APPENDIX

The Agitator

BY MIRIAM KARPILOVE

Translated by Jessica Kirzane

ALTKA SAT, thinking to herself that if she could only find someone she could make it with, she’d like to be married already. She’s fed up with loneliness, with living among strangers. She wants a real home.

She realizes that she lacks some quality that would help her get closer to people. She makes no effort to please the people she doesn’t like, and when she meets someone she does like she hides her feelings from him and from others like it’s something to be ashamed of. Instead of smiling at him she looks away, instead of offering kind words she snaps at him or says nothing at all.

There are men who are very interested in her, and she likes them too. They’re married men. But she isn’t interested in being a homewrecker. She feels sorry for their wives. And there’s no point in having an affair with one of them. Nothing could come of it.

There are others who say they’d like to marry her if only they had the means. They tell her that in order to marry her a man would have to be well off. A girl as lovely as she deserves a home with every comfort, and they’d never be able to give her that kind of a home with what they earn.

Some want to have a “free love” affair with her. She thinks “free love” ought to be called “unprofitable love” and she isn’t interested. No one from her family (she comes from a respectable family) has ever carried on a “free love” affair, so why should she get caught up in one? No matter that they live across an ocean from her. She can’t, and doesn’t ever want to, write lies to them. And telling them the truth about such an affair would cause them pain. She is very dear to them.

Her friends see her as a decent, honorable, clever, innocent girl. Some say that she is a bit too innocent.

She’s given up on the grand kind of love that she once dreamt of. Now what she wants is sympathy, affection, friendship. Perhaps, like so many other poor girls stuck in sweatshops, she should attach herself to some man so that she can have a steady job as a wife waiting on a person who is no better than a beggar himself? No, she’s not that desperate, she has a good job as a designer. She even has something put away for a rainy day. She doesn’t live in poverty, she doesn’t cut corners, and she’s even able to help others. Marrying just so she can take someone else’s name or shorten her years is something she doesn’t want and won’t do.

Altka went over all this in her mind for the hundredth time and her heart was so heavy that she felt on the verge of tears.

It was the first spring evening. Her book fell from her hands and she knew that soon she wouldn’t be able to find a spot in her house to sit comfortably. She readied herself and walked down to the street. It was still early, around eight in the evening. She didn’t want to wander alone for long, so when she saw an advertisement for a concert and literary evening featuring countless clever people whose names she knew, she purchased a ticket and entered the hall.

After the first number in the program she felt she already wanted to leave. That’s how good it was. The second was a little better and after the third she thought she could get used to it. By the fourth she’d decided that she would leave before the beginning of the fifth act. As she neared the door a young man stood in her way and asked, “Are you the girl I’ve been looking for? Your name is Alta, right?”

She looked him up and down. He was tall, a little taller than she, blond, with skin dark enough that it looked as though he hadn’t washed himself recently. His squinty eyes were hidden behind a pince-nez. His long nose jutted out from his face and bent toward his upper lip. His bottom lip bulged and this gave an impression of nobility or stubbornness. There was dirt under the fingernails of the hand he used to adjust his pince-nez.

“Who are you?” she asked him.

“I am Mr. Mars. Dr. Mars, if you please! So are you the girl I’m looking for? They described you to me as tall and graceful with black hair, red lips, pretty eyes, a very attractive girl!”

“Since you know all about her, you can keep on looking for her.”

“But I’ve already found her.”

“So?”

“I want to speak with her, that is to say, with you. Why are you leaving so early? Where are you going? If I may ask—”

“To the street.”

“Will you permit me to join you?”

She paused a moment and then nodded, thinking to herself, “He can walk with me, I suppose. He isn’t bothering anyone.”

“Let’s go to the park,” he suggested as they left.

“Which park? The one on Hester Street?”

“What’s wrong with the park on Hester Street? Or if you don’t like it, then let’s just walk wherever our feet take us.”

So they went off. The air smelled of May, a warm breeze cooled her flushed face. She sensed his penetrating gaze. She felt lighthearted and sure-footed and smiled at the people walking by, all of whom seemed to stare at her with curiosity. It seemed to her that love-seeking personal ads shined out of most of their eyes. A mob of lonely souls, revived by the onset of spring, crawled out of their caskets, the tenement houses, looking for life and greeting nature’s reawakening.

The eyes of the women and girls were more earnest and deliberate than the eyes of the men. The women were looking for three men in one: a lover, a husband, and a father. But the men were only looking for one thing: a lover.

Newspaper salesmen called out the headlines of tomorrow’s freshly printed newspaper and ran with them as though in panic among the crowd mulling around the various places for amusement on the street. Many bought newspapers from the boys, others were indifferent to their cries and hubbub. What did they care how many thousand people died over there in Europe?

Dr. Mars laughed that since he came from Poland, from a town that’s now under German control, that must mean that he’s a German and she’s a Russian, and they’re from enemy territories.

“Tell me,” she asked him, paying little notice to his joking, “who sent you to ask if I was me?”

“My heart did.”

“Seriously, who was it?”

“It’s a secret.”

“Then tell me the secret. Who was it?”

“Well—do I have to say? Alright, if I have to. It was someone who’s in love with you. He’s seen you often from a distance. He’s head over heels for you! He wants to meet you, to talk to you, but he doesn’t dare. So I did it for him. And I’m very glad I did because to tell you the truth I like you very much myself. I like you so much that I won’t tell you who he is because I’m jealous of his feelings for you.”

“What’s his name?”

“Isn’t that just fine? Here I am speaking of my feelings, and you just want to know about him!”

“Is he good-looking?”

“Do you like good-looking men?”

“Yes.”

“Well, excuse me—”

“What’s the problem?”

“Are you saying that I’m not good-looking?”

She didn’t deny it. After a pause she asked, “Are you really a doctor?”

“Yes, I’m in my third year of medical school.”

“Oh, so you aren’t a doctor yet.”

He explained that he already has the title “doctor” from before he started studying medicine, from his time in Switzerland where he earned a doctorate in chemistry. He also has diplomas and medals of distinction in art, music, and agriculture. He’ll graduate in a year and then he plans to travel the world. Would she like to go with him? She should know that he has a grand future ahead of him. He wants to share it with someone, and why shouldn’t it be her? He likes her. One more thing: she’s a little too cold, without enough spirit. Or maybe that’s just a pretense? He’ll soon find out. He asked if she wanted to sit awhile and rest from their walk.

They were next to a park and free benches beckoned to them. They sat down. He put his arm around her waist.

“There’s no need for that,” she said, removing his arm. He circled her waist another time and she pulled his arm off again. This happened again and again until they both laughed and his arm remained where he wanted it.

“Now I want to kiss you,” he declared.

“You may not.”

“You can’t do this and you can’t do that, what’s with all these rules? Look,” he said, gesturing in front of them, “it’s so pretty here. Trees, birds, couples in love. It’s spring. The air is filled with love.”

“Then kiss the air.”

It was late when they arrived at the house where she lived. He insisted that she agree to allow him to come the next day to see her in her room. He promised that she’d really get to know him them.

After he left she vigorously rubbed the remains of his goodbye from her lips and her neck.

The next evening he came to see her. Every inch of him was scrubbed over, his collar was turned to its clean side, and he wore a different suit. But he still had the same dirt under his nails.

“A doctor!” she thought to herself. “Are those the nails of a doctor?”

“Have a seat,” she said to him, gesturing toward a chair near the table. The table was covered in books that had never quite made it to the bookshelf.

He sat, never taking his eyes off her, and put down the package he was carrying.

“What’s that?”

“Dates and raisins. They’re good for the digestion. Do you ever eat them? Would you like one?”

“No, thanks. I don’t like to get my hands dirty and don’t want sticky fingers.”

He opened the package and started eating as he looked around her room. “How much do you pay for this?”

“Ten dollars a month.”

“It’s expensive. And what kind of people are your landlords? ‘Intellectuals?’” He hated “intellectuals.”

“‘Intellectuals,’” she smiled. “Or at least that’s how they advertised themselves. They sell phonographs. One of the sons, the oldest, is studying to be a dentist, and the second one walks with crutches. One of his legs is shorter than the other. They have a daughter who works as a telephone girl. She’s pretty and stylish, she looks like she came right out of a fashion book. She plays piano. She’s full of noise. The parents are proud of their Russianness. The children are proud to be Americans.” She, their boarder, tries to be the neutral territory, and often comes between the embattled nations to make peace.

“Do you mean to say that you spend time with them?”

“Oh, yes, she has to. She has a key to the kitchen door and whenever she needs to use the washbasin she opens it. And sometimes when she forgets to lock it, she unchains the door to the front room and goes through the rooms.”

“So those are the so-called improvements they advertise! That hardly sounds comfortable. And what if someone comes to visit you? For instance, if they have sticky fingers from raisins and dates and want to wash them?”

“Hardly anyone ever comes to see me.”

“Do you mean to say I’m the first one? Really? I’m glad to hear it. I hardly believe it. You know, I dreamed about you all night. I woke up several times, sat up in bed, stretched out my arms and called out begging you to come. Why are you so far away? Sit closer to me, like when we were at the park. Will your landlords care if I’m sitting next to you? Do you know how beautiful you are? Take off your corset. What do you need it for? Make yourself comfortable! You must have long hair. Why do you bundle it up? It’s true, you aren’t very friendly. I can tell that you read a lot. I can give you some good books to read, books that you can’t get from the library. Very interesting and scholarly. They will make you competent in the matter of love. Do you know that the greatest people are sometimes as ignorant as little children when it comes to love? Take some of the literati—George Sand, George Eliot, and so forth. Yes, under the skin all men are brothers and all women are sisters. Do you want me to go already?”

“It’s getting late. Eleven o’clock.”

“Happy people don’t count the hours. You’re afraid of what your intellectuals will say? Why should we care? But it’s not good that your room has no water. I’d like to wash my hands. A room should come with its own improvements, with a little plumbing.”

He stood up, stretched, and paced, considering the room and then unwillingly said his goodbyes, promising to return tomorrow. He left quickly.

The same thing happened for the next five or six evenings. He came bearing raisins, dates, or figs. He told her about his dreams, he spoke and agitated for free love, tried to illustrate for her, to persuade her. He stayed until late, sitting, pacing, looking around the room, spitting frustratedly in the floral patterned spittoon, and then he left.

One evening he arrived with a smile as wide as if it were a holiday and told her to wish him a happy birthday. She hadn’t been expecting him to come, and she was dressed a long Japanese kimono with her hair in a long braid. She was in a sour mood. She was reading as usual and thinking about the emptiness of her life. Why should she be feeling this way when she’d met a man who was a doctor, an agriculturalist, and so much else? Why don’t her heart and soul leap at his words? Because, she answered herself, they are only words and she doesn’t believe he is what he says he is, although another girl in her position would convince herself that he was telling the truth. She would play the role of lover and then rope him into marrying her, and then whatever would be, would be. Leave those details for later. Every beginning is difficult, but you have to live while you can.

But she wasn’t able to fool herself. She felt hatred rising up in her—hatred for him and for herself too—and it caused her pain. She knows she behaves and speaks in a way that just puts more and more stones blocking the path toward living her life.

She wasn’t expecting his sudden knock on the door and it gave her a fright. When she saw him he seemed fresh and vivacious, like he’d just come from a shave and a stroll. He clasped her hands, looked her over, and remarked, “This is exactly how I hoped I’d find you! You’re stunning! Just as I saw you in a dream. What a splendid kimono you’re wearing. You only need a few flowers in your hair.” He grabbed a few flowers from the table and stuck them in her hair. “Geisha, my geisha!”

He caught her looking at the huge windows in the front-room door, through which she could see shadows.

“What’s that?” he asked.

“Windows like that are in fashion.”

“You could hang a curtain over it from your room. Hang a thick curtain from ceiling to floor,” he said, pulling her toward him for a kiss. She gently pushed him away.

“Don’t be so cruel to me, especially today. It’s the day I was born, and how can you be so cruel to a baby? Don’t you have a heart? Do you have any pity? You should be gentle with me,” he said, taking her hand and placing it on his face. She smiled. He was cheered by this and cooed, thinking she was asking for more of the baby talk. He took off his jacket and hung it on the back of a chair. She tore herself from him and cried, “Do you want someone to see us?”

Annoyed, he responded, “Let them look in and see. There’s nothing to see here.”

“But what if something happens?”

“Nothing will.”

They looked at each other like brooding hens. “Go away,” she urged, showing him the door. He settled in more comfortably and started snacking on his raisins.

“Go away.”

“Like fun I will!” he teased. They heard whispers from the other side of the door.

“Alright!” she hissed, and bit her lips as she stood by the window looking out to the street. For a while neither of them said anything. He stood up and paced impatiently. She was happy to see this. She thought to herself, “Now he’ll do the same thing he’s done every evening he’s been here. After he gets his ‘exercise,’ he’ll glare at me in exasperation and leave.”

“Goodbye!” he said and the shadows behind the door seemed to move a little.

“Goodbye!” she answered him, already feeling less angry, and smiled sweetly, promising herself that once he’d left she’d let herself laugh out loud at him. He strode toward the door, opened it, stomped away a few steps, and then turned around, came back, and slammed the door closed with himself inside. He turned down the lights.

Before she knew what he was doing he grabbed her and held her in his arms, held her so tight he was choking her, and kissed her so hard she felt he might smash her to pieces. She thrust herself against him, biting him and pounding him with her fists and then escaping his grasp stood by the window angrily in bitter silence.

“You’ll fall out!”

“Shut up.”

In the front room a window opened. She could tell that her landlords were checking to see if he had left yet.

He grabbed her again but this time instead of fighting him as she had before, she calmly requested, “Let me go for a moment.”

“Why?”

“I have to go.”

“Alright.”

When she was on the other side of the door she said, “I’m finished,” and hid in the dark hall. He went to look for her with feigned indifference. He saw something moving on the stairs. It was she. He crept after her as quiet as a thief and hurriedly stretched his arms out to grab her. A frightened cat darted in front of him. Not knowing where to run it blundered under his feet and he stumbled, trying not to step on it. He stepped on his own untied shoelaces and slid down to the first step, grasping for something that would keep him from falling. He rolled down the whole flight of stairs.

Originally appeared in Di tsukunft, January 1915.