Free Max by Howard Fast Page B

clenched.
    â€˜And I’ve hurt you. Oh, Max, how stupid of me. I’m so sorry.’
    â€˜Why don’t you just tell me I’m not good enough for you? Why don’t you tell me I’m a bum and throw me out? You know what my mother says about German Jews? She says they look at us like we’re animals, like we’re not even human.’
    â€˜Max, Max, we’re not German Jews, we’re Austrian.’
    â€˜Same thing.’
    â€˜Poor Max, I’ve hurt you so deeply.’ She went over to him, placed her hands on his cheeks, and kissed him lightly on his lips. ‘Do you forgive me?’
    â€˜Jesus! Wow! You really kissed me.’
    â€˜Yes.’
    â€˜I’m not going to wash my face. Not for weeks.’
    She pursed her lips. ‘Ugh.’
    â€˜You kissed me – yes?’
    â€˜Yes.’ She turned him around and pushed him toward the door. ‘Now go home. I’ll see you Monday if you wish.’
    â€˜I wish, I wish, but we’re booked right out. We got twelve weeks – Buffalo, Chicago, Kansas City, New Orleans, and Philadelphia. But I’ll be back. You bet your sweet patooties I’ll be back.’

[ T H R E E ]

    Â 
    Max had never hit his sister Freida before. He slapped Ruby around when he needed it, and when Ruby cried out in protest against his brother beating up on him, Max countered, ‘And if I don’t teach you the right time, who in hell is going to?’ There was some mutual ground and comprehension there, as there was when he had to slap some sense into Benny, age nine. But Freida wailed, ‘Stop it! Stop it! You got no right to hit me!’ He had laid a stinging slap on each cheek, her face not her ass, and she whimpered, ‘You’re not my father. You got no right.’
    â€˜Right? You tell me my rights? You – you little tramp!’
    â€˜I’m not a tramp. It happened. It just happened.’
    â€˜What in hell do you mean, it just happened?’
    â€˜I didn’t know how to stop. I couldn’t stop.’
    â€˜You couldn’t stop,’ Max whispered hoarsely. ‘You dumb little bitch! You haven’t got the sense of a sow! Almost eighteen years old, and you get yourself knocked up, and then you tell me that you couldn’t help it.’
    She threw herself on the bed, sobbing, and Max loomed over her, drove his finger at her, and shouted, if a hoarse whisper can be a shout, ‘You know what you’re going to do? I’ll tell you what you’re going to do. You’re going to marry him.’
    Her sobbing ceased. She sat up. ‘What?’
    â€˜You are going to marry him.’
    â€˜Are you crazy?’
    â€˜Me? Me? Oh, no, baby, crazy is in front of me.’
    â€˜He’s a dumb kid.’
    â€˜Oh? And you?’
    â€˜I’ll die first. I’ll kill myself. I swear –’ Her mood changed; the brief defiance turned into supplication. ‘Maxie, Maxie, please help me, please.’
    â€˜Help you? What’s to help you? You want a dowry? You want me to rob a bank so you and that horse’s ass who knocked you up can start life together?’
    â€˜I’ll kill myself.’
    â€˜Bullshit.’
    â€˜Please, please help me.’
    Now Max looked at her, and possibly it was the first time in his life that he had really looked at her and actually seen her: the reddened tear-swollen eyes, the pink cheeks, the cupid bow of a mouth, and the large, firm breasts bulging her blouse. She was a woman and lush and desirable, and something out of this discovery reached him and touched him.
    â€˜Don’t tell Mama,’ Freida sobbed.
    â€˜All right.’
    â€˜You’ll help me, Max?’
    â€˜Maybe. I’ll see. But if this ever happens again –’
    â€˜Never, never, never!’
    â€˜Yeah, sure.’ He spun around suddenly, grabbed the door to the hall, and jerked it open. Ruby almost fell into the room, and