The Americans (38 page)

dessert if you were clever and fast. Apples went down your shirt front, bananas up your sleeve." He'd worked hard running newspapers from Park Row, but there had been moments of relaxation, too; wonderful moments. There were breathtaking vistas of the city to be seen from tenement rooftops; bright immies to be won in a marble shoot; a rubber ball to be solidly whacked in the Hester Street equivalent of a baseball game- "Good times." That was his summation. He'd been among his own people, not constantly jostling against bigots who turned on him because of his name or his dark, Semitic face. He'd been full of hope and ambition. She blamed herself for most of his dreams going bad. Pemberton bustled along the aisle of the lamp-lit coach. He was a runty, red-faced man of sixty, inclined to be brusque. Now, though, he sounded like a mother issuing instructions to a brood of children: "Take hacks if they're available, a trolley if they aren't It's the Hulbert House, remember-was A conductor shouted t6e name of the town, but a screech of the wheels muffled it. There were twenty in the company traveling in the coach: five men and five women who took the principal roles in the play, plus musicians, scenery and property people, the stage manager, his assistant, and Pemberton. One of the musicians had evidently played the town before: "comt's the Little Conemaugh out that way, and the Stonycreek there. The two rivers meet just above that stone bridge we crossed. What I don't like about the place is the dam. It's fourteen or fifteen miles up the south branch of the Little Conemaugh, and four hundred feet higher than the town." "What's wrong with that?" someone wanted to know. "It's an earth dam. Largest in the world, and the reservoir behind it is the biggest artificial lake in the country. The dam holds back four and a half billion gallons of water. That's twenty million tons. I guess the dam was safe once, but now it's leaky as a sieve." "My heavens, Waldo, why doesn't someone fix x8** a young woman asked. "Laissez-faire, my dear Ellen. Laissez-faire. The dam was combuilt forty or fifty years ago, as part of a rail and canal system connecting Philadelphia and Pittsburgh. When the system became obsolete, the land near the dam was put up for sale. Now the reservoir's called Lake Conemaugh, and on the shore there's a private fishing and hunting club for the Pittsburgh swells. The Mellons, Carnegie, Frick-that crowd. No one's going to tell them how to run their businesses or maintain their property. They refuse to repair the dam. I'm glad we're not staying here any longer than one-was Pemberton interrupted with a hard tap on the shoulder: "That's enough, Waldo. The weather's doing a fine job of depressing everybody. Don't help out with scare stories." "It's no story, Regis. That dam's been in wretched shape for-was "Waldo!" "All right," the musician said, turning away with a sullen shrug. Eleanor knew Pemberton's edict was not just a whim. A company's mood had a significant effect on a performance; subtle influences could result in a superlative show, or a drab one. And audiences were quick to sense when a comr pany wasn't up to the mark. She saw no enthusiasm in the company this afternoon. The gloomy weather and the drab town had destroyed it little by little; Waldo's comments hadn't helped, either. Voices grew subdued as the train slowed for the depot. The women readied parasols that wouldn't be of much use against the rain beginning to fall heavily outside. The sky had grown so dark, it might have been dusk instead of midafternoon. Lamps had already been lit in the station. As she and Leo prepared to leave the coach, she heard a second, somewhat louder noise above the drum of the rain. -- "What on earth is that roaring?" Waldo answered. "The rivers." Something in his tone made her shiver and recall his remark about the dam: Now it's leaky as a sieve. The Goldmans stepped down on the wet platform. Leo pointed. "Look at that." Beyond the depot, a red, white, and black three-sheet billboard was visible in the falling ram. The three-sheet advertised the evening's performance at the Opera House with a mammoth capital-letter heading which Leo read aloud: was "Intensely funny." Surely they can't mean us." No one smiled. Pemberton scowled. It didn't promise to be a successful engagement, and it was certainly a wretched way to spend Memorial Day. What Eleanor saw of the town only depressed her further. The main business district was situated on a triangle of land bounded by the two noisy streams. From the steep, dark hillsides, homes of the well- to-do looked down on the commercial buildings, and on shanties and tenements along the rivers, which were already close to overflowing their banks. The rain was falling harder than ever. Eleanor shivered. "What's the name of this gloomy place?" Leo pointed to the dripping depot sign. JOHNSTOWN CHAPTER H The Other Cheek PEMBERTON SENT THE STAGE manager to the Opera House to check on the progress of the Memorial Day program. Hacks proved to be nonexistent around the depot. So did trolleys. Pemberton left two men at the station to arrange for transportation of the scenery, then he and the others trudged through the downtown carrying their own luggage. By the time they reached the four-story Hulbert House at Clinton and Main Streets, nearly a mile of walking had left them soaked and in a bad temper. Leo carried both his valise and Eleanor's. He sneezed loudly several times. Finally she asked if he felt all right. "Marvelous. I do this for my health all the time." T fche tried to cover him with a parasol that offered little protection. He pushed it away. The hotel was sturdy, elegant, and obviously new. Leo didn't like to stand in line, so he and Eleanor sat down in the lobby until all the others had signed the ledger and claimed their keys. Then they approached the desk. Pem- berton was at the front door, conferring with the man he'd sent to the Opera House. The holiday program wouldn't end till about four-fifteen. Pemberton's curse could be heard all the way across the lobby. "Goldman, Mr. and Mrs.," Leo said at the marble counter. They traveled under their married name but at the theater Eleanor was always billed under her maiden name. It was as Eleanor Kent that she received bouquets and written invitations from men in the audience who didn't realize she was married. Displeasing her with his morbidity, Leo sometimes joked that if he died, her suitors would attend his funeral. "Goldman, Goldman-was the buck-toothed clerk studied some card or paper beneath the counter. Eleanor stepped up next to her husband, a wary look in her eyes. This had the smell of something familiar and infuriating. The clerk turned around to examine the pigeonholes containing room keys. After a moment he pivoted back to face them. "I'm afraid I just rented the last room, Mr. Goldman. We have nothing left." ii Leo exploded: "Our manager made reservations for the entire company weeks ago!" "Be that as it may-was The clerk's eyelids drooped as he shrugged. "We have nothing." Leo gripped the edge of the counter, his fingers white. "Would the situation be different if our last name was Smith?" "I beg your pardon?" "You heard me, you lying fraud.

* The clerk stepped back. "I'm not required to listen to that sort of-was "Some trouble here?" Pemberton said, bustling up to them. Eleanor spun to face him. "The hotel doesn't have enough rooms. At least not enough for us." "Regrettably, we are one short," the clerk told Pemberton. His face showed a pious regret. But his narrow brown eyes were far from pious as they slid from Leo's face to the swelling curve of Eleanor's breast. "This is disgraceful," Pemberton said. "Artists aren't accustomed to being treated in this fashion. We were assured by telegraph that your establishment could accommodate my entire troupe." "Well, someone made a mistake. And I don't have to stand here and be insulted by this Je-this gentleman. If you want to take your troupe somewhere else, feel free to do so. We won't suffer bankruptcy, I assure you." He turned sharply and disappeared into his cubicle. in Pemberton whacked his soft hat against his plaid trouser leg. Dismayed, he eyed the lobby. All the others had disappeared, anxious to reach their, rooms and change to dry clothes. One fat guest sat with 4 newspaper in his lap and a smoldering cigar in his mouth. The man's head was exceptionally large; too large even for his obese body. Protruding eyes added a final touch of ugliness. The man had been amused by the incident at the counter. He chewed the end of his cigar as he studied Eleanor's face. A moment later he heaved himself up from his chair and waddled around a pillar where he fell into conversation with someone the pillar concealed. "Well all go somewhere else-was Pemberton began. "And turn everyone out into the rain again?" Eleanor shook her head. "That isn't necessary." "But if we stay, we're condoning-was "Never mind, Regis," Leo interrupted. "Eleanor's right. It would be all right to protest if it weren't raining, but the others are worn out. Let them stay. We're used to this kind of reception." And in truth so was the company manager. He was only one of many who'd urged Leo to Anglicize his last name. Even Gideon had made the suggestion to Eleanor. But the one time she'd mentioned it to Leo, he had lost his temper. Ever since the attack on his father in Philadelphia, he refused to put up with slights or insults caused by his being Jewish. With bleak humor, he often said it was easier for Christians to turn the other cheek because the first one didn't get pummeled and spat on like the cheek of a Jew. Eleanor slipped her arm in his, picking up her valise with her other hand. "Don't worry about us, Regis. We'll find another hotel." Leo nodded. "There must be one in town that isn't run by bigots." He said it loudly, so that the clerk in his cubicle was sure to hear. A clearing of a throat said he had. Leo smiled in a humorless way, then snatched up the other valise with a suddenness that betrayed his suppressed rage. They walked toward the street entrance. Eleanor's traveling cape and skirt were sodden and she was bone-cold. Leo sneezed again, then a third tune. Pemberton called after them: "Don't walk in this weather. Find a hack. Offer the driver double or triple-whatever it takes. Ill reimburse you from company funds." "Thank you, Regis," Eleanor called back. It was a kind offer but a futile one. They all knew no hacks were operating in the downpour. As they passed the pillar, they came upon the fat fellow and the man to whom he'd been talking-a thin, white- haired porter in rank overalls. Three steps more, and the Goldmans had nearly reached the street door. Suddenly Eleanor heard the fat man snicker and reply to a question. A few words of his heavily accented English carried clearly: "comsure he's a kike, can't you tell? Gross gott! It's almost as shameful as a white woman giving herself to a nigger." Leo dropped his valise and whirled. "Leo, don't, he isn't worth it!" Eleanor exclaimed. But her husband was already stalking toward the fat German, who had turned gray as oatmeal. Leo poured out invective in Yiddish. The porter scuttled away. But the fat man, momentarily puffed up by anger, brandished his cigar and shouted: "Don't swear at me in your heathen tongue, you black sheeny!" Leo's cheeks turned plum colored. He kept walking. In a panic, the fat man jabbed his lighted cigar at Leo's left eye. Eleanor clapped a hand to her mouth. But Leo was quick. The cigar's glowing end only came within a couple of inches of his face. He seized the fat man's forearm with both hands and pushed. The man could move the cigar no closer. Leo squeezed the German's arm. The man's hand opened. The cigar fell out, hit the carpet and rolled. Leo kept applying pressure to the arm. The fat man gasped curses in German. Tears began to run from the corners of his eyes. He dropped to his knees, moaning and pleading for mercy in his native tongue. Leo didn't release him. The fat man kept pleading. His bladder let go, staining his crotch. The clerk peeked out from his cubicle. A twist of strong-smelling smoke was rising beside Leo's muddy left shoe. He pointed to the burning circle in the carpet and called to the clerk: "Your rug's on fire. Maybe this gentleman will help put it out." He seized the back of the fat man's collar and hurled him down. The man's chest crushed the hot cigar. He floundered, squirmed, squealed like a girl- Leo grabbed Eleanor's arm, practically jerking her to the door. "Maybe it'll rain forty days and forty nights and wash this benighted place off the map." "Don't say that, Leo. Not even as a joke. That man doesn't represent the whole town." "I'd like to think not. But I wonder." Luggage in hand, they lowered their heads and went through the door into the downpour. Although it was only late afternoon, the sky was almost completely black. Behind them, the fat man began yelling: "Sheeny Jew bastard! If I see you again, you're in for it. You better not stay in Johnstown or they'll ship you out in little pieces!" Hard rain battered Eleanor's face as they headed up the street. Sometimes she felt a flash of pride when Leo stood up to the kind of witless bigot they'd just encountered. Yet what did you really gain when you offered resistance? Only trouble and more trouble-and you changed nothing. But she could never persuade Leo of that now. She'd lost that battle after Papa Goldman had visited Philadelphia. The fat man had lumbered to the lobby window. He pounded the window frame and continued to shout. were the threats merely bluster, or something to worry about? She didn't know, but she didn't care to learn. CHAPTER I'll A Dream In the Rain THEY FOUND A ROOM at the Penn Hotel, four blocks from the Hulbert House. The room was cramped and shabbily furnished. A few sticks of kindling in the grate provided the only heat, a single dim gas jet the only light. One small window overlooked an alley that resembled a river in flood. The storm showed no signs of stopping. An hour after they checked in, Leo was down the hall in the bathroom used by all guests on their floor. Eleanor was finishing a note to their friend and sometime employer, Louisa Drew. She had loosened her hair. It hung over her shoulders and down her back, long and dark and glossy. As she wrote, she snuggled deeper into the garment she always took along when she traveled-an old, faded cotton flannel robe of Leo's, much too large but exceptionally comfortable and warm. She'd decided years ago that she would never make a society woman for a variety of reasons. One was her almost complete lack of interest in clothes. A large, expensive wardrobe simply wasn't important to her. She'd often been told that she looked stunning in the lavish gowns provided for some of her stage roles. But her very favorite garments were old, familiar ones like the disreputable robe, which she wore with nothing underneath. was His Leo walked in, drying the back of his neck with a worn towel. His robe was much like hers, but somewhat newer. Suddenly he sneezed loudly. "Oh, Leo, you're catching something.