The Melting-Pot

[He hurries into the overcoat hanging on the hat-rack. Re-enter

DAVID, having composed himself, but still somewhat dazed.]

DAVID

She is gone? Oh, but I have driven her away by my craziness. Is she very angry?

MENDEL

Quite the contrary-she expects you at the Concert, and what is more--

DAVID [Ecstatically]

And she understood! She understood my Crucible of God! Oh, uncle, you don't know what it means to me to have somebody who understands me. Even you have never understood--

MENDEL [Wounded]

Nonsense! How can Miss Revendal understand you better than your own uncle?

DAVID [Mystically exalted]

I can't explain-I feel it.

MENDEL

Of course she's interested in your music, thank Heaven. But what true understanding can there be between a Russian Jew and a Russian Christian?

DAVID

What understanding? Aren't we both Americans?

MENDEL

Well, I haven't time to discuss it now.

[He winds his muffler round his throat.]

DAVID

Why, where are you going?

MENDEL [Ironically]

Where should I be going-in the snow-on the eve of the Sabbath? Suppose we say to synagogue!

DAVID

Oh, uncle-how you always seem to hanker after those old things!

MENDEL [Tartly]

Nonsense!

[He takes his umbrella from the stand.] I don't like to see our people going to pieces, that's all.

DAVID

Then why did you come to America? Why didn't you work for a Jewish land? You're not even a Zionist.

MENDEL

I can't argue now. There's a pack of giggling schoolgirls waiting to waltz.

DAVID

The fresh romping young things! Think of their happiness! I should love to play for them.

MENDEL [Sarcastically]

I can see you are yourself again.

[He opens the street-door-turns back.] What about your own lesson? Can't we go together?

DAVID

I must first write down what is singing in my soul-oh, uncle, it seems as if I knew suddenly what was wanting in my music!

MENDEL [Drily]

Well, don't forget what is wanting in the house! The rent isn't paid yet.

[Exit through street-door. As he goes out, he touches and kisses

the Mezuzah on the door-post, with a subconsciously

antagonistic revival of religious impulse. DAVID opens his desk,

takes out a pile of musical manuscript, sprawls over his chair

and, humming to himself, scribbles feverishly with the quill.

After a few moments FRAU QUIXANO yawns, wakes, and stretches

herself. Then she looks at the clock.]

FRAU QUIXANO

Shabbos!

[She rises and goes to the table and sees there are no candles,

walks to the chiffonier and gets them and places them in the

candlesticks, then lights the candles, muttering a ceremonial

Hebrew benediction.] Boruch atto haddoshem ellôheinu melech hoôlam assher kiddishonu bemitzvôsov vettzivonu lehadlik neir shel shabbos.

[She pulls down the blinds of the two windows, then she goes to

the rapt composer and touches him, remindingly, on the shoulder.

He does not move, but continues writing.] Dovidel!

[He looks up dazedly. She points to the candles.] Shabbos!

[A sweet smile comes over his face, he throws the quill

resignedly away and submits his head to her hands and her

muttered Hebrew blessing.] Yesimcho elôhim ke-efrayim vechimnasseh-yevorechecho haddoshem veyishmerecho, yoer hadoshem ponov eilecho vechunecho, yisso hadoshem ponov eilecho veyosem lecho sholôm.

[Then she goes toward the kitchen. As she turns at the door, he

is again writing. She shakes her finger at him, repeating] Gut Shabbos!

DAVID

Gut Shabbos!

[Puts down the pen and smiles after her till the door closes,

then with a deep sigh takes his cape from the peg and his

violin-case, pauses, still humming, to take up his pen and write

down a fresh phrase, finally puts on his hat and is just about to

open the street-door when KATHLEEN enters from her bedroom fully

dressed to go, and laden with a large brown paper parcel and an

umbrella. He turns at the sound of her footsteps and remains at

the door, holding his violin-case during the ensuing dialogue. ]

DAVID

You're not going out this bitter weather?

KATHLEEN [Sharply fending him off with her umbrella]

And who's to shtay me?

DAVID

Oh, but you mustn't-I'll do your errand-what is it?

KATHLEEN [Indignantly]

Errand, is it, indeed! I'm not here!

DAVID

Not here?

KATHLEEN

I'm lavin', they'll come for me thrunk-and ye'll witness I don't take the candleshtick.

DAVID

But who's sending you away?

KATHLEEN

It's sending meself away I am-yer houly grandmother has me disthroyed intirely.