“They are friends of mine.” Clara raised her head as if her words were a challenge. Fanny lay still, with her eyes shut, waiting.
“There’s Tess. Poor Dear,” at last.... “Her story’s not hard to tell. That’s why I was wondering how you knew. Didn’t she hint? Well, I don’t wonder after all, Dear. You are so wonderful O I am glad to have you here. I want to keep you forever. If only I could.... Well: Tessie was born in some mudhole South—Carolina, I think. Her Pa kept a general store ... does still I suppose. He’s a Jew, you know. Tess says he never was no good as a business man. But a dear! He’d sit in his room back of the store, holding some old Bible in his hand ... or a prayer-book ... and sing it out, half-aloud, with his head and his shoulders swayin’, keepin’ time. Tessie says that is what Music meant to her.... When the poor old man learned she was musical, Tess says, he fell on his knees. I can just see him, his thin old knees half worn through the black pants, creaking and cracking on the dirty floor. And he thanked the Lord who, if he had taken away his wife, had given him a daughter who loved music. There were other children, but they simply didn’t count. He didn’t have more than enough to keep ’em all in food, but Tess got a violin. And soon the Dame that taught violin, piano, French and artistic sewing in the Town told the old man Tessie knew more than she did about music. She was a wonder, she said. She ought to study in a big City and go in for concerts.
“Well ... the old man got down on his shakey knees again: and this time he didn’t pray: he swore he’d get the cash to send Tess to Richmond or New York, if he had to starve for it ... even if he had to sell—O I forgot. The old man had one proud possession. He was a poor old ignorant man, but one of his ancestors had been Wise and a Rabbi. He kept a mouldy store and kept it badly: but this Thing he still had from the wise old Rabbi ... and it shone in their home like the sun. Tessie gives it a name I can’t remember ... but I can see it. A sort of breast-plate it was ... a breast-plate of some holy Priest of their religion: square and in gold. And set in it, in four rows of three each, were oblong gems. Each was different—camelian and ruby and lapis and topaz and jasper and amethyst and agate: I don’t remember them all. On each was carved a holy word in ancient Hebrew. Well, there was the mouldy store and this thing of glory shinin’ in it. But there was the daughter who could make Music. So she could make it right, the old man sold his treasure. He was religious. Keeping that Relic was part of his religion ... but giving it up was also part of his religion. Tessie got a first class violin ... they cost like fury, you know. And then everything went well. I don’t know the particulars. Some big guy from New York who was down in Charleston gave her a hearing and next year Tess bought a new dress and a bag and took the train to New York. Her Dad had even mortgaged the store. But there was Tess gettin’ ready to earn thousands in New York ... while the rest of the Liebovitz clan in mudhole, South Carolina, lived on water and hope.”
Fanny lay still, with her eyes shut. In the pause:
“Then it happened,” she murmured.
“Yes,”
—As always.
Lord, why is it always?
Why do you break the soil
In which you plant the seed?
“—the old master, Tessie says she loved him, waved his hands and pulled his beard. ‘You have talent, Fraulein. O you have genius. You are music! But those hands. What are we going to do about that hand?’ They were too small, Fan. You saw ’em. They were too small. You got to do all sorts of stunts on a fiddle before you go in for concerts. And her fingers simply were too short. Not too short for playin’ in an orchestra or somethin’ ... but for a concert, where you stand up all by yourself.... Well, Tessie hadn’t come to New York and put the Liebovitz clan on bread and water and made the old man sell part of his religion for another part, just to play fiddle in a restaurant. She went to a doctor or something of the sort who told her he could stretch her fingers. He stretched ’em alright—“
Fanny raised herself on her arms from the pillow, her eyes still shut.
“—till something tore.”