SEIZE THE DAY
415
himself so earnest he looked like a bad-natured sheep. He's a puffed-up
little bogus and humbug with smelly feet . A doctor! A doctor would
wash himself. He believes he's making a terrific impression, and he
practically invites you to take off your hat when he talks about himself;
and he thinks he has imagination, but he hasn't. Neither is he smart.
Then what am I doing with him here, and why did I give him
the seven hundred dollars? thought Wilhelm.
Oh, this was a day of reckoning. It was a day, he thought, on
which, willing or not, he would take a good close look at the truth.
He breathed hard and his misshapen hat came low upon his congested
dark blond face. A rude look. Tamkin was a charlatan, and furthermore
he was desperate. And furthermore-Wilhelm had always known this
about him. But he appeared to have worked it out at the back of his
mind that Tamkin for thirty or forty years had gotten through many
a tight place, that he would get through this crisis too and bring him,
Wilhelm, to safety also. And Wilhelm realized that he was on Tamkin's
back. It made him feel that he had virtually left the ground and was
riding upon the other man. He was in the air.
It
was for Tamkin to
take the steps.
The doctor, if he was a doctor, did not look anxious. But then his
face did not have much variety. Talking always about spontaneous
emotion and open receptors and free impulses he had about as much
expressiveness as a pin-cushion. When his hypnotic spell failed, his big
underlip made him look weak-minded. Fear stared from his eyes, some–
times, so humble as to make you sorry for him. Once or twice Wilhelm
had seen that look. Like a dog, he thought. Perhaps he didn't look it
now, but he was very nervous, Wilhelm knew; but he could not afford
to recognize this too openly. The doctor needed a little room, a little
time. He should not be pressed now. So Tamkin went on, telling his tales.
Wilhelm said to himself, I am on his back-his back. I gambled
seven hundred bucks, so I must take this ride. I have to go along with
him. It's too late. I can't get off.
"You know," Tamkin said, "that blind old man Rappaport-he's
pretty close to totally blind-is one of the most interesting personalities
around here.
If
you could only get him to tell his true story. It's
fascinating. This is what he told me: You often hear about bigamists
with a secret life. But this old man never hid anything from anybody.
He's a regular patriarch. Now, I'll tell you what he did. He had two
whole families, separate and apart, one in Williamsburg and the other
in the Bronx. The two wives knew about each other. The wife in the
Bronx was younger; she's close to seventy now. When he got sore at
one wife he went to live with the other one. Meanwhile he ran his
chicken business in New J ersey. By one wife he had four kids, and by
the other six. They're all grown, but they never have met their half
brothers and sisters and don't want to. The whole bunch of them are
listed in the telephone book."
"I can't believe it," said Wilhelm.
"He told me this himself. And do you know what else? While
