Place in the City by Howard Fast Page A

or he’ll make a goy out of her.”
    â€œWith the worries I got, you want I should worry over Marion too.”
    â€œNo worries now,” she said quietly. “It’s gone, ain’t it?”
    â€œSo why don’t you yell? Why don’t you tell me what a rotten no-good loafer I am? Why don’t you tell me, instead you should sit there and ask me questions about Marion. At least I’m an honest man, but you tell me my daughter will be a goy! Answer me only this—who brought them up? Answer me that!”
    â€œMeyer, don’t yell at me. Why should I talk about the money, when already it’s gone. Ain’t you told me that it’s gone, so should I call you a liar? Will that make it better?”
    â€œYou don’t care!” he yelled, his eyes full of tears and his face contorted. “You don’t care. All my life I slave, and do you give a damn? That’s what I want to know! Do you give a damn? Me, you accuse of making goys from our daughters!”
    â€œMeyer, I’m not accusing you.”
    â€œWhat then? You’re praising me?”
    â€œMeyer—Meyer—”
    She went over to him, went down on her knees next to him, and rested her head on his lap. Now she was crying, softly, easily. Then she raised her head, stared at him through her tears. They looked at each other. Then she put up a hand and touched his face.
    Her thoughts came slowly. When your thoughts come like that, so slowly, it means that you are growing old, doesn’t it? They were both old, so old now.
    His face was rough under her hand. He hadn’t shaved that morning; and how was it she did not notice, when he was a man who never, under any circumstances, neglected to shave? But she hadn’t noticed. People grow old, and then they begin to forget. As soon as one is gone, the other forgets. Look how tired his face was, and how old—
    If she hadn’t said anything about Europe—All the money was gone, and he was afraid; in just the same way that a little boy is afraid, when he has done something wrong. Wrong? But what was wrong? Her man wasn’t great. How could you be great, when you only kept a little cigar store? But he was honest. An honest man is like a rare jewel.
    â€œMeyer,” she whispered.
    â€œWhat is it?” he asked brokenly.
    â€œMeyer, I’m not even asking you what you did with it. Meyer, I love you. Look how many years we are together, and you doubt me. Meyer—”
    â€œI’m afraid. What should a man believe in?”
    â€œMeyer, look at me. We love each other—”

J ESSICA stared at Shutzey; in the zoo, once, she had stared at a lion in the same way, and then she had been afraid, too. Yet she knew that if Shutzey were to reach out his hand and put it against her cheek, she wouldn’t be afraid. She wondered how it would feel, the large, powerful hand, with the curling black hairs all over the back of it. How would it feel if it clenched hers tight inside of it?
    â€œNow ain’ it a shame,” Shutzey said, “leavin’ yu down in the store like this.” He looked at the cigar he held in his fingers, turning it over and over, and then he looked up at her and grinned. There was no gainsaying that Shutzey looked good when he grinned. “Now ain’ it a shame,” he murmured.
    She stared straight at him, returning his look. He was like a beast, big and strong and sure of himself. No woman had him. He owned women, bought them and sold them the way he bought cigars. But he might be tamed. Surely he might be tamed.
    â€œNow what’re yu thinkin’, beautiful?”
    She tossed her head, took a rag and began to wipe the counter, watching him out of the corners of her eyes. He caught her glance, and she found herself smiling.
    â€œYu ain’ talkin’, eh?”
    â€œWhy should I? I know who you are.”
    â€œYeah—it ain’t nice. You’re Meyer’s kid. Well,