“No cousins,” Papa Levine repeated, “even if they’re willing. Now listen, son, man to man, just like Judge Hardy in the movies, you know, I’m gonna give you very important advice. So clean out your ears.”
“I’m listening, Pa.”
“Good. Now, there are two kinds women in the world. There’s the kind who do and the kind who don’t. There’s the good girls and the bad girls. And your sister, incidentally,” Papa Levine said firmly and in contradiction of all the evidence, “is the kind who don’t. She’s a good girl. A good Jewish girl, you understand?”
“I understand, Pa.”
“Hokay. Now, a nice Jewish girl, even if she ain’t your sister, it’s hands off. You got that? What you do with the other kind, that’s your business. But the nice ones you leave alone.”
“Okay, Pa. Only—”
“No ‘Only’ !”
“But?”
“And no buts!”
“I just wanted to ask you—”
“So ask me. How else are you going to learn? Ask already.”
“Well, Pa, how do you tell the difference?”
“Such a question! How do you think? A girl does, she’s a tramp. That’s all!”
“Yeah, but how do you know before?”
“How should you know before?” Papa Levine shrugged. “An X-ray machine, you’re not. Just remember if she’s a good girl, don’t do it. Even if she’s willing, don’t do it.”
“But I don’t understand how you can tell.”
*“If she’s Jewish,” Papa Levine shouted, losing patience, “she’s a good girl!”
“And if she’s not Jewish?”
“A goyishe maiden? A son of mine should even think of filthying himself with a goy! Is this how I brought you up?”
“I’m sorry, Pa. Don’t get so excited.”
“I’m not excited!” Papa Levine’s voice rattled the pasadiche wine glasses in the kitchen cabinet. He brought it under control. “Just remember, no kitchy-koo with nice girls, Jewish or”—he heaved a great sigh of tolerance—“gentile. Virgins you leave strictly alone! And stay away from tramps, too, you bum. One thing we don’t need in this house is a case of clap, everybody should be afraid to sit on the toilet.”
“Okay, Pa.” Studs’ brain was whirling. He just wanted to get to bed and see if he could figure out the tangle of taboos for himself and still come up with something left over for his post-puberty days.
“I’m glad we had this talk.” Papa Levine was mollified by his son’s conciliatory tone. “Man to man,” he winked rapport, “I used to be a young buck myself. It’s not so long I can’t remember, you know. Hot-in-the pants, a young fella’s got to do something about it. I know. Only what you’re doing and who with and who not with. We understand each other, hey, son?”
“Sure, Pa.”
“So good night then. And”-—he winked at Studs — “don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
“What wouldn’t you do Pa?”
“Not much, boy, not much!” He chuckled. “Believe me, it gives you a lot of leeway.” He puffed out his chest. “I’m not as old as maybe you think I am. Good night.”
“Good night, Pa.”
Studs heard his father go into his bedroom. A moment later he heard a loud belch.
“What’s the matter, Sam?” Mama Levine asked sleepily.
“Nothing. Kids. Aggravation. A little heartburn, maybe.”
“What's the matter with our kids?”
“I’ll tell you in the morning.”
“You should stop picking on the boy, Sam. You should be proud. The cleanest boy in the neighborhood, and he’s your son.”
By way of answer, Papa Levine belched again, a little louder this time.
“You got heartburn, Sam?”
“I said I did.”
“So from what? From my cooking you don’t get heartburn. It’s that garbage you eat downtown. It’s bad?”
“It’s heartburn. How else should a man know he’s Jewish?”
“I’ll fix you a little chicken soup to take it away.”
Studs heard his mother puttering around the kitchen. Then it was quiet. He lay awake for a long time, sorting out what his father had told him. Finally, he fell asleep…
A long time ago! And yet now, sitting across from Penny in the lengthening silence of her disappointment and despair, he could remember it like it was yesterday. And it was that night that his father had given him the one code he’d never broken. It was a point of honor with Studs that he never bedded down a good girl, that he refused to be a de-virginizer, that he kept the faith of his father. Maybe he’d broken the other articles of that faith, but on this point Studs had stood fast, and he was proud of himself.
And never prouder than this day. For the truth was that up until now the point had never been put to the test. Jewess and shiksa alike, Studs had up until now encountered only one of the two kinds of girls his father had categorized. He’d met only the bad girls. Indeed, he’d become convinced that the other kind were some sort of old Jewish myth his father had dreamed up. But now, here was Penny to prove to him that there really were virgins in the world. It was like discovering that there really was a Jewish Santa Claus. And she had helped him prove to himself that when it really counted, he had the kind of willpower Papa Levine would have been proud of him for displaying. He looked at her and filled up with emotional gratitude and warmth.
She looked back at him with eyes red from crying. “Why is my life so filled with heartache,” she muttered more to herself than to Studs.
“Would you like a little chicken soup? It helps.”
“What? What are you talking about?”
“Chicken soup. You said you had heartburn. It really does help it.”
“Heartache, not heartburn.”
“Oh. Well, maybe the chicken soup would help, anyway.” Studs thought nostalgically of his mother.
“No, thanks.”
They fell silent again. And suddenly Studs had a vision, a great vision, a revelation. It was as if his dead father’s voice was whispering in his ears. There was the echo of kaddish in the air, and the faint scent of Friday night candles. Yet it was so much more powerful than that that Studs looked around automatically for the other nine men of the minyan to confirm the shadowy face of his father before him, to give the pious nod to the words, somber and hollow from the grave.
“A virgin; a good girl; that’s the kind of girl you marry, my son!”
And Studs found himself on his knees before Penny, tears of love welling up in his eyes, the exaltation of religious inspiration making his voice tremble. “Penny, oh, Penny, will you marry me?”
“What? What did you say?” She stared at him as if he’d gone mad.
“I said will you marry me? I love you. I want to marry you.”
“You’ve flipped!”
“Only for you, my darling. Will you? Say you will!”
“Don’t be ridiculous!”
Studs became aware that his knees ached from kneeling. He looked around the room. No vision. He cocked his ears coldly, but he couldn’t hear his father’s voice. What the hell was he doing, anyway? Slowly, he got to his feet. “Why not?” he asked Penny automatically, although he no longer really cared. “Why won’t you marry me?”
“For one thing, because we couldn’t make it before.”
“That’s no reason.”
“I think it’s a very good reason. But I’ve got better ones. Would you like to hear them?”
“Sure,” Studs said woodenly, beginning to be relieved at her attitude and increasingly more amazed at himself for having raised the question of marriage.
“All right. Because I don’t want to throw my life away by becoming some man’s marital slave. That’s one thing I’m sure about!”
“Marital slave? What the hell are you talking about? I asked you to be my wife, not pull an oar in my galley.”