He dressed, feeling a little easier. His shirt cuffs were soiled; he turned them underside up and transferred the links. He stuffed his tie into his pocket; he would put it on after washing. Stripping the couch, he folded up the sheets and the silk quilt and laid them on a chair. When he opened the French doors, he expected to meet Mrs Harkavy or one of the family in the hall and he wondered why the house was so silent. Harkavy’s dark room was open, the bed empty. Leventhal switched on the light and saw trousers hung neatly from the top drawer of the dresser and the suspenders coiled on the floor. An open magazine covered the lamp.
Harkavy was sitting alone in the kitchen. At his elbow the toaster was ticking, and a pot of coffee was warming on the electric heater. He was wearing a corduroy jacket over his pajamas, a belted jacket with large leather buttons. His bare feet were crossed on a chair. His green slippers had fallen to the floor.
“Good morning,” Harkavy’s look was amused. “The reveler.”
“Good morning. Where’s the family?”
“Gone to Shifcart senior’s for the birthday dinner.”
“Why didn’t you go?”
“To Long Island City when I have a chance to sleep late? They left at nine.”
“I hope you didn’t stay here because of me.”
“You? No, I wanted to sleep. Holidays are poison if I have to get up early.” He stroked the golden-green jacket. “I like a late, peaceful breakfast. Bachelor habits. As long as I’m not married, I’ve got to stand pat on my advantages.”
The kitchen light, reflecting from the tiles and the white refrigerator, was too sharp for Leventhal. He winced away from it slightly.
“How do you feel — not very well?”
“Headache.”
“You’re not used to drinking.”
“No,” said Leventhal. The banter annoyed him.
“You were bright-eyed, last night.”
He looked rather sullenly at him. “What if I was?”
“Nothing. I’m not blaming you, you understand, for getting a little tight. You probably have good reasons.”
“Where’s your aspirin?”
“In the bathroom. I’ll bring you some.” Harkavy started to rise.
“Stay put; I’ll find it.”
“Have a cup of coffee. It’ll do you more good.” He removed his feet from the chair. They were very long and white, with toes as slender as fingers.
Leventhal poured himself a cup of black coffee. It was bitter and coated his tongue with a sediment, but he felt it would do him good.
Harkavy sighed. “I’m a little under the weather myself. Not from drinking; the excitement, the arguing, and such. Mamma, though, she was up at seven and got everything in order. What vitality she’s got! Her mother — there was another dry old fire for you. She lived to be ninety-four. Do you remember her? Down on Joralemon Street?”
“No.” Leventhal, trying to recapture the feeling that had interrupted his dressing, found he retained almost nothing of it.
“I’m a different type,” Harkavy said. “The sword that wears out the sheath. But some of these old people…. Take Schloss-berg, for example, still supporting his family, his good-for-nothing son and his daughters. The old man is a blowhard, sometimes, but you have to hand it to him. With him it’s a case of ‘touch me and you touch a man,’ and these days you can’t always be sure what you’re touching. I set myself up against him, now and then, because I like a good argument. I don’t trust people who won’t argue.”
Gradually Harkavy’s manner underwent a change. He was slouching in his chair, his heels were set wide apart on the linoleum and his arms were hanging over the back of the chair; his hands with their whitish hairs were full veined. Beneath the clear water lines, his lids suddenly appeared flushed and irritated, and when he began again to speak it was with a nervous dodge of the head, as if he were already putting aside an objection.
“Why don’t you come clean now on this business we were talking about last night?” he said.
“What’s there to come clean about?”
“It baffles me. I’ve been giving it some thought. After what you said about him, that you should be trying to arrange this…”
Leventhal did not stir his face from the cup. “We went over that yesterday. I told you about Dill’s.”
“He must have you by the tail.”
Leventhal reflected, “This is just curiosity on his part. Why should I satisfy it? That Sunday when he could have helped me out he went away with Goldstone and his friends, and now, because he’s itching to know, I should talk.” He resolved to give him no satisfaction. Nevertheless, the saucer shook in his hand and he held it against his chest, bending his head until folds of skin appeared under his chin and along his jaw. He meditated on his weakness. How weak he was becoming. Even Harkavy could make him tremble.
“How come you changed your mind about him? You said he was loony.”
“No, you did.”
“On your information. What you told me was all I had to go by. It looks as if he really did a job on you, sold you a bill of goods.”
Leventhal doggedly refrained from answering. He kept his head down with a look of worn endurance.
Harkavy persisted. “Didn’t he?”
Leventhal drew his lips against his teeth as he wiped his mouth. “I must have wanted to buy,” he said.
“It’s beyond me. When you came to talk to me about him, you were mad enough to hang him. He was accusing you of some crime and blaming you for what happened to his wife and what not. Now you want to send him to Shifcart with a reference. And unless I’m mistaken you were fishing for me to help you. I couldn’t believe my ears when you asked me about Shifcart. What kind of impression will a man like that make on him? And why do you let him hang around? Didn’t you tell me he picked up Shifcart’s card at your house? Besides, you know Shifcart can’t do anything for him.”
“I suppose not.”
“And where does he get the idea that Shifcart can help him?”
Though he knew he was making a mistake, Leventhal said, and to some extent it was involuntary, “I think he believes it’s all a Jewish setup and Shifcart can pull strings for him… Jews have influence with other Jews.”
“No!” Harkavy cried. “No!” His hands flew to his head. “And you’re trying to do something for him? You’re willing, regardless? Boy, do you know what this does to my opinion of you? Are you in your right mind?”
His horror shook Leventhal.
“Look, Dan, I don’t want to go into this any further. Don’t push me. I asked you about Shifcart. You told me what you think… Let that be the end of it.”
“But how does he do it?” Harkavy’s voice rang. “What’s he got on you? Is it blackmail? Have you done something?”
“No, nothing… I’ve been having a lot of trouble. My family — you heard about that. And Mary’s away, that’s been hard on me, too. My nerves aren’t in very good shape. I feel I’ve been trying to throw something off. You aren’t being very helpful. Just let me alone to handle this in my own way.” This was a great deal for him to say; it was exorbitant, like a plea. His hands were less steady than ever. He set down the coffee, splashing some of it into the saucer.