Redemption Read Online Free PDF Page A

people that it was education, not bad manners. “Herring, pickled herring, matches herring, schmaltz herring.” Everyone became good natured and appreciative. “Chopped herring and chopped liver. Lox—smoked salmon. Smoked trout, smoked whitefish, smoked carp.”
    â€œSmoked carp. Wonderful,” a tall blond woman said. “I never knew what that was.”
    A man I knew from the college, but whose name I could not recall, said, “Professor, I didn’t know you were into food.”
    â€œOlives,” I told Elizabeth, “green large, green small, black—they’re the best. Brown and long, Greek.”
    â€œItalian,” someone said.
    â€œIf you wish.”
    We finished the fish counter, and Elizabeth whispered, “They’re not all Jewish. That woman who thanked you for the carp isn’t. And look at all the black people, and those two with their collars turned, they’re priests.”
    â€œOh yes, Elizabeth, the word gets around.” I steered her to the prepared-food counter, where I pointed out the barbecued chicken, boiled tongue, corned beef, lasagna, prepared pastas of three kinds, kasha-varanakas, egg rolls—to the amusement of the waiting customers as well as Elizabeth, who appeared to have lost her shyness and was actually enjoying my professorial lecture. Our tour continued, and finally we emerged with a bag of rolls, half a pound of smoked salmon, and a lump of cream cheese.
    She was laughing. “I haven’t laughed in weeks. Oh, I was so embarrassed. Weren’t you embarrassed, Ike?”
    â€œYou spend a lifetime lecturing and nothing embarrasses you.”
    â€œThat small Oriental man who was slicing the salmon—did you see the way he looked at you?”
    â€œOcho—old friend. He probably thought I had gone crazy.”
    We walked on uptown, and I asked her whether I should stop a cab and take her home.
    For a long moment, she did not answer. Then she said, “I’d rather walk, if you don’t mind?”
    â€œNo, I like to walk. It’s my only exercise, if you can call it that. I like walking but I hate exercise.” For a few blocks she was silent, and I accepted her silence. Something was happening to both of us. Finally, she said, “Ike, I think this is the best evening in my whole life.”
    I shook my head.
    â€œYes, believe me.”
    â€œIf you want me to, I’ll believe you. It’s a good evening for me, too. It’s my first date, and I’m too old for dating.”
    â€œYou mean—since your wife died?”
    â€œYes. It’s been a lonely three years. I picked you up last night on a bridge, and I don’t know a thing about you. But I was married to a woman for forty years, and sometimes I feel that I didn’t know very much about her. You’re Elizabeth Hopper, young enough to be my daughter, and somehow I don’t want to say good night to you.”
    â€œBecause I might kill myself?”
    â€œNo, I don’t think you’ll try it again.”
    â€œBut we’ll never see each other after tonight, will we,” she said unhappily.
    â€œDo you want to see me again?”
    â€œYes,” she said without hesitation. “Yes, please.”
    â€œI bought a half pound of smoked salmon and half a dozen rolls called bialys. Have you ever tasted them?”
    â€œOf course. I love them.”
    â€œToo much for me to eat in a week. I was sort of hoping that I could entice you to breakfast at my apartment tomorrow.”
    â€œBut you have things to do—I can’t just barge into your life.”
    â€œI have nothing to do. My Sundays are days of rest, like most other days of my life—rest and boredom.”
    â€œWhat time?”
    â€œAbout eleven.”
    â€œOh, good. I’ll go to early Mass and then I’ll be there. What shall I wear?”
    â€œNo one else will be there. Come in jeans if you wish.”
    We