62-4
PARTISAN REVIEW
My brother Simon, seeing me carry a glass on a tray through
the gathering on the sidewalk- there was always an overflow of bus–
inessmen before Einhorn's mixing with the mourners from Kinsman's
chapel and the poolroom characters--gave a big laugh of surprise
and said, "So this is your job. You're the butler."
But it was only one function of hundreds, some even more
menial and personal, but others calling for cleverness and training–
secretary, deputy, agent, companion. He was a man who needed some–
one beside
him
continually; the things that had to be done for him
made
him
autocratic. At Versailles or in Paris the Sun King had
one nobleman to hand him his stockings, another his shirt, in his
morning levee. Einhorn had to be lifted up in bed and dressed.
Now and then it was I who had to do it. The room was dark and
unfresh, for he and his wife slept with the windows shut.
So
it was
sleep rank from nights of both bodies. I see I had no sense of
criticism about such things; I got used to it quickly. Einhorn was in
his underwear because changing to pajamas was a task, and he and
his wife kept late hours. Thus, the light switched on, there was Ein–
horn in his bvds, wasted arms freckled, grizzled hair afly from his
face that was inclined to flatness, the shrewd curved nose and
clipped mustache.
If
peevish, and sometimes he was, my cue was to
be
quiet until he got back his spirits. It was against policy to be out
of temper in the morning. He preferred to
be
jocular. Birdy, teasing,
often corny or lewd, he guyed his wife about the noise and bother
she made getting breakfast. In dressing him, my experience with
George was useful, but there was more style about Einhorn than I
was used to. His socks were of grand silk, trousers with a banker's
stripe; he had several pairs of shoes, fine Walkovers that of course
never wrinkled below the instep, much less wore out, a belt with a
gothic monogram. Dressed to the waist, he was lifted into his black
leather chair and pulled on quakey wheels to the bathroom. At
times the first settling in the chair drew a frown from him, some–
times a more oblique look of empoisoned acceptance; but mostly
it was a stoical operation. I eased him down and took him, traveling
backwards, to the toilet, a sunny room with an east window to the
yard. The Commissioner and Einhorn, both rather careless in their
habits, made this a difficult place to keep clean. But for people
of some nobility, allowances have always been made in this regard.
