Artists -- Fiction; English fiction -- 20th century; Jews -- England -- London -- Fiction; Man-woman relationships -- Fiction
The head master hurried in, quelled the class, went on with the lesson
where it had been interrupted. Mendel could not attend. He was
bewildered by a sudden realization of life outside himself. It was no
longer a procession of events, figures, scenes, colours, shapes, light
and darkness passing before his eyes, always charming, sometimes
terrifying, but something violent which met another something in
himself with a fearful impact. It could hurt him, and he knew that it
was merciless, for the thing in himself that answered to it and rushed
out to meet it was wild and knew no mercy either. He had heard of a
thing called the maelstrom in the sea, a kind of spout, with whirling
sides, down which great ships were sucked. And he felt that he was
being sucked down such a spout, in which he could see all that he had
ever known, the mountain and the river in Austria, the train, the
telegraph wires, towns, buses, faces, the street, the school, Artie
Beech, Abramovich, his father. . . . Only his mother stood firm, and
from her came a force to counteract that other force which was
dragging him towards the whirlpool.
He became conscious of the discomfort in which he lived and was
acutely aware of the people by whom he was surrounded.
III
PRISON
THIS time in America Jacob had fared better, and by dint of
half-starving himself and sleeping when he had nothing to do, he had
managed to save over fifty pounds. Abramovich borrowed another fifty,
and once again they set up in business as furriers. They took one of
the old Georgian houses off Bishopsgate, started a workshop in the top
rooms, and in the lower rooms the Kühler family lived, with Abramovich
in lodgings round the corner. They were only twenty yards from the
synagogue and Golda was happy; Jacob too, for in such a house he felt
a solid man. And, indeed, amid the extreme poverty with which they
were surrounded he could pass for wealthy. He had his name on a brass
plate on the door and was always proud when he wrote it on a cheque.
He took his eldest son into his workshop to rescue him from the fate
of working for another master, and he assumed a patriarchal authority
over his family. His sons were never allowed out after half-past nine,
and, tall youths though they were, if they crossed his will he
thrashed them. The girls were forbidden to go out alone. They were
kept at home to await their fate.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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