Place in the City by Howard Fast

kitchen, smoking a cigarette, while his wife did the dishes. When she had finished drying them, she pushed back her light hair with one plump arm, and turned to face Meyer. She wasn’t old yet, hardly any gray in her hair, still attractive, and plump enough to make a man continue to want her, even after all these years. She leaned against the sink, stood arms akimbo, watching him, and then she smiled at the despair in his face.
    â€œMeyer, Meyer, what’s so terrible, maybe you could tell me? We still have the children and our health, and enough money saved in all these years to make you and me happy when we get old; so why is there a face like the world came to an end?”
    â€œYes—”
    â€œIs that an answer for a man? Come into the living room then, and let me get away from these dishes.”
    But in the living room, he presented the same dead face. Actually, he was wondering how he could tell her, and what she would do. Would she scream at him and call him all the names he could think of for himself? Or would the news hit her too hard? Or would she refuse to believe? How was it that for such a time life could go in a simple even manner, no burdens, no real worries, no complexities; that was happiness. What had he wanted?
    Only to make things better for her, better for her than for himself. If he had succeeded in only doubling his money, there would never be another day of worry for them. He would be a respected man in the community, not only Meyer, the cigar store keeper; his girls would have dowries worthy of them—
    His wife said: “Look, Meyer, soon the girls will be married. I was thinking, maybe, that you need a rest. I need a rest, too. You could sell the store. If we wanted to, we could go back to Europe to see the old folks, then come back here and settle down somewhere in the country. We have enough, surely—”
    â€œWe got nothing,” Meyer blurted out.
    She stared at him, at his crumpled, dejected figure, at his face that was already a thousand years old; could any face ever be older than that? And all of a sudden. What had happened to him? What did he mean?
    â€œWe got nothing,” Meyer repeated. Then, quick as a flash, he thought of Shutzey and Timy and the rest. An honest man had nothing, while sin gave them money and more money. No God but money, and money had no scruples, no honor, no ethics. The way did not matter; it was only the end that mattered. He, Meyer, was an honest man. But inside he was laughing at himself, laughing the way he had never laughed before.
    â€œMeyer!”
    â€œWe got nothing!” Meyer shouted. “We got nothing,” he screamed, “nothing!”
    â€œMeyer, what’s the matter with you?”
    â€œWhat’s the matter?” He tried to sneer, to show her what was going on inside of him; but the sneer turned his face into the face of a hurt child, and tears ran out of his eyes, down his cheeks.
    â€œMeyer!”
    â€œLook at me! Look at me, I say! Look at an honest man! All my life I work, and what do I have? I got nothing—nothing! I live in a hole of sin, with whores and pimps and thieves, but I got nothing.”
    â€œMeyer, stop screaming! Tell me what happened.”
    â€œNothing happened. I lost the money. Isn’t that enough to happen?”
    â€œWhat money—?”
    â€œAll of it. Everything we saved. Eleven thousand dollars. But I lost it, so now—”
    â€œYou lost it,” she said dully.
    â€œYou understand me. I lost it.”
    â€œEverything—all of it?”
    â€œAll of it.” He looked at her, but she said nothing else now; she only stared at him, nodding her head, continued to nod her head, while in his mind, hours passed. Then, when she spoke, she said:
    â€œWhere’s Marion?”
    â€œAt a time like this you ask me such a question! How should I know?”
    â€œI think she’s at the mission, with that priest. You should speak to her,