hospital for about four weeks.
Levin couldnât help chuckling for a few moments. Crazy, he thought. Nuts. Thatâs all you read about, all you see on TV, or hear on the radio. Violence, killing, rape. Itâs unbelievable. He was sure that if he closed his eyes and placed his finger on any page, it would settle on an article dealing with some sort of unpleasantness.
Just to test himself, he did that. Closing his eyes, he opened the newspaper at random and put his finger down at what he thought was the centre of the page. He opened his eyes and read:
GIRL, 10, GIVES BIRTH âBuenos AiresâA 10-year-old girl who gave birth to a six-pound, eight-ounce boy sat up in her hospital bed today and cuddled her son. Doctors said she was in good condition. The baby, named Ramon Marcelo, gurgled happily as the mother, Mirta Fontora, held him in her arms. Dr. Roberto Pezzoni, who delivered the baby, said Mirta was born in the northern semi-tropical province of Misiones and had advanced physical development. He said she began to menstruate at the age of nine. One newspaper quoted the girlâs mother as saying Mirta was a timid girl âtoo shy to undress even in front of me.â
Incredible, Levin thought. It seemed from reading the papers, there was violence and craziness everywhere. Even Montreal, which had always been a safe city for non-criminal citizens, was being affected. Every other day someone seemed to be getting shot or stabbed in some midtown bar. Only a few years before, shootings and other hard violence had been confined almost entirely to the Main. Now it was commonplace in the posh clubs in the centre city. Levin had felt the potential violence growing over the last few years. When he was still married, it didnât affect him. He didnât go out to clubs and discotheques looking to pick up women. He enjoyed spending time at home; and when he did go out with his wife, it was usually to a movie and supper.
But that was two years in the past. After his divorce he had gone back into circulation with a vengeance. He began to frequent the swinging discotheques and bars. It was then that he became distinctly aware of how the city had changed. He found himself getting involved in hassles and confrontations with other hustlers. Some of his competitors were in their early twenties. At thirty-three, Levin wasnât in the greatest of shape. He was still very strong, and at 165 pounds was probably only 15 pounds overweight; but his wind wasnât what it used to be and he wasnât as fast on his feet as some of the younger studs. He got into a few fights and did alright, but on several occasions he thought it due only to luck that he managed to hold his own. Because he wasnât going to let anyone move himâand since six months of being back on the scene had taught him that there were a lot of aggressive individuals who might tryâhe decided to do the only sensible thing: he took up Karate.
Some months later he had occasion to test the efficacy of this discipline when he saw what appeared to be a burglar attempting to break into a neighbourâs apartment.
In the ensuing struggle, which was short and brutal, Levin laid him out with several quick blows to the windpipe. Later it turned out that the apparent burglar was in fact a well-known Montreal rabbi. He had been visiting his daughter, who was Levinâs next-door neighbour. After that Levin had been careful with his Karate.
He stopped thinking and continued reading the paper. He came across an interesting article on the South Vietnamese National Assembly. The item described how the latest session of the assembly had commenced with one deputy offering to drop his pants in the house. Apparently another deputy had said something disparaging about his virility and the first deputy was anxious to disprove these assertions. It looked as though the politicians in South Vietnam were even crazier than their Quebec or Canadian
Levin couldnât help chuckling for a few moments. Crazy, he thought. Nuts. Thatâs all you read about, all you see on TV, or hear on the radio. Violence, killing, rape. Itâs unbelievable. He was sure that if he closed his eyes and placed his finger on any page, it would settle on an article dealing with some sort of unpleasantness.
Just to test himself, he did that. Closing his eyes, he opened the newspaper at random and put his finger down at what he thought was the centre of the page. He opened his eyes and read:
GIRL, 10, GIVES BIRTH âBuenos AiresâA 10-year-old girl who gave birth to a six-pound, eight-ounce boy sat up in her hospital bed today and cuddled her son. Doctors said she was in good condition. The baby, named Ramon Marcelo, gurgled happily as the mother, Mirta Fontora, held him in her arms. Dr. Roberto Pezzoni, who delivered the baby, said Mirta was born in the northern semi-tropical province of Misiones and had advanced physical development. He said she began to menstruate at the age of nine. One newspaper quoted the girlâs mother as saying Mirta was a timid girl âtoo shy to undress even in front of me.â
Incredible, Levin thought. It seemed from reading the papers, there was violence and craziness everywhere. Even Montreal, which had always been a safe city for non-criminal citizens, was being affected. Every other day someone seemed to be getting shot or stabbed in some midtown bar. Only a few years before, shootings and other hard violence had been confined almost entirely to the Main. Now it was commonplace in the posh clubs in the centre city. Levin had felt the potential violence growing over the last few years. When he was still married, it didnât affect him. He didnât go out to clubs and discotheques looking to pick up women. He enjoyed spending time at home; and when he did go out with his wife, it was usually to a movie and supper.
But that was two years in the past. After his divorce he had gone back into circulation with a vengeance. He began to frequent the swinging discotheques and bars. It was then that he became distinctly aware of how the city had changed. He found himself getting involved in hassles and confrontations with other hustlers. Some of his competitors were in their early twenties. At thirty-three, Levin wasnât in the greatest of shape. He was still very strong, and at 165 pounds was probably only 15 pounds overweight; but his wind wasnât what it used to be and he wasnât as fast on his feet as some of the younger studs. He got into a few fights and did alright, but on several occasions he thought it due only to luck that he managed to hold his own. Because he wasnât going to let anyone move himâand since six months of being back on the scene had taught him that there were a lot of aggressive individuals who might tryâhe decided to do the only sensible thing: he took up Karate.
Some months later he had occasion to test the efficacy of this discipline when he saw what appeared to be a burglar attempting to break into a neighbourâs apartment.
In the ensuing struggle, which was short and brutal, Levin laid him out with several quick blows to the windpipe. Later it turned out that the apparent burglar was in fact a well-known Montreal rabbi. He had been visiting his daughter, who was Levinâs next-door neighbour. After that Levin had been careful with his Karate.
He stopped thinking and continued reading the paper. He came across an interesting article on the South Vietnamese National Assembly. The item described how the latest session of the assembly had commenced with one deputy offering to drop his pants in the house. Apparently another deputy had said something disparaging about his virility and the first deputy was anxious to disprove these assertions. It looked as though the politicians in South Vietnam were even crazier than their Quebec or Canadian
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