David was late coming out of school and found Sammy, Miriam and Esther waiting for him as usual.
“I thought you’d gone without us,” Esther piped accusingly.
“I didn’t.” Sammy’s trust in his brother was absolute.
David wiped Esther’s runny nose.
“I lost my hankie,” she snivelled.
“How could you, when Mother fixed it to your pinafore with a pin?” he asked exasperatedly.
The two little girls clutched his hands as they began the trudge home. To reach Strangeways from Derby Street, where the school was situated, they had to traverse a stretch of Waterloo Road and it was not uncommon to find Gentile children from adjoining Hightown waiting to jeer at them.
“Moishe Lipkin got spat at yesterday,” Sammy informed the others.
“Well David won’t let us get spat at,” Miriam said confidently, skipping to keep up with his long-legged stride. “Why were you late, David?”
“I’ll tell you later.” He wanted to hug his wonderful news to himself for a little longer. “You didn’t have to wait for me, did you?”
Miriam looked hurt. “But I always walk home with you. Just like Helga goes with Saul and Bessie Salaman.”
“Helga and Saul’re sweethearts,” Esther giggled.
David knew they were. Saul was his best friend.
“I bet Bessie won’t ever have a sweetheart, she’s a dirty thing.” Miriam grimaced. “She never wears a clean pinny and Helga said I might get nits because I sit next to her in school.”
“It’s because she’s got no mother,” Sammy said charitably.
“Saul hasn’t, either, but he’s nice and clean,” Miriam replied. “Or Helga wouldn’t love him.”
Esther was lagging behind, pulling at David’s hand. “Give me a piggy-back down the hill, David,” she whined as they turned into Waterloo Road. “My toes are hurting.”
“It’s because your shoes’re too small,” he told her. He hoisted her onto his back and wished his parents could afford to buy her a bigger pair. “What’d you two do if you didn’t have me to look after you?” he asked taking Miriam’s hand again.
“Don’t be silly, David!” Miriam laughed. She could not imagine not having him there. Her brother could not be relied upon. Once, he had almost got her run over by a horse and cart because he was reading while they crossed the main road. She tightened her hold on David’s hand.
The soft little fingers were warm and confiding and David felt ashamed of his joy about what his teacher had told him. It would mean deserting Miriam and Esther. And Sammy, whom the Gentile children ridiculed because of his jiggling walk. What would his mother say when she heard? His father’s opinion did not seem important, it never had. He made up his mind to tell Mr. Moritz before telling his parents. Somehow it seemed right he should be the first to know.
A February fog had descended during the afternoon and the acrid thickness was in the children’s throats, making them cough. David had hated the fog, initially, but now it was just part of Manchester. He pulled his muffler around his mouth and told the others to do the same. This made talking impossible and allowed him to concentrate on his thoughts.
Tonight, if he wasn’t too tired, he would light the stub of candle he kept hidden in the bedroom and read Oliver Twist again when everyone was asleep. He wasn’t supposed to read in bed, but if his mother ever caught him doing it she wouldn’t be able to accuse him of wasting gaslight, which cost money. Oliver was his favourite, because it was the first book he had ever owned, his reward from Mr. Moritz when he’d learned to read. Mr. Moritz was the only person he knew who spent money on books, and had given him three others, too, for birthday gifts. There was still plenty of room in his orange-box bookcase, but last month when it was his eleventh birthday, he’d worked out that if Mr. Moritz kept on giving him one every year, by the time he was eighty he’d have seventy-three.
Sometimes he thought of the time Mr. Moritz had met him and Carl after school and taken them with him to the second-hand bookshop in Long Millgate. They’d gone by tram and it was the only time David had ever been on one, and also the only time he had ever been to town. Though it was within walking distance, his parents had forbidden him to go there in case he got lost. They had sat on the top deck and he’d watched the trolley-boy holding the long shaft in place and wished he could ride around town all day and see everything, the way the boy did. Mr. Moritz had shown him a street called The Shambles, with very old buildings that had black and white gables, and a place called Poets Corner, which he’d thought was a lovely name, where one of the buildings had looked as if it was going to tip forward onto its bulging black-beamed face. He’d seen a school called Chetham’s Hospital, too, and Mr. Moritz had said it wasn’t because the pupils were sick. It had been near the Manchester Grammar School and they’d seen some big boys coming out of there with funny little round, peaked caps on their heads. David and Carl had said they wouldn’t fancy wearing one and Mr. Moritz had laughed and said they should only be so lucky.
But the best part of the outing had been going inside the bookshop, David thought as he plodded down Waterloo Road. It had been full of people standing about reading and some had left without buying any books, but the man behind the counter didn’t seem to mind. David had thought what a friendly place it was, with its musty smell which wasn’t unpleasant, but somehow exciting, and had enjoyed touching the worn leather bindings and wondering what the stories inside them were about. It had been before he’d learned to read properly and the next day he’d worked even harder than usual at his English lesson so he would be able to find out.
Now it seemed a long time ago and he couldn’t imagine not being able to read English. He wished his parents would go to night school, Like Mr. and Mrs. Moritz did, so they’d be able to read and write, too. He sometimes thought they’d still be speaking nothing but Yiddish if they didn’t have children who spoke English. At home, he and his brother and sister spoke a mixture of both with their parents, not like at the Moritzes’, where only English was spoken at mealtimes so the parents could learn to speak it properly, like their children did.
“Thank goodness we’re nearly home,” Sammy said through his muffler. “My leg’s starting to ache.”
David glanced compassionately at the thin little figure limping beside him. Sammy’s leg must be hurting a lot, he rarely complained.
“And I want to get on with my carving, before bedtime,” Sammy added.
“Why don’t you sit and read one of my books, for a change?”
“Reading’s a waste of time.”
“You always say that, but you’re wrong, Sammy.”
“Books take too long to finish.”
“So do the things you make, but you don’t mind that, do you?” David could not understand why his brother had the patience to sit for hours carving things out of bits of wood with his penknife, but couldn’t be bothered to use his brain.
“Those dolls you made for me and Esther’re lovely, Sammy,” Miriam said. “I like mine better than the big real one Bessie Salaman’s father bought her.”
“I’ll make you a big one when I’ve finished Mother’s pin tray,” Sammy told her. “If I can find a big bit of wood. Can I take my muffler off my mouth, David? It feels all wet.”
“All right. And I’ll help you to find some more wood if you promise to try harder with your school work,” David bargained. Three years of living in Strangeways had taught him you had to use your brains if you were ever going to get anywhere, but Sammy was like their father, who seemed satisfied to be spending his life pressing garments. What makes me think I’ll get anywhere myself? he mused as they reached Bury New Road and walked towards the Moritzes’ street. Then a tremor of excitement rippled through him. He was going to pass the scholarship exam, wasn’t he? Go to high school. Boys who went there could become doctors and lawyers even if they were Jews. Hadn’t his teacher said so, when he told him he was clever enough to sit the exam? It was that that had started him off thinking about being something better than Father was. Until this afternoon, he hadn’t thought about it the way he was doing now.
Carl was also to write the examination and Sigmund promised to make school uniforms for both of them if they passed, which lessened David’s apprehension about telling his mother. The expense of a regulation outfit had been worrying him, but now she would only have to pay for a badge to be sewn on his pocket and a cap like the Central High School boys wore.
Not for a moment did it enter David’s head that he might fail the examination. He could already see himself striding to town in the mornings, with Carl beside him. He wished his best friend could go, too, but Saul Salaman wasn’t the studious kind. So Saul’ll end up owning his father’s factory and be my father’s boss, he smiled to himself. The smile was still on his face when he arrived home and walked into the kitchen with Sammy and Esther.
“You lost a farthing and found thruppence?” Sarah asked.
“Mother just said a whole sentence in English!” Sammy laughed.
“Well, David? Tell me why you look so happy, already.”
“Guess.”
“You didn’t find thruppence, you found a pound note, we should only live to see one!”
“Better than that,” David told her his wonderful news.
“Mazeltov!” She congratulated him, then resumed stirring the borscht. “So hurry up or you’ll be late for cheder.”
David eyed her back resentfully. Carl’s parents were letting him miss Hebrew class tonight, as if being one of those who were good enough to sit the high school exam was something to celebrate and he deserved a treat. He’d hoped his mother would tell him he needn’t go because it was a special occasion, but it didn’t seem to be one to her. His teacher had said it was an achievement, but she was behaving as if it was nothing. Most of the boys who took the exam had been born in England, Saul had, but he was bottom of the class. Why wasn’t she proud of him, the way Mr. Moritz was of Carl? Mr. Moritz was proud of him, too, and he wasn’t his son. He could feel his face growing hot with rage. If he’d found a pound note, or even thruppence, his mother would be dancing for joy!
Sammy and Esther had taken off their coats and were sitting at the table.
“Like a lemon he’s standing there! You’d think he had all day,” Sarah exclaimed giving him a gentle shove.
He sat down with the others and she brought a loaf of black bread to the table, cut a slice for each of them and spread it with chicken fat. They always had this to sustain them when they came home from school on winter afternoons and had their supper later, when their father returned from the factory.
David sat munching his sullenly, watching his mother fill Nicholas’ saucer with milk, which she did at this time every afternoon so it would be waiting for the cat when it came home, the way she did everything that had to be done, no matter how tired she was. Living in their own house had not turned out the way he had hoped. His mother was always too busy to talk to her children about their school life. School was just somewhere they went in the mornings and returned from in the afternoons, what they did there didn’t seem to interest her.
“Finish your bread and shmaltz already!” she said to him. “The evening is short enough with all you still have to do.”
Usually, David did not mind his evening chores, but today he felt sick at the thought of them. He’d begun learning his Bar Mitzvah portion at cheder, Rabbi Lensky said it took a long time to become word perfect and his lesson now lasted longer than it used to. Afterwards, he’d just have time to come home and eat his supper, before he went to help Mr. Radinsky clean up his shop. Other boys he knew had evening jobs, too, and some got paid in goods, instead of money, like he did. The fruit and vegetables he brought home were always a bit squashed or bruised, but they were fit to eat. Mr. Radinsky wouldn’t palm him off with anything that’d gone rotten, he was a fair man and had proved it when David went to cadge an orange-box from him. If it hadn’t been for the orange-box he wouldn’t have got the job, Mr. Radinsky hadn’t employed a boy before then, he’d managed with just himself and Menachem his assistant. Thinking about the night he’d got his orange-box bookcase gave David a nice, warm feeling and took his mind off how his mother had reacted to his news.
“When I want to give charity, I give it to the Benevolent Society,” Mr. Radinsky had told him. “So you’ll do a little work for the box.”
He had put a broom into David’s hands and asked him to sweep the floor. To get his box, David would have scrubbed the walls and ceiling.
“I like a boy who knows what he wants and even better one who doesn’t mind working for it,” the greengrocer had approved when David said what the box was for and had selected one which was not splintered for him. “But a bookcase you can’t eat. Tomorrow you’ll come back and work for me again and I’ll give you something for the tsimmes.”
The next evening, David cleaned the fish counter and left with his arms full of carrots and onions. His family had not gone short of fruit and vegetables since.
Sarah had shown more pleasure about this than she had about his scholarship entry and still smiled and patted his cheek when he handed her his edible earnings. Her priorities were the same as the greengrocer’s, how could they not be? Day to day existence, with its material anxieties, obsessed all the immigrants, including the few who, like Sigmund Moritz, considered education equally important. They fed and clothed their children and if anyone had to go without it was themselves. Even those like Mr. Radinsky and Isaac Salaman, who had established themselves and accumulated capital, did not feel secure. The feeling that what they had today would still be there tomorrow was one they would not acquire for a long time. David was aware that his parents had to struggle, but it was not until years later that he fully understood.
When he got back from cheder that night, his father shook his hand warmly and said how pleased he was about the scholarship. David had not expected his father’s reaction to be any different from his mother’s and wondered if there might be more to him than he had come to believe.
He was doing his homework at the table, after the rest of the family had gone to bed, when his mother returned to the kitchen.
“It’s a pleasure to be without a lodger,” she said putting the kettle on to boil. Half-a-dozen had come and gone since they moved into the house. The last had left a few days ago and had not yet been replaced, so she would not have been walking around in her nightgown.
“Are you ill?” David asked her.
Sarah laughed. “When am I ill?” She bent down and stroked Nicholas, who for some reason scratched everyone else but not her and she was no longer afraid of him.
Father can’t be ill, or she wouldn’t be laughing, David thought. So why had she come to boil the kettle at this time? The clock said half-past ten.
“I’m just making you some tea,” she told him.
He looked at her uncertainly. He often did his homework late at night, but she’d never done this before.
“A boy who’s studying for scholarships needs something to refresh him,” she said with a smile.
Everything was all right. His mother was proud of him after all.
“You’ve got ink on your face,” Sarah chuckled.
“What does it matter?” he said happily and went on writing his composition, choosing the words carefully because his teacher had said that was his only weak point.
Sarah got a glass from the dresser. “Your pal Mr. Moritz came to see us while you were out.”
“I sometimes think he’s the best pal I’ll ever have,” David said with feeling.
“Listen, we don’t call him that for nothing, I think so also. He’s going to make you an outfit, eh, David?”
“And the other things I’ll need shouldn’t cost too much.”
“Whatever they’ll cost, you’ll have. We’ll buy.”
David recalled how his father had surprised him. Maybe he didn’t know his mother as well as he thought he did, either.
“Before Esther’s new boots we’ll buy.”
“Miriam’s got an old pair that’ll fit her.”
“What the Moritzes are giving to you is enough!” Sarah said sharply. Her pride was as strong as ever. Providing the school outfit was Sigmund’s way of helping David get ahead and not to be confused with handing down cast off clothing.
The kettle began to sing; kept on the hob all the time, it never took long to boil and tea could be made at a moment’s notice. David watched her take a jar of blackcurrant jam from the cupboard and put a big spoonful into the glass, instead of lemon. So she’s made him go to cheder as usual, but this was a special treat. He noticed she had let down her hair for the night and it looked like a silk cape, the way it hung over her shoulders, down to her waist. He knew it had not always been touched with silver at the front, but could not remember when the streaks had appeared.
“You look younger in your nightgown, Mother,” he said to her.
Sarah chuckled. “In that case, it’s a pity I can’t wear it all the time!”
How lovely it was when she laughed and joked with him, David thought. If only she had no worries and then she’d be like this all the time. She looked smaller, as well as younger. He’d never realised how tiny his mother was. Perhaps it was because he had grown much taller? He was tall enough now to see his reflection in the mirror above the table, without standing up. It was the only one in the house and had been hung in the kitchen so everyone could use it. His mother was reflected in it, too, pouring tea into the glass at the hob. Why had he never noticed that he looked like her?
“When is the examination, David?” she asked.
“In two weeks’ time.”
“So you’ll pass it.” She brought the glass to the table. “And be a high-school boy.” Such a thing to happen to a son of mine, she thought. Who would’ve believed it? She kissed his cheek and moved to the door. “But don’t get any big ideas,” she told him.