94
PARTISAN REVIEW
Half an hour later Uncle took him along to stay with him for two
weeks, to give Mara time to recover and to avoid contagion. Uncle had
behaved toward him with unusual kindness. He had succeeded in getting
a blanket for the boy's exclusive use. He slept rolled up in it like a bag
and no longer felt the cold floor at night. For two whole weeks he
even had enough food. Uncle brought him bread, spoiled him, protected
him, frowned at his wife whenever she showed resentment at the atten–
tion their guest was enjoying. But the tensions surrounding Uncle had
exhausted him, and he wished that all would be over soon so that he
could return home.
"Hello there, sir, why are you all by yourself? Come on, let's go see
the little monkey . .. "
This time it seemed it was a bris. He shouldn't have hid from the
start; it didn't last long. He knew the rituals of the various festivities,
there were so many of them.
Once he woke up around midnight. His speech raced through his
mind; he looked as through fog at the confusion in the room, the sour
mood of the hung-over couples. He realized that his act must have been
over a while ago, that it was probably the moment to approach the
bride, that is, if he had executed the earlier part of the program. He
stumbled sleepily to the head of the table and found himself face to face
with a roly-poly grandmother in a white gown, with a flower wreath,
bloated features, flour and syrup mingled into sweat running down her
pasty face. This time it was not a real wedding but an anniversary, he
now remembered ... a silver wedding anniversary. Too late - the old
bag had spotted him. Hastily she welcomed him, smiled at him with her
big metal teeth, impatiently reached over to him with gravy-stained
hands. The remains of a slice of wedding cake were melting on the
dessert plate in front of her. She insisted that he eat it and offered him
her lipstick-smeared spoon . . . He also saw the pickles, the chicken
leftovers, the rice drenched in tomato sauce, the deep bowl of whipped
cream. Swaying with nausea, he groped his way back to his corner by
the orchestra and clutched tightly to his chair. They raised him onto his
feet with difficulty - he had fallen suddenly in his sleep and the room was
topsy-turvy, as though after an earthquake - and he had another round
with the old bride. Next morning his family found him in bed at the
neighbors', where he had been dropped of[
"Come, let's go, it's morning."
Other parties, other weddings. From now on everything will be dif–
ferent, they said, but, as though afraid of some impending calamity, they
couldn't hold back. Something impelled them to recoup their energy
and start all over again. The frail boy up on the chair touched them; the
words of his speech bolstered their determination.
