The Apprenticeship of Duddy Kravitz (26 page)

“I see. Are you sure you wouldn’t like to sit down? Now, are you a blackmailer?”

“Jeez. Could I have a drink, please? I mean is that rude for me to ask …?”

Mr. Calder poured two whisky and sodas. “You were saying?”

“Lennie’s not going to be the fall guy, see. I’ve got friends.”

“I’m sure you have, but –”

“He’s a cinch to win the medal. You’re on the board of governors and you can help.”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“O.K. Sure. But one thing I want to get straight first. Lennie doesn’t know I’m here. He’d kill me if he found out.”

“Lennie?”

“He’s my brother.”

Duddy told him about the bungled abortion.

“But they could have killed her,” Mr. Calder said. “Why didn’t she come to me?”

“They’re kids,” Duddy said. “I’ve seen quite a bit of them in the last week and if you’ll pardon me they don’t know from their ass to their elbow.”

“Perhaps you’re right. But what do you want from me?”

“This Dr. Westcott can make trouble. He can get Lennie expelled.”

“Don’t you think he ought to be expelled?”

“No, sir. I’m speaking candidly.”

“Give me one good reason why not.”

“Oh, let’s not talk like that, please. They took advantage of him like.”

“Don’t you think he might at least have waited until he got his degree before he started to perform illegal operations?”

“O.K., he made a mistake. Why should he be the fall guy but? Why should your daughter and Andy Simpson get off and Lennie be expelled?”

“I think they all ought to be thrown off the campus.”

“Wow.”

“I’m trying to be fair.”

“Sure. Sure you are. Sandra’s expelled and she comes home to this Yankee Stadium here and for all I know she can sleep in a different bedroom every night. That Andy Simpson goes home and sits on his ass until his father croaks and he inherits enough money to choke ten horses. But what about my brother,” Duddy shouted, approaching Calder, “what happens to him? He becomes a taxi driver. He gets a job in a candy store. Do you know what went into getting that guy into medical school?”

“Why didn’t he think of that before?”

“Maybe he did. But he’s a poor boy and he never met up with ladies and gentlemen before. Present company excepted.”

“That’s not a good enough excuse.”

“And what happens to my father? He dies of a broken heart. Thank you.”

“I’m sorry.”

“He’s sorry. Hah! Look, it wasn’t even Lennie who knocked her up. He never once touched her. Is that how you people pay off favors?”

Mr. Calder didn’t reply.

“All you have to do is tell Westcott to shettup. When he finds out, I mean. Meanwhile he doesn’t even know it was Lennie.”

“Why should I use my influence to conceal a criminal act?”

“What are you? A lawyer?”

“Are you very fond of your brother?”

“He’s my brother,” Duddy said, annoyed. “You know.”

“How old are you?”

“Almost nineteen.”

“Good God!”

“What’s the matter?”

“Couldn’t your brother have come here to see me himself?”

“He doesn’t know I’m here.”

“Nonsense.”

“O.K., so he knows. Lennie’s very sensitive. He gets headaches. Coming here was my idea anyway. Be a sport, Mr. Calder. Don’t make trouble.”

“Why shouldn’t I?”

“You’d feel better to see him expelled, ruined for life?”

“No.”

“O.K.,” Duddy said, “then it’s settled. You’ll speak to Westcott and –”

“Wait a minute, please.”

“I thought you said –”

“Tell me how a boy your age gets into the film business. I’m interested.”

Duddy told him about Mr. Friar, Yvette, and
Happy Bar-Mitzvah, Bernie!
Each time he made Mr. Calder laugh he felt easier, more hopeful, but it was difficult for him to tell if he was really making progress. Mr. Calder resisted each attempt to bring the conversation back to Lennie’s future.

“And what about you,” Mr. Calder asked. “Why didn’t you go to the university?”

Duddy guffawed. “I’m not the type, I guess.”

“Are you positive?”

“I come from the school of hard knocks.”

“And what do you want out of life? Money.”

“I want land. A man without land is nothing. Listen, about Lennie –”

“I still see no reason why he shouldn’t be expelled.”

“Just this once, Mr. Calder, couldn’t you – Well, he’s a good boy. Really he is. And he’s worked so hard like. Studying and studying …”

“If he was such a good boy he wouldn’t have allowed you to come here to speak for him. He would have come himself.”

“What do you want? Blood. He has to go back to McGill. He has to see Sandra and Andy and all those other rich stinkers every day. How could he come here?”

“It would have been awkward. I understand, but –”

“Have a heart.”

Mr. Calder smiled.

“Maybe some day I’ll be able to return the favor. I’ve got friends, you know.”

“Oh.”

“You heard of the Boy Wonder?”

Mr. Calder waited.

“Only the other weekend the Wonder and I went down to New York together for the weekend. Just like that.”

“What on earth is the Boy Wonder?”

“Jerry Dingle –
the Boy Wonder
. You mean you never heard of him?” What, Duddy thought, if the truly powerful people in the city knew nothing about the Wonder? Could it be that Dingleman was only famous on St. Urbain Street? “You’re sure you never heard of him?”

“Absolutely.”

“Jeez. I thought everybody – Look, Mr. Calder, give Lennie a chance and I swear I’ll never forget it. I’m only small beans right now, but one day … well,” Duddy said, “you know the old saying. Mighty oaks from little acorns grow.”

Mr. Calder laughed. He refilled his glass. “Very well,” he said at last, “I’ll speak to Dr. Westcott.”

“Shake on it?” Duddy asked, jumping up.

“Is he waiting outside?”

“No. He’s at home.”

“Well, you can tell him for me that he’s lucky to have you for a brother.”

“Aw. You’d be surprised at some of the things I’ve done in my time.”

“I wouldn’t.”

“I’d like to show my appreciation, Mr. Calder. I’d like to send you a gift, but – Jeez, what does a guy like you need?” Usually, Duddy knew, it was safe to send a
goy
booze, but Calder owned a distillery. “I’ve got it. You name your favorite charity and I’ll send them fifty bucks. A token like.”

“That won’t be necessary, Kravitz, but why don’t you come and see me again?”

“Wha’?”

“Phone me,” Mr. Calder said. “We could have dinner together.”

“
C
ROOK
!”

It was Mr. Cohen on the phone.

“Rotten stinker!”

Mr. Cohen had shown
Happy Bar-Mitzvah, Bernie!
to Dave Stewart in Toronto and Dave, who was with Columbia, had walked out in the middle of the first reel. “Amateur night in Dixie,” he had said.

But Mr. Cohen was the least of Duddy’s worries. Mr. Friar had disappeared. He had not removed his belongings from his apartment, but for three nights running he did not show up there. Duddy and Yvette phoned the police and all the hospitals. They went from night club to night club.

“You’ll never see that five hundred dollars again,” Yvette said.

“The hell with the money. The day after tomorrow is the Seigal bar-mitzvah. What am I going to do for a cameraman?”

“He’s probably back in England by now.”

“Do you think,” Duddy asked, “if I studied up on it that I could learn how to shoot a film before Saturday morning?”

On Friday afternoon, Duddy moved into his apartment on Tupper Street. “This is the berries,” he said. There were two rooms, a kitchen, and a tiled bathroom. Duddy tried the shower, he poked his head inside the fridge. “It still stinks of
chazer-fleish
in here,” he said.

“Wha’?” Yvette asked.

“Goy
stink. We oughta rub the walls down with chicken fat before I move in.”

Yvette’s one-room apartment was in the basement of the same building. “I can come up and cook for you,” she said.

“That’s my Girl Friday,” Duddy said, goosing her.

“Stop that.”

“Jeez. Have you got the curse again?”

“Maybe I’m not going to have my period this month. Maybe I’m pregnant.”

“Congrats. Come on. We’d better start checking through the bars for Friar again.”

“One minute. What would you do if I
was
pregnant?”

“I’ve got just the guy to fix you. A real pro. My brother Lennie.”

They went from bar to bar. They tried the taverns. Duddy showed Mr. Friar’s picture to the hat-check girls in at least ten night clubs. The head waiter at Rockhead’s had seen him about an hour earlier and Duddy’s spirits lifted. “Was he sloshed?” Duddy asked.

“Are you kidding, buster?”

They found him in the Algiers at two in the morning. He was snoozing.

“Ah, Kravitz, come to collect your pound of flesh, I suppose?”

“I’m surprised at you, Friar. We’ve got to go to a bar-mitzvah tomorrow morning.”

Yvette began to go through his pockets.

“Kravitz, I have never in my life held up a production. I always turn up on the floor. Apologize.”

“Would it make you feel better if I kissed your ass for you? Come on. Let’s go.”

Yvette cursed. “A hundred and twenty-two dollars. That’s all he’s got left.”

They took him to Duddy’s flat and put him under the shower. Yvette fed him cup after cup of black coffee.

“I’ve sold my soul to the Hebrews. Shame on me,” Mr. Friar said, slapping himself on the cheek. “Shame, shame.”

“More coffee, Yvette.”

“I was supposed to be a second Eisenstein. What happened?”

“You’re a very gifted man. Everybody says so. Isn’t that right, Yvette?”

“My essays on the cinema in
Isis
used to be widely quoted. Everyone expected me to … I’d like a drink, please.”

“Ha-ha.”

“Kravitz, you can’t treat me like this.”

“Listen, Friar, tomorrow night you can have all the booze you want on me. But right now you’re going to sleep. We have to be up at eight. That gives you four hours and you’re going to need every one of them. Come on.”

Duddy led him into the bedroom. Mr. Friar protested feebly, he spluttered, and then he fell asleep.

“You’d better get some sleep too, Yvette. Hey, one minute. You haven’t really got one in the oven? You were only kidding me, weren’t you?”

“Yes, I was only kidding.”

“Good. See you at eight. Eight sharp.”

Mr. Friar arrived punctually at the synagogue, but he was in no condition to shoot a movie. He also discovered too soon exactly where the liquor was kept. He was most reassuring, however. “Don’t fret, Kravitz. I can shoot this kind of thing with my eyes closed.”

“You are, you bastard!”

Duddy, on his side, tried to comfort Seigal. “He’s not drunk,” he said. “He gets dizzy spells. Malaria.”

But during Mr. Friar’s four-day absence in Ottawa, Duddy took to biting his fingernails again. “I’ll kill him, Yvette. If he ruins this film I’ll break every bone in his body.”

“I can’t stand seeing you like this any more,” Yvette said. “You’re making a nervous wreck of me too.”

“A friend in need,” Duddy said. “Aw.”

Yvette went to Ste. Agathe for the weekend. Left on his own, Duddy phoned Mr. Calder. What can I lose, he figured. He hangs up, that’s all.

“What a pleasant surprise,” Mr. Calder said.

They had dinner together at Drury’s and Duddy discovered that Mr. Calder had recently bought the controlling shares in a well-known stove and refrigerator factory just outside of Montreal. “I’ve driven past there many times on my way out to the mountains,” Duddy said. “There was sure lots of scrap in the yard.”

Mr. Calder said he was going to dismantle the old foundry and put up an enormous new plant. When the bill came Duddy covered it with his hand and said, “Your money’s no good here, Mr. Calder.”

Duddy phoned Mr. Cohen when he got home. “It’s Kravitz,” he said.

“Do you know what time it is?”

“Don’t hang up. This is important. I’ve got a deal for you maybe.”

“God help me.”

“I just got in from dinner. I was out with Hugh Thomas Calder.”

“Liar!”

“I’m not lying, Mr. Cohen.” He told him about the foundry. “Would you be interested in picking up the scrap there every week?”

“Are you crazy? He’d never give it to a Jew.”

“If I can get it for you what’s in it for me?”

They finally settled on a twelve and a half per cent commission.

“Listen,” Mr. Cohen said, “maybe I ought to go and see him myself. He wouldn’t want to deal with a kid like you.”

“Oh, no?”

“You really know him?”

“I’ll call you next week to say when you can pick up the first load.”

“Some kid. Some operator you are.”

Yvette returned in the morning. “Now you’ve gone and done it,” she said. “The notary spoke to Duquette and he’s accepted our cash offer. Have you got two thousand dollars, please?”

“Don’t worry. I’ll get it.”

“The papers are being drawn up. We’ve got until next Friday.”

Duddy took the map out of the desk and looked at it. He rubbed his hands together. “Next is Cote. He’s got a big farm.”

“We haven’t even got Duquette’s land yet.”

“Don’t worry. Worrying’s my department.” Duddy grinned. “Give me your hand a minute,” he said.

“Oh, go to hell, please. I haven’t even had breakfast yet.”

Mr. Friar arrived in the afternoon. “It’s an unmitigated disaster,” he said soberly.

They drove right down to the screening room to look at the movie. Outside it was snowing. Christmas decorations were going up in all the department store windows.

“Oi.
Shicker-head. Mamzer,”
Duddy shouted. “Did you do this to me on purpose, Friar?”

A headless Bobby Seigal read his
haftorah
, a grotesquely overexposed rabbi delivered his speech cut off at the eyes, and relatives walked down the synagogue steps at a thirty degree angle. “Oh, no. No,” Duddy said.

“We’ll have to refund Mr. Seigal his money,” Yvette said.