The Imported Bridegroom, and Other Stories of the New York GhettoCahan, Abraham
General
The Imported Bridegroom, and Other Stories of the New York Ghetto
Cahan, Abraham
Jews -- New York (State) -- New York -- Fiction; United States -- Emigration and immigration -- Fiction
"You see," Dalsky pursued, "the lectures and the work in the
dissecting-room are so scattered throughout the day that I don't see
my way out unless I get a room in the neighborhood of the college."
And to talk himself out of the embarrassing position, he went on to
explain college affairs with unnecessary detail.
As a matter of fact, however, his whole explanation, although not
based on an untruth, was not the real cause of his determination to
leave the Luries. He had known Boris in his better days, and now
sympathized with him and Tanya keenly. The frequent outbreaks of
temper between husband and wife, and the cloud which now almost
constantly hung over the house, heavily bore down upon him as a
friend, and made his life there extremely uncomfortable. At last he
had perceived the roving, nonplussed look in her eyes as their
glances met. Once become observant in this direction, he noticed a
thousand and one other little things which seemed to confirm his
suspicion. "Can it be that she is interested in me?" he said to
himself. For a moment the thought caressed his vanity and conjured up
the image of Tanya in a novel aspect, which lured him and spoke of the
possibility of reciprocating her feeling--of an adventure.
It was on the very next day that he announced his intention to move.
VI
The house became so dreary to Tanya that her loneliness during the day
frightened her, though the presence of Boris irritated her more than
ever. She felt as if some member of the household had died. Wherever
she turned she beheld some trace of the student; worse than anything
else was the window-plant, which Dalsky had left behind him. She
avoided looking at it, lest it should thrill her with a crushing sense
of her desolation, of her bereavement, as it were. Yet, when she was
about to remove it, she had not the heart to do it. She strayed about
like a shadow, and often felt as though it were enough to touch her
to make her melt away in tears.
One evening, after an unbearable silence, succeeding a sharp
altercation, Boris asked, pleadingly:--
"What has become of you, Tanya? I simply fail to recognize you."
"If you understand, then it is foolish to ask," she retorted, with a
smile of mild sarcasm, eyeing the floor.
"I understand nothing." But as the words left his lips, something
suddenly dawned upon him which made his blood run cold. An array of
situations which had produced an impression upon him, but which had
been lost upon his consciousness, now uprose in his mind. He grew
ashen pale.
"Well, so much the worse," said she.
"Tell me, and I will know," he rejoined, with studied irony, while in
his heart he was praying Heaven that his misgivings might prove
baseless.
"Oh! I think you do understand; you are not so blind." Her voice now
sounded alien in his ears, and she herself seemed to him suddenly
changed--as if she had in one moment become transmuted into an older,
wiser, sterner, and more beautiful, fiercely beautiful, woman.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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