144
PARTISAN REVIEW
her husband. I grope around in the darkness; for the sake of ap–
pearances I undress, cough softly, and whisper to myself. "Are you
tired?" I ask.
"Not so tired," she answers.
"You know," I say, "the other one, peace to her soul, was
always tired. Poor thing, she
was
weak."
"Don't talk about her now," my wife admonishes. "May she
put in a word for us in heaven."
"I want to tell you something," I say, "but don't get upset.
On her deathbed she asked me to give her my holy word that I
wouldn't marry
again."
"You didn't promise?"
"Did I have any choice? You know it's forbidden to grieve the
dying."
"You should have asked the rabbi what to do," the cookie
baker says to me. "Why didn't you tell me earlier?"
"What's the matter, are you afraid she'll come back to choke
you?"
"God forbid!" she answers. "How am I to blame? I knew
nothing about it."
I get into bed, my body icy. "Why are you so cold?" my wife
asks.
"Do you really want to know?" I say. "Come closer and I'll
whisper it into your ear."
"Nobody can hear you," she says, astonished.
"There's a saying that the walls have ears," I reply.
She cocks her ear, and I spit right into it. She shudders and
sits up. The bed boards squeak. The straw mattress begins to sag
and crack.
"What are you doing?" she shrieks. "Is that supposed to be
clever?"
Instead of answering, I begin to titter.
She says, "What kind of game is this? It may be
all
right for a
child but not for a grown man."
"And how do you know I'm not a child?" I answer. "I'm a
child with a beard. Billy goats have beards, too."
"Well then," she sa.ys,
"if
you want to babble, babble. Good
night."
