The Collected Stories

back to the hall; then I ran to the hall with Elizabeth at my heels. I took up the receiver and she tried to wrest it from me, obviously convinced that her husband was calling again. I thought so myself, but I heard a firm, middle-aged female voice ask, “Is Elizabeth de Sollar with you? I’m her mother.”
    At first I didn’t grasp the meaning of the words—in my confusion I had forgotten my visitor’s name. But soon I recovered. “Yes, she is here.”
    “My name is Mrs. Harvey Lemkin. I just received a call from my son-in-law, Dr. Leslie de Sollar, telling me that my daughter is paying you a visit and that she left her sick little stepdaughter and all the rest of it. I want to warn you that my daughter is an emotionally ill and irresponsible person. My son-in-law, Professor de Sollar, and I have spent a fortune to help her—with negative results, I am sorry to say. At thirty-three she is still a child, although she is highly intelligent and writes poems that in my opinion are remarkable. You are a man and I can well understand that when a pretty and greatly gifted young woman demonstrates her admiration you should be intrigued, but don’t let yourself become involved with her. You’ll fall into a mess from which you’ll never escape. Because of her, I’ve left New York, a city I love with all my heart and soul, and I’ve buried myself away out here in Arizona. My daughter spoke so much of you and praised you so highly that I began to read what you write in English and in Yiddish too. I am the Klendev rabbi’s daughter and my Yiddish is pretty good. I could tell you a lot and I would be more than glad to meet you in New York—I come there from time to time—but I beseech you by all that’s holy: Leave my daughter alone!”
    The whole time her mother was speaking, Elizabeth stood apart and looked at me sidelong, inquisitively, half frightened and half ashamed. She made a gesture as if to come closer, but I motioned her away with my left hand. She made me think of a schoolgirl listening to a teacher or principal accuse her in front of her parents and unable to restrain herself from denying the charges. Her mother’s voice was so loud she must have heard every word. Just when I was about to make some reply, Elizabeth jumped forward, tore the receiver from my hand, and exclaimed in a wailing voice, “Mother, I’ll never forgive you! Never! Never! You’re no longer my mother and I’m no longer your child! You sold me to a psychopath, a capon … I don’t need your money and I don’t need
you
! Whenever I might snatch a moment’s happiness you spoil it all for me. You’re my worst enemy. I’ll kill you! I’ll leave you a corpse for what you’re doing to me … Bitch! Whore! Thief! Criminal! You sleep with an eighty-year-old gangster for money! I spit on you! I spit, spit, spit, spit!”
    I stood there and watched foam bubble from her mouth. She bent over and writhed in pain. She clutched at the wall. I reached out to help her, but at that moment she fell with a crash, dragging the telephone down with her. She lay cramped and tossing, while one hand beat rapidly against the floor as if she were trying to signal the tenant below. Her mouth twisted and I heard a gasping growl. I knew what was happening—Elizabeth had suffered an epileptic fit. I lifted the phone and yelled into the mouthpiece, “Mrs. Lemkin, your daughter is having a seizure!” But the connection was broken. Should I call an ambulance? How did one go about doing that? My telephone had apparently stopped working. I wanted to open the window and call for help, but in the clamor and clang of Broadway no one would hear me from the eleventh floor. Instead, I ran into the kitchen, filled a glass with water, and poured it on Elizabeth’s face. This caused her to bellow weirdly, and saliva sprayed my forehead. I rushed out into the corridor and began to pound on my neighbor’s door, but no one answered. Only now did I notice that a stack of magazines and envelopes lay on his threshold. I turned to go back to my apartment and to my consternation saw that I had let the door slam shut. I didn’t have the key on me. I pushed the door with all my might, but I’m not one of those bruisers who can break down a door.
    In all my desperation I remembered that a duplicate key to my apartment hung in the office in the courtyard. I could also ask there that an ambulance be called. I realized full well what charges Elizabeth’s husband and