25

Among Strangers

Today I begin a new chapter in the story of my diary. In another part of the city, in a new room, among strangers.”

Just now, while I was writing these words, I heard a man’s voice in the front room asking, “You rented the room already?”

A woman’s voice responded, “I rented it to a girl.”

“A pretty girl?”

“Aha! I knew you’d ask!”

“Why shouldn’t I ask? It’s only natural.”

“What’s it to you?”

“You know I like pretty girls. It’s just in my nature.”

“That’s some nature you have.”

“It’d be the same for any man.”

“But my future son-in-law shouldn’t talk that way. He should only care for my daughter.”

“Well, he certainly can’t marry the daughter’s mother. That’s the way it is. Probably that’s the way it’s meant to be. You fancy the mother, so you marry the daughter.”

“Bite your tongue!”

“Consider it bitten. Now, how can I get a peek at the new boarder?”

“You probably won’t get a chance to see her today. She said she won’t be coming home until evening, because she has a lot of things to buy.”

“A shame. I’ll have to see her another time. But I will see her eventually.”

They walked away from my room. They didn’t realize I was here. I’d already been home from my outing for a while. But I didn’t want them to know that. I stayed quiet so they wouldn’t find me out. I just wanted to ignore everyone. To be a stranger to the strangers, to be alone with my books. Books are so much better than people. They don’t try to find out who and what you are. They just tell you a story, and they do it when you want them to.

The voice that had asked about me must belong to the young man who’s pursuing the daughter of the house, and the woman’s voice is the mother’s. She didn’t speak more than a few words to me before telling me that her daughter has a boy, a fellow, a gentleman friend. He’s a salesman, makes a lot of money, and “cares” for her. “Oh, he’s just crazy for me!” she confided to me in English, promising to introduce me. “Mind you, crazy for his future mother-in-law!”

She asked me, “Do you have anyone?” When I told her that I didn’t, she said in English, “Too bad,” and comforted me with the thought that eventually I’d catch someone. All you need to attract a “gentleman friend” is to know how to dress up to date, in style. Her daughter, who dresses herself “like a doll,” would help me with that.

I thanked her for wanting to help me. I was forced to answer her questions in Yiddish peppered with English and Russian to prove her worth, such as: What relatives do I have here? How old am I? Do I have a steady position? Do I take vacations? Did I attend gymnasium in Russia? Am I familiar with the Russian classics? Am I a paklanitsa, a devotee, of modern literature? Because she, herself, is a strastna reader of anything Russian. She graduated gymnasium with a gold medal. She would show it to me, but it’s nowhere to be found, it disappeared into thin air. When you come to America and become a mother with many children, medals don’t matter to you anymore. You outgrow all that. As the children grow you have to chase after them to make yourself into an American so they won’t laugh at you.

There used to be a girl staying with them, she told me, who seemed to be an intellectual. People were good to her the way only intellectual people can be to a lonely girl in possession of some education. But she didn’t know how to show her appreciation. She was ungrateful and handled herself poorly.

I didn’t want to hear more about that girl. I resolved that I wouldn’t let anyone be “good” to me like that. I don’t want anyone to pity me or to talk about me in front of other people.

As I look at the dirty pink walls of my long and narrow room, a heavy unease weighs upon my heart. I miss the room that remains on the other side of this vast city without me in it. Remembering all that I experienced there, I quietly ask these walls what will happen to me here. Will I be able to bear the loneliness that I’ve condemned myself to, foreswearing love after my all my mishaps? Or will I be drawn into—coupledom?

Whomever I end up sharing my loneliness with, it will certainly not be A. or B. It’s all over with them. My fantastical love for A. and B.’s stubborn passion for me—let them both lie in the grave of the past. Let all the Katyas of the world pursue their lust for living. I wasn’t made for such love affairs. My motto will be: one or none, always or never, all or nothing—

My new landlords just interrupted my thoughts, knocking on my door and calling in to ask if I want tea. I thanked them but declined, saying I already had some not long ago. I don’t want to get too close to them. It would only make it harder to separate myself from them later on. In any event, they’ll have more respect for me if I don’t accept their kindness. All of them, especially the mother of the family, love to talk about their intelligence so much that I’m beginning to doubt whether it’s true.

Yes, I’ll be respectful to them from a distance. I won’t have any reason to argue with them, especially not with the girl, because I won’t be kind or close to them, so there will be nothing to argue about. I’ve rented a room from them and I’ll pay for it, and that’s all.

Another knock at my door. This time with an invitation to go to the movies.

“No, thank you, I don’t want to,” I refused politely.

“Are you going to stay at home all evening?”

“Yes, I think so.”

“What will you do?”

I felt like saying, “What’s it to you?” But I didn’t say it. I didn’t say anything.

“You’ll probably go to sleep?”

“Maybe.”

“That’s for old people. They need their rest.”

“I need mine too.”

“Oh, so you’re tired.”

“I am tired.”

She, the mother of the bride, left, unhappy with my answers. Apparently, she’d thought she’d make me her friend right from the first day. Maybe I shouldn’t be so mean and refuse her friendship. But I’m doing it for her sake. Why should I be good to her now, only to be mean later on? It’s better for me to be distant from the beginning, and if I find they’re actually kind people, then I can get closer to them.

A knock on the door. The landlord. He wants to know if I know where the landlady went.

“She’s at the movies,” I wanted to tell him, but I thought better of it, and said instead that I didn’t know. It’s better if he thinks that I don’t know where his wife went, so he doesn’t ask me about it anymore.

“She didn’t tell you where she was going? What a disgrace to come home to find that she left the house empty and didn’t say a word to anyone. Have you gotten settled in already? It’s a decent room, isn’t it? We rented it to a man for eleven dollars, but for a woman we’re renting it for nine. You have to make concessions for a woman. A woman doesn’t make as much money, right? When a woman rents a room on her own, she doesn’t have much money to spare. Most people rent one room to two girls, even three. You must be a good earner, right?”

“Yes.”

“That’s good. These days it’s hard to make a steady living. Especially if you’re the father of grown children, like I am.”

“Grown children can earn money of their own.”

“Small potatoes, that’s what they earn. It seems like they’re going to earn something, but all it amounts to is a drop in the ocean. In the old country I had a big role to play. The private police commissioner and I were like two peas in a pod. I ran a billiardnye that the governor’s son frequented, I hosted soldiers. And what do you think I do here? I’m hired help at a firm, I turn phonographs on and off. And if that’s not enough, I also peddle tea, Popov’s tea, if you must know. That’s America for you! Tell me, don’t you have anyone here in New York, even a friend?”

“I have friends.”

“Are you a bride-to-be?”

“Not yet.”

“Every young woman is a bride-to-be.”

“Is that so? But not everyone has a groom-to-be.”

“Sooner or later they all get married. Jewish girls don’t become old maids. Every girl I’ve ever known has gotten married eventually.”

“I know a lot of girls who haven’t.”

“They will! Marriage and death are two things you can’t avoid. That’s just how it is. You can’t go against your nature. You know what I mean?”

I told him that I understood so he wouldn’t explain any further and would go away. But he wasn’t in any hurry. I had to listen to him until his wife came home.

They were both heavy-set and long-winded, both of them prying and tactless, and neither of them let you forget for an instant that they were “intellectuals.” I had a strange feeling about them. I didn’t hate them so much as I knew that I was going to hate them later on.