THE DETROIT JEWISH CHRONICLE
PAGE SIX
A Pause In the Dance
A New Year's Episode
By Kate Friedman.
badly what others do. Some crowd
and jostle and trample on the slower
ones. Some halt meekly in corners,
afraid."
The strains of the Blue Danube
came ever more faintly to their ears.
"And none can dance alone." His ar-
dent glance left her quivering.
"happy alone are they whose danc-
ing partners glide rhythmically, un-
derstandingly with them, who an-
ticipate every turn of the step, who
respond to the slightest movement—
to the very breath of suggestion. To
them it is given, and to them alone,
to keep time with the measure of the
Song of Life."
His voice ceased suddenly. The
strains of the waltz had long since
melted into the night. The narrow
street was deserted and innocent of
lights. The witchery of the Septem-
ber moon crept into the man's veins.
He grasped an unresisting arm in
both his own.
"Naomi," he yearned, "will you
dance through life with me? Will
you? Don't think I am mad. I ant,
but only with adoration for the love-
liest creature on earth. It is only a
few hours since I've known you, but
I have been waiting for you all may
life.
"Naomi," he pleaded, "will you come
with me?"
Something within her seemed to
leap toward instant answer. This,
then, was the miracle that was to lift
her clear of the rut of the common-
place. Glorious vistas opened to her
vision. His eyes, ardent, tender,
pleading, in turn, played on her heart-
strings. Only the unknowable in him
held her back.
But you are not of my faith," she
faltered. "You believe—"
"In no religion, and in all religions.
"I am neither a Catholic nor a Prot-
estant. I do not believe in any sect
or creed. As Curwood, I can watch a
bearded rabbi at prayer with the sane
feeling of brotherhood and under-
standing that I can see a congrega-
tion of Ilaptists singing their praise
to the God on high.
"Naomi," his voice was vibrant with
emotion. "I have found God in the
heart of Nature. With me, you, too,
shall find Him there."
They had halted near an elm tree
that shaded a tiny place of worship
near her home. A sanctified stillness
pervaded the street. Only a few stray
lights in the dwellings about duos
spoke mutely to the girl of the holi-
day preparation within. Dimly, as
through a veil, she saw the busy
(Continued on Page 7.)
"You are a writerl" she queried
Gloriously young was Naomi, and
lovely, with that firmness of contour breathlessly.
He smiled at her childish awe.
and the soft appeal of mouth and
"No, only a reporter on a daily," he
chin only given for the breathless mo-
explained.
"Some day I hope to
ment of youth.
write."
Twenty-radiant
Naorni's eyes widened with wor-
ship.
as the first rose in
"I have never known a writer be-
June, aglow with
fore. How wonderful to write for
dreams a n d de-
thousands of people!" All the adora-
sires that took
tion of her race for culture glowed
wings like Sep-
in her tones.
tember swallows
"Tell me more about it," she urged;
above the mo-
"how you write, when, where. I want to
notony of her
know."
everyday life, she
The man marveled at the vividness
awaited the mir-
of the lovely face.
acle that would
"It is sure to be disillusioning, but
KATE
set her free.
I would be glad to tell you. May I
FREEDMAN
sometime?" he questioned. "Tonight,
Now, with a dis-
turbingly red head pressed against perhaps?"
"Tonight!" There was a frank
the closed door of the little shop she
was tending for her grandfather, one eagerness in her voice. "Could you?
bare arm, unbelievably white, flung Would you? At nine then. Our
high above her slender finger-tips store is closed then. Grandfather—"
barely touching the Messusah—the She stopped short.
For a ninstant her slender, ringlets
orthodox amulet, mute symbol of an
unconquered race—she looked with hands fluttered in his grasp.
"Girl," he breathed, "you're a reve-
softened eyes into the narrow street.
Crowded, squalid, it had yet lation."
Her grandfather's faltering step
stretched dingy arms to her in wet-
come, the only welcome she had aroused her. She ran to hint with
that
artless impulsiveness he loved so
known. Never herself becoming a
well, veiling her eyes lest they betray
part of it, it had somehow become a
her
sudden
happiness. He tilted the
had spelled home to
part of her s
bright head so that she must, per-
her the love of dear ones, the out-
force,
look
at
him. There had never
stretched hand of a friend. Even
while dumbly praying for deliverance been any secrets between them. He
had been her mother, her father, her
she grew to love it, with all its home• companion, in one.
ly sights, its sordidness and squalor,
"There was a man here," the be-
much as a mother loves her offspring. gan without preamble, "Grandfather.
unlovely as it may be.
"a writer on a newspaper. "Think of
She looked with tender eyes at the it, Zaidie," lapsing unconsciously into
preparations for Rosh Hashonah—her her mother tongue. "He came for
tenth New Year in America—the a story. He's coming again tonight
push-carts lined up jealously to the to tell me about writing. We will
curb, countless numbers of them, sag- take a walk, he said. May 1,
Zaidie,
ging with their holiday burdens. A may I?"
cart of green and purple grapes
Even as her eager eyes searched
crowded a litter of notions. Vendors his face for the answer she knew
of crockery and clothing, of notions would be forthcoming, her heart
and silverware shouted their wares. smote her. How aged he had become
Women with perennially black wigs of late, how feeble!
now shamelessly betraying greying
"Who is he, my angel, that famous
wisps of hair, crowded about, hag- writer?" the old man questioned
gling, dickering. Children, barefoot, gently. Ile was always very gentle
unkempt, clung tenaciously to sagging with her. "Who is he who wants to
skirts, urging frenzied mothers to the walk with my little Naoini?"
sweet potato stand. Bakeries—their
"Moore, I think is the name, Zaidie,
huge plate-glass windows temptingly that's all I know. He came in to ask
littered with warmly delectable bread' for a hook. Then he told me he was
and cakes and pastries—lured buyers. a writer. He is coming at nine."
Fish stores, butcher shops swarmed
"He is a Gentile, child?"
with hatless, impatient women.
"I don't know." She stopped in
Only Naomi's little store was de- confusion. "But, Zaidie, it doesn't
serted. It seemed strangely empty matter, does it?" Ile's a writer, on
now that her grandfather had gone artist."
upstairs for a nap. She remembered
Reh Samuel put a gentle hand on
with a pang how feebly his step had the shining head. He believed im-
sounded on the uncarpeted stairs. plicitly in his grand-daughter.
She glanced at the modest display in
"But Joe is coming tonight, child."
her window—the New Year cards.
She flushed for her thoughtlessness.
from the simple printed variety to the "For a moment I forget." Her face
ornate tinseled offerings in pasteboard lighted up. "He'll understand, just
boxes—prayer nooks opened at the for tonight. He always understands,
New Year service, fine, silk praying Zaidie, he will wait for me.
shawls, bright red velvet containers
"Yes, Joe will understand," he re-
for Tallis and Tephillin.
turned. "You may go then if you
She sighed with the lighthearted- wish."
ness of twenty. Tonight her little
The hours dragged on leadenly. In
store, too, would be crowded with a haze of unreality she sold New
holiday shoppers.
Year cards all evening—cards show-
Her eyes, turned once more to the ing hands clasped over a blue ex-
crowded street, alighted upon a young panse, cards decorated with unnatural
man walking easily along through the roses and dainty for-get-me-nots. Me-
hurrying throngs. It was just this chanically she answered questions, gave
carelessness, his indifferent steps. his change from the wooden drawer in
seeming willingness to be buffeted the table, her eyes ever turned toward
about, that piqued her interest.
the door.
Otherwise he appeared a likeable
He came at last, hat in hand, look-
young man, rather keen of eye and ing taller, paler, more worldly. Nao-
lean of visage. A finely cut upper lip mi's heart fluttered. She gave him
was lightly burdened with the merest her hand. He pressed it fervently.
suggestion of a moustache. Evidently The last customer trailed out, throe
he did not belong.
tots at her heels. Her grandfather
Naomi eyed him, frankly curious had vanished.
He caught a glimpse of her radiant
"Zaidie," she called in her sweet
head and unconsciously pressed for- treble, then suddenly conscious of her
ward. In a moment lie had reached Yiddish, "Grandfather, I'm going for
the door and stood facing her, hat in a walk."
hand.
It seemed natural for him to take
Involuntarily Naomi stepped back a her arm. They walked hurriedly
few pacts. The pink in the smooth along, soon leaving the late holiday
cheeks had deepened to a rose. The shoppers far behind.
vivid lips parted in a smile of inquiry.
A strange shyness fell between,
The dark, delicately arched brows, them. Naomi's heart seemed to sing.
shading brilliantly blue eyes, were To still it, she began to ply him with
raised, giving to the piquant face an questions
eager, questioning look.
Under the spell of her eagerness
His artist's soul moved deeply at and her loveliness, his powers of nar-
this vision of loveliness so strikingly ration grew. He spoke interestingly
enhanced by the drabness of her sur- of his four years at an Eastern col-
roundings, Oliver Moore, painter of lege, of his apprenticeship on a coun-
word pictures, could only stare at the try newspaper, of his rise to one of
beautiful apparition.
the largest dailies in the country--of
"A glorious young Jewess," was the his hopes some day to go abroad as
unconscious phrase in his mind, "of a free lance—
that radiant, red-haired type which
He broke off abruptly. "But this
the Russian Pale occasionally flower must bore you," he said contritely. "I
with."
have said enough. Tell me something
Naomi flushed beneath his eager of yourself now."
gaze and retreated to the haven of the
"No! No!" she protested. "1.. .ere's
counter. Her eyes, now warm with nothing to tell about ne I am just
interest, voiced her unspoken ques• Naomi, and there's Grandfather and
Gott.
the little store—and Joe. That is
The man regained his composure all." He didn't press her with ques-
with an effort. His glance, traveling tions. She was grateful for that.
lightly from object to object in the
"Oh, how I've longed to write," she
little store, rested on a neatly piLed continued, gaining courage. "So many
row of booklets.
things come to my head. i see, I feel
'One of these—a Jewish calendar, so much. But if one C3111101 any what
please."
one feels—sometimes I think my
Her laugh. light and infectious as a heart must break if I cannot tell
child's, broke the tension.
what is in it."
"These. these are Passover recipes.
"You can, though," he interrupted.
Here is what you want."
I know you can. You have the abil-
He looked at the finely printed lines ity to feel deeply—so few women
in the book and smiled ruefully.
have. Together we will work—"
"I'm afraid I can't understand that."
Naomi's eyes were fixed on .t lighj-
he said. "Have you one with both ed hallway. Strains of a Blue Danube
English and Yiddish. You see, Waltz song floated down to their
though I've always wanted to. I've ears. His eyes followed hers. Sil-
never taken the time to learn your—"
houetted against the night, couples
"Ohl" The little cry of dismay in- glided by, moving rhythmically with
terrupted his apology.
the music. •
She colored rosily for her error
"Sometimes, it seems to tile." the
She might have known. The utter girl ventured timidly, that one's life
absence of an accent in his speech is like a dance—like that." She point-
She had been vaguely grateful for his ed to the moving pairs—floundering
English.
helplessly for words.
"I am sorry," she said. "We have
His writer's instinct toyed pleasant-
no other; maybe next week."
ly with this original thought.
A hundred questions trembled on
"A whirl through space to Eterni-
her lips. What need had he of a ty," She marveled at the case of ex-
Jewish calendar? Why had he sought pression.
out their little store? Who was he , " "Yes," he mused, "some move
He had almost reached the door. With through the intricate figures with in-
one hand on the worn knob, he turned finite grace, easily, smoothly, silently,
and walked swiftly back to the coun- in tune with the music of life. Some
ter.
there are who stumble through awk-
"Forgive me," he pleaded. "It wardly, halting, jerking, their ears
doesn't seem fair to meet such charm- deafened to the rhythm of a universe,
ing candor with pretense. "I did not blind they are to all but the trouble-
want the book or any other. My some antics of their own feet, seeing
name is Oliver Moore. I'm on the naught, feeling naught but the space
"Dispatch." I've only been browsing beneath them--out of tune they are,
around looking for local color. The out of sympathy.
city editor sent me around to get a
"Some there are whose ingenuity
holiday story—some Ghetto feature." enables them to devise new and beau-
He saw the fleeting expression of tiful steps. Patiently, fearlessly they
pain on the girl's face at the use of try them, slowly at first, then with
the term and despised himself cordial- increasing confidence in the face of
ly for his asininity,
derision, ridicule. On them the prog-
"I understand what the word means ress of the world waltz. Of them are
to you." •he began again. "Forgive fashioned our scientists, ram explor-
me; I'm such a blundering fool this ers, our statesmen, our soldiers. They,
afternoon."
it is, who dare, and daring, do. Some
His plea was wasted on the girl. there are who plod 'along with the
Surprise, admiration, gave way to a others, mimicing the steps of the ones
wondering respect.
within their line of vision, imitating
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