242
PARTISAN REVIEW
lowing
him.
She inspected the departure of the train and, reassured, took
the metro home. Izzyk was leaving with the president, he was in good
hands.
The first day on the Riviera went by without incident. The little hotel
where Guitterman regularly stayed was comfortable. You could bring in
your food. Even though you could find restaurants that were more or less
kosher, it was better not to take useless risks. Besides, he liked to nibble in
his room and not get his stomach loaded with heavy food. That's what he
was telling Izzyk, who was on his first trip to the Riviera and wouldn't have
minded lunch at a restaurant. So the two of them, settled down in the room,
ate toast rounds and yoghurt, the one delighted, the other disappointed.
The president decided that given the circumstances, they could dis–
pense with afternoon prayers and take the bus to the little station about ten
kilometers away where the festival was going on. So Guitterman, the trum–
pet, and Gilleski took their seats on the bus.
"What time are you expected?"
"The firs t time we go on is from seven to eight, then from ten to
eleven."
"And in the meantime what do
I
do?"
"Monsieur Guitterman, thanks for coming with me. You're not going
to stay late at night. Go back to bed whenever you want. I'll go back to the
hotel by myself."
"Gilleski, do you really mean that? Your wife entrusted you to me.
Even if I have to stand all night, I'm staying!"
Gilleski introduced the president to the other musicians and, because
he was a little ashamed, he whispered in the leader's ear: "He's an old
cousin of my father's. I brought him along because he was bored at the
hotel where he's spending his vacation."
They couldn't have cared less about why Guitterman was there, and he
was settled on a folding chair beside the platform, along with the leader's
wife, the pianist's girlfriend, and the drummer's younger son. Guitterman
took a reprint of the Book of Prophets out of his pocket and became com–
pletely engrossed in the passages he loved. He also had a Nice newspaper
he'd bought at the station. Seated on his folding chair, he smiled at every–
one and gave Gilleski permission to go up on the stage.
The warm breeze felt good, and you could hear the echo of several
groups on other platforms. Guitterman wasn't embarrassed about reading.
He raised his head when the leader's wife offered him a little coffee she
was pouring from a thermos. He smiled and refused politely at first:
"My health, my liver, my heart. I can't eat a thing away from home."
He would have loved a cup of coffee, but he was strictly kosher, and
usually he didn't eat at all unless he was sure of the people who invited
