Free The Autograph Man by Zadie Smith Page B

reason,
Patience
—a proud commemoration of Mountjoy’s wartime sacrifices although Mountjoy itself had not been built until 1952. Two other men, unknown to Alex, stood at the corner of
Courage
and
Patience.
    “And yet,” said Rubinfine, solemnly, “even on a day such as this, we are presented with a problem.”
    He put his hands on his hips in the oddly feminine way he had sometimes and gaped into space. Before him, a parked Citroën, its boot open, gaped back. Quickly, Alex became panicked. Although already outside, he began looking about him in the manner of a man searching for the exit sign.
    “Look, Mark,” he said, “I mean,
Rabbi
Rubinfine—you know what? I actually can’t really stop. Heading for the tube. I’ve got an auction on this morning, you know how it is. Places to go, people to buy. So, if you don’t mind, actually, I might just—”
    “Alex-Li,”
said Rubinfine. The beauty spot on his cheek twitched, and with it, his new and unpleasant mustache took a leap to the right. He cupped his hands round Alex’s face. He was wearing a salmon-colored V-neck, paired with some ridged green cords, a long houndstooth coat and a pair of black sneakers.
    “When a man hurries,” said Rubinfine, trying to sound Talmudic, “the first things he forgets are his toothbrush and his God.”
    This kind of thing drove Alex crazy. In his opinion, Rubinfine was too young to be making up aphorisms. He was only three years older than Alex. He was thirty, only thirty. You can quote all you like at thirty, but that’s where it’s got to end.
    “Now,” puffed Rubinfine, “other things being equal, I’ve some friends here I want you to meet. This is Rabbi Darvick and Rabbi Green. Rabbi Darvick visits us from Brooklyn, New York. Rabbi Green, you may have met, actually. He’s a Mountjoy man. We’re attending a rabbinical conference—Grantam Park? Lasts a week. We’re swapping ideas, learning tolerance,” said Rubinfine, grinning at Green, who seemed to barely tolerate him. “Come and say hello.”
    Darvick was small and round and in slacks, indistinguishable from a civilian, an Ultra-Progressive like Rubinfine. Green was Orthodox, much taller and with the corkscrew curls of payess, pale-skinned and flame-haired, wearing a very sharp suit and a tallis.
    “Right. Of course. I was being rude. Rabbi Darvick,” said Alex, drawing a hand from his pocket, “it’s nice to meet you. Rabbi Green. I’m not sure . . . have we? We must have, at some point, I suppose. . . . Or maybe not?”
    Rabbi Darvick made the sound of having had something caught at the back of his throat, having released it and being pleased with the fact. Rabbi Green made a noise of acknowledgment which Alex, a young man without illusions, took for what it was: a grunt.
    “Alex-Li,” said Rubinfine, “we have a problem. Maybe you could help us with?”
    Rubinfine tilted his head and smiled.
    “What’s your hurry? Shift in the cosmos? Is someone selling a Kitty Whatshername or something?”
    Poor Alex made a fist in his pocket.
    “It’s Kitty
Alexander.
And no. All right? Just an important auction, and I’m already late.”
    “But,
Alex-Li
. . .”
    Fuming, Alex made a dance to the left, but Rubinfine met him. Alex moved to the right, and there was the rabbi again. Above them, two magpies flipped black and blue from one bare tree to another across the street, carrying nothing shiny in their beaks, no gems, no glass, for magpies rarely do. Realizing the battle was lost, Alex grabbed at his flask, uncapped it, and took a swig.
    “Hmmm, that smells
great,
” said Rubinfine, holding Alex by his elbow and ushering him towards the car boot. “Now. Do you see it?”
    It
was a mahogany bookcase, grand and in the Georgian style. It was about six inches wider than the boot. It lay on its side on the pavement. This bookcase was not going to fit in the boot, Alex saw that much.
    “Rabbi,” he said evenly, “it’s just too big. I mean, it’s
too