The others at the table were silent. “Joe was kidding,” Traub, the crier, said.
“Sure, Jake,” Joe Fisher said.
“Okay,” Greenspahn said. “Okay.”
For the rest of the lunch he was conscious of Shirley and Arnold. He hoped they would not see him, or if they did that they would make no sign to him. He stopped listening to the stories the men told. He chewed on his hamburger wordlessly. He heard someone mention George Stein, and he looked up for a moment. Stein had a grocery in a neighborhood that was changing. He had said that he wanted to get out. He was looking for a setup like Greenspahn’s. He could speak to him. Sure, he thought. Why not? What did he need the aggravation? What did he need it? He owned the building the store was in. He could live on the rents. Even Joe Fisher was a tenant of his. He could speak to Stein, he thought, feeling he had made up his mind about something. He waited until Arnold and Shirley had finished their lunch and then went back to his store.
In the afternoon Greenspahn thought he might be able to move his bowels. He went into the toilet off the small room at the back of the store. He sat, looking up at the high ceiling. In the smoky darkness above his head he could just make out the small, square tin-ceiling plates. They seemed pitted, soiled, like patches of war-ruined armor. Agh, he thought, the place is a pigpen. The sink bowl was stained dark, the enamel chipped, long fissures radiating like lines on the map of some wasted country. The single faucet dripped steadily. Greenspahn thought sadly of his water bill. On the knob of the faucet he saw again a faded blue S. S, he thought, what the hell does S stand for? H hot, C cold. What the hell kind of faucet is S? Old clothes hung on a hook on the back of the door. A man’s blue wash pants hung inside out, the zipper split like a peeled banana, the crowded concourse of seams at the crotch like carelessly sewn patches.
He heard Arnold in the store, his voice raised exaggeratedly. He strained to listen.
“Forty-five” he heard Arnold say.
“Forty-five, Pop.” He was talking to the old man. Deaf, he came in each afternoon for a piece of liver for his supper. “I can’t give you two ounces. I told you. I can’t break the set.” He heard a woman laugh. Shirley? Was Shirley back there with him? What the hell, he thought. It was one thing for them to screw around with each other at lunch, but they didn’t have to bring it into the store. “Take eight ounces. Invite someone over for dinner. Take eight ounces. You’ll have for four days. You won’t have to come back.” He was a wise guy, that Arnold. What did he want to do, drive the old man crazy? What could you do? The old man liked a small slice of liver. He thought it kept him alive.
He heard footsteps coming toward the back room and voices raised in argument.
“I’m sorry,” a woman said, “I don’t know how it got there. Honest. Look, I’ll pay. I’ll pay you for it.”
“You bet, lady,” Frank’s voice said.
“What do you want me to do?” the woman pleaded.
“I’m calling the cops,” Frank said.
“For a lousy can of salmon?”
“It’s the principle. You’re a crook. You’re a lousy thief, you know that? I’m calling the cops. We’ll see what jail does for you.”
“Please,” the woman said. “Mister, please. This whole thing is crazy. I never did anything like this before. I haven’t got any excuse, but please, can’t you give me a chance?” The woman was crying.
“No chances,” Frank said. “I’m calling the cops. You ought to be ashamed, lady. A woman dressed nice like you are. What are you, sick or something? I’m calling the cops.” He heard Frank lift the receiver.
“Please,” the woman sobbed. “My husband will kill me. I have a little kid, for Christ’s sake.”
Frank replaced the phone.
“Ten bucks,” he said quietly.
“What’s that?”
“Ten bucks and you don’t come in here no more.”
“I haven’t got it,” she said.
“All right, lady. The hell with you. I’m calling the cops.”
“You bastard,” she said.
“Watch your mouth,” he said. “Ten bucks.”
“I’ll write you a check.”
“Cash,” Frank said.
“Okay, okay,” she said. “Here.”
“Now get out of here, lady.” Greenspahn heard the woman’s footsteps going away. Frank would be fumbling now with his apron, trying to get the big wallet out of his front pocket. Greenspahn flushed the toilet and waited.
“Jake?” Frank asked, frightened.
“Who was she?”
“Jake, I never saw her before, honest. Just a tramp. She gave me ten bucks. She was just a tramp, Jake.”
“I told you before. I don’t want trouble,” Greenspahn said angrily. He came out of the toilet. “What is this, a game with you?”
“Look, I caught her with the salmon. Would you want me to call the cops for a can of salmon? She’s got a kid.”
“Yeah, you got a big heart, Frank.”
“I would have let you handle it if I’d seen you. I looked for you, Jake.”
“You shook her down. I told you before about that.”
“Jake, it’s ten bucks for the store. I get so damned mad when somebody like that tries to get away with something.”
“Podler,” Greenspahn shouted. “You’re through here.”
“Jake,” Frank said. “She was a tramp.” He held the can of salmon in his hand and offered it to Greenspahn as though it were evidence.
Greenspahn pushed his hand aside. “Get out of my store. I don’t need you. Get out. I don’t want a crook in here.”
“Who are you calling names, Jake?”
Greenspahn felt his rage, immense, final. It was on him at once, like an animal that had leaped upon him in the dark. His body shook with it. Frightened, he warned himself uselessly that he must be calm. A podler like that, he thought. He wanted to hit him in the face.
“Please, Frank. Get out of here,” Greenspahn said.
“Sure,” Frank screamed. “Sure, sure,” he shouted. Greenspahn, startled, looked at him. He seemed angrier than even himself. Greenspahn thought of the customers. They would hear him. What kind of a place, he thought. What kind of a place? “Sure,” Frank yelled, “fire me, go ahead. A regular holy man. A saint! What are you, God? He smells everybody’s rottenness but his own. Only when your own son — may he rest — when your own son slips five bucks out of the cash drawer, that you don’t see.”
Greenspahn could have killed him. “Who says that?”
Frank caught his breath.
“Who says that?” Greenspahn repeated.
“Nothing, Jake. It was nothing. He was going on a date probably. That’s all. It didn’t mean nothing.”
“Who calls him a thief?”
“Nobody. I’m sorry.”
“My dead son? You call my dead son a thief?”
“Nobody called anybody a thief. I didn’t know what I was saying.”
“In the ground. Twenty-three years old and in the ground. Not even a wife, not even a business. Nothing. He had nothing. He wouldn’t take. Harold wouldn’t take. Don’t call him what you are. He should be alive today. You should be dead. You should be in the ground where he is. Podler. Mumser,” he shouted. “I saw the lousy receipts, liar,” he screamed.
In a minute Arnold was there and was putting his arm around him. “Calm down, Jake. Come on now, take it easy. What happened back here?” he asked Frank.
Frank shrugged.
“Get him away,” Greenspahn pleaded. Arnold signaled Frank to get out and led Greenspahn to the chair near the table he used as a desk.
“You all right now, Jake? You okay now?”
Greenspahn was sobbing heavily. In a few moments he looked up. “All right,” he said. “The customers. Arnold, please. The customers.”