I.
L.
PERETZ
422
how anguished the face becomes, how spasmodically he
breathes in the constricted air, how he tears his hair and rips his
flesh, or how, if he can still cry, he waters his moldy, mouse-bit–
ten crust of bread with bitter tears...To arouse an unhappy, insen–
sible, repressed Jewish woman's heart to the peals of sweet, ro–
mantic music, to a new, wild, unknown or long-forgotten emo–
tion, to kiss, and then adieu! close the door, and leave her to a life
of gall and wormwood...
* * *
We are so glutted with poison, with bitterness and hatred,
that when we are offered bread and salt we are sure that it is
contaminated... even when the hand trembles with compassion,
the eyes are filled with tears of pity, the lips speak words of com–
fort... .
It is hard to believe! We are also polluted, the epidemic has
also infected us.
* * *
Meanwhile Polnievsky found his matches and I took a
cigarette from him, unwillingly. We smoked... the carriage be–
came filled with blue smoke-rings.. .and I looked at them and
thought: good and the evil cannot long endure together!
* * *
-We became friends-my Christian travelling com–
panion continues-but nothing more than that...
-Why?-I ask, taken aback.
-From a distance we continued to think of each other as the
best of friends, but she dared not visit us, nor we her. Just imagine
what would have happened if she had come! The town is ex–
tremely religious and conservative. Aside from the barber-sur–
geon and a young lady's hairdresser, everyone wore the tradi-
