Harold and Allan
sons of a rabbit lost in the open sea
have never seemed like two little orphans.
On the contrary.
There’s a general feeling
that they’ve compensated for the absence of Dad and Mom
by immediately becoming
in one fell swoop
absolute paternal and maternal authorities.
That is to say: there are those who
as they grow up
see their parents in a different light
and those who put them on a boat for Honolulu.
Different approach, identical aim.
Problem therefore solved.
Full stop, new paragraph.
Onward.
Harold and Allan are now twenty.
And they’re ready for battle.
As time goes by
their lucid and cutting way with words
has become even more blunt
and the two never open their mouths
without inflicting some lacerating injury:
to those begging money in the street
they are capable of replying:
“We don’t finance those who’ve got it all wrong.”
and if the rabbi complains
about not seeing them so often at the Temple,
he might catch them saying: “Like you in the bank.”
Small remarks.
But deadly.
This is their motto:
too much talk is wasted energy.
A negation of the concept of economy.
Harold and Allan
are the ambitious face of high finance.
Of that kind that seeks no compromise
mature offspring of the 120 mitzvot
among which “sentiment has no place in banking.”
For the sins of the fathers fall upon the sons
together—and this seems sure—
with certain small lessons
not perfectly understood
by those who have brought you into the world.
There.
Exactly.
The two brothers
have produced at last
the maximum essence of cynicism
which Sigmund used to dilute with tears.
The marvels of genetics.
Just think how their grandfather Mayer
even took the medal for Kish Kish
at a time when it seemed that the basis for commerce
was a broad smile and courtesy in relationships!
Today it needs something very different.
The market is power, and power means tight lips.
And in this, these two are champions.
When Charles Lindbergh landed
after his lone flight across the Atlantic,
Harold was the first to shake his hand:
“Thirty-three and a half hours, a remarkable feat.”
to which Allan immediately added:
“costing hundreds of thousands of dollars:
not exactly economical, a flight for one person alone.”
And Harold nodded.
Because the two always complement each other.
One a Republican.
The other Democrat.
And yet in perfect agreement.
As though in that fraternal union
there was much more than a pair of Lehmans
but the whole of America
aware of all its power.
One blond.
The other dark.
One bearded.
The other clean-shaven.
One high-pitched.
The other baritone.
Harold and Allan
of contrasting appearance
move about like two armored tanks
fighting off all resistance.
There again, how can they be blamed
if they are born in a superpower
whose hand extends across the whole world?
Might this allow them a minimum of arrogance?
Or do we want to pretend we are like everyone else?
Come on!
These are the most recent points
of their life story:
for a start
they graduated with top grades.
In reality, the last exam wasn’t so perfect
but Professor Torrel
saw them glaring at him
and when he heard the words
“Lehman funds the college, and its salaries”
he had no doubts about an upward adjustment.
Soon after graduation came the wedding.
This too arranged in tandem
without breaking the fraternal harmony:
Harold has chosen Bibi.
Allan has picked Tessa.
Harold courts Bibi:
“I find you pretty, even if you’re not entirely so.”
Allan courts Tessa:
“With you I get less bored than with other women.”
Harold woos Bibi:
“I’d have preferred you blond.”
Allan woos Tessa:
“Now I come to look at you, you’re really not so tall.”
Harold gets engaged to Bibi:
“They’ve told me I have to give you a ring.”
Allan couples up with Tessa:
“This is gold, my girl: get it off your finger and lock it in the safe.”
Harold proposes to Bibi:
“It’s worth you marrying me, you’ll not do any better.”
Allan offers himself to Tessa:
“You’re getting the best deal out of this wedding, but I won’t object.”
Harold at last takes Bibi:
“Now that I’ve married you, let’s see how you behave.”
Allan at last takes Tessa:
“You’re now a Lehman, you do realize that?”
Problem therefore solved.
Full stop, new paragraph.
Onward.
There’s now the question of working out
what role these brothers can play in the bank:
there again, just to be clear,
could Uncle Arthur really fail to notice
two characters like these?
All the more since they seem perfect
for resolving a substantial problem:
though Arthur feels he has
the secret of banking algebra within his grasp,
what escapes him
is how to give practical effect
to the pure theory of calculus:
Harold and Allan could play the role of soldiers
instructing their dear uncle in the science of war.
And if Arthur was already certain of this,
today he had a clear demonstration.
It has already been mentioned how
Arthur no longer saw human beings inhabiting planet Earth
but ravenous hordes of 7 dollars and 21 cents:
what he sometimes finds irritating about them
is that the 7.21s
are often guilty of ingratitude.
And this is not very nice.
Today, for example.
Uncle Arthur is traveling
in the company of Harold and Allan
on a business trip to far-off Nebraska:
Lehman’s interests stretch as far as here,
where we finance those who drill the mountains
in every corner
just to find a few drops of oil.
For there’s half the world to get moving.
And since mathematics has its own fine fuel tank,
the three Lehmans are on the lookout for some decent food
after hours traveling in the middle of nowhere.
Then the mirage.
Appearing there at the roadside
a providential diner
open 24 hours a day:
a Greek diner
“PELOPONNESUS”
run by immigrants
opened six years ago.
The owner
Georgios Petropoulos
behind the counter
—olives and cheese—
with his oil-stained apron
and a three-year-old son in his arms
is trying to tune the radio
but with no luck:
among capers and sardines
there’s no signal.
Among olives and capers,
this morning
in the middle of Nebraska
is not going well.
A bad Thursday.
Partly because it’s Thursday
who knows why
customers aren’t coming in.
Partly because this child
just three years old
won’t stop whining
whining
whining
still?
Whining
whining
“Aν κλάψεις πάλι, εγώ . . .”*
his father yells as though the child were likely to stop on command.
The three Lehmans sit at the counter.
They’ll eat just olives and cheese: there’s nothing else.
Meantime, the child cries more than ever
and his father is trying to find the frequency:
Georgios Petropoulos
wants
for sure
to hear the news.
He always listens in
ever since those years
when every morning
they broadcast news
about the Ku Klux Klan
who even there at Kearney
yes sir
used to burn down Greek diners
at night.
And there, suddenly:
the news headlines:
“The Lehman Brothers bank
has signed its divorce from Goldman Sachs.”
At this news the child cries louder
and the cook curses in his language
hurling a couple of olives against the wall
as though they were bullets.
Arthur peers in front of him
at that couple worth a total of 10 dollars and 81 cents
(since children count as half):
how dare they insult an institution?
“Excuse me, sir: you have something against the bank?”
“Pardon me?”
“I had the impression you were somewhat upset
when the radio spoke about Lehman Brothers.”
“And of course I’m upset! Lousy Jews!
To build this place up they gave me a loan
and it’s six years that I’ve been paying a fortune!
I’m not paying them anymore, I’ve decided! Lousy Jews!”
The mathematical formula of the curse
was about to lead Arthur
to the equation of an equal and consequent anger.
Luckily his nephews were there too.
“Is that child your son, dear sir?”
Harold immediately began
without even looking up from his plate.
“Of course, it’s my Pete.”
“We imagine that Pete will take over your job as he grows up”
his brother continued, he too without looking at him:
“Do you think Pete’s business would do well
if he served food to his customers without making them pay?”
The Greek made no comment:
he merely frowned,
surprised more than anything by the fact that the child
—at the sudden mention of his future in the world of catering—
had completely stopped his wailing
and was studying the boy with the greatest attention.
Harold continued:
“Because the fact is that we have eaten today
and even though the quality is execrable
by the law of trade we will be obliged to pay.
Indeed, to be exact: how much?”
“7 dollars and 21 each” the Greek answered straightaway.
Arthur was about to protest.
But he was stopped by Allan:
“Let us now assume, dear sir,
that your son Pete becomes a banker one day.
Indeed, let us go further:
that he might work at Lehman Brothers.”
“Never!” the Greek yelled
even though the child seemed to be nodding.
Harold ignored him:
“In that remote case, quite honestly:
in what would his occupation of banker consist
if not in obtaining the payment of interest on the loan he grants to you?
Interest for the bank is the same as what $7.21 is for your cooking.
Therefore, esteemed sir,
if you are really saying that you will pay no longer
then—as we ourselves, unluckily for you, are the Lehman bank—
we will be entitled to get up now
and leave here—we too—without paying anything to you.”
The child emitted a sound much akin to agreement.
And the Greek took note.
The Lehmans paid $7.21 each,
with the reasonable certainty that they hadn’t lost a debtor.
They got up
wiped their mouths
and
with cool confidence
left the Peloponnesus behind them
climbing back up Mount Olympus.