Mr. Feldman

A STORY

by JAMES YAFFE

TOM came to work for the Feldmans the same day they got their new car It was a Cadillac seating seven people, and it had a long, slick, shining black body. Tom was black, too; he was twenty-six years old and over six feet tall with broad shoulders like a football player, and the uniform almost didn’t fit him.

He picked the ear up at the garage and drove three blocks to Park Avenue where the Feldmans had a penthouse. It was a heavy ear and hard to maneuver, but Tom was a good driver - he’d driven a jeep for three years in the Army and he pulled it smoothly up to the curb in front of the long blue awning. The doorman, a little man with a yellow pinched face and epaulettes, came bustling over to the car, saw there was nobody in back, and looked through the front window at Tom.

“You can’t park here,”he said, “Get away now. There’s people coming in here all the tune.

“Don’t want to park,”said Tom. “Want you to call Mr. Feldman, his car’s here.”

“Okay, okay. Just move away from the front of the budding.”

He bustled back to the phone box near the revolving door. Torn pulled the car into a space at the corner. He leaned back in his scat, took off the black chauffeur’s hat that Mrs. Feldman bought for him, and wiped his hand over his kinky hair. It was only the middle of April, but hot; a man could go from the time he got up in the morning to the time he went to sleep at night and just never stop sweating. Tom turned his head quickly. The doorman was looking at him through the window again, grinning.

“They’ll be down in a few minutes.”The grin spread “How does this bus run?”

“Pretty good,”Tom said, watching ihe doorman carefully. “Heavy pickup.

“ It’s a sweel-looking job, ain’t it ? These are rich people, these Feldman people. You’re new, huh?”

Tom nodded.

“They been living in the building three years,”said the doorman. “He’s a smart guy, Feldman. He’s got a big business downtown, and he’s worth a lot. But he didn’t make it without worrying, Get that white hair of his. Personally I don’t think it’s worth it. Mind you, I ain’t got anything against money. But you won’t catch me worrying about it. Easygoing, that’s me. Leave the worrying to these foreigners. Mind you, Feldman gives me a big tip on Christmas, so I got nothing against him.

Tom’s neck was getting sore, holding it in the same position, but still he kept staring at the doorman.

“ Let me tell you something,”the doorman said. He poked his head through the window and grinned wide. “You ain’t going to like this job. They had three chauffeurs in the last year, and they all quit. None of them liked the job.”

“What’s matter with it ?”

“It’s her. Let me tell you, you’ve never seen a nervous middle-aged woman till you’ve seen her. Always jumping down somebody’s throat for something. And you should hear her with that son of hers. He’s away at school somewhere, but he comes in once in a while for vacations, and then the two of them spend all the time lighting, just sitting in the back of the car and scrapping. It nearly drives Feldman crazy, he’s such a quiet, dignified guy himself. It’ll drive you crazy, too.”

“ Who told you this?”

“I talked with those other guys. They told me things.” He winked at Tom. “You take my word.”Then he stretched out his hand. “What’s your name ? George? Sam?" ..

“Tom.”

“Tom. !’leased to meet you. Mine’s Ed.” His grip was wet and bony, “Well, take it easy, Tom. And remember what I tell you.” He chuckled a little, then stuck his face closer. “Three months. That’s the most I give you.”

Another car came up in front of the house, and Ed moved away.

2

PRETTY soon Tom saw Mrs. Feldman come out the revolving door, and he guessed the gentleman behind her, with the white hair, was Mr. Feldman. He pulled the ear into place by the awning.

“Good morning, Tom,” she said. “This is Mr. Feldman.”

Mr. Feldman grunted, nodded at him without looking at him, and got into the car. Mrs. Feldman followed him, and Ed shut the door. Mrs. Feldman sat forward and said in a loud voice: “I’m going to the hairdresser’s, Tom. Madison Avenue and Fifty-fourth Street. Fifty-four. Then Mr. Feldman is going to his office. First my hairdresser, then Mr. Feldman’s office.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Tom swung the car left fit the corner, and started down Park Avenue.

“ I’m sure I don’t know why you’re so upset,”Mrs. Feldman said. “I understand the boy, Jules, and he tells me everything. He says not to worry about this. There’s no need for you to write him about it. Let me take care of it, in my own way.”

“Twenty-one years you’ve taken care of it in your own way. Mr. Feldman took a cigar from his pocket and lit it, puffing on it hard. “I don’t like what I see. It’s time maybe I look care of it in my own way.”

“What are you going to write to him? Are you going to tell him you don’t like how he’s acting and he’d better act differently from now on? He’ll just laugh at you. And rightly.”

Mr. Feldman sat up in his seat, the cigar clamped between his teeth, and didn’t say a word.

“The trouble is,” Mrs. Feldman went on in a louder voice, “you’ve talked to him too much about the business. The business this, the business that. He’s got other things on his mind. Helhinks there fire more important things in this world than money. You don’t like the way he’s turning out, but maybe he’s turning out fine, and you just don’t know it.”

“You talk like an idiot,” said Mr. Feldman, slowly puffing and blowing out smoke.

“Maybe I talk like an idiot. You’re the idiot. I’m not the idiot. You don’t understand your own son. You don’t see how sensitive he is.”

“Like an idiot,”Mr. Feldman said. He turned to her and took the cigar out of his mouth. “Sensitive. Who cares about sensitive? He’s a lazy boy, that’s all I care. You see him when he comes home for vacation, sleeping till eleven, twelve o’clock in the morning. No boy his age should sleep that late in the morning. He should get a job somewhere, or work down at the office for vacation.”

“He works hard all year at school.”

Mr. Feldman grunted and clamped the cigar back in his mouth. “That’s right. Works hard. That’s why he gets rotten low marks in fill his classes. That’s why the college sends me a letter this morning, he s got to raise his marks in a month or they’ll kick him out. Now that’s an accomplishment, ain’t it? It takes a lot of hard work to accomplish that.”

“He told us to expect that, the last time he was in town. His teachers don’t understand him. They’re always making him do things he doesn’t want to do, and they won’t give him a chance to write. He won’t admit it, because he’s such a modest boy, but I believe his teachers are jealous of him. because lie’s got talent.”

All right. That’s enough, said Mr. Feldman, raising his voice for the first time. “I won’t write to him. You take care of it. And if he gets kicked out of school, that you can take care of, too. Now forget about it.”

“That’s fine with me. I’m the one who wants to forget about it. Why don’t you forget about it? I’m not saying another word.”She sat back in her seat and folded her hands in her lap. Mr. Feldman shifted his cigar to the other side of his mouth. She unfolded her hands with a little gasp and turned to him. “Furthermore, you couldn’t ever appreciate what Ralph is doing. You’ve never been interested in any of the cultural and artistic things. My father noticed if, even when I married you, but I told him it wasn’t important. Now, when it’s a question of our only son, I’m not so sure.”

“Okay, okay. You married a dope.”

“ No, you’re not a dope. You’re a smart businessman. You came to this country with nothing, and you built up a successful business. That’s good, but it’s not everything. It just so happens that my family was in this country a generation or two before you, and I’ve been brought up in a fine, cultural background. Now you’re annoyed, just because your son takes after my family.”

“I never thought of it like that before,” said Mr. Feldman. “Now that you show it to me, I see you’re right.”

“Are you paying attention to me?”

“Sure, darling.” He smiled and took a big puff on his cigar.

“Oh!” she cried, then shut her mouth tightly and began again in a calm voice. “I really can’t argue with you. There’s my hairdresser’s, and I mustn’t be upset or my wave won’t take.”

Tom brought the ear to a stop in front of a shop at the corner of Madison and Fifty-fourth. Mrs, Feldman leaned over and kissed Mr. Feldman lightly on the cheek. “Any money for me, dear?”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a fivedoll nr bill.

“Oh, more than that,” she said, taking it.

He shook his head and smiled around the cigar. “It’s all I can afford,” he said. “I’m broke. I never learned in college how to hold on to my money.”

She made a face and stretched out her hand. But he smiled and didn’t look at it. She turned away from him and got out of the car. “ Tom, call for me here in an hour. One hour.”

Tom started the car off again. He drove a block flown Madison Avenue, expecting to get directions from Mr. Feldman, but there was no sound from the hack seat, Tom turned and looked over his shoulder. Mr. Feldman was sitting forward and looking down at his shoes; the fingers of his right hand were tapping against his knee.

“Mr. Feldman, sir, where you going now?”

He looked up. The cigar was still fastened in his mouth, but it bad stopped burning. “To my office,” he said.

“Yes, sir. But I don’t know where that is.”

“Thirty-fourth Street, Seventh Avenue. It’s a big building across the street from Macy’s.”

At Fifty-first Street, Tom turned the ear off to Fifth Avenue, where the traffic was lighter. He was riding fast for a dozen blocks, when he got stuck behind a line of double-deck buses, and for fifteen minutes he hardly moved at all. It was getting hot, and his collar was light. Through the mirror he saw Mr. Feldman, with the unlighted cigar still in his mouth, take off his coat and loosen his shirt cuffs.

“What’s your name?” Mr. Feldman said.

“Tom, sir.”

“So. Did Mrs. Feldman tell you yet what I want ?”

“Yes, sir. I’m at the house at ten every morning. Then she tells me what to do the rest of the day.

“That’s what Mrs. Feldman wants,”he said. “This is what I want. I bought a ear because I like to go where I like to go on my own time. I pay money to a chauffeur because it s too much trouble to do my own driving. So that s the job. As long as you save me trouble, and act polite to Mrs. Feldman — but first you save me trouble — then I pay you. II you don t, then J get another chauffeur. All right?”

“Yes, sir. That’s all right with me.”

It wasn’t long before he knew the Feldmans’ routine. Ten o’clock in the morning: take Mr. Feldman to the office. Back to the house. Pick up Mrs. Feldman and take her where she wants to go, to the dentist or Schrafft’s restaurant or shopping. Six o’clock: go back to the office and pick up Mr. Feldman. Then he was off for the evening, unless they went to a party or a show after dinner. On Saturday and Sunday, he didn’t have to be at the house until noon, when Mr. Feldman went to his pinochle club and Mrs. Feldman went uptown to visit her mother, who lived in a hotel for old ladies.

That was the routine. Then, after a few weeks, there was something new. He was driving Mr. Feldman down to the office one morning, and Air. Feldman said, “Forget the office, Tom. Take me to West End Avenue and Seventy-second Street.”

Tom drove through the park at the Seventyninth Street cutoff’, and across to West End Avenue. “The first building on the left,” said Mr. Feldman. “The little entrance where it says Dr. Glazer.”

Tom stopped the ear at the curb and got out to open the door. Mr. Feldman stooped over to get through and nearly missed his step on the sidewalk. He steadied himself on Tom’s shoulder.

“Now listen careful,” Mr. Feldman said, keeping his hand on Tom s shoulder. “Can you keep your mouth quiet, if I ask you?”

“Yes, sir,”said Tom.

“Then you don’t tell Mrs. Feldman, when you get back to the house, that I didn’t go to the office this morning. If you tell, I’ll know about it, because she’ll tell me. So don’t tell her.”

“Yes, sir,” said Tom. “I won’t say nothing.”

Mr. Feldman smiled at him and let go of his shoulder. Then he walked up to the door with “Dr. Glazer” written on it and pushed the button.

“ You want me to call for you, Mr. Feldman?” “I don’t think so. I’ll take a cab.

The floor started to click open. Mr. Feldman hastily tossed away his cigar and went inside. Tom got in the ear and drove back to the house. When Mrs. Feldman came down, she asked him as she always asked him, “Did you drive Mr. Feldman to the office, Tom?” and he said, “Yes, ma’am, just drove him there.”

3

SO HE worked for the Feldmans through the end of April and the middle of May, and the weather got hotter. Soon the Feldmans began going out to their beach club on Long Island for Sundays. I finally they took somebody with them. Maybe they look one of Mrs. Feldman’s friends or relatives, and sometimes one of Mr. Feldman’s friends went along.

It got to be t be end of May, and for a week there was a lot of rain, and Mr. Feldman started going to Dr. Glazer twice a week.

One morning, Mr. Feldman came down at ten o’clock to go to the office, and Mrs. Feldman came after him. Ed held the door of the car open, but Mr. and Mrs. Feldman stood on the sidewalk.

“You’re crazy,”Mr. Feldman said. “What do you think you re doing, following me down here like a crazy woman? Go upstairs quick.”

“I want you to promise,”Mie said. “Promise me. I won’t go upstairs till you promise.”

“I’m late for ihe office. I can’t talk to you.” Mr. Feldman got into the car.

Mrs. Feldman lifled her chin and pointed her linger at him. ‘Jules, I’m not going to discuss this with you. You’ll come home tonight, and you’ll speak to the boy like a gentleman, and you won’t yell.”

Mr. Feldman reached out and took hold of the door handle. “From you.” he said, “I don’t take orders.” He shut the door hard. Mrs. Feldman jumped back and opened her mouth, and Mr. Feldman fold Tom to get going.

For a while Mr. Feldman didn’t say anything. He grunted, and look his cigar out of his mouth, and spit into the ash tray. Finally he said in a loud voice, “ You never met my son, did you. Tom?" “No, sir.”

He’s coming home from college this afternoon. I think maybe I’ll take him out tonight, to see a show. Or maybe the movie at Radio City. Is that a good movie, at Radio City ?”

Don’t know. Mr. Feldman. I never saw if set.” “I think I’ll take him there. You be at the house eight o’clock.”

Mr. Feldman was quiet, and Tom started west Then Mr. Feldman said, “Stop at the corner, okay, Tom, and get me from the drugstore a box of aspirin.”

Tom slopped the ear and went into the drugstore. He got the aspirin and came out again. Mr. Teldman was leaning back in the seat with Ins eyes shut and his mouth open. His face was red and his hair was mussed. When Tom opened the door, he notified his head, still keeping his eyes shut, and reached out his hand for the box. Tom went around to the driver’s seat and started the ear again. He could see Mr. Feldman take a pill in his mouth and swallow it down, and for a while he could hear Mr. Feldman sort of gulping, like he’d been running very hard and was all out of breath.

Then Mr. Feldman said, “Tom, maybe you better turn around and take me to Dr. Glazor’s office.”

Tom turned the ear at the next corner. “Anything I can do, sir?”

No, thanks, Tom. I got nothing the matter.”

Tom drove fast, and even jumped a few lights. When they reached Dr. Glazer’s office, Mr. Foldmas was still leaning back in his seat. He wasn’t gulping any more, but his face was just as red.

“Maybe you better help me a little, Tom,” he said. Tom reached in and got Mr. Feldman by the elbow and held him that way while they got out of the car and walked slowly to Dr. Glazer’s door.

Mr. Feldman pushed the button. “Okay, Tom. I don’t need you no more. Come to the office a little early tonight. That’s all.”

That night Tom got to Mr. Feldman’s office at five-thirty, and fifteen minutes later Mr. Feldman came out. He was walking fast, and his hair was combed neatly back on his head, the way he always combed it, without a part.

I forgot to tell you this morning, Tom,” he said, as they rode back. “I wouldn’t have liked that Mrs. Teldman found out what happened this morning. But I guess it’s too late now. I guess you already told her.”

“I didn’t tell her nothing, Mr. Feldman.”

Mr. Feldman was quiet a minute, and then he smiled and said, So thank you, Tom. You saved me a lot of trouble.”

4

TOM came with the car at eight o’clock that night. Mr. and Mrs. Feldman came down, and their son, Mr. Ralph, was with them. He was almost twice as tall as Mrs. Feldman, and he bent over when he helped her into the car. Then he squeezed in himself, between Mr. and Mrs. Feldman.

“You were perfectly right,”she said. “The man was unfair. They shouldn’t allow people like that to teach in a school. Something ought to be done about it.” She reached over Mr. Ralph’s lap and pushed Mr. Feldman’s arm. “ Jules, I think you ought to write a letter to the president of the university.”

“Oh, for Christ sake, Mother,” Mr. Ralph said. Leave it alone. If was my fault, too.”

You’re too modest. You’re always blaming things on yourself, and refusing to take credit where credit is due. That’s why people always take advantage of you.”

Mr. Ralph laughed. “I’m not modest, Mother. You don’t know me at all, do you?”

“I don’t know you!” She pointed at herself. I’m your own mother! I know you better than you know yourself. I’m your own mother. You’re too kindhearted and generous; you’ve got too many high ideals. That’s your trouble: you take after me. Believe me, darling, I’ve found through bitter experience that if you give people a chance, they’ll ride all over you and take everything they can from you and do their best to cheat you and rob you. And believe me, you’ve got to look out for your own in this world. Ideals are fine; I’m glad you’re an idealist; I wouldn’t want you to be different. But you’ve got to he a little practical, too.”

“I’m no idealist, Mother. I’m more practical than you think.”

“All right, darling. Now, Mother knows best. But anyway, I love you for what you are. Kiss me.” He kissed her lightly on the cheek.

“You’re a nice boy,” she said. “Jules, he’s a nice boy. We’ve got a nice son. And some day he’ll be a great writer.”

“Mother, cut it out now.”

“If only he didn’t, just occasionally, just once in a while, raise his voice to his mother. Just once in a while. But he’s a nice boy all the same. And who cares about college? What do they know? There are plenty of colleges.

“Mother, will you please shut up?”

“What’s the matter? I wasn’t saying anything. Don’t tell me to shut up. — Jules, did you hear him? He told me to shut up. — And on your first day home, too.”

“I’m sorry. But I wish you wouldn’t talk about it any more.”

“I’ll talk all I please, young man. And alter I’ve been so nice to you, and took your part even though you got kicked out of college. And now, what thanks do I get? I get none. I don’t get any at all. I get abuse, that’s all I get.

“Mother, nobody’s abusing you.”

“You are. You’re abusing me. Don’t talk to me.”

“I’m not abusing anybody. I’m trying my damnedest to keep my temper.”

“Don’t shout at me. Don’t talk to me. Jules!”

“I’ll talk to you, and you’ll listen!”

Mr. Feldman pulled his cigar out of bis mouth and crushed it into the ash tray. “Stop it already! he cried in a loud deep voice. They were quiet. Mr. Feldman went on in a lower voice, “We’re going to Radio City, see. It’s Cary Grant. I like Cary Grant. I’m going to enjoy Cary Grant. So that’s the end of it. No more of it. Two-forty a ticket I paid, and I’m going to have a good time!”

There was another silence. Then Mrs. Feldman folded her hands in her lap, and smiled a little, and said, “I didn’t like him much in his last picture.”

5

NEXT morning, when Mr. Feldman went, to the office, Mr. Ralph got in the car with him. “All right, son,” Mr. Feldman said. “Your mother talks a lot about this and that. With you I hope I can talk more sensible.

“I hope you can, Dad.

“Are you going somewhere now?”

“I’m supposed to meet someone. But I’ve got time.”

Mr. Feldman leaned forward. “Don t go to the office yet, Tom. Drive around a little. Drive around in the park.” He leaned back again. “This time of year it’s nice in the park It s a long time since I been there.”

Tom headed for the park.

“Now listen to me, son,” Mr. Feldman said. “This college business is over. Whatever it is, I don’t want to hear about it. From now on. I’m only thinking about one thing: What happens next? Think a little, and don’t answer too quick. What are you going to do?”

Mr, Ralph clenched his fists and unclenched them. “What is there to do?”

Mr. Feldman shrugged. “It’s your problem. I can think of two things right off. You can go hack to college if you want. I know some people up there; I’ll talk to them maybe, and then maybe you can go hack. Or else, if you want, you can go with me in the business. Always I got a place for you. Maybe you’d even like it. But this is up to you. If there’s something else, tell me what it is, and we’ll talk about it.”

Mr. Ralph smoothed his hair down with his hand. He cleared his throat. “You know what I want. Dad. I’ve talked about it enough.”

“What’s that ?”

“Well, you know. What Mother said last night. You know.”

“This writing business?”

Mr. Ralph nodded and rubbed his tongue along his lower lip.

Mr. Feldman put his hand to his chin and looked at Mr. Ralph a minute. “Now, son, we got to he honest with each other. I’m honest with you. Do you believe that ?”

“Sure you are, Dad. And I’m being honest, too.”

“So let’s talk about this writing honestly. Okay? You want to be a writer. Fine. I don’t know any writers, myself, but I got friends who tell me some of them are fine men. It’s good to write a book, and maybe there’s even some money in it. Btl the most important thing is, you should be good at it and you should work hard at it. So tell me, son. What kind of writing do you write?”

“ I don’t get you. Dad.”

“Tell me something you’ve written. Have you written a poem maybe? I remember, when vour mother and me had our twentieth wedding anniversary, your mother’s sister wrote a poem. It wasn’t so long, but it was pretty. Have you written a poem?”

Mr. Ralph smiled a little. “I don’t write poetry, Dad.”

“You don’t write poetry. Then you write stones, maybe? Like in the magazines. So, what kind of stories? Love stories? Women go crazy for love stories, especially with sad endings. Or maybe you write detective stories? Plenty action and people getting killed. You got to have a clever mind to think up those things. Is this the kind of mind you got, son? Just tell me: what kind of stories do you write?”

“I’d like to write short stories some day. Its an interesting form. But I really think I can do something bigger. I think I can write novels.”

“Novels!” Mr. Feldman beamed on him. “That’s fine. Novels. That’s wonderful. It’s a lot of work, writing novels. How many novels have you written?”

“You must be kidding, Dad.” Mr. Ralph tugged at his collar. “A man can’t just write a novel, just like that. Of course I haven’t written any yet.”

Mr. Feldman stuck his chin forward and put his hand on Mr. Ralph’s knee. “But still you haven’t told me what I want. I ask you, can you name one thing, just one thing, that you’ve written? And you don’t answer me anything. Are we being honest, son? The fact is, ain’t it, you haven’t ever written anything?”

“Well —” Ralph began quickly, paused with his mouth open, then shrugged his shoulders. “Yes, that’s just about it. You see, Dad, I don’t want to hurry my talent. Tha’s dangerous; I might ruin myself for life. First I want to go out and get some experience.”

For a long time Mr. Feldman looked at him and nodded his head, and finally he said, “Okay. I’m glad to hear it. You ve come to your decision. Now here’s a proposition I’m going to make to you. Experience is easy to get. There’s lots of it around, waiting for you to get it. You might as well get it one place as another. So here’s what I’ll do. Why don’t you come into the business with me? You can get a lot of experience in the business. Maybe, after a while, you’ll like this experience so much you’ll want to keep on getting it. Now, that’s my proposition. How about it?”

Mr. Ralph lowered his eyes and cleared his throat. “You understand, Dad, it depends on the kind of experience, too.”

My kind of experience isn’t good enough for you?”

“Well, that’s not it. But you know, Dad. it depends.”

“No, I don’t know,” said Mr. Feldman, He took the cigar from his mouth and" waved it in front of him as he talked. “My God, how particular can a hoy get at twenty-one? If nothing is good enough, then nothing you’ll get. I can’t talk with you no more. If you say ‘No!’ then you say ‘No!’ and that’s all I got to do with it, and you can worry about it yourself. He jammed the cigar back in his mouth and took a big puff.

“As a matter of fact, said Mr. Ralph, after a pause, “it might be amusing. All right, Dad. I ‘ll try it.”

Mr. Feldman turned to him and smiled. “Okay. So now you’re a working man. For the rest of the week, take a vacation, and you can start Monday. You’ll go down to the office in the car with me,”

That’s out, Dad, I’m a working man, so I’ll start at nine o’clock like everyone else. And I’ll go down in the bus.” They shook hands. Then Mr. Ralph said his friend must be waiting, and Mr. Feldman told Pom to drive to the entrance of the park, and Mr. Ralph got off.

You can never tell,” said Mr. Feldman, as the ear swung on to Central Park West. “Sometimes things turn out all right.”

“That’s right, sir,” said Tom.

Mr. Feldman raised his head quickly. “What’s right? Did I say something?”

6

JUNE went on, and it got hotter. Most of the time, Tom was sweating in his uniform. Mr. Feldman always took off his coat in the back of the car, hut he was sweating most of the time, too. The heat made him fidget and grunt and spit, and Tom started driving him to Dr. Glazer three times a week. Once Mrs. Feldman found one of Dr. Glazer’s cards wedged in behind the seat in back, and Tom had to think last, and he told her it must have been dropped there by one of Mr. Feldman’s friends, driving back with him from the club.

Around the middle of June, Mr. and Mrs. Foldman started going to the beach on both Saturday and Sunday. Otherwise Tom’s routine staved the same, only at night, when he picked up Mr. Feldman at the office, he picked up Mr. Ralph, too.

“That woman Bergman, from Macy’s, is a pain in the neck,” Mr. Feldman said. “She talks and talks, and she never makes up her mind. But you can’t let her know how disgusted you are. That’s the big thing: don’t let them know it. Like today, son. You weren’t so polite to her. She noticed it She said to me, ‘Is your boy sick or something? He didn’t look so wide-awake this morning.'”

I can’t help it, Dad. She’d put anyone to sleep.” Sure she would. But she’s a human being, like everyone else. Don’t yawn at her; study her. May be you can write her up some day.”

“Christ, Dad, what kind of a novel could I write about Miss. Bergman ? Would you read it ? ”

Mr. Feldman shrugged’, “t wouldn’t read it anyway. I only got time for the newspapers.”

Another time, Mr. Feldman said, “ Where did you go for lunch today, son? To the Waldorf, maybe? Two hours you were out.”

“Just to an Automat, Dad.”

“An Automat where? Out in Chicago, Illinois?

I don’t mind if you re feeling tired or sick, you should lake the afternoon off. But tell me what you’re going to do. I’m running a business yet.”

I’m sorry, Dad. I just walked around for a while.”

“You just walked around.” Mr. Feldman lifted his hand in the air, then dropped it fo his lap. “Okay. You just walked around. That’s your right. That’s what I want to know.”

They rode along in silence, and Mr. Ralph tugged at his collar. “Look, Dad,” he said, “if you don’t like how I’m getting along —

“I like fine how you’re getting along,” said Mr. Feldman quietly. He puffed his cigar. “You wouldn’t work for me, if I didn’t like.” He puffed some more.

7

ONE Sunday morning, at the end of June, Tom brought the car over to the house. The Feldmans were going out to the beach that morning. “They won’t be down for half an hour,” said Ed, the doorman, coming back from the phone box. “She says you should wait.” He rested his chin on the edge of the window and smiled, and Tom could see the place where his tooth was missing. “How’s it coming, Tom ? ”

Tom blinked at him. “Coming all right.”

“You like your job pretty well?”

“Like it fine.”

“I’m glad,” said Ed, puckering up his lips and bobbing his head up and down. “ I like to see a boy working hard and enjoying himself. How do you like Mrs. F.?”

“She’s all right.”

“Nice, sweet, quiet lady, ain’t she?” He jabbed his head suddenly through the window. “Want to hear a story?”

Tom stared at him.

“Sure you do.” Ed chuckled. “It’s a good story.” He chuckled some more. “I can’t help laughing, just thinking about it.”He stopped chuckling. “They’re saying around the house, the elevator boys, and the girl who docs the cooking up at Feldman’s, that pretty soon there’s going to be a big fight. Know any!hing about it?”

“Don’t know nothing.”

“The girl heard Mrs. F. talking to her son, and he said, ’I don’t want a fight,’and she said, ‘But if you can’t stand it there, darling. I hate to see you like this, wasting your talent,’and he said, ‘Maybe I’d better leave without telling him,’ and she said, ‘Don’t be silly. What would you use for money? You’ve got to tell him,’and he said, ‘But I don’t want a fight.”' Ed squinted at Tom. “Now, have you got any idea what that means?”

“Don’t believe it,” said Tom. His eyes widened. He thought of Mr. Feldman, leaning back in the seat, with his face red, just gulping for air. “Mr. Feldman says Mr. Ralph is doing fine.”

“Well, that’s nice.” Ed took his head out of the window. “You remember what I told you once? Three months, I told you. Only a little over two weeks left, isn’t there? Looks like I was wrong, don’t it?” He smiled and started to walk away, but after a few steps, he turned and wagged his finger. “But what I said still goes.”

Tom waited ten more minutes, then he saw Mrs. Feldman and Mr. Ralph come out the door. Mr. Feldman didn’t come out behind them. They got into the ear, and Mrs. Feldman said, “Take us to the beach, Tom. Mr. Feldman won’t be with us today. He’s got a headache.”

Tom started the car. He drove down Park Avenue to Fifty-seventh Street. He turned east and drove to the bridge. The traffic going over the bridge was thick, and the car moved slowly. All the time, Mrs. Feldman and Mr. Ralph didn’t say a thing. At the end of the bridge, the car turned out of the traffic and onto the highway. Tom took it on the inside lane and traveled along over sixty as far as the toll bridge. He gave the man a dime and stepped up the speed again after the toll bridge.

“All right,” Mrs. Feldman said very loudly. “If you won’t tell him, I will.”

Mr. Ralph turned and looked at her. “I’m worried about it.”

“Don’t worry. Leave the house tomorrow morning the same time, and I’ll tell him before he goes to the office. He won’t make a fuss.”

Tom brought the car around to the house early the next morning. It seemed like the hottest day there’d been yet. That sun was beating down hotter every minute. Mr. Feldman was a good half hour late. He stepped out the door at last. When the sun hit him, he pul his hand up quickly to the side of his face. He walked to the car, not walking fast, not walking slow. He got inside and sat clown carefully. “Good morning, Tom,” he said. “It’s a hot clay.”

“ Yes, sir. It sure is.”

Tom pulled the car away from the curb and started down Park Avenue. “I got fine news,” Mr. Feldman said. “My boy is going traveling. He’s going away to Paris, France, and live there, and be a writer. My friend, Katz, from the airlines, is getting him a ticket, and he’s leaving in a week.”

“That’s a long trip, Mr. Feldman.”

“Mrs. Feldman and me are excited over it.” He took a cigar from his breast pocket and put it in his mouth. He lit a match and held it up to the cigar. The match went out. He lit another match and held it up:

“Let me stop the car, Mr. Feldman,” Tom said. “There’s a breeze coming in, blowing out your match.”

“Okay, Tom. I got it now.” He dropped the match and held the cigar in his mouth, but Tom could see it wasn’t burning. “The important thing is,” said Mr. Feldman, “he should work. In the United States of America he can’t work. There are too many distracting influences. Too many people who don’t know nothing about writers and how you should act with artistic talent.

He sighed and shrugged his shoulders. “The important thing is, he should work. There’s nothing else in the world, only work. If he’s got to go to Paris, France, and speak French, before he can work, that’s okay. But he shouldn’t be lazy. He shouldn’t be a good-for-nothing. I don’t want a good-for-nothing for a son. If he’s a good-fornothing, I don’t want him living with me in the same house. Good-for-nothings can get out of my house!" He broke off with a laugh and sal back in his seat. “Tom, forget the office. Take me out to the beach dub,”

“The beach club, sir?”

Mr. Feldman didn’t answer. His chin was resting in the palm of one hand. The other hand was tapping against his knee. Tom turned the car back to Fifty-seventh Street and east to the bridge, crossed the bridge, went along the highway, almost reached the toll gate, when Mr. Feldman raised his hand. “What’s that road up there?”

A hundred feet ahead was a narrow, tarred road that turned off sharply just before the toll gate. “Never been on it, Mr. Feldman.”

“Where’s it go?”

“Don’t know, Mr. Feldman.”

“Turn off at that road.”

Tom turned off. They drove up the road for fifteen minutes. There were fewer houses all the way; there were no roads crossing or turning off; all around was flat country, fields of grass and weeds and some bushes, and as far ahead as you could see, telephone poles. “I wonder where wo are, Tom,” Mr. Feldman said.

“Don’t know, sir.”

“Stop the car.”

Tom pulled the car up at a small bank of earth by a long field of yellow grass, ‘ Let’s get out,” said Mr. Feldman. Tom got out and moved around to open the door for Mr. Feldman. “Thank you,’ he said, stepping onto the ground. “It’s hot.” He sat down on the bank of earth by the car. “I need fresh air. Tom, sit down and rest .’

“I can stand all right, Mr. Feldman.”

“Sit down by me.”

Tom sat down by Mr. Feldman.

“Do you smoke cigars?” Mr. Feldman took two of them from his pocket. Tom shook his head, but Mr. Feldman pressed one into his hand, “Grive it to someone you know who smokes it.” Mr. Feldman lit his own cigar; his hand held the match steadily. “Do you have a wife, Tom?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Do you have a son ?”

“Baby coming now, sir. We only been married a year.”

“Pray for a son. A son is a joy and comfort to you when you get to be an old man. Did you fight in the war, Tom ? ”

“I was in the Army three years, Mr. Feldman.”

“My son was in the Army three months. They let him out because he had a murmur in his heart. My father had a weak heart, too; he was seventy years old when I brought him over to this country. and he lived through the trip, and ten years after. In your family, Tom, do they live to be old?”

“Don’t know, sir. My lather’s dead a long time.”

“ When did he die?”

“When I was ten, Mr. Feldman. Fell in front of a trolley.”

“ Did you cry a lot ? ”

“I guess so. Mr. Feldman.”

Mr. Feldman nodded his head. “A son should cry for his father.”

They sat on the bank a little while longer. Tom was stiff in his back from frying to keep from moving around. The ground under him was hard; the wet from the grass got through his clothes. Finally, Mr. Feldman stood up and threw away his cigar. “Let’s go back, Tom.”

They got in the car, and Tom turned around and started back, At the turn to the highway, Tom said, “Going to the beach club, Mr. Feldman?” and Mr, Feldman said, “Go back to the city.” They went hack along the highway, through the traffic at the bridge, and over to Park Avenue. “Tom,” said Mr. Feldman, “drive to the house.”

Tom looked over his shoulder quickly. Mr. Feldman was leaning back and putting a pill in his mouth. His face was red, and he was gulping. Tom put on speed.

“Now listen careful,” Mr. Feldman said. “ When you get back to the house, don’t bother to help mo upstairs. Go right to the phone booth and call Dr. Glazer. Then wait for Mrs. Feldman, and when she comes back, tell her Dr. Glazer is coming. Do you understand this, Tom? It’s okay now to tell her about Dr. Glazer.”

Tom nodded and put on more speed. In a few minutes, he pulled up to the house, and Ed helped him walk Mr. Feldman under the awning.

Tm awful sorry. Mr. Feldman,” Tom said.

Mr. Feldman squeezed his arm. “Okay, Tom. Don’t worry over me.”

“I mean, about Mr. Ralph, sir,”

Mr. Feldman stopped walking and let go his arm, and for a minute he stood up straight. “What do you know about my boy? Mho do you think you are? I pay you to drive my car! So from now on, stop talking about my boy!” He leaned on his arm again, and they walked slowly to the revolving door.

8

A WEEK later, Mr. Feldman died, and two days after that Tom came to the house at ton o’clock, the usual time, to lake Mrs. Feldman and Mr. Ralph to the funeral,

Ed came up to the car and stuck his head in the window. “Glad to see you,” he said. “Are you in mourning?”

“Call up Mrs. Feldman, her car’s here.”

“Well, I’ll bet you’re sorry to see him buried, ain’t you?”

“What you mean?”

“I mean, I’ll bet you’re crying your eyes out.” Ed chuckled. “After the way he talked to you that day, telling you you’re not good enough to talk about his son. Oh, I’ll bet you’re brokenhearted.”

Tom reached oul, and his big hand closed around Ed’s neck, and he squeezed a little. “You just shut up your mouth!” he said. “And call Mrs. Feldman, her car’s here!” He gave a hard push, and Ed went staggering back to the side of the building. He steadier! himself, brushed off his epauleites, and hurried off to the phone box, looking over his shoulder at Tom from time to time.

“And today is three months,” Tom called alter him. “Three months exactly!

When Me Feldman and Mr. Ralph came down, Tom was sitting up stiffly and looking straight ahead.

“Look out, dear,” said Mrs. Feldman, as Mr. Ralph helped her into the car. “My veil’s going to catch on the door. That’s the way. - Tom, do you know where the Temple is? Sixty-fifth Street and Fifth Avenue. Sixty-five.”

She settled back, smoothing her black skirt around her knees. “It’s only sensible, she said. “The past is the past. Now we have to think about the future. You’ll stay with me. You won’t go to Paris.”

“I still want to write, Mother. That’s not changed.”

“Of course you do. You can write at home now.

There was a short silence. Mr Ralph wa tupping his lingers against his knee, like Mr. Feldman used to do. Mrs. Feldman gave a sob. “He never told me there was anything wrong,” she said. “Oh, poor Jules!” She took Mr. Ralph’s hand anti squeezed it. “I’m getting old, darling. I need you so much.”

She let go of his hand, and leaned forward. “Tom, you mighl as well find out now. We’re going away for a while, and when we get back, we’re buying a smaller car, and Mr. Ralph will do the driving. After today, Tom, we won’t need you any more.”

“ Yes, ma’am.”

“I do hope you understand, Tom.”

“Yes, ma’am. Everything that’s happened and all, this’ll save you a lot of trouble.”

She smiled brightly. “Oh, Tom, that’s very nice of you, and I appreciate it. Well see about your salary this evening.”

They reached Sixty-fifth Street and Fifth Avenue, and Tom pulled the car up in Iron! of a tall white building. There was a long awning OUT front and a crowd standing around the sidewalk. Torn opened the door of the car, and Mr. Ralph goi out, and then he helped Mrs. Feldman out, and she began to walk under the awning, holding on to Mr. Ralph’s arm. There was a noise in the crowd, and they nodded their heads and pointed. And while the crowd looked at Mrs. Feldman, Tom looked at the crowd, and he saw many familiar faces: Mrs. Kramer, Mrs. Mendelssohn, Dr. and Mrs. Herbert Rosenwasser, Mr. Alfred Bromberg, and Mr. Feldman’s old friend Judge Pearlman.