Free The Complete Stories by Bernard Malamud Page B

be considerate.”
    “I’m too considerate,” Laban said. “That’s why I didn’t advance in my whole life up to now. It’s about time I showed some consideration for myself.”
    “I’m not going to argue with you about that anymore, but I warn you, Poppa, you will have to take more responsibility about Momma. It isn’t fair to let her stay home all alone at night.”
    “That’s her problem.”
    “It’s yours,” broke in Emma.
    Laban lost his temper. “It’s yours,” he shouted.
    “Goodbye, Poppa,” said Sylvia hastily. “Tell Momma I’ll come over at eight o’clock.”
    Laban hung up the receiver. His wife’s face was red. Her whole body was heaving with indignation.
    “To who you married,” she asked bitterly, “to the night school?”
    “Twenty-seven years I have been married to you in a life which I got nothing from it,” he said.
    “You got to eat,” she said, “you got to sleep, and you got a nice house. From your wife who brought up your child, I will say nothing.”
    “This is ancient history,” sneered Laban. “Tell me, please, have I got understanding? Did I get encouragement to study to take civil-service examinations so I am now a government clerk who is making twenty-six hundred dollars a year and always well provided for his family? Did I get encouragement to study subjects in high school?
Did I get praise when I wrote letters to the editor which the best papers in New York saw fit to print them? Answer me this.”
    “Hear thou me, Laban—” began Emma in Yiddish.
    “Talk English, please,” Laban shouted. “When in Rome, do what the Romans do.”
    “I don’t express myself so good in English.”
    “So go to school and learn.”
    Emma completely lost her temper. “Big words I need to clean the house? School I need to cook for you?” she shouted.
    “You don’t have to cook for me!”
    “I don’t have to cook?” she asked sarcastically. “So good!” Emma drew herself up. “So tonight, cook your own supper!” She stomped angrily into the hall and turned at the door of her room. “And when you’ll get an ulcer from your cooking,” she said, “so write a letter to the editor.” She banged the door of her room shut.
     
     
    Laban went into his room and stuffed his books and newspaper into his briefcase. “She makes my whole life disagreeable,” he muttered. He put on his hat and coat and went downstairs. His first impulse had been to go to the restaurant, but his appetite was gone, so he went to the cafeteria on the corner of the avenue near the school. The quarrel had depressed him because he had counted on avoiding it. He ate half a sandwich, drank his coffee, and hurried off to school.
    He went through his biology and geometry classes without paying much attention to the discussions, but his interest picked up in his Spanish class when Miss Moscowitz, who was also in his English class, came into the room. Laban nodded to her. She was a tall, thin young woman in her early thirties. Except for her glasses and a few pockmarks on her cheek, almost entirely hidden by the careful use of rouge, she wasn’t bad-looking. She and Laban were the shining lights of their English class, and it thrilled him to think how he would impress her with his letter. He debated with himself on the procedure of introducing the letter into the discussion. Should he ask Mr. Taub for permission to read the letter to the class, or should he wait for a favorable moment and surprise the class by reading the letter then? He decided to wait. When he thought how dramatic the scene would be, Laban’s excitement grew. The bell rang. He gathered up his books and, without waiting for Miss Moscowitz, walked toward his English room.
    Mr. Taub began the lesson with a discussion on the element of fate in Romeo and Juliet, the play the class had just read. The class, adults
and young people, both American and foreign-born, gave their opinions on the subject as Laban nervously sought for an