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PARTISAN REVIEW
preciated. I played the role of youngest granddaughter with all the
flourish of a veteran actress, for though "Grandpa" would beam and
admire me and call me his "little goldfish," I knew from others,
less favored, that he could be sullen and taciturn and that, on occa–
sion, his moods might even cause apprehension. I enjoyed my con–
quest and the visits were a pleasant duty.
My grandfather's apartment seemed small because it was over–
crowded with the big old-fashioned furniture he had always lived
with. It was presided over by Sophie, a housekeeper of undetermined
age, who had once been my grandmother's maid. She was efficient
and respectful, but particularly fascinating to me because of the
complicated structure of her gray curls and her alchemist's knowledge
of the art of make-up. Her skin always looked enameled, and she
had once shown me the impreSlive array of vials and jars needed to
produce this effect. After grandfather's death, I heard it said that
Sophie "had made a good marriage."
I have forgotten the Sunday morning conversations, but I can
still recall every object and its position in my grandfather's living
room, like the pieces of a familiar picture puzzle: the mahogany,
claw-footed furniture, the burgundy red portieres with the tassels, the
huge, dark, gilt-framed oil painting- a literal representation of a
German beer hall. I found it especially interesting because the artist
had died before finishing it, and the newspaper held by the fat man
in the foreground was unprinted, as white and blank as the big nap–
kin tied under his chin. On the left of my grandfather'S chair was a
refectory table, covered with books, magazines and newspapers (many
of them in German), and lying within easy reach, was the ivory
handled magnifying glaSl. . . .
Now, many years later, I held it and when I looked through it,
the ink spots and blurred criSl-croSled lines on the blotter sprang
into clear focus, like an ancient writing whose meaning evaded me.
Memory, like the magnifying glass, enlarges small episodes out of
the past into mysterious significance....
When I was nine, my family and I spent the summer with
my grandfather in the Adirondacks. The Kupermann camp consisted
of a group of log buildings in a clearing in a pine and birch wood
overlooking the lake. The houses were connected by a narrow board
walk-the main house, the dining hall, the boathouse, Grandfather's
