And the toasts began.
And singing.
And dancing.
And soon the Writer’s Club reeled under the impact of a dancing hora ring. The “proud father” was pulled into the center, and one by one the young Bathyran girls whirled with him around the circle in unison with the clapping and stamping. He danced and danced until he could dance no more. It didn’t take much wine to get him high; he had been heady since the birth of the baby.
At last he staggered from the dance floor, sweating and gasping for breath.
Ervin Rosenblum and Andrei hooked their hands under Alex’s arms and dragged him off to a side room, where he flopped down, wiped his face, and fanned himself.
“Why do Jews have to make such a tsimmes about the birth of a son?” Alex asked.
“Our kids have been pent up so long, they are about to explode with tension,” Rosy said. “This party is doing everybody good.”
“So!” roared Andrei. “How does the new father feel now?”
“At my age, to have a son is an unexpected bonus.”
Then he looked up glumly from Andrei to Ervin. They could hear the hilarity outside, but they were never a second away from the times. Even in the middle of the celebration it lurked in Alex’s mind. “Have you seen the new set of German directives?”
They nodded.
“So, they may as well celebrate tonight.”
“Why don’t you forget it for a night too, Alex?” Andrei said.
“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking. I am at the headquarters at Mila 19 most of the time now, day and night. As soon as Sylvia is on her feet she’ll be working at the orphanage again. I think we will give up our apartment and move to Mila 19. Susan Geller has indicated she’ll move over too. I think it will be encouraging for our youngsters to have us living there. We are only using the first floor for offices and the dispensary. We could divide the place into dormitories for boys and girls and bring in another sixty or seventy people.”
“I’ll move in if I can bring Momma,” Ervin Rosenblum said.
“No. So long as you are able to work on the outside, it would be better not to be too closely identified.”
Alex looked slyly at Andrei. Andrei Androfski at Mila 19 would be a great boost to everyone’s morale.
“What are you doing with the basement?” Andrei asked.
“Storage.”
“Have you thought about an underground press?”
Andrei had behaved very well for the past weeks. He had shown great restraint, but he was going to be a problem as things grew worse, Alex thought Ana Grinspan had started publication of a weekly sheet in Krakow. Alex didn’t want to face the situation. Discovery of an underground printing plant could destroy the entire Orphans and Self-Help organization.
“I’ll help you with your press, Andrei, but not at Mila 19.”
“Then you really don't need me there, do you?”
“We had better get out to the dance floor,” Ervin said quickly.
The forgotten man—or the forgotten boy—at the bris of Moses Brandel was his sixteen-year-old brother, Wolf. He seemed bewildered by everything. When everyone said “Mozeltoff” to him, he wondered why he was being congratulated. He was a bit forlorn over the attention the new baby was getting and more confused at suddenly becoming a brother. Wolf was rather shy, anyhow, and leaned against a wall and watched the others dance. Rachael watched him while she played the piano.
Poor Wolf, she thought. He is like a lost soul. When her mother relieved her at the piano she drifted over to him.
“Would you like to dance?” she asked.
“Uh-uh.”
“Come on.”
“No, I don’t care to. Besides, I get all tangled up with my feet.”
There was an electrifying moment as the evening reached its highlight when Emanuel Goldman entered the room and it was announced that he would perform at the piano.
He had been in retirement for several years, and his hands and reflexes had become slowed and his technique rusty, but there was still that great personal charm of a real virtuoso. Tonight he had made an exception and was going to perform. The hall became breathless with anticipation as he seated himself at the upright and burst into a thundering polonaise.
Rachael Bronski went out to the balcony where Wolf Brandel stood alone, looking at the Tlomatskie Synagogue down the street. His hands were shoved forlornly into his pockets.
“Don’t you want to hear Emanuel Goldman play?” she said.
“I can hear him fine from out here.”
She walked up behind him, and that made him uncomfortable. He moved a few feet away, still keeping his back to her.
“What’s the matter, Wolf! I’ve never seen you so unhappy.”
He turned and shrugged. “Everything, I guess. Mostly the way things are today. Wearing this,” he said, touching the Star of David on his arm. “Not being able to go to school. Are you still taking piano lessons?”
“Momma teaches me now. I have a lot of time to practice when I’m not working at the orphanage. Are you still taking flute lessons?”
“No. I never liked it, anyhow.”
“I thought you did.”
“No, I just said that.”
“Why?”
“To make Momma happy. It wasn’t really too bad. I kind of used to look forward to Tuesdays. Sitting in the park with you after lessons.”
“I miss that too,” she said softly.
“Well, you’ll get over that. I’m not much.”
“Why do you always pull yourself down?”
“Look at me. I get more stupid-looking every day.”
“It’s not so, Wolf. You’re turning into a man and you will be very, very handsome.”
He shrugged. His voice alternated from high to low, and now he had much trouble holding it steady. He cleared his throat formally. “I should like to visit your brother Stephan,” he said. “I realize that you and your mother are schooling him, but he needs older masculine company. Someone he can look up to. I could teach him chess and many other things.”
“That would be very nice. Stephan does need an older ... man. Uncle Andrei is not around much, and Father works very late.”
“Good. I will come to see him. Rachael ...”
“Yes?”
“Do you think—I mean—with all the joy around here now—What I mean to say is that everyone is kissing everyone. Do you think it would be proper if we expressed our joy too? I mean, properly. For little Moses.”
“I don’t know. Seeing how happy everyone is, it might be all right, don’t you think?”
He pecked at her cheek and pulled back abruptly. “That was stupid,” he said. “It wasn’t a real kiss. Have you ever had a real kiss, Rachael?”
“Once,” she answered.
“Did you like it?”
“Not too much. I really didn’t like him. I only wanted to see what a kiss was like. It was sort of mushy. Have you ever had a real kiss?”
“Lots of them,” he threw off nonchalantly.
“Did you like it?”
“You know how it is. I can take it or leave it.”
Rachael and Wolf looked at each other for ever so long, and their breathing became irregular. There was a burst of applause inside and spontaneous calls for the master to play more. Then the shouts died down. Goldman played a soft Beethoven sonata.
Rachael was becoming frightened at the strange feeling she had all over her body. “We had better get inside,” she said.
“Could I—for real?”
She was too scared to talk. She nodded her head and closed her eyes and lifted her chin and parted her lips. Wolf braced himself and leaned over slightly and touched his lips to hers.
He lowered his eyes and jammed his hands in his pockets.
“That was very good,” Rachael said, “nothing at all like the other time.”
“Could we do it again?” he asked.