Bernard Malamud
TH E MAGIC BARREL
Not long ago there lived in uptown New York, in a small,
almost meager room, though crowded with books, Leo Finkle, a
rabbinical student in the Yeshivah University. Finkle, after six years
of study, was to be ordained in June and had been advised by an
acquaintance that he might find it easier to win himself a congrega–
tion if he were married. Since he had no present prospects of mar–
riage, after two tormented days of turning it over in his mind, he
called in Pinye Salzman, a marriage broker, whose two-line adver–
tisement he had read in the
Forward.
The matchmaker appeared one night out of the dark fourth–
floor hallway of the graystone rooming house, grasping a black,
strapped portfolio that had been worn thin with use. Salzman, who
had been long in the business, was of slight but dignified build, wear–
ing an old hat and an overcoat too short and tight for him. He
smelled frankly of fish, which he loved to eat, and although he was
missing a few teeth, his presence was not displeasing, because of an
amiable manner curiously contrasted by mournful eyes. His voice,
his
lips, his wisp of beard,
his
bony fingers were animated, but give
him a moment of repose and his mild blue eyes soon revealed a
depth of sadness, a characteristic that put Leo a little at ease although
the situation, for him, was inherently tense.
He at once informed Salzman why he had asked him to
come, explaining that his home was in Cleveland, and that but for
his parents, who had married comparatively late in life, he was alone
in the world. He had for six years devoted himself entirely to his
studies, as a result of which, quite understandably, he had found him–
self without time for a social life and the company of young women.
Therefore he thought it the better part of trial and error-of em-
