He quickened his pace, searching avidly for a cafeteria now, wondering if he should turn back and go to the one he had seen earlier. He walked two more blocks downtown, and then decided to cut crosstown to Amsterdam Avenue, and then instead continued walking on Broadway, and found at last another cafeteria, which he walked into quickly, pulling a ticket from the machine, and lifting a tray from the pile of brown plastic trays, and then going down the line of food, eying each separate piece of food with a delight almost unbearable. He took a glass of orange juice and a grapefruit, he took two pieces of Danish pastry and a hard roll, he took three pats of butter, he took a cup of coffee and a glass of milk, and then he went to the rear of the line again and took a glass of tomato juice. He carried all these to a table at the back of the sparsely populated cafeteria and was about to sit when a voice behind him said, “That’s my chair.”
He turned.
He was looking at a very short man of about fifty years of age, who had a twitch on the left side of his face. The twitch made the man look very evil. It twisted his face at regularly spaced intervals, the mouth curling upward, the eye blinking, as if the man were some sort of infernal machine that had been short-circuited. The man was wearing a sports jacket over a sports shirt, a gray fedora on his head. He was holding a cup of coffee in his right hand.
“Go ahead, sit down,” the man said.
“But you said it was your chair.”
“There’s four chairs at the table,” the man said. “I should deny you a lousy chair? Go ahead, take the lousy chair.”
“Well, thank you,” Buddwing said, and he pulled out the chair and sat. The man stood by the table, twitching and looking at Buddwing’s tray.
“You’re expecting someone?” he said.
“What?” Buddwing asked, looking up. “Oh. No. No, I’m not.”
“I thought perhaps you were expecting a breakfast club,” the little man said, twitching. He pulled out a chair, put his cup of coffee on the table opposite Buddwing, and then said, “Since you ain’t expecting nobody, I presume you won’t mind if I join you?”
“There are four chairs at the table,” Buddwing said, smiling. “I should deny you a lousy chair?”
“That’s very kind of you,” the little man said, twitching. “My cast bread is coming back upon the waters.” He sat and watched Buddwing as he drank his orange juice, and picked up the glass of tomato juice. ‘“You eat a hearty breakfast, don’t you?” he said, twitching.
“Well, not usually. But I’m very hungry this morning.”
“Listen, don’t be so defensive,” the man said. “You like to eat, so eat. Be healthy.” He sipped at his coffee, and watched the tomato juice disappear from Buddwing’s glass. Buddwing moved the grapefruit into place, and picked up his spoon.
“That’s a lot of citrus,” the man said. “You’re expecting maybe scurvy?”
“No, I just feel hungry.”
“Don’t get so upset,” the man said. “If you’re hungry, eat. Who’s telling you not to eat? Watch it, you almost got me in the eye with that one.”
“What?”
“The grapefruit. You’re squirting it all over the table.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
“That’s all right, who’s complaining? You want to squirt a little grapefruit in my eye, go ahead. My name is Isadore Schwartz, what’s yours?”
“I don’t...” he started, and then stopped. “Sam Buddwing,” he said.
“Pleased to know you. You eat here all the time?”
“No,” Buddwing said. “This is the first time I’ve ever been here.”
“The food here is very good,” Schwartz said. “As a matter of fact, I would go so far as to say the food here is gourmet food, and at very reasonable prices. I didn’t think you ate here often because, to tell the truth, this is the first time I ever seen you in here.”
“Yes, it is my first time,” Buddwing said.
“That’s what I said. You should come more often. The food here is of an excellent quality, believe me. I eat here all the time. Breakfast, lunch, dinner. That’s because the food is so wonderful here.” Schwartz paused. “It’s also because I happen to own the place.”
“Oh, is that right?” Buddwing said.
“Sure, I’ve been here for twenty-five years, right on this same corner. You didn’t happen to see the name outside?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Sure, right across the front. Izzy’s Cafeteria. That’s me, Isadore Schwartz. I got good food here, ain’t that grapefruit good?”
“Yes, very good.”
“Wait till you taste the Danish. You ever been to Miami Beach?”
“I... I don’t know,” Buddwing said.
“What do you mean, you don’t know?”
“I forget.”
“How could you forget a place like Miami Beach?”
“I don’t know. I just can’t remember if I’ve ever been there or not.”
“That’s like misplacing New York City!”
“I haven’t misplaced Miami Beach, I simply don’t remember if I’ve ever been there or not.”
“Are you Jewish? If you’re Jewish, you’ve been there.”
“I don’t know.”
“What?”
“I said I don’t know if I’m Jewish or not.”
“Well, what are you then, an Arab?”
“I don’t know,” Buddwing said, and then moved aside his finished grapefruit and picked up one of the Danish pastries.
“What did you say your name was?”
“Buddwing. Sam Buddwing.”
“All the Sams I know, they’re Jewish,” Schwartz said.
“How about Sam Adams?” Buddwing answered.
“He probably changed his name,” Schwartz said.
“So did I.”
“Ah-ha!” Schwartz said. “What did it used to be?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Why? You ashamed of being Jewish?”
“No. It’s just that...”
“You should be ashamed of yourself, a nice Jewish boy like you.”
“Well, okay, have it your own way,” Buddwing said.
“How do you like that Danish?”
“It’s delicious.”
“Sure. The reason I brought up Miami Beach is because my Danish, the Danish you get right here in this cafeteria, is better even than what Wolfie’s gives you in Miami Beach. You know Wolfie’s? On Collins Avenue?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Well, whether you know it or not, this is better Danish. Take my word for it. Aren’t you going to drink your milk?”