“My youngest son.”
An expression went over Allbee’s face that Leventhal could not interpret, a cold wrinkling. “Oh, sorry to hear it. When?”
“Four days ago.”
“You didn’t mention it to me,” Allbee said to Leventhal.
“No,” Leventhal answered flatly, gazing at his brother.
Allbee came forward swiftly in his chair. “Say, was that the boy… the other day?”
“No, not the one that was with me. He means Phil,” Leventhal explained to Max. “I took him to the movies awhile back, and we ran into Mr Allbee.”
“Oh, Phil. Knock wood. That’s my other son you saw.”
“Oh, I see, two children…”
“Are you going?” Leventhal said to him, aside.
“Will you fix it up for me with Shifcart?”
Leventhal fastened his hand on his arm. “Will you go?”
“You said you’d help me.”
“We’ll take it up later.” Leventhal was growing savage with impatience. “Don’t think you can hold me up.”
“I don’t want to interfere with business,” said Max.
“What business! There’s no business.”
Allbee rose and Leventhal went into the hall with him.
“I’ll be back for your answer,” Allbee said. He looked into Leventhal’s face as though he saw something new there. “I’m really surprised. Here this happens to you — your nephew. I’m in the same house and you don’t even say a word about it.”
“What do I want to talk to you about it for?” Before Allbee could speak again, he had shut the door.
“Who is he?” said Max, when Leventhal came back. “A friend?”
“No, just a guy who keeps coming around.”
“He’s peculiar looking..” Max checked himself and then said, “I hope I didn’t butt in on anything.”
“Oh, hell no. I was going to call you up, Max. But I thought I’d better wait awhile.”
“I was kind of expecting you to, since you took an interest and came to the funeral, and all.”
Max addressed him diffidently, a little formally, feeling his way with a queer politeness, almost the politeness of a stranger. Subdued, worn, and plainly, to Leventhal’s eyes, tormented, he was making an effort, nevertheless, to find an appropriate tone, one not too familiar. The blood crowded to Leventhal’s heart guiltily. He wanted to say something to Max about it. He did not know how and he was afraid of creating a still greater difficulty. How should they talk when they had never, since childhood, spent an hour together? And he surmised also that the flat, the contrast between his upholstered chairs and good rugs and the borax furniture in Staten Island, shabby before half the installments were paid, made Max deferential.
“So how are things going?” he said. He thought Max would speak about Elena. He was in fact certain that the main object of his visit was to discuss her with him.
“I guess as good as I can expect.”
“Phil all right?”
“Well, when one kid passes on it’s pretty hard on the othei one.”
“He’ll come around.”
Max said nothing to this, and Leventhal began to think he was debating whether to mention Elena at all, undecided at the last moment, and struggling with himself.
“Yes, kids come around,” Leventhal repeated.
“I wanted to ask you,” said Max. “I want to straighten it up with you about the specialist. He says you gave him ten dollars the first visit.” His hand dropped inside his coat.
“Oh, no.”
But Max opened his wallet and, half rising, laid a ten dollar bill beside the lamp on the desk.
“That’s not necessary.”
“I want to pay you back. Thanks.”
“Now he takes over,” was Leventhal’s unspoken comment. His original vexation with Max revived and he said, a shade coldly, “You’re welcome.”
“Not just for the money,”said Max.”The rest, too.”
Leventhal’s temper got the better of him.
“For doing a small part of what you should have been here to do.”
Max reflected, raising his rough-skinned, large-jawed face with its high-ridged, freckled nose. “Yes,” he said. “I should have been here.” He was submissive, seeming to find nothing in himself with which to resist.
Leventhal could not hold back his next question.
“What does Elena say?”
“About what?”
“About me?”
Max appeared surprised.
“What should she say? All she said was that she wondered why you didn’t come to the house after the funeral. But she doesn’t say much. She’s in bed most of the time, crying.”
Leventhal had edged forward. The lamplight shone into his hair and over his shoulders.
“Does she give you a lot of trouble, Max?”
“Trouble? You’ve got to consider. It’s a rough deal. She cries. That’s pretty natural.”
“You might as well be open with me.”
Max’s surprise grew.
“What’s there not to be open about?”
“If you don’t know, I don’t either. But you’ve got a chance to talk it out, if you want to. I realize we’re not so close. But do you have anyone else to talk to? Maybe you have friends. I didn’t notice many at the funeral.”
Max said uncertainly, “I don’t catch your drift, exactly.”
“I asked if Elena gives you trouble.”
The blood rose darkly in Max’s face under the full mask of his ill-shaven beard. There was a show of fear and bewilderment in his eyes and, reluctantly, he began a motion of denial with his black-nailed hands; he did not finish; he gave it up.
“She’s calming down.”
“What does she say?”
“All kinds of things,” Max said with obvious difficulty, still shunning a direct answer.
But Leventhal did not need a direct answer. He could picture Elena in the brass bed where Mickey had lain, in that terrible room, crying and raging; and Max sitting just as he saw him sitting now, abjectly listening. For what could he do? And Philip had to listen, too. The thought struck into him. But how could the boy be protected? He would have to hear and learn. Leventhal believed what he had said to Max about children coming through. They were mauled in birth and they straightened as they grew because their bones were soft. Mauled again later, they could recover again. She was his mother, so let him see and hear. Was that a cruel view of it? He was full of love for the boy. But it did not do to be soft. Be soft when things were harsh? Not that softness was to be condemned, but there were times when it was only another name for weakness. Softness? Out of the whole creation only man was like that, and he was half harsh.
“Have you had a doctor for her?” he asked.
“What makes you think she needs one?”
“Remember Mamma!”
Max started. “What are you talking about?” he said with a sudden flash of indignation.
“I don’t blame you for not wanting it brought up.”
“Why do you bring Ma into this? Does she remind you of Ma?”
Leventhal hesitated. “Once in a while, she does… But you admit you have trouble with her.”
“What do you expect? She carries on. Sure she carries on. It’s a kid, after all. That hits. But she’ll be all right. She’s getting better already.”
“Max, I don’t think you understand. People go overboard easily. I guess they’re not as strong that way as they used to be and when things get rough they give in. There’s more and more of that all the time. Everybody feels it. I do myself, often. Elena was very queer about the kid and the hospital. — That’s what she yells about, isn’t it? The hospital?” He grew increasingly unsure of himself. “And I thought…”
“I remember Ma pretty often, too, and Hartford, and all. You’re not the only one.”
“No?” Leventhal said. He looked at him searchingly.
“And you’re wrong about Elena.”