she knew that what I ought to do was to put my arms around her, kiss her, hug her, make her feel like a woman, not a landlady. Yes, she would say, but with her breasts. Yes, with her soft, warm belly. Yes. Always yes. If I had said—Lift your skirt and show me your pussy! it would have been yes too. But I had the sense to avoid such nonsense. I was content to remain what I appeared to be—a polite, talkative, and somewhat unusual (for a Goy) lodger. She could have appeared naked before me, with a platter of Kartoffelklose smothered in black gravy and I wouldn't have laid a paw on her.
No, I was far too happy, far too content, to be thinking about chance fucks. As I say, the only thing I truly missed was the bike. Reb's car, which he wanted me to consider as my own, meant nothing. Any more than would a limousine with a chauffeur to tote me around. Not even a passage to Europe meant much to me now. For the moment I had no need of Europe. Nice to dream about it, talk about, wonder about it. But it was good right where I was. To sit down each day and tap out a few pages, to read the books I wanted to read, hear the music I craved, take a walk, see a show, smoke a cigar if I wanted to—what more could I ask for? There were no longer any squabbles over Stasia, no more peeking and spying, no more sitting up nights and waiting. Everything was running true to form, including Mona. Soon I might even look forward to hearing her talk about her childhood, that mysterious no man's land which lay between us. To see her marching home with arms loaded, her cheeks rosy, her eyes sparkling—what did it matter where (she was coming from or how she had spent the day? She was happy, I was happy. Even the birds in the garden were happy. All day long they sang, and when evening came they pointed their beaks at us and in their cheep-cheep language they said to one another—See, there's a happy couple! Let's sing for them before we go to sleep—
Finally the day came when I was to take Mona for an outing. I was now qualified to drive alone, in Reb's opinion. It's one thing, however, to pass a test and quite another to have your wife put her life in your hands. Backing out of the garage made me nervous as a cat. The damned thing was too huge, too lumbering; it had too much power. I was in a sweat lest it run away with us. Every few miles I brought it to a halt—always where there was room to make a clean start!—in order to calm down. I chose the side roads whenever possible, but they always led back to the main highway. By the time we were twenty miles out I was soaked with perspiration. I had hoped to go to Bluepoint, where I had passed such marvelous vacations as a boy, but we never made it. It was just as well too, for when I did visit it later I was heart-broken; it had changed beyond all recognition.
Stretched out on the side of the road, watching the other idiots drive by, I vowed I would never drive again. Mona was delighted by my discomfiture. You're not cut out for it, she said. I agreed. I wouldn't even know what to do if we had a blow-out, I said.
What would you do? she asked.
Get out and walk, I replied.
Just like you, she said.
Don't tell Reb how I feel about it, I begged. He thinks he's doing us a great favor. I wouldn't want to let him down.
Must we go there for dinner this evening?
Of course.
Let's leave early then.
Easier said than done, I replied.
On the way back we had car trouble. Fortunately a truck driver came to the rescue. Then I smashed into the rear end of a beaten up jalopy, but the driver didn't seem to mind. Then the garage—how was I to snook her into that narrow passageway? I got half-way in, changed my mind, and in backing out narrowly missed colliding with a moving van. I left it standing half on the sidewalk, half in the gutter. Fuck you! I muttered. Make it on your own!
We had only a block or two to walk. With each step away from the monster I felt more and more relieved. Happy to be trotting along all in one piece, I thanked God for having made me a mechanical dope, and perhaps a dope in other respects as well. There were the hewers of wood and the drawers of water, and there were the wizards of the mechanical age. I belonged to the age of roller skates and velocipedes. How lucky to have good arms and legs, nimble feet, a sharp appetite! I could walk to California and back, on my own two feet. As for traveling at seventy-five an hour, I could go faster than that—in dream. I could go to Mars and back in the wink of an eye, and no blow—outs...
It was our first meal with the Essens. We had never met Mrs. Essen before, nor Reb's son and daughter. They were waiting for us, the table spread, the candles lit, the fire going, and a wonderful aroma coming from the kitchen.
Have a drink! said Reb first thing, holding out two glasses of heavy port. How was it? Did you get nervous?
Not a bit, said I. We went all they way to Blue-point.
Next time it'll be Montauk Point. Mrs. Essen now engaged us in talk. She was a good soul, as Reb had said. Perhaps a trifle too refined. A dead area somewhere. Probably in the behind.
I noticed that she hardly ever addressed her husband. Now and then she reproved him for his rudeness or for his bad language. One could see at a glance that there was nothing between them any more.
Mona had made an impression on the two youngsters, who were in their teens. (Evidently they had never come across a type like her before.) The daughter was overweight, plain looking, and endowed with extraordinary piano legs which she did her best to hide every time she sat down. She blushed a great deal. As for the son, he was one of those precocious kids who talk too much, know too much, laugh too much, and always say the wrong thing. Full of excess energy, excitable, he was forever knocking things over or stepping on some one's toes. A genuine pipperoo, with a mind that jumped like a kangaroo.
When I asked if he still went to synagogue he made a wry face, pinched his nostril with two fingers, and made as if pulling the chain. His mother quickly explained that they had switched to Ethical Culture. It pleased her to learn that in the past I too had frequented the meetings of this society.
Let's have some more to drink, said Reb, obviously fed up with talk of Ethical Culture, New Thought, Baha'i and such fol de rol.
We had some more of his tawny port. It was good, but too heavy.
After dinner, he said, we'll play for you. He meant himself and the boy. (It'll be horrible, I thought to myself.) I asked if he was far advanced, the boy.
