Stories by Foreign Authors: German Volume II Part 7

"Ephraim..." he said after a while, in that suppressed tone which seemed to be peculiar to him, "aren't you going to synagogue?"

"No, father," replied Ephraim, "I'm not going to-day."

"But they'll want to know," Ascher observed, and at the words an ugly sneer curled the corners of his lip; "they'll want to know who your guest is. Why don't you go and tell them?"

"Father!" cried Ephraim.

"Then be good enough to draw down the blinds. ...What business is it of theirs who your guest is? Let them attend to their own affairs... But they wouldn't be of 'the chosen race' if they didn't want to know what was taking place in the furthermost corner of your brain. You can't be too careful with them...you're never secure against their far-scenting noses and their sharp, searching eyes."

It was now broad daylight. Ephraim drew down the blinds.

"The blinds are too white..." Ascher muttered, and moving a chair forward, he sat down upon it with his back to the window.

Ephraim proceeded to wind the phylacteries round his arm, and commenced to say his prayers softly.

His devotions over, he hurriedly took the phylacteries from his head and hand.

Ascher was still sitting immovable, his back to the window, his eyes fixed upon the door.

"Why don't you ask me where I've left my luggage?" he suddenly cried.

"I'll fetch it myself if you'll tell me where it is," Ephraim remarked, in all simplicity.

"Upon my word, you make me laugh," cried Ascher, and a laugh like that of delirium burst from his lips. "All I can say, Ephraim, is, the most powerful giant upon earth would break his back beneath the weight of my luggage!"

Then only did Ephraim grasp his father's meaning.

"Don't worry yourself, father..." he said lovingly.

"Would you like to support me, perhaps!" Ascher shouted, with cutting disdain.

Ephraim's heart almost ceased to beat. Then movements were heard in the adjoining room.

"Have you any one with you?" cried Ascher springing up. His sharp ears had instantly caught the sounds, and again the strong man was seized with violent trembling.

"Father, it's only dear Viola," said Ephraim.

A nameless terror seemed to have over-powered Ascher. With one hand convulsively clenched upon the arm of the chair, and the other pressed to his temple, he sat breathing heavily. Ephraim observed with alarm what a terrible change had come over his father's features during the last few seconds: his face had become ashen white, his eyes had lost their l.u.s.tre, he seemed to have aged ten years.

The door opened, and Viola entered.

"Viola!" cried Ephraim, "here is our--"

"Welcome!" said the girl, in a low voice, as she approached a few steps nearer. She extended her hand towards him, but her eyes were cast down.

She stood still for a moment, then, with a hurried movement, turned away.

"Gudule!" cried Ascher, horror-stricken, as he fell back almost senseless in his chair.

Was it the glamour of her maiden beauty that had so overpowered this unhappy father? Or was it the extraordinary resemblance she bore to the woman who had so loved him, and whose heart he had broken? The utterance of her name, the terror that accompanied the exclamation, denoted the effect which the girl's sudden appearance had produced upon that sadly unhinged mind.

"Viola!" Ephraim cried, in a sorrow-stricken voice, "why don't you come here?"

"I CAN'T, Ephraim, I CAN'T..." she moaned, as, with halting steps, she walked towards the door.

"Come, speak to him, do," Ephraim entreated, taking her hand in his.

"Let me go!" she cried, trying to release herself ... "I am thinking of mother!"

Suddenly Ascher rose.

"Where's my stick?" he cried. "I want the stick which I brought with me...Where is it? I must go."

"Father, you won't..." cried Ephraim.

Then Viola turned round.

"Father," she said, with twitching lips... "you'll want something to eat before you go."

"Yes, yes, let me have something to eat," he shouted, as he brought his fist down upon the table. "Bring me wine...and let it be good ...I am thirsty enough to drink the river dry. ...Wine, and beer, and anything else you can find, bring all here, and then, when I've had my fill, I'll go."

"Go, Viola," Ephraim whispered in his sister's ear, "and bring him all he asks for."

When Viola had left the room, Ascher appeared to grow calmer. He sat down again leaning his arms upon the table.

"Yes," he muttered to himself: "I'll taste food with my children, before I take up my stick and go...They say it's lucky to have the first drink of the day served by one's own child ...and luck I will have again, at any price... What good children! While I've been anything but a good father to them, they run hither and thither and take the trouble to get me food and drink, and I, I've brought them home nothing but a wooden stick. But I'll repay them, so help me G.o.d, I'll make them rich yet, but I've got nothing but a wooden stick, and I want money, no play without money, and no luck either..."

Gradually a certain thoughtfulness overspread Ascher's agitated features, his lips were tightly compressed, deep furrows lined his forehead, while his eyes were fixed in a stony glare, as if upon some distant object. In the meantime Ephraim had remained standing almost motionless, and it was evident that his presence in the room had quite escaped his father's observation. With a chilling shudder running through his frame, his hair on end with horror, he listened to the strange soliloquy!...Then he saw his father's eyes travelling slowly in the direction of the old bureau in the corner, and there they remained fixed. "Why does he leave the key in the door, I wonder," he heard him mutter between his teeth, "just as Gudule used to do; I must tell him when he comes back, keys shouldn't be left indoors, never, under any circ.u.mstances." The entrance of Viola interrupted the old gambler's audible train of thought.

Ephraim gave a gasp of relief.

"Ah, what have you brought me?" cried Ascher, and his eyes sparkled with animation, as Viola produced some bottles from under her ap.r.o.n, and placed them and some gla.s.ses upon the table.

"Now then, fill up the gla.s.s," he shouted, in a commanding voice, "and take care that you don't spill any, or you'll spoil my luck."

With trembling hand Viola did as she was bidden, without spilling a single drop. Then he took up the gla.s.s and drained it at one draught.

His face flushed a bright crimson: he poured himself out another gla.s.s.

"Aren't you drinking, Ephraim?" he exclaimed, after he had finished that gla.s.s also.

"I don't drink to-day, father," Ephraim faltered, "it's a fast."

"A fast? What fast? I have been fasting too," he continued, with a coa.r.s.e laugh, "twice a week, on bread and water; an excellent thing for the stomach. Fancy, a fast-day in midsummer. On such a long day, when the sun is up at three already, and at eight o'clock at night is still hesitating whether he'll go to bed or not ...what have I got to do with your Fast-day?"

His face grew redder every moment; he had drunk a third and a fourth gla.s.s, and there was nothing but a mere drain left in the bottle.

Already his utterance was thick and incoherent, and his eyes were fast a.s.suming that gla.s.sy brightness that is usually the forerunner of helpless intoxication. It was a sight Ephraim could not bear to see.

Impelled by that natural, almost holy shame which prompted the son of Noah to cover the nakedness of his father, he motioned to his sister to leave. Then HE, too, softly walked out of the room.

Outside, in the corridor, the brother and sister fell into each other's arms. Both wept bitterly: for a long time neither of them could find words in which to express the grief which filled their souls. At length Viola, her head resting upon Ephraim's shoulder, whispered: "Ephraim, what do you think of him?"