302
PARTISAN REVIEW
change, and other people grow alike,
kin
or acquaintances. Dad is
no longer the same person, Wilhelm reflected. He was thirty-two
when I was born, and now he's going on eighty. Furthermore, it's
time I stopped feeling like a kid toward him, a small son.
The handsome old doctor stood well above the other old people
in the hotel. He was idolized by everyone. This was what people
said: "That's old Professor Adler who used to teach internal medi–
cine. He was a diagnostician, one of the best in New York, and had
a tremendous practice. Isn't he a wonderful-looking old guy? It's a
pleasure to see such a fine old scientist, clean and immaculate. He
stands straight and understands every single thing you say. He still
has all his buttons. You can discuss any subject with him." The
clerks, the elevator operators, the telephone girls and waitresses and
chambermaids, the management flattered and pampered him. That
was what he wanted. He had always been a vain man. To see how
his father loved himself sometimes made Wilhelm madly indignant.
He folded over the
Tribune
with its heavy, black, crashing
sensational print and read without recognizing any of the words, for
his mind was still on his father's vanity. He had created his own
praise. People were primed and did not know it. And what did he
need praise for? In a hotel where everyone was busy and contacts
were so short he could be in people's thoughts only for a moment.
He could never matter much to them. Wilhelm let out a long,
hard breath and raised the brows of his round and somewhat circu–
lar eyes. He stared beyond the thick borders of the paper.
. . .
love that well
Which thou must leave ere long.
Involuntary memory brought him these lines. At first he thought
they referred to his father, but then he understood that they were
for himself, rather.
He
should love that well.
This thou perceivest
...
which makes thy love more strong.
Under Dr. Tamkin's in–
fluence Wilhelm had recently begun to remember the poems he
used to read. Dr. Tamkin knew, or said he knew, the great English
poets and once in a while he mentioned a poem of his own. It
was a long time since anyone had spoken to Wilhelm about this
sort of thing. He didn't like to think about his college days, but if
there was one course that now made sense it was Literature
1.
The
