Too Jewish by Patty Friedmann Page B
Authors: Patty Friedmann
Tags: Fiction, Historical, Literature & Fiction, European, Holocaust, Jewish, Love Story, Literary Fiction, Novel, Jews, New Orleans, Continental European, Drama & Plays, Regional & Cultural, World Literature, Dramas & Plays, dysfunctional family, Judaica, Jewish Interest, Three Novellas, Southern Jews, Survivor’s Guilt, Family Novel, Orthodox Jewish Literature, Psychosomatic Illness
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wasn't the sort to need me to spend the carfare. I waited outside Cohen & Sons for her. I could have arrived early and finished before she came, but I didn't want to go in alone. "This is a strange place for a date," she said. "I wish it were for fun," I said, and she took my hand.
I was in uniform, so the man behind the counter wasn't particularly solicitous. I supposed he had a world of experience sizing up his customers. I wasn't coming in to give him a bonanza. I fished my gold coin out of my pocket and presented it to him in my open, damp palm. I'd waited a long time to try this because I knew it wouldn't do me enough good. Now it might do me as much good as I needed.
"Where'd you get this?" he said when he looked more closely. He sounded as if I'd stolen it off a dead body.
"My mother gave it to me when I left," I said.
The second my words came out in my accent, his face softened. I wasn't a pillaging American soldier; I was a poor Jew.
"Ah!" he said. "Where are you from?"
"New York," I said. I was holding on to New York for all I was worth. In every conversation I had, I hoped I might work my way around to the subject of my business.
"No, before New York. Where were you born?"
I told him Stuttgart. I added, Germany.
"You're sure you want to sell this?" he said.
I said that I needed to know how much it was worth. I needed cash. I wasn't going to tell him why. He looked me in the eye with an expression that said,
We are in a business where we never ask.
I had a feeling that he meant he knew I had gambling debts. But I wasn't going to disabuse him of that notion. It was easier that way. He went to another counter to weigh the coin.
"Exactly one troy ounce," he said. "Those Germans are nothing if not precise. Well, it's worth $33.85 melted down, so I can give you twenty-seven dollars." He saw disappointment on my face. "I'm sorry, kid," he said. "We sell coins, but nobody'd want a German coin. This is just gold."
"No," I said. "No." I had saved my own life at the border for the equivalent of twenty-seven dollars, but I couldn't save my mother's life unless I had, what, five times that much, if I added my savings.
I thought about the diamond ring. It was in my pocket. This was not a jeweler. My mother's last letter to me had said, "No matter what you do, do not sell that ring. I cannot tell you why I say this, but do not sell that ring. I think if you do, you would regret it." I let it rest in my pocket. It would have been strange for Letty to see it, and I was surprised to find myself thinking that way. I did not walk Letty up to the jewelry store on Canal Street. I walked her up to Walgreens and had a Coke at the counter.
* * *
I wasn't hearing from my mother, and trying to make money without help from Letty's parents wasn't getting me anywhere, but all I could do was go nickel by nickel, hoping money would go faster than time. All the officers were doing was attending classes, so we had a lot of free time, and New Orleans had a lot of shop owners who could say no, and if I hadn't known better, I'd have thought they all had an advance plan on how to rebuff me at the door. "One woman offered to buy my sample for three dollars," I told Ted. It would have hurt more than helped. I still had no more money than I could save from my paycheck, and I was using a lot of it on carfare.
"Good news, fella!" Ted said. "Know that poker game up on Panola Street? Bernie, my boy, I won twenty-five dollars last night. And I'm putting away every red cent until you've got your hundred-sixty."
I clapped him on the shoulder. I would have hugged him if people did that in this country. I wished I knew how to play poker, but Ted had told me that I had too many tells. Tells meant guys would take one look at my face and get all my money. Cards had nothing to do with it.
It was then I spoke out loud about what I'd only so far been shoving to the back of my mind. "I haven't heard from my mother in almost two weeks," I said. "I don't
I was in uniform, so the man behind the counter wasn't particularly solicitous. I supposed he had a world of experience sizing up his customers. I wasn't coming in to give him a bonanza. I fished my gold coin out of my pocket and presented it to him in my open, damp palm. I'd waited a long time to try this because I knew it wouldn't do me enough good. Now it might do me as much good as I needed.
"Where'd you get this?" he said when he looked more closely. He sounded as if I'd stolen it off a dead body.
"My mother gave it to me when I left," I said.
The second my words came out in my accent, his face softened. I wasn't a pillaging American soldier; I was a poor Jew.
"Ah!" he said. "Where are you from?"
"New York," I said. I was holding on to New York for all I was worth. In every conversation I had, I hoped I might work my way around to the subject of my business.
"No, before New York. Where were you born?"
I told him Stuttgart. I added, Germany.
"You're sure you want to sell this?" he said.
I said that I needed to know how much it was worth. I needed cash. I wasn't going to tell him why. He looked me in the eye with an expression that said,
We are in a business where we never ask.
I had a feeling that he meant he knew I had gambling debts. But I wasn't going to disabuse him of that notion. It was easier that way. He went to another counter to weigh the coin.
"Exactly one troy ounce," he said. "Those Germans are nothing if not precise. Well, it's worth $33.85 melted down, so I can give you twenty-seven dollars." He saw disappointment on my face. "I'm sorry, kid," he said. "We sell coins, but nobody'd want a German coin. This is just gold."
"No," I said. "No." I had saved my own life at the border for the equivalent of twenty-seven dollars, but I couldn't save my mother's life unless I had, what, five times that much, if I added my savings.
I thought about the diamond ring. It was in my pocket. This was not a jeweler. My mother's last letter to me had said, "No matter what you do, do not sell that ring. I cannot tell you why I say this, but do not sell that ring. I think if you do, you would regret it." I let it rest in my pocket. It would have been strange for Letty to see it, and I was surprised to find myself thinking that way. I did not walk Letty up to the jewelry store on Canal Street. I walked her up to Walgreens and had a Coke at the counter.
* * *
I wasn't hearing from my mother, and trying to make money without help from Letty's parents wasn't getting me anywhere, but all I could do was go nickel by nickel, hoping money would go faster than time. All the officers were doing was attending classes, so we had a lot of free time, and New Orleans had a lot of shop owners who could say no, and if I hadn't known better, I'd have thought they all had an advance plan on how to rebuff me at the door. "One woman offered to buy my sample for three dollars," I told Ted. It would have hurt more than helped. I still had no more money than I could save from my paycheck, and I was using a lot of it on carfare.
"Good news, fella!" Ted said. "Know that poker game up on Panola Street? Bernie, my boy, I won twenty-five dollars last night. And I'm putting away every red cent until you've got your hundred-sixty."
I clapped him on the shoulder. I would have hugged him if people did that in this country. I wished I knew how to play poker, but Ted had told me that I had too many tells. Tells meant guys would take one look at my face and get all my money. Cards had nothing to do with it.
It was then I spoke out loud about what I'd only so far been shoving to the back of my mind. "I haven't heard from my mother in almost two weeks," I said. "I don't
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