts, -were tied against stacks of wood, and the flame withheld -if they but forswore Israel, still was the Law to -them like a cool cavern full of the fragrance of God, -even in the very centre of fire. -</p> - -<p> -<i>Pogrommen</i> have there been in those lands whence -we have come? Who shall remember them? Though -the babies were torn from the wombs of mothers, -and maidens violated in the streets at noon, all shall -be, because the Law has been given to us, as dust in -the roadway! -</p> - -<p> -But hold! What do I say? If once more the children -of Israel shall build them a Calf of Gold, if they -shall turn to the heathen things, who shall keep back -the lightnings of God, our God strong in love but -terrible in jealousy? Shall not we be utterly swept away -till there is no memory of our defeats and no trace -of our victories? Shall it all be vain, the rack, the fire, -the mother disembowelled in pregnancy? -</p> - -<p> -I say to you, look at our children, for a bad spirit -has come into these lands. I say not to you, our -brothers and sisters, but to you, to you, our children, -keep ye your goings within the fold of the Law! Have -you need then of pogroms and swords that you shall -remain with God? Because, in this place, He has -withheld them, thank Him for that He loves you more. -Behold, age behind age our sufferings and our triumph -go. Bring it not all to naught. Make not the bloodshed -to be useless as water. For the air is thick with -the voices of the dead, saying: 'Hold, hold by the -banner of Israel! Let it not fall from you! Proudly -we held it though the blood dripped from our -fingers!' -</p> - -<p> -Lo, our children, you make us to you as strangers, you -harden our hearts with anger. But we are ready with -our love for you when you follow upon our ways, -which are the ways of the countless dead. Let not for -little things our heritage be squandered; let not the -Maccabćan banner be smirched, nor false gods enter into -our tabernacles which we build now upon a wandering -thousandfold bitterer than the forty years. We lift -out our arms to you. Join us in singing the Lord's -song! May the next year see us in Zion!" -</p> - -<p> -There were one or two looked with alarm upon the -face of Philip staring from the wall against the Holy -Ark. His face was bloodless, his eyes round as if in -nightmare. Not a sound was heard when Reb Monash -came weakly down from the pulpit. No one knew where -to turn his eyes. As his father came nearer to resume -his seat, Philip gave a sudden convulsive start, then fell -jerkily towards the form where he had sat before the -<i>drosheh</i>. A tiny whispering arose in the congregation, as -of leaves after a windless noon when a first breeze shakes, -or of still waters ruffled. The <i>parnass</i> uttered a deep -<i>oi! oi!</i> absently clapping his hands three or four -times; the weeping of the women decreased; the men -bent towards each other and talked. Some one ascended -the pulpit to begin the second part of the service. -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -Reb Monash had chosen well; for that preoccupation -which had held his face all that morning now -held his son's for the rest of that day. After dinner -he lay down on the sofa thinking heavily; he neither -spoke a word with his mother nor picked up a book. -He had answered too easily all the questions life had -offered him. Was it too late to begin thinking clearly -now? Were his conclusions correct by accident or -were all his conclusions mere self-flattery? No formula -to help him through the mists of doubt which were -swarming round him came his way. Late that night, -when <i>shool</i> and the evening <i>meyeriv</i> service were over, -he walked out towards Baxter's Hill, under the light -of stars. It was not long that he moved onward like -a sluggish water. A wind came from somewhere afar -off and set into motion the mists in his head. More -and more quickly they whirled within him, and then, -swiftly, they were gone. He rose skywards from his -feet. Without pain or pleasure, all that issue which -had racked him this day became thin, remote. He -moved on the shores of a sea where the sands were stars, -and the sea was the great womb of the undefined, -where all things were not, but God was. Trembling, -aghast, he stood on the arch of the sweep of sands, -hearing incoherent murmurings. Towards a blackness -cool and clear he stood where foam and wind beat -into his face. He turned from the voices of sea and -bent down dabbling his fingers among the star-sands. -He rose and walked stepping from rock to rock to the -channel where the Milky Way flowed inward from the -sea. On the bank of the Milky Way, he stopped once -more and lifted in his hands a handful of grass. -Beyond the slope, the dim waters of Mitchen moved through -the night. He leaned for some minutes drowsing -against a tree trunk, then turned towards the vague -hulk of Baxter's Hill. "It's over!" he whispered. -"I know!" -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap0210"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER X -</h3> - -<p> -It was noon on the Day of Atonement which followed -nine days after the <i>Rosh Hashonah</i> memorable to -more than one by the oration of Reb Monash, noon in -Cambridge Street, a thoroughfare in Doomington far -removed from the region of the synagogues, which, for -this day, were crowded from dawn to dusk by the -day-long worshippers. The most pious did not move from -within their precincts; the less pious withdrew -occasionally to the immediate environs. All who were -sacrilegious on all the other three hundred and -sixty-four days, on this day rigidly fasted, and, having no -regular pew in a regular synagogue, were devoutly -glad to pay for the privilege of any pew in any synagogue. -If they gainsaid or were indifferent to the precepts of -their faith on other days, who could forswear the -immemorial terror of this day? If they had been -building all the year a palisade between Heaven and -themselves, on this day, who knew, they might enter -Heaven through a breach in the palisade. On the -night concluding <i>Yom Kippur</i> many looked forward -to the impieties of the morrow as if these had been -annulled in anticipation. But most felt that if all -else were <i>démodé</i>, <i>Yom Kippur</i> stood august beyond -fashion. Even the great jewellery and general -emporia of Doomington shut their doors, though they -exhibited a note to the effect that cleaning operations -were in progress, so that their credit with their more -Nonconformist customers might remain unimpaired. -Bob Cohen, who lived with a <i>goyah</i>, a Gentile lady, -all the year round, became entirely oblivious of her -existence for these twenty-four hours, in a synagogue -several towns away from the scene of his amour. In -<i>shool</i> his fervent contrition was only drowned by the -self-reproaches of the penitents whose perpetual state -was the strictest matrimonial chastity. Avowed -atheists put in an appearance despite all their logic. -There were few Jews in Doomington that day beyond -the circumference of a circle whose radius was half -a mile in any direction from the <i>Polisher Shool</i>. -</p> - -<p> -Hence it was surprising to see Alec Segal in a shop -doorway far up Cambridge Street on the afternoon of -<i>Yom Kippur</i>. It added to the surprise to find Harry -Sewelson join him after some minutes, for the four -parents of these youths, emancipated to the pitch of -transferring a kettle to and from the fire on <i>shabbos</i>, -were yet very far from the transgression of this -ultimate sanctity; a sanctity of such awe as might -overwhelm spirits even of the defiant aloofness of Segal -and Harry. -</p> - -<p> -"You're late!" said Segal. -</p> - -<p> -"Three minutes!" -</p> - -<p> -"Six and a half to be precise!" -</p> - -<p> -"You'll be taking notes of how long your neck's -in the noose before you're dead...." -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, and make a graph of the parabola of my -descent. But why are you late? Called in at a -public-house <i>en route</i>?" -</p> - -<p> -"No fear! I've had a drink at the scullery-tap, it -was a little less ostentatious. I suppose you've had -a drink?" -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, I hid a bottle of lemonade in my mattress!" -declared Segal cunningly. -</p> - -<p> -"I'm not thirsty but I'm jolly peckish. My elder -sister fainted, so I had to take her home. As for Esther—you -know, my other sister—she's only fifteen, but she's -dead nuts on fasting. Queer thing, the less she puts -down the more she brings up! She's been sick all -day!" -</p> - -<p> -"But that young scoundrel's not turned up yet! -I wonder if anything's wrong?" -</p> - -<p> -"He's all right. His father doesn't stir a foot out -of the <i>Polisher Shool</i>; he'll have had an opportunity -to prig something to eat and drink!" -</p> - -<p> -"I don't think he can have backed out?" Segal -suggested. -</p> - -<p> -"I don't think it's likely. He may be walking -backward to draw attention away from his bowler hat. -He doesn't like bowler hats!" -</p> - -<p> -"Or he may be writing a poem in a dark corner, -being only young and somewhat foolish. He'll grow -out of the first as time goes on." -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, he's amusing enough. But isn't that the -illustrious bowler hat?" -</p> - -<p> -"Hello! Here we are! I say, bowler hat, have -you seen Philip Massel?" -</p> - -<p> -"He's just coming!" said Philip, appearing at -last. "Well, he's come! I'm starving, where's the -shop?" -</p> - -<p> -"You've been at a banquet with Sir Timothy and -the City Fathers; else why so late?" insisted Harry. -</p> - -<p> -"My mother was fearfully faint," replied Philip -awkwardly. "I didn't like to leave her. It's a crime -for her to fast, she's so weak nowadays! It's not been -so bad for me, with some packets of biscuits at home -and a copy of Milton for <i>shool</i>. But let's come along!" -</p> - -<p> -The boys walked up Cambridge Street and turned to -the right towards a bridge over the Deadwater Canal. -They passed through the door of an eating-house and -the fat smells of frying enveloped them unpleasantly; -they chose a table in a corner and sat before a lake of -spilled gravy and the tin utensils. -</p> - -<p> -"It feels rather shifty, all this!" ventured Philip -after a few moments. -</p> - -<p> -"Look here, lad, don't be conscientious at this -time of day!" remonstrated Segal. -</p> - -<p> -"I mean when you think of the old men and the -sick women who're a sight worse off than we are!" -</p> - -<p> -"Now, Philip," interposed Harry, "You know quite -well it's not the beastly food. It's a symbol of freedom! -We're not going to be enslaved any longer under the -heel of these daft old superstitions. <i>Vive la liberté</i> -and all that sort of thing! I positively don't feel -like eating now, as a matter of fact; the stink's rather -thick. You know, Alec, you might have chosen something -more encouraging than this hole." -</p> - -<p> -"Phew!" from Philip. "I prefer the smell of the -<i>Polisher Shool</i>!" -</p> - -<p> -"We can't afford anything better. I should have -preferred the New Carlton myself, I admit!" -</p> - -<p> -"There'd be too many Jews there! It would be too -public!" Harry affirmed. -</p> - -<p> -"Well, young fellers," said a dishevelled lady at -this stage, "wot are ye going to 'ave? Say it -slick!" -</p> - -<p> -"Ham and eggs all round!" said Segal lordlily. -</p> - -<p> -"Righto!" The lady was bustling off. -</p> - -<p> -"Hold on!" Philip shouted after her concernedly. -</p> - -<p> -"What's the matter with you, cock?" -</p> - -<p> -"What else have you got? I won't have ham!" -</p> - -<p> -"What about fish and fried, saucy?" -</p> - -<p> -"Thank you!" Philip muttered gratefully. -</p> - -<p> -"What do you mean by it?" exclaimed Harry -indignantly. "What do you want to spoil the show -for?" -</p> - -<p> -"You can call me a blooming prig, if you like, and -be blowed! I think ham's overdoing it, that's all! -It's not playing the game!" -</p> - -<p> -"Don't be a kid! What's your objection to the -miserable animal? I thought you'd got over all that!" -</p> - -<p> -"I thought so too, but I think a chap can choose -another sort of day for ham! What's the good of piling -it on like this?" -</p> - -<p> -"Do you mean," asked Harry, "that you've just -shoved your head out of the burrow of superstitions, -like a rabbit, and are going to dive down again, scared? -I thought you were more consistent than that. -Personally I should prefer beef, but I'm sacrificing my -inclinations precisely because ham is a symbol." -</p> - -<p> -"It's not a symbol! I call it cheek!" -</p> - -<p> -"Cheek my fat aunt! You're funking it!" -</p> - -<p> -"You can say what you like! You can stuff your -own mouth with the muck! I'm not going to choke -for your sake!" -</p> - -<p> -"But what of all your wonderful talk about freedom -and advancing with the new race," Segal asked quietly, -"and all the good old moonshine?" -</p> - -<p> -"I just think, if you want a symbol, fried fish on -<i>Yom Kippur</i> is as useful as ham. It's what d'you call -it? it's irreverent somehow, insisting on ham! Yes, -that's it! It's irreverent!" -</p> - -<p> -"It's certainly expensive!" declared Segal with -an air of finality. When the food came at last, the three -boys hardly touched either ham or fish. They had, at -least, stood up for the principle of emancipation! -And ham, moreover, is a difficult commodity between -unaccustomed jaws. -</p> - -<p> -"It's time I got back!" said Philip, at the point -where Cambridge Street merged into more familiar -territory. "He'll be getting restive about me!" -</p> - -<p> -"There's a comet in the offing!" declared Segal. -"To-morrow night?" -</p> - -<p> -"To-morrow night, and let your ham rest quiet in -your bellies!" -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -Philip, after entering the <i>Polisher Shool</i>, spent a -little time with his mother, not yet being of an age -when a masculine presence raised perturbation in the -women's section. When he advanced towards his own -seat, his father frowned a question upon him. "<i>Nu</i>, -and where so long?" -</p> - -<p> -"I've been feeling sick!" Philip replied truthfully. -</p> - -<p> -"Sit thee down then and open thy <i>machzer</i>! It is -at this place one holds! Omit thou no word!" -</p> - -<p> -"I hope you are feeling all right, <i>tatte</i>?" -</p> - -<p> -"How should I feel? 'Tis well with me!" -</p> - -<p> -Around his head the chanting and the weeping -gathered volume. The voice of Mr. Herman on the -pulpit was choked with crying and his usual ornamentations -were now wholly absent from his delivery. The -hands of Mr. Linsky thundered contrition. The face of -Reb Yonah was drenched in tears. To Philip it seemed -that the voices of all these moaning, swaying men had -been lifted for age beyond age. It was as if he stood in a -dark country where large boulders stood greyly from -the uneven ground; the air was full of lamentations; -the sky was compact with lightless cloud. If but the -dome were rifted, if but through that blue division -there came among these boulders and this lamentation -the sharp shaft of wind—the boulders would subside -into sand, there would be no lamentation; there would -be flowers in green hollows, and water in willowy places; -if but the dome were rifted, if but a wind blew.... -</p> - -<p> -Philip was tired of vain imaginings. As long prayer -succeeded long prayer, the tedium of the day gripped -him. He remembered the <i>Milton</i> in his pocket and, with -a thrill of dangerous delight, drew it forth carefully. -Oh, it was important to take the utmost care! Good -Lord, if he were found out, what on earth would happen? -Could anything happen proportionate to the crime? -His <i>machzer</i>, fortunately, was a large, protective book! -He leaned the <i>Milton</i> against its yellow pages and turned -stealthily to "Comus." Was there any poetry like -"Comus" in the world? What savour it gained from -contact with these present sights and sounds! How -fair was the lady, and how the rhymes were like bells -at morning! -</p> - -<p> -Enraptured he turned page upon page of "Comus." "Comus" -was ended. Reb Monash was shaking in his -corner there, by the Ark, his face pale with the fast. -All was safe. He turned to "Allegro" and "Penseroso." Never -had he known poetry to taste so fresh, like cheese -and fine bread among the hills. He turned to the "Ode -on the morning of Christ's Nativity." -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - <i>See how from far upon the eastern road<br /> - The star-led wizards haste with odours sweet....</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="indent"> -What lines were these, flawless in music, divinely -simple! -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - <i>The star-led wizards haste with odours sweet....</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -How much loveliness in how little space! "Star-led," -the exquisite phrase! ... "Star-led" ... Now -to the "Hymn! ..." -</p> - -<p> -But a law of gravitation greater than he might -understand brought his eyes from his book, bent backward -his head, lifted his eyes into the eyes of his father -staring down from above upon his book. -</p> - -<p> -Then Philip realized blindingly the significance of -this moment: -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - <i>... The son of heaven's eternal King,<br /> - Of wedded Maid and Virgin Mother born....</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -and once more, -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - <i>... The heaven-born Child<br /> - All meanly wrapt in the rude manger lies....</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -Into the inmost centre of the very heart of his father's -faith, the faith of those innumerable dead who for the -many centuries had looked upon this day as the climax -of their childhood in Jehovah, upon this <i>Yom Kippur</i> -whose mere utterance was a fear and a great light, -into the synagogue's self, at the very doors of the Holy -Ark where lay the Law pregnant with history, he had -introduced ... the "wedded Maid," the "heaven-born -Child" ...! -</p> - -<p> -Down from his father's eyes it seemed that two -actual shafts of flame descended into his own eyes, -burning like an acid through the pupils beyond the -sockets, into the grey stuff of his brain. A sweat stood -upon Philip's forehead, and a chill then seemed to hold -it there, like a circle of ice. The fire in his father's -eyes shrivelled; there came a hollow shadow of -unutterable pain; a sigh fell weakly from his lips. He -staggered towards the door for air. -</p> - -<p> -He returned and said, "My son, throw it away, -throw thyself away! Let me not see thee again!" -</p> - -<p> -Philip hid the book among the dilapidated Prayer -Books at a corner of the women's section and returned -to his <i>machzer</i>. Not once did his father's eye meet -his own during the rest of the day. When Reb Monash -and his wife were proceeding homewards after the fast -and Philip made a movement as to accompany them, -Reb Monash stared with cold eyes and motioned him -to stand away. -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -The end had come. Channah sitting with wet eyes -on a corner of the sofa knew it. Mrs. Massel in the -scullery lifting her apron to her eyes and sobbing ever -so quietly knew it. Philip in the darkness of the empty -<i>chayder</i> with his head between his hands knew it. -Reb Monash knew it, breaking his fast in the kitchen, -saying not a word. -</p> - -<p> -The next morning Reb Monash turned to Mrs. Massel. -Philip was in the room. "He must go somewhere! -He cannot sleep here to-night! He has broken me, -let him not stay to laugh in my face!" -</p> - -<p> -"What can he do? Where can he go?" -</p> - -<p> -"I know not! He must go!" There was no doubting -the finality of his command. -</p> - -<p> -Not a word passed between Philip and his father. -Mrs. Massel dared not trust herself to utter a sound -until Reb Monash had gone upstairs for his afternoon -nap. -</p> - -<p> -"<i>Nu</i>, Feivele," she ventured then, "seest thou -what has befallen us? God knows I have not too many -years to see thee in ... and now this black year! -<i>Schweig den, schweig</i>, Feivel! What shall be with us?" -</p> - -<p> -Channah realized that it lay with her to take the -initiative. -</p> - -<p> -"Mother," she urged, "all will be well! You mustn't -upset yourself like this! The thing we've to talk about -now is what we're going to do with Philip!" -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, what?" Philip asked helplessly. -</p> - -<p> -"We've understood for a long time it was going to -end up like this, there was nothing else for it. We were -talking about it only last week. She said..." -</p> - -<p> -"Who said, Channah? Who do you mean?" -</p> - -<p> -"I mean Dorah! She said you were wasting the old -man to a shadow and she was going to put a stop to -it, for father's sake and everybody else's!" -</p> - -<p> -"Wasting to a shadow! What about mother?" -</p> - -<p> -"I know! But I didn't say anything! You know -what it's like to argue with Dorah! But she was going -to see father about it, sooner or later, and now that this -has happened ... well, we'd best go and see her at once!" -</p> - -<p> -"Not one word didst thou say to me!" complained -Mrs. Massel. -</p> - -<p> -"It's bad enough now we've got to; what dost thou -want more, <i>mutter</i>?" -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, but what are you driving at, Channah? What's -the idea?" -</p> - -<p> -"She's going to put up a bed for you in her back-room. -Benjamin keeps a lot of stock there now, but they -can put a little under your bed and the rest on the -landing. You can pay her so much a week while your -scholarship lasts, and if you don't get another, well, -she says you'll just have to go in for tailoring or -something; or Benjamin can take you on his rounds." -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, hell!" groaned Philip. -</p> - -<p> -There had never been much sympathy between his -elder sister Dorah and himself. Although the fact -was rarely referred to among the Massels, Reb Monash -and his wife were already a widower and a widow -respectively when they were married, Reb Monash -bringing Dorah, and Mrs. Massel Channah, to the -union. Their only children were Rochke, who died so -tragically on the exodus of the family from Russia, -and Philip, born some time later in Doomington. -The common parent between Dorah and Philip, therefore, -was Reb Monash, and the long conflict between -the father and son had rendered less and less substantial -the affection between the brother and sister. Dorah, -a tall, squared-jawed angular woman, was in some ways -more masculine and more forbidding than Reb Monash, -and in all ways more evident to the eye in her Longton -household than her demure husband, Benjamin, whose -main concerns in life were his wife's temper and the -state of his samples. From time to time she had -startled Philip with sudden spurts of generosity, -but these had become increasingly rarer during the last -two years. -</p> - -<p> -"There's no way out of it!" asserted Channah. -"And, after all, mother, it's only twenty minutes' -walk away. Besides, there's the tram up Blenheim -Road!" -</p> - -<p> -The three made their appearance before long at -Dorah's. They found her already in possession of -the main facts, as she had sent Benjamin down that -morning to find out how the family was feeling after -the fast and Benjamin had met Reb Monash proceeding -to Longton. They had both accepted the hospitality -and the lemon-tea of Mr. Levine, the <i>parnass</i>, who -had ushered them in from the door of his furniture -shop. Benjamin had rendered his report duly. -</p> - -<p> -With Channah, Dorah was monosyllabic. Philip she -ignored. -</p> - -<p> -"From where he takes this godlessness, <i>mutter</i>," -she said in Yiddish, "I understand not! A <i>shkandal</i> -it is, over the whole neighbourhood!" -</p> - -<p> -"He is growing older, he will understand more. -<i>Folg mir</i>, Dorah, he will be a good Jew yet!" -</p> - -<p> -"Would that one saw the least sign! I have made -his bed for him, with a <i>perinny</i> on top and a <i>perinny</i> -below. He will be comfortable!" -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, mother, don't!" broke in Channah. "Don't! -It's not far from Angel Street! You'll be able to see her -every day after school, won't you, Philip?" -</p> - -<p> -"Yes!" said Philip thickly, "Every day! He'll -be sleeping!" -</p> - -<p> -Dorah turned to Philip for the first time. "Well, -you'd best go home and get your things ready! Will -you want to bring all those books?" -</p> - -<p> -"I must have my books!" -</p> - -<p> -"He can take away the bookcases I made for them!" -declared Mrs. Massel. "The books will not be in thy -way!" -</p> - -<p> -"<i>Loz shen zein</i>! Let it be, then! Well, he will need -a handcart. Our greengrocer has one. I'll send him -down at eight o'clock!" -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -A miserable drizzle was falling as Philip gathered -the collection of books he so much prized and placed -them on the dirty brown sacking of the handcart. -Angel Street was more dark and wretched than the -Angel Street of any of his memories. His mother -stood on the doorstep forlornly, coughing heavily now -and again in the rain and wind. He had laid the -soap-box bookcases she had made for him over his books and -the man was securing the whole load under a final layer -of sacking with coils of coarse rope. -</p> - -<p> -"I'm going now, mamma!" He kissed her drawn face. -</p> - -<p> -"Go, my little one!" -</p> - -<p> -As the cart splashed over the greasy setts of Angel -Street through the damp darkness, she still stood -watching, rain in her hair and soaking her blouse. -Slightly she lifted her hands towards the receding boy. -He looked back and saw her still standing there. He -came back swiftly and covered her face with kisses. -But as he again withdrew, again she stood there emptily. -Whither did her lorn figure bring back his mind? -Whither? Somewhere long ago, far off! Then he -remembered. He remembered his image of her alone -in the Russian darkness, when the dead child had been -taken from her arms. She had stood there emptily as -now ... But the handcart was lurching round into -Doomington Road.... -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap0311"></a></p> - -<p class="t3b"> -BOOK III -</p> - -<p class="t3b"> -APHRODITE -</p> - -<p><br /><br /></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER XI -</h3> - -<p> -Such then was the spiritual adolescence of Philip -Massel, and such, as lately described, the situation -which was its inevitable result—a result not wholly -unforeseen by one or two minor characters in the drama -of his boyhood. In some senses the intellectual was -the more spectacular element of his development; -but the budding of his physical faculties, the suffusion -of all his blood with sex, proceeded pauselessly through -this troubled time. The strands of growth are, of -course, inextricably intertwined, and this account has -followed too rigidly the threads of Philip's spiritual -history. It must return, therefore, to a phase which -only by a little space followed the emergence of Socialism -above Philip's horizon, and by a little space preceded -that episode with Bertha which demonstrated his curious -simplicity. -</p> - -<p> -We turn then to a budding in Doomington Road. -A group straggle within and without the rays of a lamp -which illuminates a corner formed by Walton Street -and the road itself. There is much tittering, a little -whispering, and a youth raucously is singing! -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - <i>Press your lips on my lips,<br /> - Your dear little, queer little, shy lips.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -It was only ten minutes ago that Policeman Pig-nob -(as he is derisively termed) passed this way, with basest -intentions upon Aphrodite. -</p> - -<p> -It is nought to him whether there be a gathering -together for the mere barren breeding of money or for -a far holier purpose—the ultimate propagation of an -antique race. Any gathering together at any street -corner suggests to him disrespect towards the corpulent -Doomington abstraction who is the Chief Constable, -and is liable to be misinterpreted as an incipient -movement against the Monarchy and Balmoral, (which he -inaccurately places in the Strand near the lofty pillar -where Cleopatra stands with a blind eye and a cocked -hat looking towards the City Temple; for Policeman -Pig-nob is a Free Churchman and to him the City -Temple is almost unsurpassed in sacredness by the Chief -Constable's detached villa itself or His Britannic Majesty's -Balmoral). It is, I have recorded, but ten minutes ago -that Policeman Pig-nob passed this way and dispersed -the Aphrodisiac gathering. The males folded their -tents like the Arabs and as silently stole away. The -females, having ascertained even so soon the Sanctuary -which is their flesh, stood their ground. Imagine, -therefore, their horror when Policeman Pig-nob, not -merely with policiary rudeness, shone his bull's-eye into -their faces, (decorated in two cases with pink -face-powder and in one with mauve), but, forsooth, pulled -the admired hair of one of their number; and not, -finally, Janey's hair or Ethel's or Lily's somewhat -skimpy hair, but, I adjure you, Edie's very hair! -Edie's! The lovely thick brown hair of the Queen of -Walton Street! Not that Janey, Ethel, Lily and their -attendant virgins were not madly jealous of Edie and -her positively cattish success with the boys, but really -... the rights of the sex.... Policeman Pig-nob -... Edie ... and, as the most recent immigrant from -Russia betrayed herself into exclaiming ... "<i>a chalery -soll im nemen</i>! a cholera should him take!" -</p> - -<p> -As silently, as swiftly as they had faded, the boys -re-entered the fiery joint circle of Love and the -Walton Street lamp. Edie stood picturesquely sobbing -in the shadowed doorway of a shop. Over her Harry -Sewelson stood proud guard, awaiting the moment -when a silk-handkerchief, requisitioned from the -paternal establishment, might plead for him a -devotion which her tears but cemented like glue. In -this direction too the heart of Philip Massel yearned -sickly, albeit Ethel was murmuring seductively to him -"dear little, queer little, shy lips!" -</p> - -<p> -For the time of the budding of Philip Massel had come; -yet even in his budding Philip was fastidious. It was -no use, he decided. He could not bud and burgeon -towards Ethel. This very decision seemed to make -Ethel ache the more intensely towards the stimulation -by Philip of her own florescence. You could not avoid -kissing Ethel amid the permutations and combinations -of Shy Widow and Postman's Knock, particularly as -she tenderly called for you to join her in the lobby's -darkness much more frequently than you called for her. -This was most particularly the case at her own birthday -party, when out of sheer animal gratitude for the -smoked salmon sandwiches you received from her -hands—well, what else could you be expected to do? But, -alas, when you kissed Ethel, you could not fail to notice -how frequently the nose of Ethel assaulted either your -left or your right cheek. -</p> - -<p> -But as for Edie—ah, do not speak of Edie! For her -nose, by some miraculous diaphaneity or impalpability -of love, seemed dimly, if at all, existent when the -felicity of kissing Edie came your way—too rare felicity, -for who but Harry Sewelson hulked before you on that -faint, fair road to Edie? -</p> - -<p> -If the expression may be allowed, at first Philip did -not bud enthusiastically. Once more his intellectual -timidity asserted itself; particularly when Harry, -whose interest in girls had declared itself somewhat -suddenly, very completely and some months ago, had -attempted to convince Philip by cogent intellectual -argument that the time had arrived for the widening -of Philip's sphere of interest. Philip had as yet been -aware of little physical encouragement and less -emotional. And it seemed an act of deliberate malice on the -part of Providence, an act calculated to arrest abruptly -for a period of time his "widening" (until such time -as the gathered forces would break sharply through the -crust of distaste), that, first of feminine contacts, -brought Ethel's nose into collision with Philip's cheek. -No act of quixotry towards a promptly smitten lady -could impel Philip to turn the other. It was fortunate, -therefore, that Edie's lips made their appearance to -obscure this nasal disquietude. And with Edie's lips, -suddenly there came to Philip a knowledge of something -softer than flowers and more fragrant than any -breath in a garden after rain. Her hair covered her -with a warmth and her hands were at once soft and -nimble. She said little, for she had little to say, but -she disposed her innumerous wares with such naive -artifice that she suggested calm deep wells into which -her bucket rarely dipped. She was, in fact, a plump and -pretty little girl, alluring, secret, a little conceited. She -realized with pleasure the vague suggestion of unholiness -contained in any relation with the atheistic Harry, -but she observed, flattered, with what immediacy -Harry usurped her for his own when he stormed the -citadel of Walton Street and ousted her other lovers -with the flick of a cynical tongue. With premature -womanishness she was conscious of the piquant contrast -the figure of Harry afforded beside her own: the hard -acute angles—the curves; the eloquent tongue—the -tongue more enchanting in its silences than in its -speech; the grey, quick eyes—the indeterminate -brown; the lips whose kisses were incisions of -steel—the lips which were like night, sweet, odorous. -</p> - -<p> -On the recommendation of Harry, an invitation to -Janey's birthday party was sent to Philip. The problem -of a birthday present troubled him less than on his -previous and first visit to such a ceremony, the occasion -upon which he had met and conquered Ethel; for then, -even after he had included a bottle of Parma Violet -Scent with a box where he had glued seven halfpenny -coins in a quaint design on the inner side of the lid, -he had been perturbed lest he had not used sufficient -halfpennies for real generosity. At Janey's birthday -party, however, all such considerations had been drowned -in a fortuitous kiss he had bestowed on Edie. (It had -been a game which had lasted till every possible -combination had been exhausted and each pair of female -lips knew every pair of male). -</p> - -<p> -But it was rare that these successful and unsuccessful -adolescent amours knew the shelter of four walls—birthday -parties were as infrequent as they were splendid. -Hence it was that the corner of Walton Street each -evening saw the gathering of adolescents, in which -behold Philip included, criminally weaned for a time, I -grieve to say, from the Anabasis and even impaired in -his adherence to Karl Marx. And if Reb Monash -inquired "Why so late?" or "Whither going?" -and Philip answered "The Library!" it had been true -at least on two occasions upon which he had made that -reply. The epoch of street-corner flirtation had set in, -and among strange, misty places went the wits of -Philip woolgathering. -</p> - -<p> -Alec Segal looked on aloof, amused. He had much -eloquence, introspective and extraspective, at his -command. Yet there was none of the Walton Street -ladies concerning whom he wove garlands of words. -If the development of his adolescence was impressed -upon his conscious mind, and it was unlikely that he -had not been mentally tabulating all his states as they -succeeded each other, he had made no verbal comments -to his younger friends. When Harry was found embroiled -in the passages-at-arms of which Walton Street -was the witness, Alec was interested and looked wise. -When Philip fought weakly and fell in these same -encounters, Alec still remained silent, but a shade of -the sardonic settled more fixedly on his lips. -</p> - -<p> -The whole of this new development was chaotic, -obscure, a blind impulsion towards new things somewhat -alien from his other loyalties—if Edie's lips were -not to be taken, as in his equivocal poetic mind he -tended to take them, as the fruit of the tree of poesy. -With a little discomfort he would observe from time to -time Alec Segal standing thin and cryptic at the -outskirts of the Walton Street męlée; standing there for -one moment or two as if he were biding his time, and -then behold, Alec was no more there. -</p> - -<p> -"Alec!" he would demand, "Why do you come -tip-toeing in like that? It gives a chap the creeps! -If you come, can't you stay a bit, and if you can't -stay, why on earth do you come? You're like a -family ghost creeping about corridors and grinning -from the battlements. You're a grisly beast, Alec!" -</p> - -<p> -Alec would rub his left forefinger along the curved -line of his nose. -</p> - -<p> -"Nothing, my son! I'm just waiting!" -</p> - -<p> -"Waiting for what?" -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, I don't know! Everything's waiting, so am -I! What's the moon waiting for when she stops short -at midnight? I'm just waiting! Some of us are -made to keep on moving, like Harry, for instance, -and some of us to wait! But don't question your -grandfather! It's disrespectful!" -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -One evening Harry, Alec and Philip were walking -down the lonely track called Chester Street which led -beyond the police station, through dark fields barren -of buildings, into Blenheim Road. They were proceeding -from a party which had been undiluted misery -to Philip and had given, therefore, at least so much food -for interested analysis to Alec. Even Harry was -subdued. The party had been a thorough failure. -Edie had lost her forfeit and had been requested to -kiss the boy she liked best in the room. There was a -breathless quiet as with downcast eyes she halted -a moment and then walked demurely towards the face -of the nincompoop, George something-or-other. He -was not even a scholar of a Doomington higher school. -He was, it was rumoured, attached to the "job and fent" -line. He had lank black hair greasily retreating in -equal mass from an undeviating central line. His -cheeks were, it was true, very silky. His mouth was -endurable. But, indisputably, he was a boob. What -if his father <i>was</i> a master tailor? After all, there are -higher social grades than master tailorhood; even if -the mere fact of a scholarship does not put you secure -above all considerations of social status. And Edie -had kissed George. -</p> - -<p> -It was, of course, a deadly snub for Harry; but how -much more deadly for Philip, who immediately before -had himself been obliged to kiss the girl he liked best -in the room, and had proceeded with ardent shyness -to his lady's throne and the uninterested lips of Edie. -</p> - -<p> -"There's no idealism in them at all!" reflected -Harry bitterly. "I don't think they know what love -means! Here's a chap ready to sacrifice his shirt for -them, a chap many girls would jump at! And then -what happens? A dolt with sleek hair turns up, and -a Cheshire grin, and they're round his neck and licking -his feet! It isn't only that they've got no taste—you -know. They've got no self-respect!" -</p> - -<p> -"Be more explicit, Harry!" Alec interposed. -"Don't shirk the issue—and Edie!" -</p> - -<p> -"They're all the same—absolutely ungrateful and -heartless! I'm going to be a monk, a Trappist, I -think! Trappism's a profession invented specially for -me!" -</p> - -<p> -"What? Because a little minx..." -</p> - -<p> -"Don't...." -</p> - -<p> -"Don't be a fool, Harry; you said they were all the -same! I agree. Why are you specially put out about -Edie then? You didn't object to the beefy arm of -Lily wandering round George's waist, did you?" -</p> - -<p> -"Not a scrap of difference—Lily's beefy arm, -Edie's beefy soul...!" -</p> - -<p> -"Look here!" Philip broke in miserably. "It's -no good slanging her. I suppose if she likes him better -she's entitled to be <i>his</i> girl instead of somebody else's." -</p> - -<p> -"A little raw, Philip?" Alec asked. -</p> - -<p> -"Of course I'm not! I don't care what she does! -I didn't notice her all evening!" -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, you liar!" -</p> - -<p> -"You looked glum enough when she chose that -fellow, didn't you?" taunted Harry. -</p> - -<p> -"Headache, I suppose! And even if I did look -glum, and I don't say I did—you needn't rub it -into a chap. Besides, in any case, I didn't look -glum!" -</p> - -<p> -"Your logic's masterful as usual, Philip!" -</p> - -<p> -"The point is not Philip's logic but the heartlessness -of women!" Harry insisted. "What's to be done -about it?" -</p> - -<p> -"The only thing to be done about it," declared Alec, -"is to look the fact in the face, that's all! You must -have no illusions about them! You must stare them -straight in the eyes and beyond! Let 'em know they're -not deceiving you with their little tricks! Strip off -the illusions, I say!" -</p> - -<p> -"I suppose by 'illusions' you mean," said Philip, -"all that's jolly about 'em and make 'em different from -us! No, it won't work!" -</p> - -<p> -"There isn't anything different about us! We're -all alike! Strip them naked and it's just—Body, Sex!" -</p> - -<p> -"What on earth are you driving at now?" Philip -asked, frightened. -</p> - -<p> -"Only this—that it's about time you ... Hello! -Look here! What on earth ... what on earth's -this?" -</p> - -<p> -They had come to the darkest part of Chester Street. -Alec's foot had stumbled against something large and -soft. The boys stopped. Harry lit a match and they -saw a bundle before them wrapped in a white sheet. -It was large and bulky and tied at the top in loose -knots. -</p> - -<p> -"What is it?" Philip asked. -</p> - -<p> -"Washing, perhaps?" Alec speculated. -</p> - -<p> -"Open it!" Harry demanded peremptorily. "It -might be anything!" -</p> - -<p> -"What shall we do with it? Perhaps it's something -dropped from a removal cart, eh?" wondered Alec. -"But I hardly think so, it's lying so steadily on its -bottom, as if it had been put there deliberately. I -think we'd best take it along ... Hello! Listen! -I say! It's <i>crying</i>! Good God, can you hear?" -</p> - -<p> -"Get out of the way, Alec!" Harry exclaimed, -"Don't stand theorizing!" He bent down and untied -the knots swiftly. "Light up!" he commanded, -pushing his matches into Philip's hand. -</p> - -<p> -Harry uttered a startled cry. -</p> - -<p> -"A baby!" -</p> - -<p> -"Ye gods, a baby!" -</p> - -<p> -And in truth, wrapped in a blanket and lying in a -soft heap in a clothes-basket, a minute baby lay, whining -feebly and curling its infinitesimal fingers. -</p> - -<p> -"The kid'll die of cold! We must get it out of the way -at once!" -</p> - -<p> -"Not a day old!" Alec mused. -</p> - -<p> -"Get a move on, for God's sake! Where shall we -take it?" -</p> - -<p> -"The police-station just along!" Philip suggested. -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, the very place!" Harry took off his greatcoat -and placed it over the top of the basket. "Here, -Alec, take hold of the other handle!" -</p> - -<p> -The baby was delivered into the hands of an inspector, -summoned by a policeman who refused to have anything -to do with the case. The inspector scrutinized the three -lads suspiciously, as if he were ready to believe that one -or the other of them was the father of the child. They -made their statement and at length, reluctantly, he -allowed them to withdraw. -</p> - -<p> -"By Heaven!" muttered Harry, "What a swine the man is!" -</p> - -<p> -"Who do you mean?" asked Alec, who, now that -the practical matter had been discharged and they -were once more entering the immaterial world of thought, -reassumed the elderliness of his voice and manner. -"Who do you mean, vague youth, is a swine? The -inspector!" -</p> - -<p> -"No! The father!" -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, I'm with you! But what about the mother?" -</p> - -<p> -"Fancy a mother behaving like that!" Philip wondered. -</p> - -<p> -"That's just what I mean! The woman behaved -perfectly naturally. Parents only keep their children -because other people do. They're not really interested -in children. My parents are not interested in me and -I'm not fearfully interested in them. It's only a sort of -crust of habit, and the parents of this child wouldn't -allow it to form. John Smith and Mary Brown, let's call -them. I declare that John Smith and Mary Brown are -just natural and sensible people—they had their -fling—Body, Sex! That's to-night's party and John Smith -and Edie and the baby in the cradle all reduced to their -elements! Body, Sex! It's as simple as an equation -in Algebra!" (Alec invariably ended his ratiocinations -with a flick of the fingers—a 'so easy, you -know'!) -</p> - -<p> -The incident had filled Harry with nausea. The -disillusionment at the party, the check to his pride it -had involved, the callous abandonment of the child in -the bare croft, had combined to produce in him an -indignation of cynicism. -</p> - -<p> -"You're right!" he declared. "It's Sex, pure and -simple! It's all dirt!" -</p> - -<p> -"And you, Philip?" -</p> - -<p> -"What do I know about it? Go on!" -</p> - -<p> -Philip listened, fascinated and repelled. At least the -philosophy of Segal offered a coherent explanation of -to-night and the other nights. The whole theme was -virgin to him, but the method of attack was so deadly -calm, so impersonal, that he was impelled to follow. -He was conscious, moreover, that other people, not -least Harry and Alec, did not exclude this branch of -life from their horizon; why, then, should he? It -was all so different from the filth of Angel Street; -here, if soul played no part or little in this interpretation, -mind at least was not absent. There was, he did -not dare to confess to himself, a quaint furtive pleasure -in it all.... -</p> - -<p> -"Go on!" he said, breathless to advance, and -half-inclined to flee. -</p> - -<p> -Alec Segal talked. For one hour, two hours, they -paced from corner to dark corner of Chester Street. -There were but few interruptions from Harry and none -from Philip. Only, as Alec talked, Philip felt sometimes -that he would like to lie down on the cold kerb to -cry—simply, childishly, to cry. And he felt creeping round -him like a mist, a deadlier loneliness than had ever -beset his heart, a loneliness that now crept and eddied -through his being in chill wisps. Oh for the brown -eyes of his mother, so innocent and so wide with -knowledge! For the bloom was fading from the world; -the freshness was passing away. Friendship was passing -away. Hitherto he had stood alone, self-sufficient. -Now the new preoccupations must assail him, wean -him from his old friends. Wean him, oh sorrowful, oh, -surely false, from his mother! Lead him towards -insubstantial things waiting somewhere to hold him! -And these things reached towards his friends, were -interposed between them and him. They had been -complete and single once, these friends, despite all the -flaws in their unity. They were but provisional and -dependent now, as he was himself to be henceforward. -Pain which had a core of delight, delight which was -gilded dust! -</p> - -<p> -The three youths parted. As they moved in different -ways, night, it seemed to Philip, engulfed them separately -bringing unbridgeable division. Night swallowed -something of boyhood. Manhood came stalking towards -Philip out of the vast. Manhood placed a finger on his -young forehead. A sad boy slept that night in Angel -Street, sad and wise. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap0312"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER XII -</h3> - -<p> -Dorah was a tall, raw-boned woman, carrying all -the implicit angles of Reb Monash to an explicit -extreme. In the civil strife at Angel Street her sympathy -had always been on the side of tradition and Reb -Monash, as against licence and Philip. Channah -likewise had, in a weak and somewhat hopeless way, taken -sides. Not openly, not with unabashed self-declaration, -and far less through philosophy than sentiment, she had -been steadily at Philip's side—when, at least, she was not -absorbed in her collection of Vesta Tilley post cards and -her long waitings at gallery doors for the performances -of Lewis Waller or Martin Harvey. -</p> - -<p> -The veins of Dorah's temper were less easily tapped -than Reb Monash's, but when tapped, they yielded -richer ore. When her temper was at its most exuberant, -her voice was of a dovey stillness which boded much -woe. But the contradiction in her household which most -concerned Philip was, in a word, weak tea. So well -defined and dark and abrupt was Dorah, that one would -have imagined that tea of her brewing would be raven -as Acheron. Yet it was, in fact, as weak as a rickety -child. It was tepid. It was served in a large pint mug, -so that its quantity the more ruthlessly exposed the -invariable defects of its quality. Much and cold milk -annihilated its last semblance to the potent brews of -Angel Street and copious sugar rendered it, at length, -unpleasant as an inverse castor oil. -</p> - -<p> -Compare with weak tea, tea almost leonine; also -cherries in the skim of milk, and Mrs. Massel sitting -hard by, humming happily like a kettle, or moving about -the kitchen with happy bird-like noises, and producing -finally a remnant of Saturday's <i>kuggel</i> (which is a thick -brown soft pudding with many raisins and a celestial -crisp crust)! ... Until the shuffling of Reb Monash's -feet overhead might be heard, and there is the last -gulping of tea and swallowing of <i>kuggel</i>, and the lifting -of a laden satchel of books, and from Philip's lips a -fatuous "So long, old mother, toodle-oo!" which -is a valediction juvenile indeed from the lips of a young -man to whom at last the secrets of the universe have been -laid bare, from the genesis of the baby to the real nature -of God and the perfidy of Edie.... -</p> - -<p> -"So long, old mother!" -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -Since the exodus from Angel Street, relations between -Philip and his father had not been clearly defined. -Philip still descended from Longton each Saturday -morning to accompany Reb Monash to the <i>Polisher -Shool</i>. He had at first been extremely reluctant to go, -but Dorah threatened unstated oppressions, and though -tea could hardly have been more pallid, Philip felt it -wise to fall in with her request. He still came down to -join in festival meals, but no word of intimacy passed -between them. In <i>shool</i>, the watchful eye of Reb -Monash no longer guarded Philip's Prayer Book lest -two pages be turned over in place of one; which very -remission compelled Philip to reiterate the cryptic -prayers with a blank, dull fidelity. -</p> - -<p> -Thus, therefore, though they were on conversational -terms with each other, as a man might be with a youth -he disliked or feared but in whom he was compelled to -take an interest, out of loyalty towards a dead friend, -invariably the awakening of Reb Monash brought -about the dissolution of such a cherry-séance as I have -spoken of. For Mrs. Massel and her son had now made -a tacit pact by which Philip always came home from -Doomington School via Angel Street instead of by the -upper road to Longton called Brownel Gap. It meant -an uninterrupted hour with his mother, and these -months, howsoever disastrous and dark the day might -be before and after this golden hour, were their halcyon -days. -</p> - -<p> -"And yet," apprehensively muttered Philip to himself, -"how thin she is getting!" -</p> - -<p> -"Mother!" he would say, "Aren't you well? -Can't you take something? You don't look half -so—you know—half so fat and jolly as ordinary mothers -do. Look at Alec Segal's mother! She adds another -chin every month and she keeps on getting further -out in front! You don't! What'll we do about it, -mother; it can't go on, you know!" -</p> - -<p> -"Channah, God bless her!" she would reply, -"out of her hard-earned wages—and you know how -much he makes her bring into the house—and then her -new dress she's bought for Betsy's wedding, it's all -purple like wine, a <i>par-shane</i>, that's what the dear girl -looks, a beauty straight out of the picture book! Vesta -Tilley me thou no Vesta Tilleys! Going on the stage -like a boy, smoking cigarettes! But she always wears -wigs! Perhaps she wants to make herself out a daughter -of Israel, with her wearing wigs! Well, if she ever -dresses up like an honest woman, I say Channah's -new back comb, even if it hasn't got real diamonds, is -just as lovely as Vesta Tilley's! Don't forget the -sugar in thy tea, Feivele!" -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, right, mother! But what about Channah, -her hard-earned wages?" -</p> - -<p> -"Oh yes! My head, my head! Thou dost not get -thy brains from my old silly head, Feivele! <i>Nu</i>, where -were we! <i>Yah</i>! I was saying, out of her hard-earned -wages, cod-liver oil she buys me, and sometimes two -fresh eggs she buys me! The extravagant girl, two -fresh eggs! Make me a poetry out of two fresh eggs! -It's all right making poetry out of trees and rivers! -Thou hast ever seen trees and rivers, yes? No! Ah, -those were <i>takke</i> trees by the Dneister, and that was a -river in a thousand! Will I ever smell again the grass -in the fields by the river, when they cut it and it lies -in heaps, and the moon, it comes up like a feather! -This is not for me, Feivele! But when I'm dead, -Feivele...." -</p> - -<p> -"No, no, no, mother! Look here, I don't think -you ought to talk like that! It isn't sensible!" -</p> - -<p> -"I mean over a hundred years—thou shalt see a lot -of countries and hills and thou shalt smell the grass cut -by the river, maybe thou shalt see even the Dneister! -Perhaps my brother Benya's daughter—she is how -many years old, eight, nine—perhaps she will be a -<i>studentka</i> and thou wilt teach her English and she will -teach thee <i>Russ</i> and you'll get married—and thy old -mamma, she'll not be there to see!" -</p> - -<p> -"Mother, it's not decent of you! You talk like that -more and more, I don't know why, and if you'd only -take more care of yourself, you could be the Fat Woman -in a show!" -</p> - -<p> -"I'm sorry, son, I'm sorry," covering up her traces -wistfully, "I mean I'll be over the sea in Angel Street, -and you'll not want to wait till you come to England, -thou and Rivkah—yes, yes, Rivkah is her name, God -bless her! before you get married!" -</p> - -<p> -Some days later, after another sitting where conversation -ranges over continents and stars, and there is no -fatigue in their wings—"Say, mother! here's two -more new-laid eggs! I think one's a duck's, does it -matter?" -</p> - -<p> -"Oh a <i>katchky</i>! A big blue <i>katchky's</i> egg! Oh, -Feivele, where didst thou— -</p> - -<p> -"Now don't ask! And anyhow, I've been sick of -Longfellow for ages!" -</p> - -<p> -"See, I'll boil it now! There's time before he comes -down! Thou wilt have half!" -</p> - -<p> -Stoutly, "Nothing, nothing! It's yours!" The -egg is boiled. Sacredly, as if duck-egg-eating were a -holy rite, Mrs. Massel eats her duck's egg. Once or -twice she throws in fervent appreciations of the race -of <i>katchkies</i>. Philip half hopes her cheeks will here and -now take on a shade more colour from the nourishment -he has provided for her out of the disposal of Evangeline. -Her face still is pale, and there are still drawn -lines at the mouth. Ah well, only wait till she's taken -a lot more cod-liver oil and a lot more new-laid eggs, -including as many <i>katchkies</i> as discarded poets will -provide....! -</p> - -<p> -"Feivele, he comes!" -</p> - -<p> -"Humph—ho! I'm going! Oh, look at your hands, -how liny and seamy they are! Come, <i>do</i> leave those -brasses alone, they're so much work! And you know, -when you don't clean 'em the only difference is they -look like copper instead of brass! Ototototoi! I must -be off, I suppose! What fat cherries they were—like -babies! Well, you huge bullying monster of a mother, -till to-morrow, till to-morrow!" -</p> - -<p> -So the months passed, with their half-surreptitious -visits to Mrs. Massel, which gained something of their -too short delight from their shallow secrecy. At the -extremes of the day, there were, on the one hand, school, -on the other hand, Walton Street. At school he -generally maintained an unambitious head above the -waters, still fitfully persecuted by his fellows, or ignored, -or dimly tolerated as one who took no interest in -societies, sports and camps, but from whom no positive -evil was to be expected, saving sometimes an ugly -spurt of temper which did not cringe even before the -towering creatures who at all other times carried -universal terror in their wake. At the other extreme -of the day were the sporadic flirtations in Walton -Street which began somewhat to lose their attractions -as he moved towards his sixteenth year. There were -subfusc rumours about the migration of Alec Segal's -family to another town for reasons unspecified. Harry -Sewelson became entangled with two barmaids and a -German governess successively. The simpering graces -of the Edie ménage, it is grievous to add, began to wear -thinner and thinner, excepting for the grosser souls -of a George or a Willy Levi the Barber. Moreover, -Philip had received so feeble a move as a consequence -of an Edie-deteriorated school year, that he determined -violently to regain his academic self-esteem. Of the -fact that he became a competitor for the five-pound -prize to be awarded to the greatest authority on Chaucer -in the middle school at Doomington, Philip had left -Dorah unaware. She was ready to expend over him the -vials of her maternal love (she had no children) only -as soon as he consented to be what she termed "a -Jew among Jews." The history of Angel Street had -taught her the futility of positive compulsion in this -direction. But she placed before her the definite -policy of treating Philip in a manner neither hostile -nor affectionate, until, maybe, the sheer force of -frigidity brought him creeping to the warmth. Whilst -Philip had spent all the evening in the pursuit of Edie's -lips instead of in the pursuit of a high place in form, -she had merely said nothing. When now till a late -hour he began to concern himself with his school work -and his tales of Chaucer, she said nothing still, and was -told as little. But likewise Philip said nothing to his -mother. Suppose, and after all many of his competitors -were in senior forms, suppose he should fail badly! -Only Channah was his confidante, and from her he -obtained the gift of a certain most desirable complete -Chaucer which Cartwright had displayed in his curiosity -shop for fruitless months. -</p> - -<p> -Philip still remembered the almost dizzy delight -he had occasioned his mother by the winning of a mere -form prize as second-in-class two years ago. She still -treasured it alongside of her Yiddish translations of -Holy Writ, in the most intimate recess of her cupboard. -Not a word was intelligible to her, of course; she was -capable even of holding the book upside down. Yet -she would carefully wipe her spectacles and proceed -to move her eyes in leisurely transports from page to -hieroglyphic page. She was so much attached to the -book that he had not had the heart to take it away -with him on the melancholy handcart which had -transported his goods to Longton. -</p> - -<p> -The decision of the Chaucer prize was to be decided -an hour after school on a certain day and the official -announcement to be made at prayers the following -day. In an agony of sick apprehension Philip slunk -about the corridors of the school. He was in a state of -comatose despair and was staring unseeingly into a -case of stuffed beavers and stoats, when a hearty and -heavy hand descended on his shoulder. -</p> - -<p> -"Well, Philip!" exclaimed the robust voice of -Mr. Furness, "and who do you think has won the Chaucer -prize?" -</p> - -<p> -"Albert Chapman, sir!" suggested Philip weakly. -</p> - -<p> -"Try again!" -</p> - -<p> -"Jack Lord, sir!" -</p> - -<p> -"No, my lad! He lives nearer Angel Street than -that! Oh, of course, you live in Longton now! How's -your sister?" -</p> - -<p> -"You ... you don't mean <i>me</i>, sir?" -</p> - -<p> -"But I do! Come into my room, I've a poet I think -you'll like. Henley! You've not met Henley? -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - <i>It matters not how strait the gate,<br /> - How charged with punishment the scroll!</i><br /> -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -Won't your mother be glad, eh? I'm pleased, -Philip, very! You're making good again! Let me -see, we were quoting Henley. Of course, you remember: -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - <i>In the fell clutch of circumstance<br /> - I have not winced nor cried aloud.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -No? Here's the book then! ..." -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -Philip ran to Angel Street breathlessly and burst -into the kitchen. Reb Monash had already come -down and was sipping his glass of lemon-tea. But -Philip had no eyes for Reb Monash. -</p> - -<p> -"Mother!" he shouted, "I've won! I've won the -Chaucer! A five-pound prize! Isn't it grand! I'll -be able to buy you a blouse for <i>yom tov</i>! And hordes -of eggs! Isn't it grand!" -</p> - -<p> -She looked towards Reb Monash. He had contracted -his forehead. -</p> - -<p> -"Hush!" she said in a thin, even voice. "Thy father -has a head this afternoon. Make not so much noise!" -</p> - -<p> -"Don't you understand? I've won an awfully big -prize and I've worked so hard for it!" he said, -crestfallen. He had expected she would flush with delight -and seize his hands and lift them to her lips, as she did -when she was tremendously pleased with him. Instead, -here she was showing no sign of pleasure, hardly -of interest. -</p> - -<p> -"It is well!" she said. "But thou must be quiet! -Thou wilt have a cup of tea, wilt thou?" -</p> - -<p> -"No!" he muttered, suppressing in his throat a -lump of acute disappointment. "I've got to go to -Dorah's at once! I promised to do something for her!" -</p> - -<p> -His eyes had a suspicion of dampness when he arrived -at Longton. He ate a chilled dinner sullenly. -</p> - -<p> -Next day he had not the heart to go and see his -mother. He spent the hour in an alcove of the school -library ostensibly reading De Quincey, actually playing -a game at that time gathering momentum at Doomington -School, the game called "push penny," where -two pair of nibs stuck in a table served as goal posts, -and two rival pocket knives impelling two rival pennies -attempted to introduce a further coin into the -respective pen-nib goals. But he turned up in Angel Street -as usual the following day. He was sulky. "A nice -mother you are..." he began. But he had not time -to say more. She had seated him beside her on the sofa -and was stroking his head. "Feivele, Feivele, didst -thou not understand? When he is here, dare I show -what I think, how glad I am...?" A fit of coughing -interrupted her. The boy looked up anxiously. "Thou -knowest," she began again, "thou knowest what he -will think, that I encourage thee in they <i>goyishkeit</i>. -Ah, would that thou <i>wert</i> a holier Jew, my son! It does -not matter how far thou wilt go in the world, once a -Jew, remain a Jew! Thou wilt have high friends. -They will say to thy face 'How thou art wonderful, -Mr. Massel!' Is not that true? And behind thee -they will murmur 'Jew! Jew!' <i>Yah, yah</i>, that is -a long way ahead! Where I shall be, who knows? -And now again, what hast thou won? What? No! -Not five pounds! For just sitting down and writing -for three hours? No, that cannot be! Mr. Furness -likes thee, no? It is Mr. Furness, he knows thou art -cleverer than all the other boys...." -</p> - -<p> -"No it wasn't, mother! He hadn't anything to do -with it!" -</p> - -<p> -"Tell me not! No sane man will give away five -pounds because one sits oneself down at a desk and -writes words! Ah well, let it be, if thou wilt have it -so! ... But thou must not work so hard, thine eyes -... Oh, this coughing! I went to the market to buy a -hen for <i>shabbos</i>. It is cheaper there. And it was -raining one of your English rains ... lakes, it rained!" -</p> - -<p> -"You know, mother, it's rotten of you! You -shouldn't do it!" -</p> - -<p> -"It will pass, it will pass! But the kettle's boiling! -Tea! And look what I have bought thee, to-day! -Cakes with ice, eh? I know how thou art a sweet -tooth! Dost thou remember swallowing a whole box -of pills because thou thought they were sweets! And -how I took thee in this shawl, the red one, to the chemist! -And he made thee sick with his finger, and thou bit his -hand, thou <i>yungatsch</i>! See! It boils over on my -clean fender! <i>Kum shen, kum</i>!" -</p> - -<p> -The summer examinations followed. For some -weeks preceding them, Philip worked hard all day and -long into the night. It was during this period that -Mrs. Massel took to her bed. Her cough had become -heavy and persistent. Philip would come in after -school with frightened eyes. -</p> - -<p> -"It will pass, it will pass!" she repeated. He tried -to overwhelm in a frenzied absorption in his work the -lurking fear which gnawed at his heart-strings. Soon -it was found imperative to move her bed from the -upstairs bedroom to the parlour below. The pale -thinning face would intervene between him and the -page. He would draw back in a sudden access of terror. -"It will be all right!" he assured himself, "All the -really hot days of summer are to come yet!" One -thing at least he could do. He would get a first-rate -place in the exams. He knew how that would delight -her. He was sure it would help her no end. He thrust -himself wholly into his books. -</p> - -<p> -He did so well at the examination that a bursary -was awarded him which put his position at school -beyond all peril for another two years. -</p> - -<p> -"Mother!" he burst in one day. "Such good news!" -</p> - -<p> -She lifted her head tiredly. "Tell me, my son!" -</p> - -<p> -"I've got a huge scholarship and school's absolutely -right now, nothing to fear! Tell me, mother, aren't -you horribly excited! Isn't it fine!" -</p> - -<p> -But looking down on her face, he found it wet with -tears. An ice-sharp dismay leapt to his heart. -</p> - -<p> -"Mother, aren't you glad? You ought to be laughing! -I never expected anything like it! Oh, mother, -why on earth are you crying? What's it all -about?" -</p> - -<p> -"Thou wilt not understand, Philip! But it is nothing! -I'm not really crying! Nothing, nothing! See, my -face is dry! Kiss me, Feivele!" -</p> - -<p> -He bent down to her. For an hour he talked to her of -the new confidence his success had brought him and -what he was going to do when he left school. He might -even go to the University! No, he would not be a doctor! -His ambitions hadn't taken shape yet, but he might be.... -Oh, he didn't know what he mightn't be if he only -tried! And he'd have such a house for her to live in...! -</p> - -<p> -He fell to describing the house of his dreams ... until -at length Channah came in. She was ending her -button-hole labours earlier, nowadays, in order to have -more time to attend to her mother. -</p> - -<p> -The summer holidays had already begun when Mr. Furness -wrote to Philip informing him that he had made -arrangements for the boy to spend a fortnight in the -country. It was characteristic of Mr. Furness. He -realized that unless he himself engineered it there was -no chance of Philip obtaining the holiday the boy -seemed badly to need. It was better, he decided, not -to broach the matter at all, but by definitely presenting -Philip with the <i>fait accompli</i>, and by placing himself -behind the vantage of the impersonal post, to simplify -Philip's position as far as possible. The idea had -occurred to him of inviting Philip to the annual -Doomington camp among the Westmoreland hills, particularly -as the camp regularly contained a fair proportion of the -Jewish boys at the school. But the thought of Reb -Monash seemed rigidly to disqualify the idea. It was -obvious that with the most courteous intentions in the -world the ceremonial minutiae of Angel Street could -hardly be repeated to their last austerity in the divine -welter of camp. He cast about in his mind, therefore, -for a means of satisfying at once the scruples of Reb -Monash and his own determination that Philip should -breathe smokeless air. The Jewish "guest house" -kept by Mrs. Kraft under the Wenton Hills seemed as -amiable a solution as he could find. -</p> - -<p> -It was run on "strictly <i>kosher</i>" lines for boys -between the ages of thirteen and sixteen, and ladies over -the decorous age of thirty. The determination to avoid -complications <i>du coeur</i> seemed, he considered, perhaps -a little ostentatious. The important point, however, -was that Wenton House was at once "<i>kosher</i>" and in -the country, and he was satisfied that Mrs. Kraft was -a capable and excellent lady. -</p> - -<p> -For one moment only Mr. Furness's letter brought -to Philip a wild joy, then the joy flickered and was -quenched. -</p> - -<p> -"Absolutely impossible!" he determined. "How -can I go and leave her lying ill in the parlour, coughing! -I'm not going, that's final!" -</p> - -<p> -But the matter was by no means so easily decided. -"Not going!" cried Mrs. Massel. "Not going!" -echoed Channah. -</p> - -<p> -"Be thou not a fool, my son!" the mother urged. -"How I have yearned it should come to pass for thee! -What, a Yiddisher house in the country! Of course -thou wilt go! Thou wilt come back a <i>labe</i>, a lion, with -a big chest, a sight for God and Man! Perhaps there -will be a real river there? No? Not like the Mitchen! -A river they call it, such a year upon them! Yes, and -the men in the fields will be cutting the grass, or is it -too soon? The year is slower in this England of thine -than in Terkass, but what knows one of the year, how -it comes or goes, in thy lovely Dum—ing—tonn!" -</p> - -<p> -"Don't be silly, mother! How on earth can I go -when you're like this! I can't! I can't think of it!" -</p> - -<p> -"A question! Thou must go, I say! Annotate for -me no passages! <i>Mirtsaschem</i>, I'll be well again when -thou returnest. I will make thee, all for thyself, a -<i>kuggel</i> ... <i>oi, oi</i>, this coughing ... <i>mishkosheh</i>, it -will pass ... a large <i>kuggel</i>, with large raisins, larger -raisins are not!" -</p> - -<p> -"Of course you must go!" broke in Channah, adding -her pressure, "Look how hard you've been working -with all your Chaucers and things! We'll be having you -to look after as well, if you're not careful! And you -know yourself how it'll cheer mother up to think you're -in the open air with no worries and nothing to do but -get fat! I'll tell you what, I'll give you an extra -half-crown—if you promise not to spend it on your smelly -old books—and you must go to a farm every morning——" -</p> - -<p> -But as she went on talking, a shadow, the sensation -of a picture rather than a picture itself, established -itself in Philip's mind. A figure shrouded, very calm, -very cold! Candles fluttering somewhere! Hunched -shadows ... calm ... cold....! -</p> - -<p> -"I can't go! I can't go!" he shouted suddenly. -</p> - -<p> -"Feivele!" his mother begged. "What is with you? -Speak to him, Channah, speak to him!" -</p> - -<p> -"You're a beast, Philip! Look how you're -upsetting her! You <i>must</i> go! <i>Emmes adonoi</i>, the -doctor said she's getting on nicely. It's only rest she -wants and good food, he said, and no worry. No worry, -mind you!" -</p> - -<p> -He looked away from Channah and saw the appeal in -his mother's eyes. -</p> - -<p> -"All right, I'll go!" he said heavily. -</p> - -<p> -"Good old lad! The first thing..." -</p> - -<p> -"Look here, Channah!" he interrupted. An idea -had suddenly occurred to him. "I'll go on one -condition. You must write a note to me every day I'm -away, it doesn't matter how small, a post-card if you -like! And every day mother must write her name on -it, without fail! Promise that!" -</p> - -<p> -Channah looked at him strangely. -</p> - -<p> -"Of course I'll promise! And I'll do it! Won't we, -mother?" -</p> - -<p> -"The foolish boy with his poetry-ideas! Of course -we will! <i>Nu, shen, nu</i>, thou art happy now? He -will say to me a poetry, Channah, and thou must go -this moment to boil thyself an egg! Go thou, go, -<i>tochterel</i>!" -</p> - -<p> -"That's all right!" murmured Philip. Before -him waved green banners of grass towards the foothills, -and white clouds sailed aloof over broken peaks.... -"That's all right, mother! And if you forget that -<i>kuggel</i> ..." -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap0313"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER XIII -</h3> - -<p> -For the first day at Wenton Philip was almost -drunk with the abrupt change from Doomington -to the fresh air and the hills. The atmosphere in -Wenton House, to be sure, was a little chilly. The -relentless cleanliness of each conceivable detail was -disturbing. The flaky boiled potatoes served up for -midday dinner, Philip's first meal in the House, -compared a little disagreeably with the potatoes baked -in abundant fat as prepared by Mrs. Massel and only -less ably by Dorah. There occurred also a slight -contretemps with the implements for pudding. It -seemed that most of the boys who sat at Philip's -table had paid earlier visits to Wenton House: for -Mrs. Kraft, as she stood at the door to receive her -junior guests, was able, though the scheduled fortnight -was only just beginning, to inquire from one youth, -"Well, Abey, and did you get that job in the shipping -office?" and from another, "Tell me, Hyman, is the -other sister married yet?" and to warn a third, "I -hope you will not throw stones, Jackie, at the Christian -boys in the village! <i>I</i> get blamed for it, and it won't -do, it won't do!" To Philip she said, a smile emerging -from the grimace of matronal hospitality, "What did -you say your name was? Philip Massel? And how -old? Oh, of course, Mr. Furness told me, getting on -for sixteen! Well, we're glad to see you, Philip! See -you have a good time!" -</p> - -<p> -Far chillier than Mrs. Kraft were the boiled potatoes, -and chillier the pictures on the walls. Wenton House -was not wholly self-supporting; only the charity of -several benevolent individuals in Doomington rendered -a country fortnight possible to the boys on the easy -terms of their acceptance. Hence perhaps the legends -below the pictures, "How ready is the arm of Charity!" -"Charity, the Handmaiden of God!" -</p> - -<p> -Yet, despite the slight constriction in the atmosphere -engendered by these details, the sight of Winckley -Pike beyond the wide window of the dining-room, -and the quick cry of swallows and the smell of clover -atoned for the hygienic potatoes, and made of the -pictured legends mere ingenuous statements of fact. -The country was not so overwhelming a revolution in -the mind of Philip as might have been expected. Poetry -had long ago made real enough the unseen hills and -the unsmelled blossoms. Bluebell Bank had given -concreteness as well as subjective reality to his dreams, -and such excursions into the country for a whole -day as he had experienced several times, with Dorah -once, with Harry and Alec once, and twice with a -master at school, had continued the process of -revelation. They had once climbed Bracken Hill to see far -off the triangular mass of Winckley Pike, and beyond, -the more desolate moors and the jagged hills. -</p> - -<p> -It was at tea-time that he first thoroughly became -aware of the dark eyes of a lady, a young lady, a lady -who was chiefly dark eyes. He had had a dim feeling -during dinner that some inexplicable thing was causing -a disturbance in his blood. He had given it no name. -It may have been nervousness merely due to the new -surroundings. But at tea-time he ascertained quite -clearly that among the ladies of appallingly mature -age seated round the table between his own table and -the windows, a young lady not fearfully much older -than himself, was lifting lettuce to her virginal lips. -She was sixteen, perhaps seventeen, certainly not -eighteen! They were nice lips for eating lettuce with, -but they were nothing to compare with her eyes. Dark -eyes, a bit languishing and long, with long lashes. He -wondered what she was doing there amid her staider -companions. He wondered what the colour of her -dark eyes really was. Would you call it brown, or a -sort of deep shade of grey? He became aware of her -awareness of him. She was conscious of his scrutiny -and the dark eyes stared scorn. A chit of a boy like -him! He realized he had held his cup of tea for long -seconds arrested on its journey to his lips. He blushed -and drained the chilled cup to its last drop. The lady -was chattering vivaciously, her eyes quick and lovely, -her lettuce-receiving lips making rich, full curves as -she spoke. -</p> - -<p> -"Make a good tea, you boys!" came the vigilant -injunction of Mrs. Kraft. -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, Mrs. Kraft!" was the fervent and almost -unanimous reply. -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, Mrs. Kraft!" hurried Philip, startled, belated. -He observed quite distinctly the lips of the dark-eyed -lady shape in mockery "Yes, Mrs. Kraft!" His -veins burned resentment against the insolent mystery. -The sun shouldered from behind a cloud and thrust -his fingers into her thick hair. It sparkled and was -alive with lights like a tray of gems in a jeweller's -window. The flash and wealth of the girl's hair turned -him swiftly veering towards Doomington, the thinning -hair of his mother. -</p> - -<p> -"Poor old mother!" he mused, deliberately switching -his mind away from the lady of long lashes. "I -wonder if the cough's eased down a bit? I wonder -how many days it'll be before she's up and about -again.... What a funny little nose she's got, a -weird little cleft at the tip! What can she be doing in -that lot? ... O blow the girl, what's she got to do -with it anyhow? Why on earth shouldn't mother get -away here, as soon as she's properly all right? Everything's -<i>kosher</i> and all that sort of thing. He'll have to -find the money somewhere, that's all! They could -sell all those <i>bechers</i> and the plush table-cloth. And we -never use the samovar nowadays! Oh what a rotten -cough it was, like something tearing! Poor old..." -</p> - -<p> -"You won't leave that piece of bread and butter on -the plate unfinished, Philip Massel, please!" broke in -the voice of Mrs. Kraft. -</p> - -<p> -"I'm so sorry!" he said, a quiver in his voice, the -cough still jangling and echoing in his brain, "I didn't -notice it!" -</p> - -<p> -He again caught the eyes of the dark lady. It -seemed that mysteriously she had caught the infection -of his sadness. Her eyes were rounder than they -had been, though not less dark. Her speech was more -subdued. -</p> - -<p> -Or perhaps it was an illusion. Perhaps? Of course -it was an illusion! A laughter fell from her throat -like a shower of pebbles. Surely she couldn't have -meant that almost imperceptible wink for him? An -elder person was muttering uncomfortably, "Not so -much jam, Mamie!" -</p> - -<p> -Mamie! -</p> - -<p> -An ever so much nicer name, when you came to -think of it, than "Edie." "Edie" began with a -screech and its one consonant was a miserable dental. -Strange how totally Edie and her nymphs had slipped -from his thoughts of late months! He remembered -the thoroughly nasty row at school after the Walton -Street period had brought him so abysmally low down -in form. They had been giddy months.... He had -learned a lot.... Then the Chaucer came, then the -school exams. Then she fell ill and got worse as the -weeks went on.... There had been no room for -Edie. She was a sly, deceiving creature, not really -to be trusted, though beautiful in a sort of way of -course. Now Mamie ... extraordinary name, -Mamie.... -</p> - -<p> -The boys had begun to file out of the room, and -Philip turned his eyes once more towards Mamie, -absurdly daring to hope she was looking in his direction, -or, if not actually looking towards him, at least -showing the black jewels of her eyes. But her head -was turned away; he could make out the leaf of -lettuce that was delicately approaching the hidden -mouth. -</p> - -<p> -Duly the next day a letter came from Channah. -Mother was getting on as well as might be expected, -and be sure and get that glass of milk every day, and -if ever you walk into streams, go back at once and -change into your other boots. Below the girl's writing -the wavering Yiddish letters of his mother's signature -scrawled sacredly. With a sentimentalism he did not -repress, despite a consciousness of Alec's probable -attitude towards such behaviour, he placed the letter -under his shirt until its successor of next day should -displace it. He was walking alone, along a quiet lane -behind the ambling shanks of cows. He had made -efforts to develop friendly relations with some of the -other boys at Wenton House. But most of them -seemed to have got acquainted with each other in -Doomington or on previous holidays and were already -splitting up into exclusive groups of twos and threes. -He could not help but feel that they looked upon -him with some distrust. Many of them had already -left their schools and were installed in warehouses and -factories. Philip was obviously one of those stuck-up -people who pronounced their "u's" almost as if they -were "a's," which was absurd, and some of them their -"a's" as if they were "ar's," which was intolerable. -There was something too, he observed, of subtle contempt -in their attitude. They had all paid a certain sum of -shillings for their respective fortnights, but the rumour -had gone abroad that an unknown capitalist was -financing Philip's holiday. No, they decided, he was -not their class; a little above, a little below, but not -of them! So that, not entirely to his displeasure, he -was left rather pointedly alone. Upon the second -afternoon, then, he was sauntering slowly along at a -little distance behind a herd of cows, when he saw far -up the lane a female figure clothed in light blue turn -round a bend with some speed, advance a little, and -then apparently catching sight of the approaching -cows, stop suddenly and flatten against a laneside tree. -Then pursuing her round the bend lurched a red cow, -followed by another and a third. The blue-clad figure -sped onward again until the foremost of the advancing -cows was not far from her, then she sank once more -into the dry ditch. Philip had recognised the black -hair. He had almost made out the brightness of the -eyes. It was Mamie, the enchantress of the tea-table! -</p> - -<p> -"Frightened of cows!" he thought a little -contemptuously. "All right, I'll lend the poor girl a -hand!" He came quickly forward and placed himself -between the girl and the roadway. -</p> - -<p> -"Excuse me, won't you!" he said, "I personally -am not afraid of cows...." -</p> - -<p> -The bent head was lifted with quick anger, the black -hair tossing. -</p> - -<p> -"Who said I was?" asked the girl. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, I beg your pardon!" said Philip crestfallen. -"I didn't understand why——" and he proceeded to -move away, a flush of flame lining his ears. -</p> - -<p> -"Don't go away!" the girl shrieked. "I am -frightened! Horribly!" -</p> - -<p> -He came back. "Right-ho!" he said, and folded -his arms. The cows were filing past in the two directions. -Mamie looked round from the side of Philip's legs. -"They're nearly all gone!" he assured her. -</p> - -<p> -"I hate cows!" she vowed. -</p> - -<p> -He ventured a remark not strictly <i>ŕ propos</i>. "And -I hate moths! Of course, not to mention beetles!" -</p> - -<p> -"I don't like beetles—or moths!" she added -speculatively. "But principally mice and cows. But then -what would you expect from a sensintive girl like me?" -</p> - -<p> -His mind went floundering after the meaning of -"sensintive." Oh, of course, she meant what people -usually called "sensitive." What a quaint old-world -sort of word it was on Mamie's lips! "Exactly! -Exactly!" he agreed politely. -</p> - -<p> -"If I may say so, it isn't exactly <i>delincate</i> to know -which are bulls and which are cows. Only vulgar girls -know <i>that</i> sort of thing!" What a fascinating little trick -she had of putting "n's" into unexpected places. -<i>Delincate</i>! It gave the very word a delicacy of its own. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, yes!" he said with conviction. -</p> - -<p> -"I'd best be getting up!" she remarked after a slight -silence. "It was very <i>sweet</i> of you to give me your -protection. Thank you!" her lips shaped lusciously. -"Thank you! So sweet of you! Quite chivalrous!" -she completed, with a delightfully displaced accent. -</p> - -<p> -"Not at all, not at all!" murmured Philip. Really -girls did make an awful fool of him! It was about -time he said something a little more elaborate than -"Exactly!" or "Not at all!" He had said more -before a crowd of working men in ten seconds than -he seemed capable of in ten hours in the presence of -this quite extraordinary young lady. -</p> - -<p> -"You might," came her voice, a little waspishly, -"help a lady to her feet when she gives you an -invintation! That you might!" She was rising from the -ditch. He bent over towards her, stung and foolish, -and lifted her to her feet. The pout left her lips at -once. "Oh, thank you so much!" she trilled. "Quite -grown-up you are, somehow! How long are you -staying in this dirty hole!" -</p> - -<p> -"As long as you are!" he said recklessly, in a spurt -of shy gallantry. -</p> - -<p> -"Go hon, now!" she mocked, and flicked the tip of -his nose with outstretched fingers. "That you aren't! -I'll have to run away from you if you talk like -that!" She broke into song—"Saucy and so young!" she -quavered. Her voice sent little waves of pleasure -coursing up and down his spine. "I'm older than you -are, I'll bet!" he ventured maturely. -</p> - -<p> -"How old, Percival?" she asked, signifying her -pleasure with a smile of arch gratitude. -</p> - -<p> -"About seventeen!" he lied. -</p> - -<p> -"Well, I'm only just a bit older, nearly eighteen!" -she said glibly. Her hand patted and smoothed her -hair. "Nearly eighteen!" she repeated, as if the -sound of the words gave her real pleasure. -</p> - -<p> -"So we're sort of practically the same age!" -suggested Philip. -</p> - -<p> -"<i>Are</i> we now? Well, you are taller than me and -only a month or so younger, so we'll call it <i>quits</i>, as -we say on the stage!" -</p> - -<p> -"On the <i>stage</i>?" Philip asked breathlessly. -</p> - -<p> -"On the concert-platform, I <i>do</i> mean! Not low-down -music-halls and musical comedies! I'm a -singer!" -</p> - -<p> -"By Jove!" Philip whispered, "I didn't know you -were one of those!" -</p> - -<p> -"One of those what?" she asked sharply. -</p> - -<p> -"Singers!" he replied innocently. "Why, what?" -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, it's all right, what's-your-name!" she said. -"Oh, by the way, what <i>is</i> your name?" -</p> - -<p> -"Philip, my name is! Philip Massel!" -</p> - -<p> -"Quite nice!" she approved. "Mine's Ursula!" -</p> - -<p> -"But I heard a lady say 'Mamie!'" -</p> - -<p> -She frowned. "Oh, that's only my Jewish name—Mamie -Jacobovitch. Of course you'll have heard my -professional name, 'Ursula Daventry.' But I don't -mind being called Mamie on holidays! But how long," -she asked, changing the subject, "did you say you -were staying? A fortnight, I suppose? I'm staying -three weeks!" -</p> - -<p> -"I thought girls weren't supposed to stay at -Mrs. Kraft's, are they?" -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, it's my precious mother's doing! She's gone -off to Chester to help Auntie Bessie have a baby, -although what good <i>she'll</i> do ... but I oughtn't -to talk to you like this, you're only a kid after all!" -</p> - -<p> -"You just said, you know, we're really the same age -to all intents and purposes, didn't you?" -</p> - -<p> -"Of course I did! Of course we are! Where was -I! Oh, yes! Well, and mother's a cousin of -Mrs. Hannetstein and Mrs. Hannetstein's a big friend of -Mrs. Kraft and there you are. <i>I'm</i> just shunted out -of the way! Not wanted in Chester! Not trusted on -my own in Doomington! It's filthy! And to be locked -up with a lot of old women!" -</p> - -<p> -"I hope it won't be so rotten for you after all! If -the weather keeps fine——" -</p> - -<p> -"Don't be so <i>hinty</i>, Philip! But all right, in any -case there isn't any real reason why we shouldn't go -out together sometimes, is there?—so long as we keep -it dark. I suppose Mrs. Kraft would pack me off -straight away, the <i>woman</i>, if she sniffed that I was -carrying on!" -</p> - -<p> -"But talking isn't carrying on?" -</p> - -<p> -"You have no idea what filthy minds they've got, -all of them! But look here, Mr. Philip, we're out on -the main road now and those are the back windows of -Wenton House. They might be spying out even now, -some of them! You can't tell with these females! -I'll tell you what, just slip back into the lane and -follow on in five minutes, don't you think? Good-bye, -Percival, see you to-morrow? <i>Such</i> thanks for rescuing -me from the bulls! Good-bye!" -</p> - -<p> -Philip slipped back into the lane, his head whirling. -Bewildering, audacious, inexplicable girl! So -beautifully friendly and candid, and so intelligent, and so -much a woman of the world—a concert-singer! And -she took one as one's equal, not as a nice school-boy -who was only just putting his nose into the world. -Philip was flattered and excited. He sat down against -the hedge, and his hand wandered for his handkerchief -towards the pocket sewn on his shirt. As he extracted -the handkerchief, something crackled. The letter, -Channah's letter, with his mother's signature! He -had forgotten all about her! Oh, what a hog he was! -Probably coughing her chest out on the sofa that very -moment! A tiny feeling of revolt against the -compelling Mamie entered his heart. Almost forgotten -his mother! That would never do! But what eyes she -had, smiling and dark and secret, even if she was so -charmingly frank on the outside! There was tragedy -in those eyes! Yes, he was sure there must be tragedy -in her life somewhere. Poor girl! he murmured -protectively. By the time he reached Wenton House -he had constructed for her a sombre Greek background -against which her proud bright spirit shone unyielding. -Poor girl! he repeated. But what eyes! he -mused finally, what eyes! -</p> - -<p> -Next morning no letter arrived. He was furious, -chiefly with Channah. "What does she mean by -promising me and then letting me down like this! -Another of her rotten old actor-heroes; absolutely -sloppy about them, she is! I wonder how mother can -be! They ought to know how anxious they'd make -me not writing after they'd promised! Absolutely -filthy, taking the bloom off a chap's holiday, the only -holiday I've ever had!" He spilt his coffee with bad -temper. Mrs. Kraft stared sourly from her post at -the "ladies'" table. Philip rushed out after breakfast -to compose a letter of fierce invective. It then occurred -to him that if his mother was worse, his letter wouldn't -help. He tried to convince himself that she was better -and that Channah had therefore not thought the letter -worth bothering about. He tore up the letter, but his -bad temper increased. The morning passed very -dully and he was too sullen to be interested in the -munificent substitution of fried for boiled potatoes at -dinner. But as the afternoon shadows deepened, his -feet took him disconsolately towards the lane where -the cow-and-Mamie episode had taken place. In that -direction lay, he felt, the only oasis in the ennui of -Wenton. An absurdity suddenly struck him. Here -was the romantic, the poet, who had once rhapsodized -over a blade of grass and shouted for glory at a bird's -song, here was he, with strange sweet singers on every -branch of unnamed trees, with wild flowers dappling -the meadows, scented weeds filling the streamside air, -here was he dull and sulky and stupid! What was -coming over him? Had the year ended in too feverish -a bout of work? But of course it was Channah and -that letter! Hang the girl, why hadn't she written? -Yet that wasn't all, there was something else making -him unquiet, setting up cross currents in these free -Wenton days which until recently had seemed a dream -not for a dreary time capable of realization. What else -beside Channah? Oh, yes, here was the lane where he -had seen the huddling mass of blue. Mamie! -Undoubtedly, it was that weird girl with the dark eyes -putting things out of tune! He didn't like her! There -was too much assurance about her.... By Heaven, -here she was, sitting demure and watchful on the -further side of a sycamore! -</p> - -<p> -"Good afternoon, Philip!" -</p> - -<p> -"Good afternoon, Miss—er, Miss Daventry!" -</p> - -<p> -"Well, if you won't call me Mamie, I can't say I -really mind, you know! But I don't think it's at all -friendly of you! That I don't! Particularly after——" -</p> - -<p> -"I'm fearfully sorry, Mamie! I didn't think you'd -really like to, after only meeting yesterday!" -</p> - -<p> -"After all, what does that matter with girls and -boys like me and you! Won't you just sit down here, -or are you going on...?" -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, if you'll let me——" -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, do! Now what is it is bringing that nasty -frown on Philip's forehead! Out with it, he mustn't -look so worried or Mamie will think all sorts of things!" -</p> - -<p> -"It's about, well, it's about a letter!" -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, oh!" said the girl teasingly. "Oh, oh! Tell -us all about her! And you do look so young to be -carrying on! I said to myself when I first saw you, -I said, 'Now there's a young man an innocent girl -like me's got to be careful of! I can see it in his eyes, -I can'!" She hummed the words of a song. She -momentarily forgot her friend as she pursued a phrase -along a trilling tremolo. And then, "Oh, yes, where -are we! A letter from his little sweetheart! Oh, oh, -Philip!" -</p> - -<p> -"It isn't!" Philip declared. He explained haltingly -the nature of the letter. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, don't worry about that sort of thing on holiday!" -enjoined Mamie airily. "<i>I</i> never would, not if my -mother were dying of the croup! And if your sister -doesn't keep her promises, she's a cat and it's her -own look-out! Oh no, no, no, don't let a little thing -like that worry you!" -</p> - -<p> -"Really, don't talk of her like that! She's a sport! -She's not a cat!" -</p> - -<p> -"Did I say your sister was a cat? Oh, I didn't -mean that, you didn't get me proper. You see it's -like this.... Oh, hell! It's not worth bothering -about! What was I going to say? Let me see—yes! -Don't be afraid of me, Philip, why don't you -move up a bit, there's room enough? That's right! -Now let's talk about something interesting, not letters -and stuff!" -</p> - -<p> -A flame of resentment was smouldering in Philip. -He was searching round for something to say which -would re-establish his self-respect. Peculiar girl! -There was no making her out! What was she doing? -She was holding his hand! What soft fingers she had! -She stroked his wrist, then his forearm. Quaint waves -of pleasure went tingling along his backbone. She -was leaning her head on his shoulder. Her lovely hair -was blowing against his cheek, her bosom was pressing -warmly against him. -</p> - -<p> -"Philip!" she said. He made no reply. "Philip!" -she repeated. What was there to say? He liked the -feel of her against him, he liked the eyelashes curling -from her eyes. "Say something, Philip!" -</p> - -<p> -"Mamie," he said lamely, "it's awfully nice of you -to be so—to be——" -</p> - -<p> -"Hush, Philip, do be quiet!" -</p> - -<p> -They sat thus for some time, Philip's mind drowsing -in an unfamiliar content. They rose at last and -separated at the corner of the lane. When he thought, -half an hour later, of the letter which had not been -sent, he murmured, "Oh, it's all right, I'll hear -to-morrow! Nothing's the matter, nothing!" He -could feel still the softness of her hair on his cheek. -</p> - -<p> -Channah's note next day was shorter than the last. -She did not mention her oversight of the previous day. -Once more the signature of his mother lay crooked and -inexpressibly precious at the foot of the page. -</p> - -<p> -"I told you so!" said Mamie triumphantly that -evening. "<i>Absolutely</i> no need to worry! Hold my arm -a wee bit tighter!" -</p> - -<p> -When no letter arrived the following day, it required -no great effort to allay the pangs of unease. -"To-morrow!" he said. "It'll be all right to-morrow! -I wish Channah weren't so lazy. Now mother's getting -better there really isn't any excuse...." -</p> - -<p> -Channah's note of the next day was almost curt. -"Mother getting on just the same. Looking forward -to your coming back." -</p> - -<p> -But surely there was a change in mother's signature! -Oh, surely! He took his wallet from his pocket and -removed the two letters he had already received. A -numbing anxiety gripped him. It was quite impossible -to doubt that the Yiddish letters of the latest signature -were sprawling about weakly, the vertical strokes ending -in impotent scratches. "God!" he exclaimed in -sudden fright. "Nothing can be wrong!" He tried to -reassure himself. "She was very tired, that's what it -is! Oh, <i>she's</i> all right! But what if anything were to -happen to her while I'm away! That's absurd! -Can't a person make a few scratches in signing a letter -without giving rise to silly nightmare ideas? I don't -know what on earth's wrong with me these last few -days! I wish I hadn't met Mamie! She always seems -to be quarrelling with mother inside me! What on -earth is wrong with me! What have I got to drag -Mamie in for! Quarrelling with mother! Isn't that a -stupid thing to say about the poor girl! Poor Mamie! -Oh, damn Mamie!" -</p> - -<p> -They had made an appointment for that evening in -a quiet angle between a barn and a hayrick. "I'll be -damned if I'll go and see her!" But at tea that day -she looked towards him with such careful languor and -winked her large fine eye so solemnly that his resolve -weakened. "After all <i>she's</i> done nothing! I wish I -weren't so anxious about mother, things would be so -splendid ... Would you pass the bread and butter, -please! Thank you!" -</p> - -<p> -She kept him waiting for twenty minutes. He fumed, -his temper was thoroughly chafed. "Curse it! I'll -go back home to-morrow, I can't bear this filthy -suspense! What does she mean by keeping me hanging -about like this!" A corncrake creaked from an adjacent -field. "Oh, the idiot!" he swore. "I'll wring -its dirty neck! I'll go away if she doesn't turn up in -three minutes! Can anything really be wrong at -home! After all, the doctor said she was coming -round—oh, blast that bird!" His foot knocked angrily. -"Hello!" he whistled. "What's that?" From -quite close at hand a low singing travelled towards him. -It was a cold voice, but peculiarly sweet. It was a mere -tune, without meaning or words, but it soothed him like -a cool hand on the forehead. Its pitch was low, like a -tiny bird's. Probably the voice could not be heard -at all a few yards away. The singing was for himself, -a message! Then he saw a slight foot and a blue skirt -emerge beyond the corner of the hayrick and black -hair floated into view. The warbling became clearer, -though not less soft, the dark eyes of Mamie were -beaming upon him and her rich red lips were ravishing -their music upon the little space between the barn and -the hayrick. Philip lay back, soothed and drowsed, -the melody played about him like a fountain. -</p> - -<p> -She was by his side, having said not a word; her -singing was reduced to the very verge of sound. Then -she was silent, her two arms round Philip's waist. The -corncrake croaked unheard. He put his two hands on -her cheeks and looked into her eyes. There was a -glint of mockery lurking among their shadows. -</p> - -<p> -"Can I——?" he asked whispering, yearning, -afraid. -</p> - -<p> -"You little fool!" she said. And saying this, she -seemed old as the line of high hills which swung against -the southward horizon. From a gloom of generations -she spoke, a desiring animal voice sounding from a -depth of many histories. -</p> - -<p> -"You little fool! Haven't I been waiting for it! -Oh, you slowcoach!" -</p> - -<p> -His lips darted hungrily to hers. His body was aflame. -He pressed her hard against his breast. His lips -relaxed, but hers were still passionate, remorseless, -unslacking. Then at last their lips fell apart. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh!" she said, and there was a hint of a squeak -in her voice. "Oh, now wasn't that really nice!" -</p> - -<p> -Even now he had room to be shocked at her unfortunate -choice of an adjective. "Sweetheart!" he -said, "It was more! It was full and golden like the -harvest moon! It was like a flooded river, foaming -gold in the sunset! It was, it was—Oh, for God's -sake don't let me make a speech! Kiss me!" -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, but I like you to! Say it again, Philip! Take -one hand away, put it on your heart, like so! Now -fire away!" -</p> - -<p> -"Mamie, how can you tease a chap, now—<i>now</i>! -At a time when——" -</p> - -<p> -"Now you're going to be sloppy! I can beat you -at that game! Bend closer!" she enjoined, playing -her fingers about in his hair. "How do you like this -one?" -</p> - -<p> -The lines of her bosom were soft and only half-secret -as he held her, looking dazedly into her eyes. -He was kissing her eyelids and the hollows under the -eyes. "Philip!" she murmured, "How delincate -of you!" -</p> - -<p> -The word impinged, now as he kissed the slender -fringe of those dark eyes, unpleasantly against his -skin. But she lifted her eyelids once more and once -more he was drowning in sensuous waters, flickering -weakly down dim lights and warm opaque shadows. -</p> - -<p> -They said little. It was all a playing with their -faces and hands and lips. He seemed to be growing -deeper and deeper into her. She was leaning against -him, pale, a little tired, it seemed. Once more his -head was stooping to her lips. Without warning, he -found her rising to her feet and standing over him. -</p> - -<p> -"Mamie!" -</p> - -<p> -"We'd best stop! That'll do, Philip Massel! Leave -some till next time...." -</p> - -<p> -"Mamie, but what..." -</p> - -<p> -"Good-night!" -</p> - -<p> -He saw her pass swiftly from view as she flickered -round the angle of the barn. -</p> - -<p> -"Mamie!" he shouted. "What's the matter? -What on earth have I done?" -</p> - -<p> -No reply came back to him. He rose a little dizzily -and came out into the evening. He saw the trees -kissing each other in a little wind. The strange sweet -smell of her kisses was on his lips. He saw two horses -in a field rubbing their heads together. Clouds overhead -kissed and mingled. Leaves fluttering kissed each -other and darted aloof, only once more to bring their -lips together. He heard a stream along the field where -he was standing so crazed and tired, lipping and kissing -the pebbles. -</p> - -<p> -"Mamie!" he whispered. "She loves me!" Overhead -the cry of rooks came, raucously, ironically. "Don't -believe it! Don't believe it! Don't-you-believe it!" Who -was being ironical? Was it he, was it the rooks? -"Don't believe it!" they cawed. "To hell with -you all!" he shouted into the black vortex. He -lifted his hand to his mouth as if to retain there the -impress of her lips. -</p> - -<p> -"I needn't be a fool about it!" he muttered through -his teeth. -</p> - -<p> -He fell asleep that night with a sense of the closeness -of her face. Dimly and dazed he remembered that her -lips had seemed to drink him up. Engulfed in her, he -lay sleeping at length. And yet was he truly asleep? -From what world came this enamel can with the rusted -edges, from the real world, from the world of unintelligible -dreams? Oh, yes, of course; he recognized it! -It was the can that hung on a nail over the scullery -sink. They were filling the can with water, unseen and -pale hands holding it to the guttering tap. "Don't -think of them!" the girl said, "think of my lips! -Aren't they juicy, aren't they sweet?" But -processionally, as though that cheap can were a flagon of -holy wines, they were bearing it away, along the lobby, -and towards the front door. The cat was crying eerily -from a shut room. Tick—tick—tick! moaned the clock. -Candles fluttering! ... Good girl, Mamie! Here she -was, with flushed cheeks and tossing hair! Wouldn't -let them have it all their own way, she wouldn't! -The can of water stood—why, why? stood at the -pavement's edge. She lifted the can and threw the water -away, but the can dropped from her fingers, and here -once more was the can at the pavement's edge, full once -more with dark, mournful waters. "Never mind -them!" she whispered. She bent towards him, her -eyes desirous. Yet ever quenchless, like a vase of -tears, the can stood at the pavement's edge. And here -was Mrs. Levine, sodden flour on her apron, and long, -torn wools fluttering from her shawl. She was wringing -her hands. She bent towards the can of water. "Look -away!" said the girl fiercely. A rumbling of wheels... -</p> - -<p> -A cock was crowing. The leaves of a full tree were -swishing against the window. Philip opened to the dawn -red and apprehensive eyes. -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -But his first remembrance as he stared towards the -oblong of eight lights was not the girl, not all the -grape-dark kissing; it was a sudden stab of -contrition—"The letter! My mother's signature! By God, -what a swine I was! I forgot!" -</p> - -<p> -Mrs. Kraft read the names of the recipients of letters -during breakfast. Nothing? Nothing for Philip -Massel! He stared savagely towards Mrs. Kraft. She -might have read out his name alongside of the fools she -had mentioned; he needed his letter a thousand times -more than they! He turned resentful eyes towards -Mamie. Mamie was chattering sweetly with -Mrs. Hannetstein. He stumbled into the garden and sat -disconsolately against a trunk. The self-satisfied -buzzing of a bee over its tremendously exaggerated -labours annoyed him acutely. Minutes passed. His -despondency and irritation became more and more -unbearably stupid. He had allowed himself to forget -her, he had allowed those hungry quiet eyes to slip from -his heaven, he had allowed—oh, what a maddeningly -fierce scarlet was the geranium in those precise -window-boxes! What an insane monotony of triplicate phrases -that shallow fat bird sang yonder, the bird with the -mottled breast! What a gawky youth was this passing -through the front gate with a bumpkin leer and corkscrew -feet, a foolish little ochre envelope held stiffly -before him! He leaned back against the tree and closed -his eyes tiredly. How long would it take before she -would really be about? Of course it had been a boast, a -joke, that she'd have a monstrous <i>kuggel</i> to greet his -return! His head was buzzing foolishly. -</p> - -<p> -"Philip Massel! A telegram for you!" Of course -that had nothing to do with him! Who the hell was -Philip Massel, anyhow? He heard the metallic tinkling of -a grasshopper, and saw against his shut eyelids huge -yellow spheres like brandy-balls and blue rings and -spectral vapours. -</p> - -<p> -"Philip Massel! Didn't you hear? A telegram, I said!" -</p> - -<p> -The bumpkin was grinning towards him. At the front -door Mrs. Kraft stood, arm outstretched. Philip turned -a frightened face from youth to woman, from woman -to youth. He came forward and opened the envelope. -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> - "Mother dangerous return immediately.<br /> - CHANNAH,"<br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -he read. -</p> - -<p> -A blare of terror sounded in his brain like trumpets. -</p> - -<p> -"Mrs. Kraft!" he choked. "My mother's dying! -Oh, quick, I've got to go home!" -</p> - -<p> -From very far away her voice came. "You must -have some hot coffee before you go! The next train's -the eleven-twenty!" -</p> - -<p> -"You don't know what she's like!" said Philip, -burning with a sudden tremendous desire to make this -woman understand over whose beloved, intolerably -beloved head, lay hideous shadow. -</p> - -<p> -"I know!" the woman was saying. "I've been -through it all!" She had taken Philip's arm. "Come -in now, you can't go off at once! Poor lad, I'm -sorry! But then, perhaps, all will turn out well. -Jane!" she shouted, "bring some strong coffee in at -once!" -</p> - -<p> -"I don't want anything!" he said. But he found -the coffee scorching his palate and coursing hotly down -his throat. He found Mrs. Kraft by his side, as he -started to fold things into his bag with hands which, -uselessly suspended at the wrists, seemed to be lumps -of lead. A shirt fell from his fingers to the floor as -though it were woven of metal threads. Mrs. Kraft -bent quietly to the shirt, folded it and tucked it away; -the boy for one moment swung round to look at her, -through a gap in the clouds which had gathered about -his head. "What's been wrong with me all this time?" -he speculated. "I've never seen this woman before, -I've never been in the same room!" She had passed -repeatedly from his vision like a cart going by on a -crowded road—bearing no lineaments of her own, -being merely a thing of which his senses had been -half-conscious. Was she stern, forbidding? He did not -know. Was she, as she seemed now, a grave-eyed -woman, quiet, full of pity? How could he argue it -out now, while the straps were fumbling from his -ineffectual fingers, and like a vigilant automaton, her -hands had usurped his own? -</p> - -<p> -"Harry Levi!" he heard her shout into the garden. -"Go with Philip Massel to the station and carry his bag -for him!" -</p> - -<p> -She mumbled a difficult word of sympathy and the -blank door lay between him and Mrs. Kraft. Three -and four and five times Harry Levi asked, "Is she -chucking you out, Massel, or wot is it, eh?" He had no -quarrel with Harry Levi. There was no reason why -he should not be civil to Harry Levi; but his lips -would not move, and the roof of his mouth was like -burnt crust. Harry Levi relapsed into an injured and -simmering silence. -</p> - -<p> -There were minutes of waiting at the station, minutes -blank and ugly and high like the wall of a factory. The -train came hurtling in from among the hills, uttering as -it approached the station a lugubrious and prolonged -howl. The howl reverberated through all the corners -of Philip's heart, rocking, shuddering, dismally dying -away. -</p> - -<p> -He was in the train at last. "I must face the fact, -I must face the fact!" Chu—chu—chu! the train -went, chu—chu—chu! "Face the fact! Face the fact!" As -he lay in the corner of the carriage, huddled like a -discarded coat, he realized that the fool's paradise in -which he had lived lay about him futile and desolate. -A puff of wind and the walls had tottered, there was a -groaning of uprooted beams, a smell of hot dust, -overhead the intolerable eye of the sun looking sourly down! -Fool he had been! Had he not seen her dying before -his eyes, year by year, day by day! -</p> - -<p> -A little specious voice whispered, "But Channah -says she's only ill. She doesn't say—not that! -Perhaps it won't ... really, Philip, you can't -tell ... perhaps...!" -</p> - -<p> -"Dangerously ill!" Philip countered, "Dangerously ill!" -</p> - -<p> -"Quite, I see! But not—not the other thing.... -Other people have been dangerously ill and yet, you -know...." -</p> - -<p> -It was only the somnolent fat man opposite to him, -whose belly curved below a heavy gilt chain and whose -huge red cheeks cushioned curved long eyelashes, -who prevented Philip from leaping to his feet and -shrieking wildly. "Enough of your lies! I've allowed -myself to be taken in long enough! Oh, for God's sake be -quiet now, be quiet, or I'll go mad!" -</p> - -<p> -The puerility, the futility of it all! And had he -assured himself that though all other women soever in -the tremendous history of the world had died, she alone -would be exonerate, for his sake, forsooth—she who now -perhaps was lying dead...? No, that at least could -not be! She would wait for him. By God, God would -pay for it if she was not allowed to wait for him! -</p> - -<p> -Oh, speed on, speed on, reluctant and sombre train! -Devour the separating miles, throw the hills behind you, -plunge forward to the cities, speed on or she shall be -dead! Oh, carry me swiftly to her waiting eyes! Her -eyelids are heavy! Keep them not waiting so long that -they shall droop, droop! Oh, swifter, swifter! -</p> - -<p> -What mercy could he expect from the train? Had -he not known all along and kept the knowledge safely -hidden in his furthest recesses? Of course she had -insisted on his going away from her! She had known -that this was coming! She had determined to keep -him immune from the shadow whose fringes she knew -to be even then hanging over the house in Angel Street! -But it had been for him to stand fast, to say—"No, -mother, I'm not going! Whatever you say, I must, -I will be with you!" She would have understood with -that wisdom of hers which lay far from her mere lips, -was glimpsed but fitfully in the cloudy hollows of her -eyes. -</p> - -<p> -Of course he had known! What else had he meant -by that insistence on her signature! It must have been -patent to them all how he had dared to go in the teeth -of so imperious a premonition that he demanded her -handwriting from day to day. That girl....! The -memory of her pecked at the flesh between his ribs like -some insatiable bird! Kissing, fooling round with her -hair, her lips, while she lay weakening, dying. A sound -crawled through his teeth. In his own ears it was -cavernous, heavy, loud. Suddenly self-conscious, he -looked nervously up to the fat man, but the heavy chin -still hung placidly relaxed and the shoulders were -lifting a little to the incipient snores. -</p> - -<p> -The window beside him was shut. His shirt and collar -seemed to have fastened tight round his throat, -choking him. He dropped the window with a crash and -the cool air came surging in. It was not enough, and he -set his face out against the jaws of the wind and felt its -chilly comfort washing the roots of his hair. -</p> - -<p> -Swifter, swifter, train, absorb the miles! That white -house below the chimney stack on the horizon there, -shall we never outstrip it? Grinning there in its -unapproachable immobility! Ah, now, the horizon swivels -round on a pivot, and swift for your callous face, oh, -white, grinning house! Wind, wind, what message do -you bring from her? Is she waiting? No, no, I shall -not come too late! -</p> - -<p> -Who's speaking? "That'll do, young feller-me-lad!" The -draught has awakened the dozing fat man. -</p> - -<p> -His lips vibrate with growing indignation. "Shoot -that winder oop and sit tha down! Awake sin' fower -o'th'clock and tha wilt go playin' tricks with winders, -wilt'a... ?" -</p> - -<p> -The window is replaced along the full length of its -groove, and with a rumbling from the gills, a slight -outraged crest-heavy swinging, the fat man once more -slides away into somnolence. -</p> - -<p> -What shall he do as the slow miles dawdle by? -Poetry! How long he has deserted poetry! What -strange affinity had there been between poetry and -beetles! Rarely, rarely since those old days of -crackling wall-paper and whisperful spent cinders where -the beetles crawled, had a pencil, busy a moment ago -on the annotation of vacuous texts, found itself -scrawling rhymes and dreams. He had felt that poetry -would not come his way again, but now ... as the -train beat like a living pulse, now that his own heart -seemed to be moving forward and backward again, a -great shining piston ... He hunted in his pockets for a -pencil, took out a blunt stump, and lifted an envelope -from the same pocket. With a quick dart of anguish he -realized it was the last letter he had received from -Channah, where already the signature of his mother -sprawled with the impotence of death. He flung the -pencil away as if the impulse which had produced it from -his pocket had been treason. He remembered with bitter -mirth an anticipatory consolation he had once frequently -imbibed. At the same time as he had persistently -assured himself of his mother's immortality, he had -whispered, smirking, "Yes, but when she does die, won't -I start writing wonderful poetry! Marvellous elegies -that'll make Gray sound like a threepenny kettledrum! -I'll make 'em sit up! And I'll have a little book bound -in soft red leather..." The tortured lad winced as -he brought to mind the old fatuity. He would make -capital out of her death, would he, little books bound in -soft red leather! How well he knew now he would be -like a fallen leaf on a road trodden by a thousand feet! -</p> - -<p> -Oh, swifter, train! Never train moved so slowly! -He moved from against the fat man and pushed the -opposite seat ludicrously with his feet to bring the train -sooner to Doomington. -</p> - -<p> -He was holding the envelope in his hand. And he had -allowed the girl called Mamie to persuade him to take -no alarm in the weakening of the signature. He had -suppressed the instinct from swimming into clear -consciousness, the instinct to return at once before the hand -weakened into the last torpor. Now at length the -contest and the protagonists of which his mind had been -the arena stood starkly before him, and he knew, -with what shame, what despair, who had prevailed. -Mamie and a tickling of the lips, shafts of shy pleasure -about the loins—and his mother, waiting. With -abrupt clarity, the enamelled can which last night had -prevailed over the disorder of his dreams, returned. -Now clearly he realized the heart-breaking symbolism -of the enamel can; not merely symbolism! Soon the -can should be not merely a symbol, but a fact; soon, -perhaps now! -</p> - -<p> -In all his forethought of death, not in especial relation -with his mother, but with anybody he loved or knew, -one element in the Jewish custom had brought him -most distress. Frequent observation had instructed -him that when a dead body lay beyond the doors of a -Jewish house, a vessel of water and a bucket to -replenish it were placed at the edge of the pavement. -As the living passed by the place of death, the vessel -was lifted to sluice from each hand alternately of the -passer-by the contamination issuing from the melancholy -doors. It was a sign of death which had sometimes -come upon him so suddenly but with such -incontrovertible assertion that it had long filled the -crevices of his mind with horror. -</p> - -<p> -The actual enamel tin of his dreams he also recognized. -It had been condemned a long time ago to the scullery -at Angel Street, because the enamel had been chipped -by old service from its edges, and it now hung, he well -remembered, on a rusted nail by the sink. It had been -used by his father and himself for the hand-washing -which preceded every meal. There could be no vestige -of doubt that when the time came for this desperate -and bitter use, the enamel can would be lifted from the -nail and would contain cold water for cleansing at the -pavement's edge. -</p> - -<p> -Ah, how he realized now what Mamie was endeavouring -to do when she had lifted the enamel can in his -dreams and thrown away the water, and the can had -fallen from her fingers. Once more she sought to delude -him into believing that all was well, that the deadly -need did not exist for the cleansing of hands at the -enamel can. Even as she had sought to assure him -that all was well with the writing in Channah's letter! -Too late! There at the pavement's edge, despite her -duplicity, the enamel can lay once more, its little lake -of grey water reflecting the grey sky. Here came a -woman, swaying in her sorrow, her shawl slipping from -her head! She stooped. Over the knuckles of the left -hand washed the water, over the knuckles of the right. -</p> - -<p> -Philip shivered suddenly. What if he actually found -the enamel can outside the doorsteps? Could he bear -to go into the house? No, that at least he had not -deserved! Not that! She would wait, he knew she -would wait. -</p> - -<p> -But see! the streets were now set thick along the -path of the railway, dingy parallels, skulking streets at -right angles. The fields had long been engulfed in red -brick, grey brick. The town once more was gathering -about his lungs. And there, pretentious, ugly, -forbidding, like the policemen for whom it was their focal -centre, reared the chimney of the prison on Doomington -Road. The fat man blinked with alarm as the train -jarred and jolted into the station. -</p> - -<p> -"Doomington!" Philip murmured, "Be kind, God!" -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap0314"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER XIV -</h3> - -<p> -The tramcar stopped at a corner nearer the station by -one block of buildings than Angel Street. Rayman, -the butcher, was hacking away with indecent enthusiasm -at a hulk of ribs. At Lansky, the draper's, unconcerned -girl assistants were measuring lengths of cloth by -outstretching one corner and lifting the other to the teeth. -Philip noticed with an acute realization of detail the -stupid cat with a closed eye and a foolish blue ribbon -round its neck which was arching its back lasciviously -against a woman's leg. The distance he had walked -could scarcely have been more than fifty yards, yet -when he came to Moishele's shop at the corner it seemed -to him for one moment that he had been walking and -walking since dawn broke. Above him and across -the intervening gap of the street, on the side wall of -the "Crown Inn," and over the advertisement for -Groves and Whitnall's Ale, he read on an oblong plaque, -"Angel Street." -</p> - -<p> -Angel Street! He dared not put into words what he -feared. Must he turn into the street? Oh, turn swiftly, -swiftly, never a moment to lose! A small clump of -figures down the street brought momentary terror over -his blurred eyes, until he made out the wheels and the -containing boards of a fruit-handcart. -</p> - -<p> -Thank God, nothing! Nothing at the pavement's -edge outside the steps of his father's house! Quietly -he knocked. He could hear his heart knocking loudly -as the hand knocked. Channah came to the door; -pale she was, with wide, dark eyes. A spurt of light -came into her eyes when she saw Philip standing there, -then the light flickered away. -</p> - -<p> -"How is she?" -</p> - -<p> -"Bad! Go in and see!" -</p> - -<p> -"Just take my bag away. Oh, Channah, I thought -I'd never get here!" -</p> - -<p> -"Give it me and go in! She's been asking for you!" -</p> - -<p> -"But why didn't you send for me before? Why did -you let me stay away so long? How could you do it? -If I hadn't come home in time, Channah, oh, think..." -</p> - -<p> -"But it's all been so sudden, so sudden! Only two -or three days ago she broke down suddenly. She just -crumpled up. You never saw such a difference in a day -or two! Oh, it's been terrible! Let's come away, we -mustn't keep the door open! Why are you standing -there like that, Philip! Shake yourself, be sensible!" -</p> - -<p> -"Nothing, Channah, nothing! Oh, tell me, why did -you persuade me to go away, both of you? If I ever -forgive you, can I forgive myself?" -</p> - -<p> -"Philip, let me close the front door! Come in, -don't stand like a stone! I can't understand you; -why don't you go in at once, she's been asking for you, -I tell you!" -</p> - -<p> -"Don't you see how I'm afraid? It's on my mind—what -I just said! Why did you let me go?" -</p> - -<p> -"We hadn't the least idea of anything. You'd have -upset her if you'd missed the chance. You'd have -brought it about sooner!" -</p> - -<p> -"Do you think she really meant it—about the -<i>kuggel</i>? Wasn't she just joking?" -</p> - -<p> -"No. She wanted to get up to make you some and -send it to you! Emmes, Philip, if it isn't true!" -</p> - -<p> -He had been standing stiff in each joint, touched as -with frost. Suddenly all his body drooped. His voice -fell to an almost unintelligible whisper. "Let me go in -to her....!" -</p> - -<p> -He moved the few steps to the parlour door and turned -the handle. He was at her bedside. Only her eyes he -first saw. They were larger, warmer, deeper than they -had been at any time before. Because of the eyes, he -was not immediately conscious with the whole of his -mind of the pallor in which they were set: not merely -pallor, a bloodless yellow. -</p> - -<p> -But the consciousness of this pallor was soaking -through each pore of his body and mind, even as he -bent to kiss her powerless lips; even as he rose and was -saying, "Look, mother, mother! I'm back from -Wenton!" The consciousness of her pallor so steeped -each atom, each corpuscle in him that he became -yellow as she. Still, for her sake, he held his lips firm -against his teeth, subdued the impulse in his four limbs -to fling themselves wildly, wildly, upon the floor. She -was too weak to answer. He saw her mouth endeavour -to frame words and abandon the attempt. Only by a -lifting of the eyelids she showed the joy at the centre of -that waning heart, and by the dim flush of colour which -spread across her cheeks. -</p> - -<p> -He knew not for what length of time he stood motionless -over a body so thin it hardly seemed to break the -line of the counterpane. At last he became aware that -the door had opened and Channah had come through. -</p> - -<p> -"Let me just come near her, Philip, I'll see if she -can take a drop of milk! Dorah's in the kitchen! She -wants you to go in and have some food!" -</p> - -<p> -"Not now!" he whispered. -</p> - -<p> -There was a shuffling with utensils on the bedside -table. The sound seemed to relax a chain which had -held the boy taut. He staggered a few steps and, -perceiving the moth-eaten yellow plush arm-chair near him, -he sank into it with convulsive abandonment. Now he -became consciously and fully aware of the shock he had -endured. Sometimes in his dreams he had seen her dead. -One dream of them all had lifted his eyelids at -midnight from eyes glassy with horror. Now as it came back -to him, he winced and writhed. He had seen her head -lying on that copper tray where each Sabbath eve she -had placed the uncut bread before her husband. -Beside her head lay a squat beaker of wine, the beaker -over which, before the meal began, Reb Monash incanted -the <i>kiddush</i> with shut eyes. In a groping, childish way -he had endeavoured to exorcise the terror of this -dream by rationalizing it, by relating the hideous -phantasm to the fabric of reality. He knew that the copper -tray gleaming always like smooth dark mahogany -might stand as symbol of the heavy labours which -year by year reduced her to a ghost. She had the Jewish -housewife's intense pride in the cleanliness and beauty -of her home. Each Thursday evening the kitchen table -was littered with trays, brass candlesticks, beakers, -tins of polish, dusters. Though the reek of the polish -was offensive to her lungs and sent her into fits of -coughing, no Thursday evening saw the arduous ritual -abated by one iota. But Philip knew that the -significance of the dream lay deeper than this. Obscurely -he realized that the beaker of wine represented all the -sacerdotalism of his race; in some way far too -profound for his guessing the vision of the severed head -was complicated with that antique ritual, so magnificently -alive and yet so ineffably dead. The head was lying on -that tray of her own devoted polishing throughout -the doomed years, lying as an offering to the impendent -bearded God of his race. The cavernous lips opened as -the beaker rose to their glooms. "I am that I am!" -a voice moaned among endless colonnades of hills -toppling towards the verges of space. How came it -that the eyes of Jehovah aloof among the chasmed -clouds were the eyes of Reb Monash, sitting upon his -peculiar and inalienable chair in the corner of the -kitchen? And the copper tray was a lake profound -with many distances and many generations where dim -ancestral shapes flickered from deep to deep. Twofold -tyrannies along the deliberate reaches of the Nile, -wildernesses and weak lads straggling and dying in -the wake of the wanderers, smitten lands of exile, -<i>Kossacken</i> galloping in with sabres and flung beards, a -slight lad crumpled in a moth-eaten yellow plush -armchair, crumpled, broken, too mournful for any tears. -</p> - -<p> -He had seen her dead in dreams, but never so pale, so -shrunken as now, her mouth retaining little if any at all -of the weak, warm milk Channah was lifting on a spoon. -An ague shivering visited his whole body. Clearly -he brought her to mind as she hovered round him with -cherries and tea on those immortal afternoons; he saw -her struggling with the Acroceraunian mountains, her -lips humorously twisting to shape the alien syllables. -He remembered the quiet pride with which, long ago, -she had regarded Reb Monash as he sat oracular in his -chair, his admirers drinking with reverent avidity the -wine of wisdom flowing from his lips. The boy's throat -shook with harsh, suppressed sobs. -</p> - -<p> -Channah spoke. "Philip, she's calling to you!" -</p> - -<p> -Not a tear had risen to his eyes. He bent over his -mother with a wan smile. Weakly, slowly, she spoke. -He knew that she had been lying there, waiting to -summon up the strength with which to frame a few words. -</p> - -<p> -"<i>Nu</i>, Feivele, my own one. Art thou feeling stronger -for being away?" -</p> - -<p> -"Mother, loved one," he replied in her own Yiddish. -"Yes, stronger. But I had rather I had been with thee!" -</p> - -<p> -"Speak not thus! I was happy to think of thee -among the fields. Didst thou have a special egg a day -and milk?" -</p> - -<p> -"I did! But no, mother, thou must not talk more! -Thou art not strong now, but wait, wait ... when -thou art better...." -</p> - -<p> -"Be thou not a child! Feivele, I am going ... going...." -</p> - -<p> -The words were smothered in a tiny dry coughing. -Channah came forward to help her. He turned his head -away from the forlorn struggle. -</p> - -<p> -Reb Monash had been to the <i>Polisher Shool</i> for minchak. -He returned, and stood at the door, large-eyed, haunted. -</p> - -<p> -"Thou art back, Feivele?" he said. He seemed to -be searching for further words, but nothing came. The -voice seemed to Philip to strike against his skin, then to -fall away dully to the floor. -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, <i>tatte</i>, yes," he said mechanically, and the -abstract sphere in which his mother dying and his grief -and himself seemed to be encrystalled, closed round him -again in separating completeness. -</p> - -<p> -All day greedily he remained with her, knowing -with a mournful exultance that when she gathered -strength she would say a few words to him; yet when -these moments came, saying "Hush, mamma, not -now! Sweetest, hush!" bending over her, faintly -touching her forehead. -</p> - -<p> -A long time had passed, and he was conscious not -merely of hunger, but of a concrete clawed weakness -tearing at the pit of his stomach, before he allowed -Channah to take him into the kitchen and cut some -slices of bread and butter for him and fill a pint mug -with tea. Dorah was there putting washed plates on -the shelves, and as Channah sat down at the table, she -moved away to the parlour to take her place. Channah -was sitting opposite to him, herself sipping tea, not with -any interest, but because she knew that nothing had -crossed her lips since morning. -</p> - -<p> -There had been long silence while Philip ate and -drank, his attention wandering frequently from the food -till Channah with a watchful word recalled his wits. -</p> - -<p> -"Channah," he said suddenly, "when will she die?" -</p> - -<p> -She was startled. Her cup clattered on the saucer. -</p> - -<p> -"Philip!" she said, in remonstrance. -</p> - -<p> -"Channah," he repeated, "tell me, when will she -die? That's what I want to know, how long is there?" -</p> - -<p> -He was speaking in regular, subdued tones, with -hardly an inflection in his voice. It seemed the voice -almost of one talking in his sleep. An instinct commanded -her to remonstrate no further, to fall in at once -with this strange mood, to adopt his tones, to reply with -no equivocation. -</p> - -<p> -"Not long. Three days ago the doctor said she'd -last a week. Yesterday he said she couldn't last above -two or three days. But only think—if it had happened -before you came back!" -</p> - -<p> -The last consideration made no impression. "Not -more than two or three days more?" he repeated. -</p> - -<p> -She nodded. -</p> - -<p> -"That was yesterday?" he said. "So to-morrow is -the latest." -</p> - -<p> -"To-morrow is the latest." -</p> - -<p> -"Mother will die to-morrow. The day after to-morrow -she will be dead. What is the day after to-morrow?" -</p> - -<p> -"To-day's Friday. It'll be Sunday!" -</p> - -<p> -His voice gathered urgency. "Boys must go to -funerals!" he demanded. -</p> - -<p> -"They must," she said, "they always do! We -don't go," she added. "You must go for us!" -</p> - -<p> -"There will be no mother the day after to-morrow?" -</p> - -<p> -"Philip," she wailed, "why must you go on like -that? I can't bear it! It's been bad enough, but this -is worse. You're looking and talking so funny I can't -make you out. Go on with your tea, it's getting cold! -I'll put in some tea from the teapot, shall I?" She -hastened to the fire on unsteady feet. -</p> - -<p> -"Cold," he was repeating, "the day after to-morrow!" -</p> - -<p> -She left the fire and crossed over to him. "Philip, -don't!" she implored. She shook him by the shoulders -as if he were relapsing into dangerous sleep. -</p> - -<p> -He blinked. There was a grinding in his head like -a clock running down. "Poor old Channah, I'm sorry! -I was hungry and it's made me dizzy. What a pig -I've been! What have I been saying?" -</p> - -<p> -"It's all right, I was only joking!" she assured -him. "Be a good old boy, now, Philip, and have some -more tea! You can't make things any better by -not eating!" she insisted, "So let's try and be sensible!" -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, it's all right, Channah! You just get on with -your own, I've had enough. I can't stay away any -longer. You've been attending to her all this time, -while I've been—I've been—" he paused and grimaced, -"I've been enjoying myself. I must go in straight -away. You keep on with your tea." -</p> - -<p> -But as soon as he closed the kitchen door behind him, -she fumbled for her handkerchief in her blouse and -withdrew to the scullery, her shoulders rocking. -</p> - -<p> -He was only slightly conscious of the people that -came in to see how she was and of his father sitting -speechless in the corner, and Dorah busy with one -thing and another. He resented the appearance of -the doctor and his cursory examination of her, the -negative shaking of his head towards Reb Monash. -What was there still to be done! What need was there -to underline so black, so ineluctable a fact? Perhaps if -he had more frequently envisaged the possibility of -her death formerly, even in the face of her lying so -wasted on the bed before him he might have dared to -entertain a wild flicker of hope. But having only in -dreams seen her dead hitherto, and then with such -indignation and terror even in the depths of his -subconscious heart that he would awake fighting the dark, -now the pulse of his soul was smothered in an icy -certitude, and he would allow no forlorn gleam of hope -to lead him away from her, from this last intense -communion of which the sands were running out, -moment by ashen moment. -</p> - -<p> -There was a murmuring like wings about their heads -and about them the shuffling of clumsy feet attempting -to achieve a vain silence. Sometimes he would find -Reb Monash hanging over them, or Channah and Dorah -whispering together. One of them might smooth a -pillow or lift a spoon to her lips. And though he knew -that these things were happening within the same four -walls as contained his mother and himself, in the limitless -egotism of his grief it seemed to him that walls far -other than these held them in a remote world, together, -inseparable, undisturbed. -</p> - -<p> -Imperceptibly day had thickened into dusk and dusk -into night. The incandescent mantle chuckled and -flared unevenly. The last neighbour had tearfully -withdrawn. He knew that several times Dorah had spoken -to him and that he had answered, yet with no knowledge -of the words his lips were actually shaping. At -last he realized that both his sisters were urging him to -go away, to go to bed. Channah was trying to draw -him from the chair where he sat leaning over the bed. -</p> - -<p> -"No, no, I'm not going!" he said. -</p> - -<p> -"But you must go! Channah and I..." started Dorah. -</p> - -<p> -"Go!" said Channah, "only for a few hours!" -</p> - -<p> -"I tell you I've been away all these days and I'm -not going away for a second now! Let me be quiet, -both of you! You go to bed! Can't I see you've been -up every night, while I've been sleeping in comfort -over there, not knowing anything!" He dropped his -voice to a tone of appeal. "<i>Do</i> let me stay! If she -wants anything, I can manage it. Dorah, you ought to -go up to be near father!" He found himself dimly -conscious for the first time since his return of his father's -pallor, his ghost-like silence. The vague picture of his -father faded away. -</p> - -<p> -"I'll go for two or three hours!" said Dorah. -"When I come down, you must go up at once!" Her -lanky figure bent awkwardly over Mrs. Massel. Her -thin lips touched the forehead fleetingly. Channah -threw herself down on her knees beside the bed and -babbled incoherent words. -</p> - -<p> -"Go thou, go, my own one!" murmured her mother. -"Thou hast not slept—how long! Go, darling, sleep, -sleep!" -</p> - -<p> -There followed silence after the women had withdrawn. -Not a word passed between his mother and Philip. -Sometimes she would close her eyes for some minutes, -then open them once more full and deep upon her son's. -He remembered how Time had been so dilatory in the -train; how he had wanted hours to shrivel into minutes, -the long minutes to be brief as a spark. Now Time -moved too swiftly, with deadly deliberate speed. -</p> - -<p> -Beyond the parlour window and high beyond the houses -on the other side of Angel Street, he heard the galloping -of horses and the abateless revolutions of wheels. Oh, -that the moments could expand into hours, and the -hours once more into the years in which he had loved -her so little and she had loved him so well, so well -despite the danger that lay between and the cloud that -had always enveloped them. -</p> - -<p> -But now at least there was no danger, no cloud; -nothing hindered their unity. The whispering of -Doomington, that ceased not even in a snow-muffled winter -midnight, now on all sides withdrew, leaving the dim -parlour in Angel Street aloof and calm. The -incandescent light choked and spat no more. A still light, -steadier than the moon, less garish than the tree-shaded -twilight of glades, invested the room, converting each -object there into a significance beyond ugliness and -beauty. All accidentals of space and birth and time -were stripped from the woman on the bed, from the boy -at her side. She was the mother, he was the son, nothing -more. There was a pulsation in the air, between them -and about them, linking them though they were far -apart as Aldebaran and the Earth, though she lay -crumbling under her wooden lid and he strode -sun-engirdled over the morning hills. -</p> - -<p> -How long this thing lasted the boy did not know at -all, for he did not even know that it came. He only knew -that Channah was peering round the door, fearful of -waking them if they had fallen asleep. She wondered -how it came that his face was shining as with dawn, -though still the night was deep and the black incandescent -gas flared and gasped. She wondered also at the -smile which lay curled at the edges of her mother's lips. -She saw, at one moment, how his eyes looked calmly -towards hers, and how the next moment his head had -fallen limply on his breast. She came forward swiftly -to prevent him slipping to the ground. -</p> - -<p> -He awoke to find himself lying under a blanket in his -own former bedroom, whither, he learned later, Dorah -and Reb Monash had lifted him. He stared unseeing -for some time into the blotched ceiling, then the words -came tolling against his ears, "The Last Morning! -The Last Morning!" He did not at once seize the -meaning of the phrase. He knew merely that this -morning was to be an ending of things. But when the -phrase became particularized, <i>whose</i> last morning had -dawned, slowly he rose from his bed as a doomed man -for the gallows. -</p> - -<p> -It was morning. The blind had been drawn, but they -had left the gas feebly talking in the incandescent -burner. Shadowy people had already gathered in the -lobby and there were several neighbours in the -parlour. Reb Monash was standing over her bed -listening to the faint words she was endeavouring to -shape. A flicker of jealousy touched the boy's heart. -</p> - -<p> -"Monash," she said, "it is <i>shabbos</i>, yes?" -</p> - -<p> -"Yah, Chayah, the Holy Day!" -</p> - -<p> -"Ah, <i>gutt, gutt</i>!" -</p> - -<p> -She could say no more. He observed how the neighbours -would make way to give each other the privilege -of being within the dying woman's room for some -minutes. Death seemed to be in the room with all the -actuality of physical presence. He seemed to be -standing over Philip's head leaning dark branches about him -like a tree.... No, he would not let the futile gas burn -there while the sun, while even the warped sun of -Doomington, shone into the room! What were all these -people doing here, treading softly in and out? Did -they hope that she would carry a brief for their souls -into that country whither she was shortly adventuring? -</p> - -<p> -The clock! the clock! How it ticked relentlessly on -the mantelpiece, a large, round alarm clock with a pale -face! -</p> - -<p> -Channah was whispering. "I think she wants you!" He -brought his ear close to his mother's lips. -</p> - -<p> -"<i>Shabbos</i>," she said, "the Holy Day! Before <i>shabbos</i> -goes, I am no more, son mine!" -</p> - -<p> -Should he say—the words were almost on his -lips—"Mother, mother! The sun's shining! You will be -strong yet! That dress of satin I always wanted to -buy you, I will buy you soon. You will sit in the parlour -like a queen, only making cakes sometimes, for <i>yom -tov</i>! I will take your arm and we will go out into the -green fields. Birds, mother! And blossom on the trees! -Even yet, mother, even yet!" There was no time for -lovely, false hopes. He said not a word, but she knew -how he was closer than he had been since the days when -he lay, a fluttering lifeless life, under her heart. -</p> - -<p> -The clock! The clock! There was a whispering, -a treading. Some one had arrived. They bent to his -ear and said, "It's from the <i>shool</i>. Some one has -come to say the 'Hear, O Israel!' Let him be near!" -</p> - -<p> -Channah took him by the arm. "Come to the door. -Just while the man's there! Come!" -</p> - -<p> -A low wailing rose from the room. "Oh God, Channah," -he cried, "Oh, why do they make all this ceremony -out of dying! Why can't they let her lie quietly? -Did you hear how her breathing went heavier? She -wants to die, she's so tired! And they won't let her! -Oh, listen to them, send them away! Let's be alone -with her!" -</p> - -<p> -The shadow in the room when they returned seemed -palpable. He could make out no sound, no appearance -clearly, save her face, and the laboured breathing. And -the clock! always ticking, dispassionately, relentlessly! -Always the clock! A rattling in her throat complicated -her breathing. -</p> - -<p> -"Channah," said the boy, "Channah, look at the -clock!" His voice was hard, mechanical. "It's -a quarter to nine. At nine o'clock she'll be dead!" -</p> - -<p> -"Feivele!" his father whispered. "She's said thy -name! Go!" -</p> - -<p> -"Mother, lovely, I'm here! What wilt thou? Ah, -see, I'm here!" -</p> - -<p> -"Thou wilt be, Feivele, say it—thou wilt be always a -good boy? And think ... of thy mother? Thou -sayest yes?" -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, <i>mutter meine</i>, yes!" -</p> - -<p> -"And love Channah? And all, all? So, I am happy! -Remember, thou, Feivele!" -</p> - -<p> -The clock stealing, stealing forward! Not the banded -powers of Heaven shall hold the clock-finger from -moving forward over that space black with doom! -Tick-tock! wild eyes of Channah, Dorah wringing her -hands! Tick-tock! bearded face of Reb Monash, -wrapped like a forest in its griefs! Tick-tock! a -wailing in the air like trees when the wind goes about -mournfully! Tick-tock! the rattling in her throat! -Oh, the falling chin, the glazing eye, Oh, dead, dead...! -Tick-tock...! tock....! -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -Waters flowing over his head where he lay prostrate -on the beach! Dark green engulfing waters drowning -him beyond grief or tears! Tricklings through his -nostrils and oozings along the channels of his brain, -runlets boring through the drums of his ears, surge -after surge gurgling over his lips and into the bursting -throat! And how bitter the taste of the foam, encrusting -his palate with a scurf of salt, bitter as ashes, -as sand! A low desolate bell swinging ceaselessly in -this world of sunken waters, as if the doom of oceans -and lands had been pronounced, and all souls must -bestir themselves, howsoever long ago they were clad -in flesh! -</p> - -<p> -And always a whispering, and a secret sound of feet -even so low under the water's rim, whither no sun -attained, where the bell swung to and fro in the lapse of -glooms. The fantastic denizens of these waters! Things -with large phosphorescent eyes shedding tears that -flickered down the watery darkness like worms of fire! -Things with shuffling feet and lolling heads, bearded -things with wise and cavernous skulls, and one, shaped -like a small woman, appearing, disappearing, busy on -important offices beyond all scrutiny! They would -stand over him, staring with meaningless kindness -through the weeds which swayed and swung over his -body. They would endeavour to lift his hands from -their laxity to receive the offerings they brought, -would lift their offerings to his lips, but too bitter was -the savour of brine on his tongue and his head too weary! -He would turn away from them, burying his face in the -clammy sands. There had long been a filtered light in -the waters which engulfed the world; the light thickened -into opaque walls. He could see no more the lolling -heads, that busy strange woman who came and went. -Only darkness, and for how long! Even the bell was -muffled almost to nothingness, the bell was more a -sense than a sound, the bell seemed to be tolling from -the deeps of his own body where he lay unstarred, -tolling from below his bones and making the arm -which lay across his breast lift and fall away. Once -more the light returning and the sound of feet and -the bell louder tolling, louder and ever louder, until -the metal against which the tongue beat and clamoured, -burst into a thousand fragments, and he knew that he -shook with sobs! -</p> - -<p> -Over him stood the busy woman; Mrs. Finberg she -was, the shroud maker, officiator at deaths. She waited -till the hollow sobbing subsided, then pressed on him -hot cup of tea. This time he did not refuse, did not -turn his head and bury it in the escaping stuffing of -the sofa. -</p> - -<p> -After some moments he rose and opened the kitchen -door. He found Channah proceeding towards the lobby. -</p> - -<p> -"When will it be, Channah?" he asked, "Is it arranged?" -</p> - -<p> -"When will what be?" -</p> - -<p> -"You know, the funeral, I mean!" -</p> - -<p> -"It won't be more than a few hours now!" -</p> - -<p> -"But I don't understand! Not more than a few -hours! What's the time now?" -</p> - -<p> -"It's just after nine!" -</p> - -<p> -"Nine o'clock? But she died at nine o'clock!" -</p> - -<p> -She drew back frightened. "But that was <i>yesterday</i>!" -</p> - -<p> -"<i>Yesterday</i>? Oh, what's the matter with me? Is it -Sunday just now then?" -</p> - -<p> -"Of course it is! It was <i>shabbos</i> yesterday!" -</p> - -<p> -"Of course, of course!" He began to apprehend -how time had been annihilated for him. "Of course it's -Sunday! What was I talking about? And you say -it's in a few hours then?" -</p> - -<p> -"The man from the burial society has just been in. -He says the cabs'll come about two, he thinks; -somebody said that funerals are the only things that Jews -are in time about. Oh, Philip, Philip, they'll not be -late; what does it matter when they come?" -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, so there'll be cabs?" -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, there'll be cabs!" -</p> - -<p> -"And there'll be—you know—a hearse?" -</p> - -<p> -"What do you keep on asking these questions for? -Of course there must be!" -</p> - -<p> -"What's all those heavy noises for, in the parlour? -What is it they're moving about?" -</p> - -<p> -"Don't, Philip, don't! Come back into the kitchen!" -</p> - -<p> -"It's the coffin! Isn't it the coffin?" -</p> - -<p> -The parlour door was flung open suddenly. With -her hair escaped from the pins, her hands beating wildly, -there stood Dorah, crying shrilly, with broken catches! -"Come here, Channah, Philip! Come, look at her for -the last time! Quick, quick, it'll be too late!" -</p> - -<p> -Channah clung back against him. -</p> - -<p> -"We must go!" Philip whispered. "Poor old girl, -let's go!" -</p> - -<p> -All but her face was covered where she lay, the lid -revealing the calm head. The room was full of -unchecked sobbing. Grief was round her like a whirlpool. -How calm she lay at its centre, unperturbed, serene! -A woman was tearing her hair, Dorah beating her -breast savagely! Reb Monash stood heaped against a -corner, his head drooped upon his breast. Channah, -her shoulders convulsively shaking, lay clasped in a -woman's arms. Philip looked tearless upon his mother's -tearless face. <i>She</i> knew how to take Death quietly, -like a queen! The tinge of yellow had gone from her -cheeks. They were only white now, placidly white. -Never before had her face been so wise and sweet. -Oh, the queenly lady ... mother as never before! -</p> - -<p> -"Go out now, you must go out!" a voice said. -</p> - -<p> -"Never, never! You'll never take her away!" -Dorah shrieked, but the woman led Dorah out, and -Channah after her. For one moment Reb Monash and -Philip remained in the room, the body between them. -Then they too went. -</p> - -<p> -Little trickles faltered down the kitchen windows, -dulling the light already so meagre. Philip looked out -into the yard and saw a slow drizzle falling miserably. -The ground would be sodden, out there. He shivered. -A chill rain faltered within him as he turned away, a -drizzle soaking his heart till it was sodden like the -cemetery out along the paved roads, somewhere at a -corner of Doomington. As he sat motionless, a man -approached him and asked him to unfasten his coat. -With leaden fingers he obeyed. The man seized his -waistcoat a little distance above the first button-hole and -held it taut with the left thumb and first finger. A razor -in the right hand made a two-inch incision. The canvas -threads sprawled from the gap like exposed nerves. -</p> - -<p> -When the first cab came crunching along Angel Street, -he observed with abstract interest how the wheels, though -superficially they seemed to be arrested outside the front -door, still went heavily revolving towards his ribs and -crunched them below their passing, till he could hardly -breathe for the sharp bits of bone sticking in his chest. -Other vehicles followed. Two cabs had been subscribed -for and sent by the <i>Polisher Shool</i> to express the sympathy -and respect of the congregation. One or two other -synagogues which had witnessed Reb Monash's oratorical -triumphs paid a like tribute, and there was, of -course, a quotum provided by the burial society out -of the Sunday fund to which Reb Monash had contributed -from the first week of his arrival in Doomington, -as knowing that though his family's living might be a -doubtful affair, of death's coming, soon or late, there -could be no doubt. -</p> - -<p> -Some one told him that his father, the <i>parnass</i> and -the <i>gabboim</i> of the <i>Polisher Shool</i> were already installed -in the leading cab. They were waiting for him. A -lethargy had been creeping about his brain. "Wasn't -there any way of getting out of it? Why must he go? -Why must any one go? Wasn't it finished, finished -beyond recall?" -</p> - -<p> -Dorah sat on the sofa swaying regularly from side -to side. He heard the crying of Channah, hidden -somewhere. -</p> - -<p> -"Go thou, go!" moaned Dorah. -</p> - -<p> -He staggered through the front door. A swift wave -of sympathy from the red-eyed crowd in the street -surged towards him. A horrible self-consciousness -afflicted him and he wilted like a leaf before a flame. -</p> - -<p> -"What a lovely funeral!" he heard somebody -mutter.... -</p> - -<p> -He heard the clinking of coins in a tin box. He -remembered. There was no wedding, no funeral where -the <i>shammos</i> was not to be seen, clinking his box for the -poor. -</p> - -<p> -But the clinking faded from his ears when he discovered -with a swift stare of recognition the tin can at -the pavement's edge. "<i>Orummer ingel!</i>" a woman -cried, lifting her voice, "Poor lad!" The words grated. -He was glad to find himself in the dark shelter of the -cab, crushed in among the men. -</p> - -<p> -As the procession moved away, he knew that Dorah -stood on the steps of the house, beating her hands -together, shouting; that Channah seemed to run after -them like a ghost; she tottered, and the capable arms -of women had seized her, were bearing her away. The -hearse turned the corner of Angel Street. The cabs -followed. -</p> - -<p> -Still a passionless stupor held him as they moved -along Doomington Road and up Blenheim Road, -through Longton, beyond the outskirts of the Jewish -quarter, and to Wheatley at last, where the Jewish -cemetery straggled over the low slope of a hill and the -tombstones bore meekly the inquisitions of the passing -trams. -</p> - -<p> -The entrance into the cemetery was a wooden, -draughty shed where a few Prayer Books were lying -about on the forms. The shed was rapidly filling. -In addition to those whom the cabs had brought were -a number who had travelled by tram. Soon he found a -service beginning and himself mechanically joining in -prayers. And shortly after he was moving out into the -open with the rest, into the damp air. They were -moving along the uphill winding path to the cemetery. -The clay underfoot was difficult for treading. The -atmosphere was full of the smell of turned earth. After -one or two minutes the untidy procession paused and -the <i>chazan</i> who was officiating at the funeral continued -the wailing chant. Again they moved forward and -again they stopped; the chant was resumed, until at -last they were among the graves. There were uprooted -weeds, removed by the caretaker from privileged graves, -lying in dank heaps, tainting the tainted air and -tangling the narrow walks among the dead. -</p> - -<p> -This was the place then, this black, deep hole? The -rain was drizzling into the grave. If they waited too -long, there would be a floor of clayey water. It was a -deep hole; who had thought that graves were so deep? -It was true that no disturbance from the harsh world -above would penetrate so far; but if the grave were a -little less deep, there would be communion with the roots -of flowers, almost the tiny pattering of birds' feet. -</p> - -<p> -So he mused, hardly conscious of the solemn chanting -and the sobbing about his ears, until some one whispered -that he must throw a clod of earth into the grave, on to -the coffin lid. -</p> - -<p> -Even this, then? No release, no hope! A lump of -earth fell dully from his father's hand. Light would -the earth be which her son threw on his mother's bed! -He lifted a fragment of clay and released it over the grave. -But heavily the sound came, boomed on his ears. Others -followed. He became aware of a new refrain in the -threnody round him. "Beg for me, Chayah!" "Beg -for me, beg the Above One!" they were shouting into -the grave as the coffin disappeared below the rising -earth. "Beg for me, Chayah!" -</p> - -<p> -He turned away. No more sound was heard of -clay on naked wood. Terribly, silently, the level -rose. The caretaker had seized the shovel and was -piling more earth on the broken surface. Behind -a tall white stone with black pillars a little distance -away, hidden from the rest, Philip lay for some time, -his face on the damp gravel, at last realizing how far -from all reach they had placed her, beyond all language, -all vision, at the roots of darkness, far from his twitching -fingers. It was time for the mourners to descend to -the shed for <i>minchah</i>. The <i>chazan</i> was getting restive. -</p> - -<p> -But a few lingered among the stones, coming to read -again the inscriptions over the graves of parents, children, -friends, all equally dead in the Wheatley cemetery, all -under the drizzle in uncomplaining company, all -stretched quiet under the levelled clods, which other -sons, fathers, friends had heaped on the coffin lids. -</p> - -<p> -When the crowd had descended, he found Reb Monash -sitting alone on a form against the wall. The <i>shammos</i> -whispered to Philip that he must be seated alongside -his father. Head swimming, he obeyed. And now -came <i>minchah</i>, the afternoon service. Reb Monash -turned up in a Prayer Book the <i>kaddish</i>, the special -prayer of the bereaved. The isolation of their two -voices frightened him, but he was conscious of a tense -determination that no hitch should take place in this -concluding ceremony, that she should be left, the -tired woman, at rest as soon as they would release her. -He uttered the prayer with dead clarity. -</p> - -<p> -Minchah was over. In dull wonder he realized that -the shammos had unfastened his father's shoe laces and -was unfastening his own. Reb Monash rose weakly and -walked across the room and Philip followed. The -crowd desultorily made way for them as they moved, -their loose laces dragging in the dust. As they were -fumbling once more with the tying of their laces, the -black figures were flickering through the door into the -road. -</p> - -<p> -Who of the living shall stay in the place of the dead? -Let the dead hold such converse together as they can! -Day speeds to night and night will bring new day. An -emptier day for empty eyes in this place and in that, -but a new day none the less. Will not fresh waters be -flowing from the mountain sources, and other waves -hurtle against the shores? It is only the caretaker's -dog who prowls unhappily among the graves, wondering -dimly at all this to-do. The caretaker himself wipes -the clay from his weeding fork and sets to work again, -whistling. -</p> - -<p> -There was a self-satisfaction in the clatter of the -horses' hoofs as the cabs made their way from the -cemetery, an indication that having achieved their -part of the day's burden satisfactorily, it was left to -the humans they were carrying away to dismiss them as -soon as decorum permitted. The drizzle persisted still. -The tram-lines glistened evilly mottled among the bricks. -With fitful abstraction Philip looked through the window -into the drab day. The continuity of houses had not -yet begun. Here and there stood a public house at -a corner, or two or three houses thrown up in apologetic -haste. The cabs overtook a man and a woman walking -citywards in the same direction; it seemed that when -the hearse came abreast of the man, a natural impulse -made him remove his hat. The man stood gaping as the -first cab approached, the woman staring curiously. -Then suddenly she seized him by the shoulder and -pointed a correcting finger towards the procession. -She shouted something into his ears—the actual words -were drowned in the rattle of wheels. The man gaped -more foolishly, and at once, deliberately, replaced his -hat. As the man and woman passed from Philip's -sight, they were grinning significantly into each other's -faces. The lad wondered what it meant. Quickly he -was informed. The procession was now riding abreast -of a piece of waste ground, sloping greasily up from the -roadside level. Against the sky-line, faintly muffled -by the intervening rain, Philip saw three or four youths -standing, long-legged. He perceived that as soon as -they became conscious of the funeral procession their -lank immobility had stiffened, and that at once they -proceeded to make derisive gestures with their arms -and hands. When at last he realized the significance of -their gestures he felt as though each had plunged a rusty -knife into him. It was the movement he remembered -on the part of a band of youths who two or three years -ago had assembled outside the <i>Polisher Shool</i> to mock -the old Jews entering on their <i>Yom Kippur</i> supplications. -It was the movement which had sometimes greeted him -in the meaner Gentile parts of Doomington, to an -accompaniment of "smoggy van Jew!" Once Higson -Junior had stood at the top of the stairs ... -</p> - -<p> -The rain was not too opaque to obscure their lips -shaping, nor so dense that he could not hear the -scornful implacable words—"Smogs! Look at the smoggy -van Jews!" -</p> - -<p> -"God!" he shouted, suddenly starting to his feet. -The others calmed him, bade him sit down; to them it -seemed a spasmodic outburst of his grief. They had -not noticed the gesticulating youths on the clay slope. -Or perhaps the youths had not escaped their notice, -but having passed this way before, the edge of the -experience had been blunted for them by familiarity. -</p> - -<p> -Philip as suddenly subsided, but the blood surged -through him, wave after wave, in fierce anger. This, -then, was the gentleness of Christ! These the -countrymen of Shelley! For these Socialism schemed and -poured its hot blood! Oh, God! The skunks! What -would it matter if himself they stripped and threw -stones at him, sent him bleeding home? Or if they -filled with mud the mouths and nostrils of these old men -about him? But they had desecrated Death itself, -the dolorous quiet majesty of Death! They had -desecrated her, the sleeping woman with the folded -hands, the lips that should utter no more her sweet -calm words, her eyes, sealed under disks of clay, that -had been innocent as dawn! -</p> - -<p> -He squirmed in his corner of the cab. They had -desecrated her sleep, these minions of Christ! It -seemed at that moment that no life henceforward lay -before him excepting the shattering from His throne of -the thorn-crowned Hypocrite, in whose service those -long-legged blackguards jeered at Death. This mood -passed quickly. A memory came to him of a picture -he had seen somewhere, the eyes of Christ lifted in -anguish, the heavy blood thickening about the wounds. -But he felt that a bitter brew had been forced down his -throat. A taste of crude salt lay in the hollow of his -tongue. -</p> - -<p> -The cab arrived at Angel Street. Dorah and Channah -sat waiting in the kitchen on low stools, and low stools -(on which alone the bereaved of a Jewish family may -sit during the shiveh, the seven days' mourning) were -set for Reb Monash and Philip. The neighbours had -prepared some food, but Philip could not eat. Each -mouthful became impregnated with the evil liquid -flowing round his tongue. He was conscious of nothing -but intense irritation and dared not trust himself to -utter a word. He winced when a door opened, squeaking, -and brutally he kicked the cat as it meowed into -his face. When Channah put her hand on his forehead, -he threw it off with a suppressed scream. He was -annoyed that the women let the food lie about so long, -and when they removed it, he was annoyed that they -removed it so clumsily. A ring of hot metal seemed to -lie behind each eye. He shut his eyes, but only set -the rings rolling on their axes and throwing off -sparks. -</p> - -<p> -A sing-song monologue was drumming into his ears. -One or two of Reb Monash's friends had come in and -his father was narrating the virtues of the dead woman. -</p> - -<p> -"Oi, such a wife!" he was moaning, "A Yiddish -soul and good as gold! Nothing which it is right for -a Yiddish woman to do, she did not do! No <i>mitzvah</i> was -too hard for her! And on Friday night what a table it -was! Not a speck on the tablecloth and the candles -shining like the heavens! <i>Oi</i>, my buried Chayah! -Where shall I find me such another one? Where, -where? And on <i>yom tovvim</i>....!" -</p> - -<p> -The teeth of Philip's bitterness fastened close on this -harangue. This was the first moment since his return -from Wenton that he had become conscious of Reb -Monash as a separate and complete entity. He had been -irrelevant hitherto. Only his mother, living or dead, -had occupied the full circle of his vision. There had been -room for no one, nothing but her. The incident on the -return from the cemetery had made a hole in the walls -of his isolation, an acid had come trickling into him, -corroding him. What did the old man mean by this -futility? What interest was all this to the nodding old -fools on the sofa? Indeed, what interest were her -virtues to the man himself, eulogizing her from the low -stool, in the same chant he had heard often in the -bygone years, rising fitfully from the room where the -living woman lay sleepless and frightened in her bed? -</p> - -<p> -"And what think you she would do? She would -borrow money on her bracelets to lend to Yashka, the -fisher's wife! And when a woman gave birth she would -forget she was ill herself: she'd go out through the rain -to make her some dainty and clean her floor! What a -house she kept for me....!" -</p> - -<p> -It was intolerable! Would he never finish? Whither -was he leading? Faster and faster revolved the wheels -behind his eyes. He dug his nails into his hands and -the voice proceeded evenly. He had stopped. No, it -was to draw breath! He was proceeding again. This -man his father? Oh, a stranger surely! They had -lost sympathy enough, God knows, these years. But -the man incanting now so monotonously, who was he, -what was he doing here? -</p> - -<p> -Philip found his own lips in motion. Reb Monash was -silent and turned his head towards his son. -</p> - -<p> -"You've found it all out now, have you?" he said. -The voice was raw and dry, a voice he had never uttered -nor heard before. Was it himself had asked that -question, and himself who asked again with words that -stabbed the tranced silence in which the room lay -frozen— -</p> - -<p> -"So you've found it out now that you've killed her?" -</p> - -<p> -A blight seemed to fall on the lips of Reb Monash. -They turned sick and grey. The colour spread along -his cheeks. His eyes grew wider and dark and very -sorrowful. Neither he nor his son seemed aware that -Dorah had advanced to the boy, her teeth showing -large between her lips, that she lifted her hand to strike -him, but the hand had failed suddenly, and she had -sunk on a stool, sobbing. The eyes of Reb Monash still -rested full on his son's, but his chin drooped lower on his -breast. When he spoke, his voice echoed the raw dry -tones that had left Philip's mouth. -</p> - -<p> -"God knows, Feivele!" he said. "Perhaps thou -hast right!" -</p> - -<p> -His head shook unsteadily for some moments, then -fell forward and downward like a lead weight. -</p> - -<p> -"He's fainted!" shrieked Dorah. -</p> - -<p> -"He's fainted!" Channah echoed. Dorah turned -fiercely on Philip. Her fingers clawed the air. -</p> - -<p> -"What have I done?" Philip said. "What was I -saying?" -</p> - -<p> -They flung the door open. Some one fumbled at the -window frantically for a minute or two, then realized -that the window could not open. With quick sobs of -alarm Channah threw water into Reb Monash's face, -while Dorah held his head to the air. -</p> - -<p> -Reb Monash opened his eyes. "Where's Feivele?" -he asked faintly. -</p> - -<p> -"Here!" the boy whispered. -</p> - -<p> -"Feivele!" said his father. "Feivele, let it be over! -It has lasted too long!" -</p> - -<p> -"Father, what meanest thou? I knew not what I -was saying...." -</p> - -<p> -"No, that is finished; it is said! The fighting, let -it be over! Go thine own way! If thou wilt come -mine, some day far off, God be praised! But the -fighting, let it be over! I am tired!" -</p> - -<p> -The boy stared into his father's face. Memory after -memory floated like vapours darkly over the seas of -the past, interposed themselves between that sallow -face and his eyes. Then he saw the eyelids fail wearily. -The memories drew away along the wide levels. -</p> - -<p> -He knew what issue had been declared. They had -suffered much and waited long, his father and he. -To Death had fallen the decision of their conflict. -</p> - -<p> -"Father, let it be over!" -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -The tension was only broken that night. Harry -Sewelson came in and after a speechless, eloquent -handshake, informed Philip that he had been away all -yesterday and had learned of the death only a couple of -hours ago. He had heard women discussing it over -the counter in his father's shop. Alec and his family -had left the town unexpectedly a few days ago or Alec -would have come in too.... -</p> - -<p> -People kept on crowding into the kitchen till the room -was unbearably stuffy. Harry had relapsed into -reverent silence in a corner. Philip was certain he would -choke unless he went to the front door to breathe. He -passed along the lobby and opened the door. At that -moment old Serra Golda, who had just climbed the stairs, -was about to knock, and even as her hand rose to the -knocker, the door swung noiselessly inward. Her -little puckered eighty-year-old face, caught faintly by -the gleam of a street lamp, was distraught with fright. -She uttered a slight screech of horror. Her beady -eyes stared from her head in a manner intolerably -ridiculous. A demon of laughter seized Philip -overwhelmingly and a great raucous peal bellowed from -his lips. He swayed impotently, hands waving in the -air, each mouthful of laughter louder and more hideous -than the last. The old lady bustled by him, muttering -indignantly, "Thou loafer! such a year upon thee!" -</p> - -<p> -The words only emphasized the insanity of his mirth. -He managed to close the door and then stood in the -darkness of the lobby, beating his head on the wall in -his transports. He felt his ribs cracking in the onslaught -of laughter, and clasped his hands tight round his -body. -</p> - -<p> -He found Harry standing beside him. -</p> - -<p> -"Good God! Philip!" he exclaimed. "It isn't -seemly! How can you do it!" -</p> - -<p> -For long Philip could shape no word. The tears -streamed from his eyes. At last, with infinite -difficulty, he brought out: -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, hell, Harry, don't you understand? Don't you -see ... see how I'm..." -</p> - -<p> -But the words were drowned in a fresh and prolonged -peal. Harry walked away from him impatiently. -</p> - -<p> -It was fortunate that <i>meyeriv</i>, the evening service, -had been rendered and the <i>kaddish</i> intoned. Philip now -realized clearly that the laughter was entirely out of -his control and that it would be fatal to re-enter the -kitchen. Although the main attack had subsided, -bubbles of laughter still boiled in his throat and issued -from his lips in ragged shrieks. Utterly prostrated, he -determined that the only thing he could do was to go -to bed at once, and he fell asleep with his own laughter -ringing lamentably in his ears. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap0315"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER XV -</h3> - -<p> -Three times daily for the following seven days, a -little community, necessarily never less than -ten adults, and frequently intersprinkled with a few of -those more pious <i>chayder</i> boys who wished specially to -commend themselves to their <i>rebbie</i>, gathered for -<i>davenning</i> in the Angel Street kitchen; the visitors on -sofa and chairs, Reb Monash and Philip on low stools; -the mourners uttering their <i>kaddish</i>, the visitors chiming -amen with devout promptitude. -</p> - -<p> -<i>Davenning</i>, perhaps by some deliberate charitable -intention, seemed to take up most of the day, and -effectively chequered Philip's moods of stagnant -melancholy with the need for definite action and a -brave show in the eyes of the world. Benjamin, Dorah's -husband, a meek, pale-haired man, whose will had -always been a useful and docile implement in the hands -of his wife, attended the <i>minyon</i> with complete regularity, -a praiseworthy fact in virtue of the commercial travelling -which took him into far outlying villages. Dorah -herself returned to Longton, leaving Philip in Angel -Street for the period of the <i>shiveh</i>. -</p> - -<p> -After the first week the family was permitted to -resume ordinary chairs, but for a whole month the unshaved -cheeks of Philip Massel testified biblically to his loss. -Yet <i>kaddish</i> was not at end. Three times a day for the -ensuing eleven months the prayer was to be uttered in -one synagogue or another. And year after year -thereafter candles were to be lit on the eve of the -anniversary of the death and <i>kaddish</i> three times uttered -next day. -</p> - -<p> -For the Jewish mind the prayer is invested with -extreme sanctity. The birth of a son conveys to his -father and mother immediately the glad tidings of -"Thank God! a <i>kaddish</i> for our souls!" In a precisely -similar manner to the purchase of a mass and for -precisely similar reasons, a <i>kaddish</i>, by a childless man -and woman, will be bought for money. There are, -indeed, old men who shuffle about the dark spaces of a -synagogue, whose main livelihood is the recital, at a -stated rate, of the prayer. But, it is needless to insist, -the commercial commodity is held to possess by no -means the same efficacy as the consanguineous <i>kaddish</i>. -Dereliction of duty in this matter is held to be a flagrant -betrayal of the dead. The image is held before the -culprit's eye of the body attempting to shake free from -its bondage of worms and mud, and for lack of intercession -before the throne of God, enchained cruelly within -the narrow territory of the coffin. -</p> - -<p> -The state in which Philip had endured the climax of -his mother's illness, her death and funeral, had involved, -it has been evident, less a storm of suffering than a -trance, a deadly level of hysteria. When he returned -from Angel Street to Longton, he seemed to lose his -faculty for quick reaction, for poignant contrition or -grief. His mind reduplicated the sooty autumn which -spread like a web about the city, entrapping the last -evidences of summer and leaving them to hang -bedraggled like sucked flies. -</p> - -<p> -Whether or no, for one who had at least made such -pretensions of affection towards his dead mother, -he ought, from the point of view of an abstract decency, -to have persisted with the prayer to which she herself -had attached such importance, it is not easy to decide. -It is possible that had he recited the <i>kaddish</i> in a -language he understood, he would have persisted even to -the end. On the other hand, it is possible that had he -been faced with the task of reiterating for so long the -same fixed number and sequence of words with their -inelastic content of meaning, he would have defected -even sooner: that, in fact, the mere unintelligibility -of the prayer conferred upon it for a season the quality -of the kabbalistic. But the essential fact is this, that -the emotional part of him now flowed like a sluggish -backwater, and in his emotion alone the ritual could -have been steeped until it shone with beauty and -urgency. -</p> - -<p> -Only his mind moved with any clarity, and his mind -had long ago decided that phylacteries belonged to -Babylon, that all the terror of the Day of Atonement -was an immense, an almost conquering hypnotism, -from which with travail he had escaped. <i>Kaddish</i> was -but an issue of the same quality as these, though more -painful in its solution; for those others were related -merely to the general problem presented to him by his -race, whilst this was bound up so immediately with the -lovely thing he had lost. -</p> - -<p> -His first absence from the morning service at the little -<i>shool</i> in Longton (his absences from the afternoon and -evening services were not ostentatious and were -therefore not commented on) produced a series of violent -outbursts from Dorah, culminating in a threat that she -would no longer allow him to pass her doors. When -he informed her that he had had other struggles to -determine and others still faced him, that he was too -tired arguing the matter of <i>kaddish</i> with himself for any -argument with her, that, in short, he would go, as she -threatened, and become an errand boy or a clerk, her -anger relaxed. It was certain he was very worn out, -and if he actually left the bosom of his family, his -last tie with Judaism would be snapped, and—who -knew? he might, God forbid, even marry a Gentile, a -<i>goyah</i>! What a scandal it would be! Benjamin -would lose his Jewish clientele, it would shake Reb -Monash's <i>chayder</i> to its foundations, and what would be -thought of a <i>maggid</i> whose son ... No, the matter -was too terrible to think of! They must be patient, -perhaps God would be kind even yet! Yet it was hard, -very hard to bear! Not for all her resolutions could she -stifle periodic outbursts of wrath. Philip would rise -from the table with shut lips and retire to his room and -his books. -</p> - -<p> -Poetry had begun to lose its savour for him. Poetry -tinkled. He discovered a volume of the <i>Poems and -Ballads</i>. It mystified and annoyed him. He was in no -mood for the sheer unrelated beauty of Keats, and -Tennyson seemed fit only to read on a bench among the -tulip beds of Longton Park. His feet held him too -heavily to the ground to allow, with Shelley, any -excursion into the empyrean. As yet it was an -atmosphere too rare for him to breathe again; there was too -much of the graveyard damp in his lungs. The -equilibristic clap-trap of "Ulalume" and "The Raven" -filled him at first with indignation and then with mere -mirth. -</p> - -<p> -The routine of school made as yet hardly any break -in the even tenour of his mind. Mr. Furness uttered -a few words of sympathy, so quiet and unobtrusive that -without scraping the wound they gave to Philip a sense -of ease and understanding more than all the rhymed -consolations of the poets. With Browning he had more -success, and though the robust exuberance of the poet -was out of harmony with Philip's prevailing mood, here -at least was stuff of the earth earthy, sound stuff for -his jaws to tackle with pertinacity. But the discovery -he made which nearest met his mood was the discovery -of prose. With fiction, of course, he had always been -familiar. But this was no more prose in a strict -sense than Pope was poetry. Each existed for a -purpose beyond its medium, Dickens for his tale and Pope -for his precept. But when he casually picked up at a -handcart in the Swinford market a copy of the <i>Religio -Medici</i>, chiefly for a melancholy delight in its mere -odour of antique must, and thus casually stumbled on a -music which had more than the subtlety of verse, and -none of its arbitrary divisions, he was carried away -upon an untravelled sea. The "Urn Burial" he -chanted night after night. The <i>History</i> of -Clarendon and the <i>Compleat Angler</i> were a similar -experience, the mere narrative of the first and the -piscatorial erudition of the other affecting him as not truly -relevant to the prose in which they were written, -being merely moulds to give their music one shape -instead of another shape. He moved lazily towards the -more troubled seas of Swift and was suddenly tossing -helplessly in those furious waters; until release allowed -him to seek amiable harbourage with Dick Steele and, -disregarding lordlily an intervening century, in the -pleasant coves of Lamb. -</p> - -<p> -It was not that the agony of those summer days, the -telegram at Wenton, the cemetery, the words he had -uttered in Angel Street and their consequence, were -submerged quickly or in the least. For long, periods -of listless vacuity clogged Philip's feet and mind. -He would sit musing for hours over an unfinished meal -or stand in prolonged and joyless reverie before a -hardware shop. The slow blood in his veins called for no -action. No dream of sky or hills was potent enough to -prick his limbs with desire to be moving beyond the -bounds of the city and along the climbing roads. So for -a time these voyages with the learned and dead doctors -of prose were the only adventures of his soul. -</p> - -<p> -Almost with the first quickening of spring, something -of the old unease twitched his body. He realized that -his friend Alec, from whom no word had come to him, -had not once entered his mind; that even Harry, upon -whom he had stumbled several times, had in no wise -concerned him. He had seen him once or twice with a -lady. Details of her had not impressed themselves upon -him. He knew only that she seemed ten or twenty -years older than his friend, and a plain woman; -distinctly, a plain woman. He determined to call for -Harry and suggest a tram ride into the country. -</p> - -<p> -"I'm sorry," Harry had said awkwardly. "I'm -afraid I can't! I'm quite fixed up. I never have time -to go with any one else." -</p> - -<p> -"I beg your pardon," said Philip huffily, "really I -shouldn't like to intrude! It just occurred to me that -we used to have something to do with one another not -so very long ago. I think I'd best not keep you any -longer now." -</p> - -<p> -"Philip, try and be a sport, if you can!" Harry -entreated. "My time's not my own. You're not old -enough yet, so you can't possibly understand! No -offence meant!" -</p> - -<p> -"What's the good of crowing about—what's your -haughty age—nearly eighteen? It's a privilege bought -by mere waiting!" -</p> - -<p> -"Of course I could trust you to misunderstand. -The fact is there's every chance of my getting—for God's -sake don't tell a word to any one—", he dropped his -voice and looked carefully round, "of my getting -married!" -</p> - -<p> -"Good God, man, you're a baby! Don't be a fool!" -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, don't try that game on me! I'm old enough -for marrying, if I'm old enough to be a father. Don't -look so startled! I don't mean to say that I am. That's -the trouble! Yes, it was a pretty sound instinct that -prevented me from going round to see you, even when -they kept her in after hours! I see the sort of sympathy -I could have expected!" -</p> - -<p> -"But who on earth is it?" -</p> - -<p> -"Didn't we see you somewhere or other about ten -days ago when we were together?" -</p> - -<p> -"Do you mean that——?" -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, that's Miss Walpole!" he said austerely. -"The trouble is that we can't really decide if I am the -father actually or not!" he went on in a sudden burst -of confidence. "But the baby's due before long and -there's only one thing left for a decent chap to do. -That's apart entirely from the fact that the girl means -everything to me now!" he said with assumed airiness. -</p> - -<p> -"Don't be so bloody, Harry!" Philip burst out. -A clearer vision of the lady presented itself to him than -when she passed before him in the flesh. "She's a -hag of eighty!" -</p> - -<p> -The face of the infatuated youth turned white with -wrath. "I think the sooner you take your filthy face -through that door the better! You and your blasted -impertinence!" -</p> - -<p> -Dignity demanded a frigid and immediate withdrawal. -</p> - -<p> -"I'll be damned!" Philip murmured, "a chap with -a mind like Harry's! Lord, it was as hard as a knife! -Poor old devil, I suppose he'll wake up in a month and -find himself up to the neck! Who's left? That's -what I want to know! All the old landmarks are -washed away. What the hell is a chap to do? Who's -left?" The question drummed insistently into his ears. -He found himself aching for friendship. For the last -few months he had hardly uttered a word excepting a -request for the sugar, perhaps, and a reply to a question -at school. His general friendlessness filled him with -humiliation. The Walton Street phase had drawn to -its dull end long ago and not a figure remained who -offered the least hope of companionship. Alec, like the -callous swine he had always felt Alec fundamentally to be, -had merely disappeared—bearing with him the telescope -of high romance, as might have been expected. On -Harry the gods had inflicted a terrible cerebral -affliction. Philip remembered Harry's attendant lady and -shuddered. And Harry had been sweet on Edie once! -Oh, yes, Edie! What was it he had heard Dorah and -Benjamin saying about Edie? He remembered. -Her photograph had been seen by a "millionaire" in -the house of a relative of Edie in Pittsburg, U.S.A. The -"millionaire," promptly enamoured, had entered into -negotiations with the authorities in Doomington, the -negotiations were succeeded by a trunk of the most -astounding dresses and a first-class ticket to Pittsburg. -So much for Edie! In any case she had worn thin -ages ago. Then it was that Mamie returned to his -mind. -</p> - -<p> -His first thought was "Damn that girl! I thought -I'd forgotten her!" She filled him with a vivid sense -of guilt. "I've had enough!" he vowed. His mind -returned to the episode of the signature, and to escape -his contrition, he fled from the house and walked swiftly -down Blenheim Road. To his horror he discovered that -every step he took was actually a step nearer the -enchantress. To his horror he was forced to recognize -that the thought of her made him tingle with pleasure. -The recollection of her began to torture him. It was a -double infliction, sensations of guilt and promptings of -delight struggling for mastery. When his mind -returned to his mother, his despair was more abandoned -than it had been since the summer. Yet ever when his -gloom was most profound, the girl re-entered his -thoughts, whistling as she turned the corner of the barn, -brushing his cheeks with her hair. -</p> - -<p> -"By God!" he exclaimed. "I lent her that prose -translation of Dante!" (He remembered that she had -asked who had wrote Dante, and that she had thought -it so <i>delincate</i> of him to lend her so sweet a book. And -when she'd just finished the Pansy Bright-eye Library -she was reading, she'd <i>love</i> to learn all about this here -Dante. She was sure he'd be <i>that</i> interesting!) -</p> - -<p> -Which lack of culture had then rather accentuated -than diminished her charm, a quaint sort of sophisticated -naďveté. "Of course, I've got to get my book back! -I'll call for it to-morrow night!" -</p> - -<p> -He knocked firmly at the door of the Mamie -household. A miniature version of Mamie appeared. He -asked if Philip Massel could see Miss Mamie.... The -child disappeared into the sitting-room half-way along -the passage. A whispering which seemed to last many -minutes followed. Then the child reappeared and -ushered him into the room. The glare of an admirable -incandescent mantle blinded him for a moment. There -were three or four people in the room but immediately -he only recognized Mrs. Hannetstein. A familiar voice -addressed him. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, good evening, Mr.—er—Massel, so glad you've -called!" -</p> - -<p> -He turned to the source of the voice. Good heavens, -was that Mamie? Hell, she'd got her hair up! You -couldn't quite compare her to Harry's discovery, but -she was years older than she had seemed! He was aware -she had called him Mr. Massel. He would have to follow -suit. Perhaps it was mere intrigue. He held out his -arm waveringly. "Good evening, Miss..." He -found, to his despair, he had entirely forgotten her -surname. "I mean, Miss..." He coughed unhappily. -But Mamie, so far from assisting him in his -embarrassment, was unaware of it. -</p> - -<p> -"Mother, this is Mr. Massel! We met, where was it? -Oh, of course, in Wenton. Do you remember this -gentleman, auntie? He helped me to escape from some -cows, didn't you?" -</p> - -<p> -"Yes," he managed to stammer, "and they were -ravenous as wolves! I was awfully brave!" -</p> - -<p> -Everybody laughed politely. -</p> - -<p> -"I was just going to practise my latest song, 'Red -Hearts, Red Roses.' <i>Do</i> sit down, won't you?" Mamie -pressed. -</p> - -<p> -"Thank you!" -</p> - -<p> -"So glad you've come, but you don't mind my -practising this song before my accompanist comes, -Mr. Mendel, you know, the famous violinist!" -</p> - -<p> -"Ah, Mamie, ah!" exclaimed her aunt waggishly, -shaking the first finger of her left hand in humorous -admonition. -</p> - -<p> -"Don't be silly, auntie!" Mamie cried with a -skittishness almost elderly. She sat down at the -piano, and struck a few chords. Then Red Hearts -bled, Red Roses drooped for some minutes. -</p> - -<p> -Philip sat stiffly on his chair, wondering at the precise -reason that had brought him here. He wished she hadn't -put her hair up. He wondered dimly if he was in love -with her. If he was, he supposed he ought to keep his -eyes glued on her face in a peculiarly tense way. But -it was distracting to see her lips moving in that active -manner—like red mice, twisting! -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, by the way," said Mamie at the conclusion of -her song. "I was sorry to hear of your loss. Mrs. Kraft -told me. It must have been awfully unpleasant!" -</p> - -<p> -"It was rather rotten!" Philip muttered with -difficulty. -</p> - -<p> -What a peculiarly unreal air the girl gave to sorrow -and death. Inexplicable creature! Was this politely -tittering oldish young lady the girl whose lips had sought -his own like a bee? What was the matter with him now, -or what had been wrong then? His own pose on the -chair, the piano, everything was strained, a little false. -But over in Wheatley, the cemetery, the grave, there -was no unreality! Damp clay and the sprawling weeds! -No, he must wrench his mind away from Wheatley, or -he'd never be able to peel the apple that was lying in a -plate on his knees. -</p> - -<p> -"To be sure," said Mrs. Hannetstein comfortably, -"Death comes to us all sooner or later! Don't you think -so, Mr. Massel?" -</p> - -<p> -There seemed no reason to repudiate the assertion. -</p> - -<p> -Conversation trickled in a thin stream. Philip was -conscious of a certain slight unease in the air. Wasn't -it about time he was going? It certainly was time he -set about doing what he came to do. Then what on -earth was it he had come for? -</p> - -<p> -There was a loud knock at the door. "That'll be -Adolf!" declared Mamie, rising from the piano stool -with a glad yelp. "Run to the door, Esther!" -</p> - -<p> -A masterly tread was heard along the lobby. -</p> - -<p> -"There you are, darling!" said Mamie, as a tall fair -gentleman opened the door, and stared possessively -into the room. "Won't you put your violin down first?" -</p> - -<p> -He put his violin down in a corner with deliberation -and as deliberately caught Mamie in his arms. That -ceremony over, he sat down and blinked inquiringly -towards Philip. -</p> - -<p> -"Adolf, dear, this is a young gentleman who was -staying in Wenton when I was there!" said Mamie, -with vague discomfort. -</p> - -<p> -"Very glad to meet him, to be sure!" said Adolf. -</p> - -<p> -"Mr. Massel, this is Adolf Mendel, the violinist! -My fiancé," she added with a note of deferential -pride. -</p> - -<p> -Her fiancé ... then she'd ... her <i>fiancé</i>...! -</p> - -<p> -The blustering, big-boned lout, what the devil did -he mean by taking everything for granted in this -gruff cocksure way! Had he ever sat with her in the -angle of a barn and a haystack, kissing like hell! Had -her eyelashes ever ... and her lips... -</p> - -<p> -And she there, the vampire, what did she mean by it! -Oh, blast her and the whole empty-headed crowd of -them with their Red Roses and squeaky violins! -</p> - -<p> -Anyhow, thank God, it was over! She'd pricked -the bubble of his insufferably stupid illusion! In her -degree and kind she'd gone the way of all the rest—Edie, -Alec, Harry! What an idiotic room it was, with -its refined knick-knacks on the mantelpiece and that -creature with her hair up and the red-plush-framed -photograph of Blackpool on the piano! They were -discussing music and songs with a wealth of ostentatious -esoteric detail. That was obvious enough surely. -They wanted him to clear. He rose to go. Mamie -perceived it with alacrity from the corner of her eye. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, I'm so sorry you've got to go!" she said -effusively. "And I'm awfully sorry about that too, you -know! You will come round again? Shan't he, -Adolf, you'd love to see Mr. Massel again! Not at all, -not at all; oh, good night!" -</p> - -<p> -On the other side of the door he remembered his -translation of Dante. -</p> - -<p> -"Blast Dante!" he exclaimed through his teeth. -</p> - -<p> -It was the fit of profound misogyny which followed -this entirely unsatisfactory incident that fitted him so -completely for the effusiveness and glitter of Wilfrid -Strauss, and for that interlude with Kate which, only too -conventional in its mere detail, was nevertheless at once -the end and the beginning of Philip Massel's boyhood. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap0316"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER XVI -</h3> - -<p> -A certain hesitancy checks me upon the appearance -of Wilfrid Strauss in this narration; even -though I am aware how easy and profitable it is to -philosophize upon the <i>deus ex machina</i>; how it is entertaining to -demonstrate that from the flimsiest accidentals the most -stalwart essentials depend. Yet the Wilfrid Strauss -phase in Philip's development is not so much to be -considered a stalwart essential as an exact statement of -accounts, a period, a signpost whose backward arm -pointed to obscure chaos, whose forward arm pointed -at least to clearer issues, more breadth, more light. It -is probable that one Strauss and another had from time -to time come into some sort of contact with Philip, -for in such communities as Whitechapel, Brownlow -Hill and Doomington, from the turbid mass of Jewish -tailordom a type perpetually emerges which is volatile, -swift, scornful of the mere labour of hands, ostentatious -of the agile intellectual qualities which make the type -invaluable for undertakings rarely entirely scrupulous. -If previously, then, Philip had encountered a Strauss in -embryo or in maturity, there was no point at which -their respective strengths and weaknesses had met. -Yet, in point of fact, it is Eulalie et Cie., Paris, of -undefined occupations, who have kept this particular and -actual Mr. Wilfrid Strauss too busily engaged, on the -Rue de Rivoli and in Leicester Square, for his appearance -before this date in the lesser thoroughfares of Doomington. -And it is not possible to declare that Strauss, -as he swaggered gently down Transfer Street from the -Inland Station, would have met Philip Massel on any -other afternoon than the May afternoon in the year of -Philip's history I have now attained. -</p> - -<p> -Philip had hoped, earnestly enough, as his old -associations faded more and more completely out of his life, -to pass beyond the fog of strangeness which shrouded -from him the heart and meaning of Doomington School. -But he was forced to realize that volition was by no -means adequate to achieve this purpose; for the -paradoxical truth was borne in upon him, that, as he -stood, he was somehow absurdly too young and -inconceivably too old to take his place simply among the rest. -The problem was to be resolved only by deliberate -action, and action was wholly beyond his reach. He -could drift sombrely with the tide of his own ineffectual -melancholy, but the lassitude that softened his limbs -prevented him from striking out against the current. -</p> - -<p> -He fell into the habit, therefore, of following for long -hours the similar roads of Doomington, the amorphous -monster which had always stretched so vaguely, so -inscrutably, beyond his own steely horizons. In one -direction you reached the museum where the mummies -were embalmed in such fatuous splendour; southward -lay the University galleries where the skeleton of some -immense, extinct beast swung terrifyingly from the roof. -Northward the road led far and far away to a place -where suddenly three chimneys sprang like giants -against the throat of the sky. Or in the centre of the -city, at the extremes of the bibliophilic world, were the -handcarts whose books concerned themselves mainly -with the salvation of your soul, and the plate-glass-windowed -shops of Messrs. Dobrett and Lees and Messrs. Hornel, -whose books were recommended as admirable -companions for your motor tours under the Pyrenees -and your yachting cruises in the Mediterranean. -</p> - -<p> -It was a lifeless youth, sick at heart, prematurely -flotsam, he mourned, on the indifferent waters of life, -who passed one afternoon under the shadow of the Stock -Exchange, along Transfer Street and in the direction -of Consort Square, where his defunct Highness stood -isolated and unhappy among the conflicting currents -of tramcars. But Philip saw nothing, heard nothing -clearly, and paused not even a moment before the -innumerable display of the latest Rhodesian novel -behind the windows of Messrs. Dobrett and Lees' shop. -A book swung vacantly between finger and thumb as he -walked vacantly along. And he was so startled when a -distinguished young stranger stopped him to ask a -question that the book slipped to the ground. Not so -much the sudden vision of what Philip conceived to be -the most immaculate of grey tweeds as the easy -refinement of the young gentleman's voice took him aback. -Philip flushed and bent down towards the book. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, allow me, allow me!" said the stranger. "It -was entirely my fault!" He stooped gallantly, lifted -the book, and with a mauve silk handkerchief flicked, -off the Doomington dust. -</p> - -<p> -"Thank you!" said Philip. "No, really, it was my -fault! I forgot I was holding it!" -</p> - -<p> -The other made a courtly gesture of remonstrance. -"This is the way, isn't it," he repeated, "to Blenheim -Road?" -</p> - -<p> -Philip considered a moment. "It's rather complicated -if you've not been there before. You see, you've -first got to turn to the left. And then, let me see -... Or you might take the car ... But look here, I'm not -doing anything special just now. If you'd like, I -could..." -</p> - -<p> -There was something attractively full-blooded about -the stranger, though it was true that the gloss—there -seemed hardly another word—the almost boot-polish -perfection of his appearance, was a little overwhelming. -It would be easy enough to put him on the Brownel -Gap car which would lead him to the top end of -Blenheim Road. Yet Philip felt somehow reluctant to -disattach himself so promptly from the stranger, to -allow him merely to merge into the tumult and mist. -</p> - -<p> -"If I dared to encroach..." hesitated the polite -young man. It was, of course, an unworthy sentiment, -particularly in a Communistic bosom ... and yet -one could not help feeling that to be seen talking to a -stranger of this calibre was rather a distinction. All -the people he had rubbed shoulders with to-day, what -dull faces they had, threadbare suits, dry lips mouthing -"Cotton, cotton, cotton!" even to themselves! This -young man was wearing the most smartly tailored of -grey tweed suits, shoes of metropolitan brilliance, a -velours hat whose ample brims shadowed, expensively, -quick green eyes, a slightly squat nose, and lips attuned, -as one might judge from a slight thickness and their -broad curves, to Bacchic riot and to kissing, even, it -might well be, to the more recondite pleasures of the -flesh. The last thought checked Philip. Yes, there was -something full-blooded to the verge of coarseness in -that mouth! Wasn't all this talk about taxis and one's -own little two-seater, a hell of a scooter, you know, just -a little too ostentatious? After all, a gentleman in the -complete sense of the word could deduce from one's -clothes, for instance... -</p> - -<p> -The stranger interrupted himself suddenly, then stared -at Philip with some intentness. Then he lifted his -forefinger to his nose and asked "<i>Zog mir, bist a Yid</i>? -Tell me, thou art a Jew?" -</p> - -<p> -Not merely the intonation of the voice had changed, -so that the cadence of Leicester Square had subtly -become the chant of the <i>Yeshiveh</i>, but its very timbre was -different, thicker, more ingenuous, infinitely more -homely. -</p> - -<p> -"<i>Ich bin!</i>" replied Philip, perhaps a little stiffly. -</p> - -<p> -"So you're one of us then, eh? well, all's well! I want -you to help me, kid!" -</p> - -<p> -A note of <i>bonhommie</i> had entered the voice. "You -say you can come along this way, can you? Good! -Do you mind? I'm going to take you into my confidence, -if you'll let me!" -</p> - -<p> -Philip blinked. He felt a momentary difficulty in his -breathing, as if he had been running. A little sudden, -one might think.... -</p> - -<p> -"What do you say to just getting in here for a moment -till we see where we are?" They withdrew into the -doorway of a block of offices. "The fact is, I've got a -job which is going to keep me in and about Doomington -for a few months and I don't know a soul in the place. -To tell the truth, I've managed to avoid Doomington -till now.... Now isn't that a tactful thing to say to -a native! I suppose you <i>do</i> belong to the place, don't -you? But look here, you don't mind me buttonholing -you like this, do you now? Perfect stranger and that -sort of thing!" -</p> - -<p> -There was no doubt he was a thoroughly engaging -young fellow. And at this moment Allen of the Sixth -passed by, a celebrated swell so far as school swells -went. Allen looked merely dowdy now, with his -somewhat down-at-heel brown brogues and the silver braid -round his prefectorial cap coming loose at the peak. -Philip was sure that Allen had glanced a little enviously -towards himself and with real respect at the stranger. -But who could resist the dapper waist cunningly -conferred upon the young man by some prince of -tailors? -</p> - -<p> -"It's very decent of you indeed!" Philip muttered. -"I appreciate it. You know if I can be of any help at -all, I'll be only too pleased!" -</p> - -<p> -A grin extended the corners of the stranger's mouth. -He almost ogled Philip as he replaced finger to -ever-so-slightly-aquiline nose. -</p> - -<p> -"A charming little speech, charming! I'm developing -my theories about you, so help me! A lady's man, -that's what you are, a regular lady's man! One has met -your type, you know, up and down the place!" -</p> - -<p> -Philip was not over pleased by this invariable insistence -on the part of strangers that he was a "lady's -man," that he had a "way with him," that they had -"met your type, you know, up and down the place!" He -coughed a little awkwardly. "I hate women!" -he declared with vivid retrospect and pained conviction. -</p> - -<p> -The other laughed a little too loudly. "And a jolly -good joke, ha, ha! Hate women—gee, what an idea! -But more of the ladies anon! Let's just settle the matter -in hand!" He made a motion towards the suit case -at his feet. -</p> - -<p> -"Let me take your bag!" demanded Philip, with -tardy politeness. -</p> - -<p> -"Not for a moment! It's quite light, anyhow. My -real luggage is at the station and it's as much as -I'm worth with Eulalie et Cie.—my employers, you -know, Paris,"—he paused to give the information its -exact importance,—"as much as I'm worth to let this -little Johnny out of my hand, God bless it! But -listen, I've got something to ask you. Would you -first tell me your name? Pardon? Massel! Oh, yes; -good name, solid! Here's mine!" -</p> - -<p> -He tenderly replaced his bag between his feet and -withdrew a card from an expensive leather case. -"Wilfrid Strauss, <i>né</i> Wolfie, but don't tell any one! -You can't sell ladies' vanities and gentlemen's—er—gentlemen's -comforts, don't you know, with a name -like Wolfie, can you now?" -</p> - -<p> -Philip slightly demurred. -</p> - -<p> -Strauss lifted eyebrows of fleeting disapproval. -"<i>Wolfie</i>, impossible patronymic! Tell me now, I want -to get into a Jewish boarding house. You see the -Doomington trade is absolutely in Jewish hands and -they're threatening to undercut ... but don't let me -talk shop! How about it? Blenheim Road is the sort -of district, I understand? I don't generally associate -myself with the Only Race, as you can perhaps appreciate, -so to speak, but you're beginning to see the line -of attack, eh?" -</p> - -<p> -Philip pressed his shoulder blades against the wall to -re-establish his sense of reality. "Quite so, quite so!" -he replied weakly. -</p> - -<p> -"You can be of help to me, old man, if you would? -I mean, you know the local ropes and that's half the -game!" -</p> - -<p> -At least here was Strauss adumbrating interests -definite, if not exalted, some sort of <i>terminus ad quem</i>. -How nauseatingly void and vain had life in Doomington -become! -</p> - -<p> -Strauss proceeded. "Another thing! I've developed -a sudden consuming passion for, what d'you call 'em, -<i>creplach</i>, absolutely soaked in <i>shmaltz</i>, you know the -sort ... and potato <i>blintsies</i> ... and let me see, -there's <i>mameliggy</i>, um, yes, <i>mameliggy</i>!" -</p> - -<p> -Memories of the curiously-flavoured Roumanian -dish as served on special occasions by Mrs. Sewelson -vividly presented themselves. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, so you're a Roumanian, Mr. ... I mean, -Strauss?" Philip juxtaposed. -</p> - -<p> -"No, no, don't misunderstand! One of my great pals -in the old Mincing Lane days, Rupert Kahn—poor -devil, he's doing twelve months now, somebody told -me—was engaged to a <i>Roumanische nekaveh</i> for a time, -till he made off with the engagement rings and her -silver combs, and you couldn't blame him either—calves -like the hind legs of an elephant.—Oh, appalling! -... But I say, don't you think we'd better be moving -on?" Strauss interrupted himself. They emerged from -the doorway and Strauss slipped his arm through -Philip's as though the dawn of their acquaintance was -already ancient history. -</p> - -<p> -"Where the hell am I wandering off to, Massel, old -dear?" Strauss speculated. "I'm afraid I'm a trifle -light-headed. It must be that champagne the Inland -Company so beneficently provide, eh? Half a bottle -of fizz always cuts more of a dash than a whole of -Sauterne, although it's not strictly the thing for lunch, -would you say? Still, it's worth the difference, every -time! What's your preference?" -</p> - -<p> -"I'm afraid I'm not much of a connoisseur myself! -Palestine's wine's about as far as I've gone, with -occasional whiskey and <i>lekkach</i>"—Strauss looked -puzzled—"you know, those curly little cakes! It's not -been quite my line, somehow!" -</p> - -<p> -"Poor old thing!" mused Strauss. "You've not -moved very far and that's a fact! At about your age—I -think my calculations are right—I'd spent three or -four week-ends with Marjorie in Brighton ... Oh, -curse the man! Him and his dirty Doomington -manners!" The youth scowled uglily. Somebody, evidently -displeased by the expansive manner Strauss had adopted -for his procession down Transfer Street, had thrust a -vicious elbow into the grey tweed waist. For one -horrible moment it seemed that Strauss was mobilizing -his resources for a punitive expectoration, but the West -End reassumed control in time and Strauss continued:— -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, yes, Brighton, Marjorie, as I was saying! That -girl was a sponge, nothing more or less! She'd just -open her mouth and pour the stuff down like rainwater -pouring down a spout. Gee, that's a while ago now! -Still, I don't think—damn those motors!—a show like -Transfer Street is the place for one's confessions, what -do you say? One oughtn't to let oneself rip like this, -but you've got the sort of face one can trust, Massel, if -I may say so. Somehow I generally manage to land on -my feet when I arrive in a strange town, though I take -no credit to myself for it, mark you! I remember once, -first time I landed in Bordeaux ... But for God's -sake let's go somewhere and have some tea. Then we -can discuss the boarding-house business and the way -the wind blows in Doomington. How do you feel about it?" -</p> - -<p> -They had arrived some time ago at the point where -Transfer Street crosses the pride of the city, the thoroughfare -called Labour Street. A stream of vehicles passing -transversely had held them up, but when at last the -policeman raised a hand in potent arrest, the two youths -crossed and found themselves facing the Crystal Café. -</p> - -<p> -"This looks rather the kind of place!" exclaimed -Strauss. "What's it like?" -</p> - -<p> -The inside of the gilded eating-houses that threw the -glare of their lamps and the smells of their cooking -into Labour Street had hitherto occupied Philip's -attention for a curious moment at most. His ignorance -seemed now to be a grave lacuna in his education. -"Sorry, not the vaguest idea!" he protested ruefully. -</p> - -<p> -"Hold, I hear music! Say, boy, I guess we'll try the -dandy li'l place right now!" declared Strauss, with an -artful introduction of the appropriate accent. They -entered, and the host ordered a delicate meal with some -grandeur. Philip found the marble-faced walls a little -ugly, but distinctly rich and impressive. The gentlemen -in the orchestra he found also ugly, also distinctly -rich and impressive; particularly the florid gentleman -at the piano, whose moustache wandered so persistently -into his mouth that he gave up the attempt to -blow it away and endeavoured to reconcile himself to -the taste. He was so very inflated, would the sudden -puncture of a pin dismiss him into thin air? Anyhow -the marble seemed solid enough. Philip surreptitiously -passed his hand along the marble behind him -to assure himself. His head was in a whirl. His -friendship with the garrulous, glittering youth (Strauss made -dainty play with his fingers to display two quite -admirable rings, and there was a gleam of gold cuff-links -from shirt-sleeves which he seemed deliberately to have -pulled down an excessive inch), his friendship with -Strauss had developed at so kinematic a speed that he -was half afraid he could hear himself panting over the -chocolate éclairs. -</p> - -<p> -At least he had breath enough to tender such information -as he possessed concerning Jewish boarding-houses, -the people who might be considered the "swells" of -the community, which synagogues would provide the -happiest hunting-grounds for chase not strictly specified, -and a number of kindred affairs. He discovered that he -was usefuller than he had anticipated. He said to himself -humorously that he was blossoming into a man of the -world. Much fascinating conversation, or more strictly, -monologue, followed, on matters less professional. It -was laid down as axiomatic that every young fellow -under eighteen, worth the least grain of his salt, knew -what's what—a phrase Philip had already encountered, -but here, obviously, endowed with a more intimate -meaning than hitherto. When Strauss requested him -to choose between the Turkish and Russian compartments -of his cigarette case, he felt it behoved him to -patronize the Turkish, for a recondite technical reason -which at once did high credit to his own imagination -and satisfactorily impressed his friend. A number of -entertaining adventures were narrated by Strauss, -illustrative of the nature of what's what. There was -Flo in the punt at Richmond. Oh, of course, a married -woman, she was! But then her own husband had -introduced her with a wink which meant merely, "Go -ahead, Wilfrid, old duck, go ahead!" And there was -silly old Bobby—insisted on wearing a wedding ring -at Bournemouth, and Jimmy Gluckstein had spread -the news that he'd settled down in decent matrimony. -Did a chap no end of harm, that sort of thing! And, -'struth, yes, ha, ha, ha! that ducky little French bit, -Flory! Her mother, moaning with toothache, had -interrupted them at about two in the morning. There'd -only just been time to slip under the bed. And it was -March, too, March in Paris! From two till seven in the -morning, mark you! Grr-grr! ... From Strauss's -enjoyment of the tale one could not help deducing that -he felt, at least after this lapse of time; that his part -in the episode was indisputably the most enjoyable, -even the most dignified.... And oh, yes, talking about -four-posters ... there was Fanny ... you should -have heard ... another cigarette? ... and when -her real boy came ... camisole ... about time we -went ... Oh no, no, don't mention it!..." -</p> - -<p> -Yes, of course, Philip would be delighted to accompany -Strauss to Mrs. Levinsky's, in Blenheim Road. But wait -a moment, why not try Mrs. Lipson's, in Brownel Gap, -next door to Halick, the dentist? It was quite near -to both the Reformed and the Portuguese Synagogues, -a useful base for operations.... And it was at -Mrs. Lipson's that Philip saw Strauss duly installed—after -a dalliance in a bar parlour where Strauss drank a -cocktail to fortify himself against the shock of his -resumption into his tribe's bosom, and where Philip, -school cap stuffed mournfully into trousers pocket, -could not but accept a port and lemon for "old time's -sake." -</p> - -<p> -"You'll be certain, Philip, to call round for me -to-morrow about twelve!" exhorted Strauss, as Philip -at last left him that evening. "What's that, school? -Oh, bother it, I forgot! Good old Philip, sitting at -a nice desk doing multiplication sums and putting his -hand up with the answer!" -</p> - -<p> -"Look here!" Philip objected rawly. Yet it was -difficult to shake off the temptation to believe that from -more than one point of view, this, after all, was a fair -epitome of scholastic labour. "School's all right! -There's a good deal in it beyond books and things!" he -reflected with some wistfulness. But the basement -playground-restaurant compared rather dingily, he -was uncomfortably conscious, with the blare and marble -of the Crystal Café. -</p> - -<p> -"Well, you're outgrowing it pretty quickly, I can say -that for you! What do you say to coming round -to-morrow evening? You could take me the round of -the district ... and what about a music hall to wind -up with?" -</p> - -<p> -"I can't let you do all this for me! It wouldn't -be playing the game! I mean we've only met to-day -and I don't know anything about the business side of -things, and you see I don't get much money myself. -I just give lessons to a master-tailor...." -</p> - -<p> -"Don't be absurd, old boy! I'll expect you to do the -same for me, with interest, when I'm down on my luck! -Not a word more! Five o'clock, you think? Good! -Well, so long, old dear! Take a Turkish to smoke on -the way home!" -</p> - -<p> -"Er—thanks! So long! Till to-morrow!" -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -At the appointed time next day, at the very door of -Mrs. Lipson's boarding-house, Philip was seized with a -sudden vehement impulse to turn his back upon his -new friend, simmering enthusiastically somewhere -beyond those <i>kosher</i> portals. Where after all was it -leading to? The most insensitive nostril could not fail -to register the faint odour of corruption which hung -about Wilfrid Strauss. Somehow that impeccable grey -tweed suit was more shoddy than the corduroys of -that poor old devil trundling a wheelbarrow beside the -gutter. Yet whither did all the other roads lead? -Whatever the landscape on the journey, whatever -pitiful doctrine guided you, where else but to a Wheatley -cemetery, damp clay, a towsled dog barking emptily? -And how was Strauss less valiant a companion thither -than Harry and Alec and the rest? If he preferred to -chase, not the shadow, but the glittering substance, -who could blame him? A fine specimen he himself had -become! Hardly a person in Doomington to talk to; -at home the unresponsive books—Swift and Lamb -beginning to gesticulate as little intelligibly as his faded -poets; at school, still the unsealed barriers! Nothing -left but to moon about the streets, remembering, -regretting—hoping never. What, indeed, was there to -hope for? The old loyalties were annulled, the old -dreams crumbled! Heigh-ho, thank God for Wilfrid -Strauss and for noise, Life! It was a chap's duty to -himself to know what Life meant before Life had done -with him, thrown him aside into that long, narrow -dustbin.... -</p> - -<p> -He knocked. The sound came sharp and clear -like a challenge against the tedium which had been -stupefying him for so weary a time. -</p> - -<p> -Strauss was delighted, charmed. He had been troubled -by spasmodic doubts as the afternoon wore on. Would -Massel turn up after all? There was something in the -lad he couldn't quite fathom, something which might -turn Philip away from him in the mysterious manner so -many people he had particularly wished to please had, -from time to time, turned away. He hoped he'd turn -up if only to save him the strenuous necessity of -discovering somebody else likely to show him the ropes -economically. Besides, there was something distinctly -pleasing about the youth. If only he'd dress a little -better.... Anyhow, he was going to be useful if merely -as a guide—though one couldn't call him exactly a -business man. He'd more than repay the price of a tea -and a theatre now and again. And if he'd only allow -himself to be initiated into the business, what confidence -he would arouse in the most chary breast! -</p> - -<p> -There was a value in Philip's friendship Strauss did -not recognize so consciously. It gave him a peculiar -satisfaction to observe the deference that Philip naively -paid to his exhibition of nis vanities; a satisfaction -increased by the knowledge that Philip was a "college -lad." It was amusing to gibe at "college lads," to be -sure, and one didn't actually desire to be a "college lad," -yet one could not help vulgarly and secretly envying -them.... In any case, it's easy enough to get rid of -a chap when he's outlived his use. Hadn't he already -made that discovery often enough? Time enough for -that ... "Come in, old man, come in! Risk a whiskey -and soda?" -</p> - -<p> -The tawdry gaieties Strauss had in his command -followed in bewildering succession. Books seemed to -become less and less important as the furtive weeks -passed by. If a memory of his mother came palely before -him, he would the more speedily betake himself to the -company of Wilfrid Strauss. It was difficult to retain -those old musics of Shelley when the brass bellowed -windily across the Regent Roller-Skating Rink, and the -girls cackled in your ear. No long time elapsed before -Strauss had made the rounds of the less reputable cafés, -the more shady music halls, and, finally, the Doomington -Zoological Gardens, with their alfresco dancing at -the borders of the lake. The delights of the gardens -were only vitiated for Philip by the inexorable custom -which demanded that each male should at rigid intervals -kiss his paramour—"strag" was the recognized term—in -the ludicrously inadequate shelter of a laurel shrub. -</p> - -<p> -There followed more than these. There followed -Kate and her lazy eyes and the yelp of her animal -laughter. -</p> - -<p> -"Deeper, deeper, deeper!" became the insistent -burden in Philip's brain. Closer round his feet the mud -was gathering. Yet against this one thing he long -managed to stand out, though Strauss would return to -him, rubbing his eyes sleepily, or smacking his lips with -luxurious appreciation. Delicately Strauss would -suggest how illogical his position was, how, seeing it was -necessary to take the plunge sooner or later, why not -now, old sport? -</p> - -<p> -Why not? More and more cynical his solitary mind -was becoming, ever the more solitary as Strauss and he -were more closely entangled in the cult of their pleasures. -What else did women mean? They would die, he would -die, securely enough all of them, whatsoever happened -in the interspace. Alec's old philosophy was gaining -new confirmation. What inhibitions did Life hold by -which a youth should not probe for the honey of experience, -each flower, chaste or poisonous, that opened to -the sun or moon? -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -"Feivele!" ventured Reb Monash to him one <i>shabbos</i> -morning, "Tell me, what is this lord's son that takes -thee about? I saw thee with him in Brownel Gap on -Tuesday when I was going to Rabbi Shimmon. Thou -didst not see me, no? Or maybe it suits thee not—when -thou art with thy lord's son? The town talks! -Tell me then, what wills he with thee? It likes me -him not!" -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, for God's sake, <i>tatte</i>...!" -</p> - -<p> -For one moment the flame of the extinguished -conflict seemed to glower and spit from Philip's eyes. -Then he recovered himself. He stared into the pallor -of his father's cheeks, avoiding the eyes, avoiding the -deep lines of fatigue about the corners of his mouth. -"Nothing, <i>tatte</i>, a friend! What will you?" Reb -Monash was about to express his unease with another -question when he too checked himself and the shadow -of this new friendship lay between them, heavy, -unexplained. -</p> - -<p> -But when next Strauss seductively introduced the -name of Kate into the conversation, Philip shouted -suddenly, at the top of his voice—and in Cambridge -Street, "Go to the devil, you're a swine!" He turned -savagely on his heel and attempted for four evenings -to attain emancipation in the Doomington Reference -Library. He had not power enough, however, after -the dull prostration of these months, to resist the -suave note of apology and invitation which arrived for -him on the fifth morning. A little public house near the -skating rink the same evening found them closer friends -than before. -</p> - -<p> -Channah was not so easily subdued as Reb Monash. -She had heard ugly reports—the girls at the hat factory -were very eloquent on the subject—concerning Mr. Strauss -and his "goings on." "Oh, Philip, Philip, there's -a dear! Won't you now ... come, Feivele! Oh, -do give him up! I hate him, I hate him! Give him -up for my sake!" ... She returned frequently to the -attack and knew devastatingly where his defences were -weakest. "Not for me, give him up for mother's sake!" -</p> - -<p> -Philip temporized. He'd think about it. What was -all the worry about; couldn't he take care of himself? -Channah, really, old girl, what on earth was there to -sing about? -</p> - -<p> -"But think! What would she have said? She'd -have..." -</p> - -<p> -"She'd have loved him! Just those little ways that -any woman..." -</p> - -<p> -"Any woman! That's just what I said!" -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, shut up, Channah, for Heaven's sake, shut up!" -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -The collapse came suddenly. It was a shoddy enough -affair. When Strauss left him with Kate in Kate's -house in Carnford Avenue in order to repair next door -with her friend, Patsy of the broad bosom and the yellow -hair, what was there for the youth to do, when Kate -with half-closed eyes, through soft lips purred, "Coming, -honey?" what was there but thickly to reply, "I'm -following, Kate!" while the temples beat like hammers -and the banisters seemed clammy with desire and -shame. -</p> - -<p> -Somewhat intently Dorah examined him when he -returned to Longton next morning. She dropped into -the Yiddish suitable for the expression of deep feeling. -"<i>Nu</i>, and where hast thou been all night? Not -enough for thee to come in at twelve, at one, but thou -must spend the night too! What was? Thy socialistic -friends or thy wonderful Lord Backstreet? -<i>Blegatchies</i>, knockabouts, thy whole brotherhood!" -</p> - -<p> -Philip winced. "Astronomy!" he declared sickly. -"We've been examining a new ... a new comet!" -</p> - -<p> -"It is no good for thee, thy Astronomy!" she -declared categorically. "Thou art a tablecloth! An -evening indoors with a book would do thee no harm. -Or thou hast forgotten how to read, say?" -</p> - -<p> -All that day he spent sitting in his own bedroom, -a closed book before him, staring into the wall-paper -beyond. Neither thoughts nor emotions stirred within -him; only somewhere far down, there was a sensation -as of a finger plucking at the strings of an instrument. -</p> - -<p> -He had arranged to see Kate once more, about a -week later. There was no conflict now. Heavily he -saw the clock fingers creeping towards the hour of his -appointment, and listlessly he closed the door behind -him. A cool, clear evening was about them as Strauss -and Philip repaired towards Carnford Avenue, with a -wind in their faces which, in higher levels, was chasing -clouds like yachts along the channels of the sky. As -Kate's door closed behind them, the passing wind -seemed to Philip a hand which had endeavoured to -seize his coat, but, failing, moaned and subsided in -the dark threshold of the house. -</p> - -<p> -The sensation of something calling and something -forsworn did not desert him. Now it was once more a -wind attempting to circumvent the crooked chimney and -sobbing away at length with a rattle in its throat. -Now it was a finger of flame leaping from the fire in -sudden appeal, or the sight of his own face in a -looking-glass, curiously impressing upon him the fact that he -had not only brought one self to this place, but many -selves, some of whom had once played a seemlier part -in the comedy of his days than he who now produced a -distracted image in Kate's looking-glass. -</p> - -<p> -Conversation flowed in the room like beer from a -public house tap, surfaced with froth and smelling -stalely. He was talking with the others, but the lips -seemed to be as much another's as his own, the lips of -one over whom he had triumphed once and again, but -who was triumphing now. Wilfrid Strauss seemed a -mannikin manufactured from a pliant glass, though he -showed his rings and crossed his legs as if his limbs -were flesh and bone; transparent almost he seemed, -so that the ugly design of the wall-paper was not -intercepted by his contour; almost brittle, as if, were -someone to handle him roughly, he would fall to the ground -in fragments tinkling sharply. And when finally he -withdrew with Patsy, the peculiar illusion remained -with Philip that he had never in his life encountered a -person whose farcical name was Wilfrid Strauss. -</p> - -<p> -Yet when the woman whispered "Come!" the friend -of Wilfrid Strauss did not disobey. The wind was still -clawing at the window-pane as they entered her room. -It was only when his eyes were closing in sleep that he -saw moonlight invade the room and heard the wind -wailing in the last horizon. -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -When he awoke the room was aflood with moonlight. -It flowed over the bed making the sheets and counterpane -cloth of silver. The walls dropped from the ceiling -in straight falls of frozen mist, the floor shone like a -beaten metal. It seemed to him that a voice came upon -the path of the moonrays, a voice not of sound but -light, saying: Go! If it was the mother who had -seemed to be dead or perhaps—could it be?—that -woman he had met once in the central gloom of Doomington -and whom he could so clearly envision now, he could -not decide—that woman who had long ago taken him -to her bed on the night when he had fled from his early -terrors. Or perhaps it was none other than his own -voice—for he was about to break free at last—insistently -saying, Go, do not delay! -</p> - -<p> -It was with no sense of shame that he rose from the -bed and dressed quietly in that wizard room. In this -world of cool clear beauty, at this time of vision, shame -had no place. Had he departed from beauty, from -vision? He would return thither again. -</p> - -<p> -Kate's hair lay over her face as she slept. He -bent and smoothed her hair aside and moved away -quietly. -</p> - -<p> -He opened the front door of the house and walked -along the deserted pavement of Carnford Avenue. -Walking was not swift enough, it was too deliberate. -He ran, his limbs loosely swinging over the dark streets. -He ran effortlessly like a deer glimpsed through woods. -He had no consciousness of direction and though he -ran far he was not fatigued. No thought kept -pace beside him beyond the knowledge of his -running. -</p> - -<p> -A policeman appeared suddenly from the gloom of a -shop entrance. He brought down his hand menacingly -on Philip's shoulder. Philip stopped dead. -</p> - -<p> -"Just a tick, my fine young feller!" the policeman -exclaimed. "Where are you coming from?" -</p> - -<p> -"From Babylon!" Philip shouted. "Let me go! -Get out of my way!" -</p> - -<p> -"B—b—babel—what?" the policeman stammered. -His upraised arm fell to his side. The lad was fifty yards -away, once more running swiftly and evenly. Yet no! -He wasn't a burglar! It wasn't that! He wasn't -carrying anything, and he certainly wasn't frightened! -Drunk? Oh no, not drunk! Well then, what the 'ell? -If it came to anybody being frightened...! He -lifted his helmet, passed his hand over his hair and -withdrew again into the shop entrance. -</p> - -<p> -Baxter's Hill! No sense of recognition or surprise -arrested Philip when he found himself skirting the foot -of the hill and, before long, running over the grassy -path by the Mitchen River. Here he had found escape -before to-night, here wall after wall that girdled the city -of his slaveries had come crashing down! But as he -left the bridge behind him and followed two or three -broad curves of the river, out toward the cleaner spaces -of water, he was conscious only that his strength was -almost spent and his feet were dragging. Suddenly he -collapsed. His legs gave way at the knees and his -forehead fell into thick grass. The strange elation which -had impelled him into the night, in a single moment -deserted him. His body was racked with misery, his -face twitched. With a last effort he turned his body -round, stretched out his arms, and lay staring into -passionless night. Stark misery held him clamped to the -ground. -</p> - -<p> -Vain and vain, he felt, his life had been, his life -consummated now by this last treachery! Each of his -little philosophies had but pandered to his conceit, to -his sentimental stupidities, immured him the more -closely in the stinking castle of Self. Sex had led him -away and he had wallowed in its sty—he who had -been granted, by his living mother and his dead, the -surest path into open spaces and a wind from the -sea.... -</p> - -<p> -So for some time in this black despair he reproached -himself with having at no time accepted the clean way; -as having been always odious, an insect in rotten wood. -The mood passed. Another came, not armed with -talons, but cold, profound, like a fog. How long this -mood lasted there can be no telling. Yet it was at the -very heart of this desolation that he became aware of -a warmth and a benediction which had descended upon -him. His face was being soothed with the contact of -kindly flesh! He heard the breathing of an animal. At -last he knew that a horse was moving its soft mouth up -and down his face, assuring him that now he might -throw aside his sorrow, enter once more into the company -of innocent things. A few yards away he perceived -another horse grazing, a misty sweetness against the -background of night. The beauty of the arched line of -its neck seemed almost to arrest his heart. The horse -over him, as having achieved its intent, brought its -head away. He could hear the champing of its jaws, -the tearing of grass. -</p> - -<p> -The lad looked steadily towards the waned stars and -the clear moon. Much lay behind him, he knew. More -lay in front of him. Beyond the bridge along the road, -deep in his city, lay a little thing and a great, the first -republic, School, whose citizenship he must yet earn. -He had moved there hitherto with averted eyes, a -stranger. Thence great affairs and greater expanded -circle-wise, beyond race, beyond country, beyond even -the gigantic world, out beyond the moon, the sun; -even—he laughed aloud—even into the hazard of the -very stars. -</p> - -<p> -He rose from the grass and walked over to the water's -edge. The air was warm with the new summer. The -two horses moved about near him, like friends. He was -young, young! Come, it would be morning soon! -Was a sleepy bird already singing a first song? -</p> - -<p> -He slipped off his clothes swiftly and dived into the -water. When he rose again, the water-drops flung from -his hair gleamed like gems. It was cold, harshly, -superbly cold; but he shouted for joy as he struck for -the bank in the first breath of the morning. The horses -rubbed their noses together and communed. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="glossary"></a></p> - -<h3> -GLOSSARY -</h3> - -<p> -(<i>The following Yiddish words—mainly, of course, of -Hebrew or German extraction—are spelt in such a fashion -as rather to recall their actual pronunciation than to indicate -what is often a dubious or mixed origin.</i>) -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -<i>Becher</i>. Beaker. -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -<i>Blintsie</i>. A thin cake, usually of mashed potatoes, and -fried in oil. -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -<i>Bobbie</i>. Grandmother. -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -<i>Chayder</i>. A Hebrew school. -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -<i>Chazan</i>. A professional cantor at services. -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -<i>Davenning</i>. The reciting of prayers, which must not be -interrupted by extraneous matter. -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -<i>Folg mir</i>. Obey me. -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -<i>Gollus</i>. The dispersion; the exile. -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -<i>Goyishke</i>. Gentile (adj.). -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -<i>Ligner</i>. Liar. -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -<i>Machzer</i>. Festival prayer-book. -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -<i>Maggid</i>. Professional orator. -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -<i>Minchah</i>. Afternoon service. -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -<i>Minyon</i>. The quorum of ten worshippers for prayer. -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -<i>Mishkosheh</i>. Be content; that will do. -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -<i>Mitzvah</i>. Lit. a command; hence, a pious act. -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -<i>Nekaveh</i>. A female. -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -<i>Perinny</i>. An exaggerated eiderdown. -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -<i>Shabbos</i>. The Sabbath Day, Saturday, on which, among -many prohibitions, it is forbidden to ride. -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -<i>Shiksah</i>. A Gentile girl. -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -<i>Shmaltz</i>. Fat, usually of fowls. -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -<i>Shmeis</i>. To give a whipping. -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -<i>Shool</i>. Synagogue. -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -<i>Takke</i>. Indeed. -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -<i>Tallus and Tephilim</i>. Praying-shawl and phylacteries. -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -<i>Yamelke</i>. Skull-cap. -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -<i>Yeshiveh</i>. A highly advanced <i>chayder</i>. -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -<i>Yom tov</i>. Lit. a good day; hence, festival. -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -<i>Zadie</i>. Grandfather. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t4"> -<i>The Mayflower Press, Plymouth, England</i>. 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