Mayer lives in Montgomery.
Emanuel in New York.
Two of them, the Lehman brothers
miles and miles apart
but as though they were a single thing
joined all as one by cotton.
A commercial marriage
between Montgomery and New York.
Mayer lives in Montgomery
which for cotton is home.
Emanuel lives in New York
where cotton is turned into banknotes.
Mayer lives in Montgomery
among the plantations of the South.
When he goes by carriage along the main street
the blacks remove their hats out of respect.
Emanuel lives in New York
and when he goes by carriage through Manhattan
no one removes their hat
for in New York there are hundreds like him.
All the same, Emanuel feels unique
the greatest.
And nothing is more dangerous than an arm
that feels great
because a head in the worst of cases thinks big
but—alas—an arm acts.
Proof of it came that day
when Emanuel Lehman arrived
officially
in Manhattan
with a bunch of flowers
there, at the door of Louis Sondheim’s mansion
looking not for the father
but for his daughter Pauline:
“Good morning, young lady.
You don’t know me:
my name is Emanuel Lehman
I will become someone important
and ask you to marry me.”
The girl
this time in a blue dress
and without a straw hat
looked at him much longer than a moment
bothered
amused
vexed
intrigued
before laughing at him:
“I’m already engaged!”
“Ah, yes? But not with Emanuel Lehman!
Whoever he is, he’s not worth your while.
Not as much as me.”
“And who says so?”
“I do. You cannot make a better marriage
nor a more profitable one:
I sell cotton from twenty-four plantations.”
“Congratulations, but what does that have to do with me?”
“It has much to do
once we are married
you and me.”
“Me and you?”
“I leave it to your father
to decide on the date and the ketubah.”
“And what do you leave to me?”
“Why? You want something?”
When the door of the Sondheim house
slammed
violently
in his face
Emanuel Lehman did not lose heart:
he resolved to return
there
within a week
and he put the bunch of flowers in a vase
so as not to have to buy some more.
Over the next six days
he met cotton sellers and buyers
throughout New York
signed contracts with businessmen from Wilmington
Nashville and Memphis;
sold a hundred tons of cotton to the West,
where the new railroad now arrived
and therefore saved
handsomely
on wagons.
The office at 119 Liberty Street
under the black and yellow sign
LEHMAN BROTHERS COTTON
FROM MONTGOMERY ALABAMA
saw visits from the Rothschilds and the Sachs
the Singers and the Blumenthals
and also
one evening
by special invitation
from a tall man with snow-white hair and a rabbi’s beard
and gold-topped walking stick:
Louis Sondheim
who was looking for cotton, but only from Alabama
and found it at Lehman Brothers
for sure
in enormous quantities
and
—not insignificant—
at a price, in his case, more than reasonable
most reasonable
because an arm
if he’s a good arm
knows how to act
in real terms
for sure!
“Good morning, young lady.
I came seven days ago:
my name is Emanuel Lehman
I’m your father’s main supplier
and I ask you to marry me.”
Pauline Sondheim
this time in a lilac dress
looked at him much longer than a moment
bothered
amused
vexed
intrigued
before laughing at him once again:
“Haven’t I already given you my answer?”
“Yes, but not as I had wished.”
“And so?”
“So I leave it to your father
to decide on the date and the ketubah.”
When for the second time
the door of the Sondheim house
slammed
violently
in his face
Emanuel Lehman did not lose heart:
he resolved to return
there
promptly
within a week
and put the bunch of flowers in a vase
so as not to have to buy some more.
Over the next six days
he shook the hands of over a hundred industrialists
from America and Europe
from Liverpool
from Marseille
from Rotterdam
lit cigars, poured whisky
collected bundles of banknotes
and personally saw
for the first time
freight cars with the word: COTTON.
He signed contracts with businessmen from Norfolk
Richmond
Portland
heard the discussions of several pessimists
on Abraham Lincoln who was threatening war.
The office at 119 Liberty Street
under the black and yellow sign
LEHMAN BROTHERS COTTON
FROM MONTGOMERY ALABAMA
was visited by all the greatest
and all the best:
the Palace of King Cotton
the Court of New York
for Jews especially
or rather
—not insignificant—
all the relatives
all the friends
of Louis Sondheim
because an arm
if he’s a good arm
knows how to act
in real terms
for sure!
“Good morning, young lady.
I came seven days ago
and seven days before that:
my name is Emanuel Lehman
I’m one of the richest Jews in New York
and I ask you to marry me.”
Pauline Sondheim
this time in a turquoise dress
looked at him much longer than a moment
bothered
amused
vexed
intrigued
and was about to laugh at him once again
when he
anticipated her move
and
in real terms
like a good arm:
“I understand, young lady:
I’ll see you in seven days.”
And after seven days he returned.
And after another seven.
After another seven.
After another seven.
On the third month
twelfth return
Pauline Sondheim
this time in a summer dress
let him find the door already open
and a maid
waiting at the entrance.
“Is Miss Pauline Sondheim not at home today?”
“She’s waiting in the drawing room, Mr. Lehman,
with her father.
Please give me your hat.”
And in just two hours
everything was decided:
the date of the wedding
the paper for the ketubah
the canopy for the chuppah
and even the tablecloths for the reception.
On the day of the wedding
his brother Mayer came
to New York
with Babette Newgass
and their little firstborn son, Sigmund
who without knowing it
just by being born
had already secured the family’s future lot.
Aunt Rosa came
with her four children
including the two spinning tops
of whom one in ascetic silence.
Roundhead Deggoo sent a turkey from Alabama:
it was given to the servants
who didn’t touch it
since it came from the South
and don’t you just know they’ll have poisoned it?
Also invited
was a large bearded man
who in Louisiana was King of Sugar
and came with great pleasure:
how, after all, could he not be there,
since a Kish Kish,
without spinning tops in train,
had patiently
persuaded him
to sugar the cotton a little
for their mutual benefit.
And lastly
industrialists came from throughout the North
and the owners of twenty-four plantations in the South
but had to be separated in the very middle of the reception,
as they began throwing insults at each other
and dishes
when Oliver Carlington
on lighting a cigar
dared to say that George Washington
—yes, he himself, and so?—
owned several slaves.
That evening
Emanuel Lehman
stretched out on his bed
looking at the ceiling
thought that now indeed everything
was going truly well.
He had a wife.
An office in Montgomery.
An office in New York.
Bundles of banknotes in the safe.
Twenty-four suppliers of cotton in the South
fifty-one buyers in the North
and sugared icing over everything.
Lulled by these thoughts
he was about to sleep
peacefully
when a chill breeze
twitched an ear
for a fraction of a second:
there was only one thing in the world
that could perhaps destroy everything
and that was a war
between North and South
But it was just an ugly thought
one of those that twitches an ear before sleep.
He put it out of his mind
and
calmly
dozed off.