She had grown up in a country where Jews were Jews, and with a few exceptions-musicians, one or two painters, occasionally a university professor, scientist or doctor-that was all there was to it. You leave us alone and we’ll leave you alone. Thus having been brought up to view "The Jews" from a safe distance, she had thought of them as a category rather than as individuals, and therefore, without being aware of it and more or less in spite of herself, all this time she had been waiting for Marc to do something which would relate him directly to the category-in short, to do or say something "Jewish".
Now, she thought, this is it, this skepticism, this "super-realism" which consists of reminding yourself that no matter how bad you think things are going to be, they usually turn out to be worse; this basic sense of insecurity, this profound discouragement which was all the more baffling because it was so matter of fact.
She said at last, "You can’t tell whether or not it would be worth it to Erica. Nobody can. Nobody can tell which things matter and which don’t, or how much they matter one way or the other-to anyone but himself. You can’t tell what price anyone else can afford to pay for what they want most, because their price is their whole system of values, and their system of values is the result of everything which has ever happened to them-the way they have come to think and feel and the sum total of all their experience. You’d have to know all that about Eric, and you don’t. You can’t". She broke off for a moment, staring at him, and then said half to herself, "That’s what I simply can’t forgive Charles for. He presumes to know everything about Eric, far better, of course, than she knows herself".
"Let’s leave your father out of it".
"Sorry".
"He isn’t the main problem anyhow".
She raised her eyes to his face again and said, "I’m beginning to realize that, but to do Charles justice, he helps!"
"He certainly helps", said Marc, smiling at her. "I suppose you know you’re beginning to get drunk?"
"Yes", said Miriam. She glanced around the small blue and silver bar and then remarked, "Everything seems nice and distant. I’m even getting away from myself".
He signaled the waiter and ordered another drink for her and then said, "After that we’d better go back".
"Cigarette, please".
Leaning forward to light it for her he observed, "You’re quite right, I don’t know enough about Erica, but she doesn’t know enough about what she would have to deal with either. It’s not just marrying into a set of social restrictions-like not being able to go to some beach to swim or to some hotel in the Laurentians to ski, unless she goes without me and carefully explains that although her name is Reiser, she herself isn’t Jewish. It isn’t even knowing that there are certain things I can’t do, like going on the Bench or the board of directors of a bank or something. The big restrictions aren’t so important, there aren’t an awful lot of them, and they’re not what gets you down. What does get you down, particularly when it’s not you but someone you’re fond of, are the intangibles-the negatives, the endless little problems in human relationships which you never think of until you come up against them and which are so small that you hardly notice them until they start to pile up and eventually amount to a staggering total".
"Don’t be so vague", said Miriam. "I’m a little too drunk to follow you except when you’re specific".
"All right, then. Erica was born on top. She’s been on top all her life. She’s part of a complicated social system where she has a place, where she can go anywhere and do anything on a basis of complete equality with anyone, and it’s simply up to her. If she marries me, she’ll lose all that overnight. Where there was certainty, there’ll be doubt-nothing definite, just doubt. She’ll lose some of her friends who simply won’t take to the idea of always having to invite a Jew along with Erica; she’ll keep others. Maybe she’ll keep most of the others, but she’ll never again be sure. She’ll never be sure of anyone the first time she meets him. She won’t even be sure of people she’s known all her life until she’s had a chance to re-examine every last one of them and find out where they stand. She’s never before had to pick her friends on the basis of whether they liked Jews or not, Miriam".
"And what about you?" asked Miriam. "Would you be willing to go through life waiting for the verdict of one person after another?"
"I have to anyhow", he said quietly.
That was a rather extraordinary remark when you came to think of it. "I really think it’s about time we tried that new system". She put her elbows on the table, gazed at him dreamily and then asked, "What do they call it? You know the one I mean-the one that begins with a D. Oh, yes, democracy, that’s it. Have you heard about it?"
"Everything is relative", said Marc.
"You mean, you don’t mind being kicked out of hotels and most of the better Montreal homes when you think of Nazi Germany…".
"You bet I don’t!"
"I suppose that’s the reason nothing’s ever done about it here", said Miriam reflectively. "Whenever a good Canadian begins to have doubts, he says, ’Oh, well, look at the Nazis,’ and figures he’s so superior, he’s practically perfect".
"But he is".
"Oh, nuts", said Miriam. "Has it occurred to you that you might have a lot less trouble if you moved away from Montreal?"
"Why?"
"To get rid of your wife’s family and most of your wife’s friends. Or are you wedded to Mr. what’s-his-name?"
"Aaronson?"
Miriam nodded.
"Not that I know of. But I don’t think that would help much".
"It might", said Miriam, sliding down in her chair until her dark head was resting against the back. She closed her eyes and said sleepily, "They say it’s much better out West, for example".
"I doubt it".
"You doubt everything, damn it! You’re a nice person, in fact you’re one of the nicest people I’ve ever met but you…" She yawned unexpectedly, opened her dark eyes and said with renewed decision, "You’re too bloody fatalistic. What you need is a little simple faith in your fellow men, a dash of optimism, a couple of illusions and a lot more self-confidence. You’ve got everything else, and if someone like you can’t break it down, then no one can. At least you can try-God damn it", said Miriam, exasperated, "it’s your duty to try!"
She found that he was regarding her with a certain amusement and she said, "I know. It’s easy for me to talk. All the same, if you just stay away instead of facing up to it and jolly well making people take a good look at you… if you don’t have a shot at it, no one else will". She was no longer quite clear what she was driving at, but it sounded as though she was suggesting that he should put himself permanently on exhibition. Life must be almost intolerable when, like Marc, you know that you will always have to turn up in person, to pass the inspection, in order to get a break. Never to be taken for granted but always to bear the burden of proof. The burden of proof, she repeated to herself, trying to imagine what it would be like to be Marc Reiser. She could not imagine it; her mind was too tired and too muddled, and anyhow, she herself was a Drake, and had been taken for granted ever since she could remember.
Marc was back on the subject of Erica. His voice seemed to be coming from some point a lot farther away than the other side of the rather small table in front of her, and by the time her mind had veered round again, he was saying, "Put it this way. I don’t know what price she can afford to pay and Erica doesn’t know what she’s buying".