The Collected Stories

heart attack. They have taken him to Beth Aaron Hospital. He is in the ward.”
    “Oh, my God! I knew that nothing good would come of that joke. I warned Liebkind. It was a crime—absolutely a crime. That is the way Liebkind is—a trick occurs to him and he doesn’t know when to stop. What can I do? I don’t even know where he is now. He was supposed to stop in Cuba. Where are you?”
    “In a drugstore on Broadway.”
    “Perhaps you could come here. This is no trifling matter. I feel guilty myself. I should have refused to write that first letter. Come up, it’s still early. I never go to sleep before two o’clock.”
    “What do you do until two?”
    “Oh, I read, I think, I worry.”
    “Well, this evening is lost already,” I mumbled or thought. I had only a few blocks to walk to Liebkind Bendel’s apartment on Riverside Drive. The doorman there knew me. I went up to the fourteenth floor, and the moment I touched the bell Friedel opened the door.
    Friedel was short, with wide hips and heavy legs. She had a crooked nose and brown eyes under masculine brows. As a rule, she dressed in dark clothes, and I had never noticed a trace of cosmetics on her. Most of the time when I visited Liebkind Bendel, she immediately brought me half a glass of tea, spoke a few words, and returned to her books and manuscripts. Liebkind Bendel used to say jocosely, “What can you expect from a wife who is an editor? It’s a miracle that she can prepare a glass of tea.”
    This time Friedel had on a white sleeveless dress and white shoes. She was wearing lipstick. She invited me into the living room, and on the coffee table stood a bowl of fruit, a pitcher filled with something to drink, and a plate of cookies. Friedel spoke English with a strong German accent. She indicated the sofa for me and sat down on a chair. She said, “I knew it would end badly. From the beginning, it was the Devil’s own game. If Dr. Walden dies, Liebkind will be responsible for his death. Old men are romantic. They forget their years and their powers. That imbecile Frau Schuldiener wrote to him in such a way that he had every reason to give himself illusions. One can fool anybody, even a sage.” (Friedel used the Yiddish word
chochom.
)
    One could even fool Liebkind Bendel, something whispered in my brain—a dybbuk or an imp. Aloud I said, “You should not have permitted things to go so far, Madame Bendel.”
    Friedel frowned with her thick brows. “Liebkind does as he pleases. He doesn’t ask my advice. He goes away, and I really don’t know where or for what purpose. He was supposed to go to Mexico. At the last minute he announced that he wanted to stop in Havana. He has no business either in Havana or in Mexico City. You probably know much more about him than I do. I’m sure he boasts to you about his conquests.”
    “Absolutely not. I haven’t the slightest idea why he went and whom he is seeing.”
    “I do have an idea. But why talk about it? I know all his Galician tricks …”
    There was silence for a while. Friedel had never spoken to me in such a manner. The few conversations we had had dealt with German literature, Schlegel’s translation of Shakespeare, and with certain Yiddish expressions still in use in some German dialects, which Friedel had discovered were derived from Old German. I was about to answer that there were decent people among the Galicians when the telephone rang. The instrument stood on a little table near the door. Friedel walked over slowly and sat down to answer it. She spoke softly, but I could tell that she was talking to Liebkind Bendel. He was calling from Havana. I expected Friedel to tell him immediately that Dr. Walden was sick and that I was visiting. But she didn’t mention either fact. She spoke to him with irony: Business? Certainly. A week? Take as much time as necessary. A bargain? Buy it, why not? I? I do my work as always—what else is there?
    As she spoke, she threw sidelong glances at me. She smiled knowingly. I imagined that she winked at me. What kind of crazy night is this, I thought. I got up and moved hesitatingly toward the door in the direction of the bathroom. Suddenly I did something that perplexed even me. I bent down and kissed Friedel’s neck. Her left hand clutched mine and pressed with strength. Her face became both youthful and sneering. At the same time, she asked, “Liebkind, how long will you stay in Havana?”
    And she got up and mockingly put the receiver to my