ISAAC BASHEVIS SINGER
29
one of her own kind, right away it would turn into a complicated
matter. He might want her to divorce the doctor, or whatever they
do in high society. Checking into a hotel for people like that is
dangerous. All the hotels were full of snoops. Here, at Reitzele's
everything went smoothly. Reitzele would go out and leave us alone.
She always made up some excuse. She had to go to a store or to a
relative. Reitzele didn't need the money. Her husband gave her
more than enough. But how does it go? People have big eyes. They
are greedy for all kinds of silly thrills. The doctor's wife called herself
Fania, but whether that really was her name, I don't know. She
never told me where she lived, and I never asked. In those days I
didn't brood about things too much. I gorged myself, guzzled it up,
had my Reitzele and the other one. When I needed money I headed
toward the city markets and I always returned with a little cash. I
don't know why, but women always walk around with unlocked
purses. That's how it was then, that's how it is today. We talked
about things making sense. Does that make any sense?"
"The reason is," Shmuel Kluska said, "that they stuff so many
gadgets into their purses they can't get them closed. My own sister
does it. The buckle loosens and the purse opens by itself."
"How long did you have the doctor's wife?" Yankel Dezma
asked.
"What? It didn't always go as smoothly as with Fania. One time
Reitzele set me up with a queer piece. She was so besmirched with
makeup that it made me sick. She spoke only Polish, and refused to
eat with us. If you offered her a glass of tea she wiped the rim with a
handkerchief. She started to interrogate me like a doctor: Did you
ever have this? That? She'd brought with her a pink vial of disinfec–
tant. It was all so nauseating that I began to vomit and that was the
end of that. I can see her even now, with a thick nose and a mouth
like a snout. Another one wore a hat with a huge rim and a veil so
dense that you couldn't see her face. When push came to shove, she
scurried off. But there were those who attracted me somehow. One
was a poor girl from the provinces, a hat-maker. She worked in a
store on Zabia Street. She always arrived hungry.
If
Reitzele gave
her a bowl of soup, she asked for more. With Reitzele, it was a mad–
ness of sorts. After they left I had to report everything to her: what
she said and what I said. Every little thing. She would shriek: 'Tell
me more, Loshikl. Don't leave anything out.' I thought that as she
got older, she would cool off, but she became more and more em–
broiled. I had nothing really to complain about but I was getting fed
