Free East Side Stories:Tales of Jewish Life in the Lower East Side of New York in the 1930's by Sidney Weissman

what you need me for. But I can’t do it, I won’t do it, not no more, not for you, not for nobody. And that’s der emess.” She gave a huge quivering loud sigh that came to Leo as something almost physical. “I don’t need you, you understand?” Her voice was cracking as she said, the words rising, “I won’t marry you, Canarrick, you hear that? I won’t. Never. I want you to get out. Leave. Right now. Pack up your things and go. Get away from me, I don’t want to see you, I don’t want to hear you—”
    The Canarrick was saying, in a shocked tone of voice, “Rifkeh, Rifkeh, what are you saying?”
    “Get out!” Leo’s mother said. “Now! That’s what I’m saying. Go! I don’t want you no more. Pack your things, I said!”
    In the dark black cave, on that dark black bed on which he lay, Leo heard the scrape of a chair in the kitchen, the slow heavy tread of the Canarrick going into the other bedroom. Leo thought he could hear the heavy breathing of his mother, whether real or imaginary he heard something in his head and he wanted to shout out, I’m sorry, mama! I didn’t mean it!
    From the other bedroom, faintly, he heard the scrapes, the squealing opening of the closet, the opening of dresser drawers. He waited, breathing heavily in and out. He heard nothing from his mother. Finally there was the sound of the Canarrick’s footsteps returning to the kitchen.
    “Rifkeh—” he heard the Canarrick say.
    “Go!” he heard his mother say. “Go now! I don’t want you. I made of you what you wasn’t. It was all a dream, a play, a movie. Nisht der emess, not the truth. I should know better. Der emess iz der emess, the truth is the truth. I don’t want lies, no more lies.”
    In the bed, Leo suddenly understood her words. They came to him as salvation, the blackness around him began to disappear, was gone. I don’t want lies, she said. Was that true? Yes, yes, and if it was so then that had governed his brief talk with Kaplan. He, Leo, had not lied, had not perpetuated what was false. In some unknown way he had known what to do, what his mother would have wanted him to do.
    Maybe now, things would turn out all right for them. Now, there would be no deceit, no shame, no lies to spin. Maybe now his mother would find someone who would really take care of her, who would protect her. Maybe now there would be a real future for her.
    He wanted desperately for it to be so. Make it so, he almost called out. This time it would all be better, mama, you’ll see. I promise. Please, please, he fervently begged the darkened ceiling, let it be so, please, please.
     

 THE RUN ON THE BANK
    Frantic frantic frantic, she ran down the sunlit street clutching the sweat-dampened bankbook in her right hand, running as fast as she could down East Broadway on the Lower East Side, passing stores, houses, the Forward building on her left, running towards the cafeteria on the corner of Essex Street.
    “Benny!” she gasped out as she ran. “Benny, oy vay, woe, woe, Benny. What shall we do?”
    She came to the cafeteria and entered, going quickly down the aisle between the long counter and the sets of tables, her eyes eagerly searching for her husband. Benny Benny Benny, please be here. Benny, please.
    It was eleven o’clock. Earlier in the morning she had sent one son off to school, later she had heard about the run on the bank from one of her neighbors.
    The people were all taking their money out of the bank, it was a no-good bank, something was wrong with it, what could it be? Such a big bank, such a big building. How could a place like that be no-good?
    Quickly she had rummaged in the old dresser drawer for their bankbook, their savings, all they had in the world. Two hundred and seventeen dollars. They had saved it all before the Crash, they had decided not to touch it, to let the little interest accumulate. After the Crash they had denied food from their mouths, they had denied themselves new clothing, shoes,