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ARTISAN REVIEW
The soldier had given him a quarter of a loaf of bread. Grandfather's and
Mother's livid faces appeared in the doorway, astonished. He had re–
turned victorious. They could hardly believe their eyes; but they forbade
him ever to go near a soldier again. A part of him, the part drawn to–
ward friendship with the soldier, was gradually torn away from him. In
the following weeks, tortured by hunger, the boy often felt as though he
were choking from smoke. But he became accustomed to it and learned
to face it calmly.
He was jolted from his plunge into the past by the percussionist's
bang on the drums. The dance stopped, the couples separated. The time
for tears had come.
"Quiet everybody! Quiet, please! We have a guest of honor!"
They stood him on a chair or on a table . The wedding guests got
their handkerchiefs ready. Near the door, a young man caressed his girl–
friend's shoulder. When the applause broke out, he drew her closer to
him.
Up on his podium, the guest of honor recited his lines. His white
shirt-collar lit up his pale face, its delicate features blurred with fatigue.
The stinging smoke choked him only rarely now. The split occurred
painlessly.
It
was someone else who stood in front of him, who recited
the same pathetic speech. He had become used to what was happening
to him.
Applause and embraces followed. The newcomers repeated the ges–
tures of the guests at previous parties. Those who had accompanied him
to other weddings - close relatives or the habitual partygoers - were al–
ready familiar with his act, and they smiled at him conspiratorially.
He could escape the gushing and the pawing only when he finally
found himself in front of a gigantic slice of wedding cake. They also
brought him a small glass of wine. The musicians, he noticed, were given
larger ones. It was his habit to withdraw into a corner near the orches–
tra.
Forgotten near the instrument cases, lost in the melodies, he would
slide back into the past, among once-familiar faces: Grandfather's before
the sickness struck him, as he lay his large old hand on this shoulder. ...
The doctor's in tears, standing by the bridge during that first night of
plundering, after they had been attacked and dragged off the freight can,
their clothing, their rings, everything they still owned taken away from
them.
Only Uncle and a very few others had been able to hold on to some
money. He must have taken plenty of cash with him and hidden it so
well that he still had it even after all the searches and beatings they en–
dured. He had managed to keep the money; you could tell by the large
slices of bread and jam he would buy. People would give a coat for two
