940
PARTISAN REVIEW
When she was alone, Emma did not open her eyes at once. On
the night table there was the money which the man had left. Emma
raised herself and tore it up, just as she had torn the letter. To tear
money is an impiety, such as throwing away bread. Emma felt sorry,
as soon as she had done it. An act of pride and on that day.... Her
fear was lost into the sorrow of her body and into revulsion. Revulsion
and
grief
chained her, but Emma got up slowly and began to dress.
In the room no bright colors were left; the last light of day was fast
dying. Emma was able to leave without being noticed; on the corner
she got on a Lacroze, going west. According to her plan, she took a
seat in the front, so that no one could see her face. Perhaps she was
comforted to find that, in the midst of the noise of the streets, what
had just happened had not contaminated anything. She traveled
through smaller and duller quarters, seeing them and forgetting them
at once, and she got off on the corner of Warnes. Paradoxically, her
fatigue turned into strength, for she was obliged to concentrate on
the details of the plan, and she lost awareness of the substance and
end of it.
Aaron Loewenthal was, in the eyes of everyone, a serious man;
for the few who knew
him,
he was a miser. He lived alone, occupying
the floor over the factory. Living in a slum, he feared thieves; in
the yard of the factory he had a big dog and kept a revolver in
the drawer of his desk. A year ago he had wept, with decorum, over
the sudden death of his wife-a Gauss, who had brought him a good
dowry-but money was his real passion. Inside himself, he knew that
he was less able to earn than to hoard
it.
He was very religious; he
felt that he had a secret pact with the Lord which excused him from
good behavior, in return for prayers and piety. Bald, heavy set, in
mourning, wearing dark pince-nez, he was standing, at the window,
waiting for the confidential report of the employee Zunz.
He saw her open the gate (which he had purposely unlocked)
and cross the yard. He saw her make a little detour when the tied
dog barked. Emma's lips moved as the lips of those who pray in a
low voice move; tired, they repeated the sentence which Mr. Loewen–
thal was to hear before dying.
Things
did not happen as Emma Zunz had thought they would.
Since the preceding dawn, she had imagined herself many times,
pointing the firm revolver, forcing the miserable man to confess his
