PH. D.
469
warmed her pride with his bar-mitzvah speech. She had given it to
him silently, without need or desire for thanks, and he remembered
now that it was with a sense of inevitability he had accepted it, for
he had known it would be a book, one book or another book for the
rest of his life. Gentlemen of the examining board, I have learned
that the Jew chokes his fear only by the sheer quantity of books he
has read.
He, Auerbach, placed the book down on the table, stood up and
stacked it beside the other volumes. Gathering them up in both hands
he walked to the main desk past the long tables and the dim-orange
lamps that seemed strangely perverted against the rays of the sun .
Softly he walked, so that he might not be perceived, he, Auerbarh.
that they might not look up from their books and wet their lips and
shake their heads in annoyance Quietly, easily so that he might be
taken for one of them. He placed the books down on the main desk,
stuck the envelope of index cards and cross-references under his arm
and walked out, down the stairs and past the stone lions into the street.
He crossed the wide avenue outside the library, gripping the
envelope tighter, feeling the thickness of the notes within. At home
he could sit in the warmth of his living-room, surrounded by the
books, go to his files and recheck today's work with all that he had
done up to now. Every day he had done this, and somewhere he had
lost something. It was in his mind as capitalized, clear and bold. In
sweeping print the scholars could set
it
down, oh
THE GREAT FRENCH
REVOLUTION.
The
cahiers.
The man with the empty salt-bags. He had
known them before. From dust they come marching, the peasants.
This is the beginning. Marching down a road, and through the battle
cries clear voices come. He paused for a moment, wondering which
grocery to stop off at. He decided as he turned the corner
pa~t
the El
to go to the big chain store where he was unknown and he would have
no need to speak. Better to carry it through alone, to take the food
and to cook it alone, for the pains in his stomach and over his temples
had disappea red. He had been afraid of the streets, but now as he
passed the freight entrance of a large office building he could look at
the long line that waited for the freight elevators without the sense
of guilt that had scarcely left him since he had been seventeen, when
he had taken a summer job as an errand-boy. What was to be done
now was to r crtore himself, to drive out the taste of the library with
some scrambled eggs and toast, some coffee and a good slice of fruit
cake.
It was clearer every moment as he stood before the cash register,
