The
first short story I read this year, the latest in the year I think I’ve ever
done so, way past mid-May, was a good one, “The Magic Barrel” by Bernard Malamud, and I’ve been giving it thought ever since. Born in New York City or more precisely the
borough of Brooklyn, and the son of Jewish immigrants, Malamud is known for his
well-crafted short stories about Jewish-American life, but also for several
novels, including The Natural. I have not read any of his novels, but I have
been impressed with his short stories.
In fact, one of the most prestigious awards for an American short story,
the PEN/Malamud Award for “excellence in the art of the short story", is
named in his honor.
“The
Magic Barrel” may be one of his best known, and a really fun read. You can find it online, here, in PDF if you
wish to read it ahead of my post.
The
story begins in New York City with an almost “Once upon a time” opening.
Not long ago there lived
in uptown New York, in a sma ll, almost meager room, though crowded with books,
Leo Finkle, a rabbinical student in the Yeshivah University. Finkle, after six
years of study, was to be ordained in June and had been advised by an
acquaintance that he might find it easier to win himself a congregation if he
were married. Since he had no present prospects of marriage, after two
tormented days of turning it over in his mind, he called in Pinye Salzman, a
marriage broker whose two-line advertisement he had read in the Forward.
The matchmaker appeared
one night out of the dark fourth-floor hallway of the graystone rooming house
where Finkle lived, grasping a black, strapped portfolio that had been worn
thin with use. Salzman, who had been long in the business, was of slight but
dignified build, wearing an old hat, and an overcoat too short and tight for
him. He smelled frankly of fish, which he loved to eat, and although he was
missing a few teeth, his presence was not displeasing, because of an amiable
manner curiously contrasted with mournful eyes. His voice, his lips, his wisp of
beard, his bony fingers were animated, but give him a moment of repose and his
mild blue eyes revealed a depth of sadness, a characteristic that put Leo a
little at ease although the situation, for him, was inherently tense.
As
a New Yorker, I know these characters, know them in the sense that similar
people walk in the neighborhoods I grew
up. The story was written in the 1950’s,
in what is sometimes considered the golden era of New York City. I’m not that old, but similar people were
around when I was growing up a couple of decades later. So we have the rabbinical student and a sort
of old world peddler who in this case hawks brides. It’s is interesting that Salzman smells of
fish, and fish is a motif that goes with the matchmaker throughout the story. But the sadness in his eyes is an interesting
detail that contrasts with Finkle’s youthfulness and inexperience.
Next
we get some critical information about Finkle.
He at once informed
Salzman why he had asked him to come, explaining that his home was in
Cleveland, and that but for his parents, who had married comparatively late in
life, he was alone in the world. He had for six years devoted himself almost
entirely to his studies, as a result of which, understandably, he had found
himself without time for a social life and the company of young women.
Therefore he thought it the better part of trial and error--of embarrassing
fumbling--to call in an experienced person to advise him on these matters. He
remarked in passing that the function of the marriage broker was ancient and
honorable, highly approved in the Jewish community, because it made practical
the necessary without hindering joy. Moreover, his own parents had been brought
together by a matchmaker. They had made, if not a financially profitable
marriage--since neither had possessed any worldly goods to speak of--at least a
successful one in the sense of their everlasting devotion to each other.
Salzman listened in embarrassed surprise, sensing a sort of apology. Later,
however, he experienced a glow of pride in his work, an emotion that had left
him years ago, and he heartily approved of Finkle.
Here
we learn of the parallel situation with Finkle’s parents in that they too have
met through a marriage broker, and their marriage was a happy one. But that was an old world relationship and
they lived in Cleveland. Finkle is now
in the modern world and lives in the big metropolis.
Next
Salzman takes out a half dozen cards with woman’s information on it. As Salzman tries to sell Finkle on the women
on the cards, what follows is some of the most entertaining dialogue I can
remember. I can’t quote all of it, but
here is a sample.
When Leo's eyes fell upon
the cards, he counted six spread out in Salzman's hand.
"So few?" he
asked in disappointment.
"You wouldn't
believe me how much cards I got in my office," Salzman replied. "The
drawers are already filled to the top, so I keep them now in a barrel, but is
every girl good for a new rabbi?"
Leo blushed at this,
regretting all he had revealed of himself in a curriculum vitae he had sent to
Salzman. He had thought it best to acquaint him with his strict standards and
specifications, but in having done so, felt he had told the marriage broker
more than was absolutely necessary.
He hesitantly inquired,
"Do you keep photographs of your clients on file?"
"First comes family,
amount of dowry, also what kind of promises," Salzman replied, unbuttoning
his tight coat and settling himself in the chair. "After comes pictures,
rabbi."
"Call me Mr. Finkle.
I'm not yet a rabbi."
Salzman said he would,
but instead called him doctor, which he changed to rabbi when Leo was not
listening too attentively.
Salzman adjusted his
horn-rimmed spectacles, gently cleared his throat and read in an eager voice
the contents of the top card:
"Sophie P.
Twenty-four years. Widow one year. No children. Educated high school and two
years college. Father promises eight thousand dollars. Has wonderful wholesale
business. Also real estate. On the mother's side comes teachers, also one
actor. Well known on Second Avenue."
Leo gazed up in surprise.
"Did you say a widow?"
"A widow don't mean
spoiled, rabbi. She lived with her husband maybe four months. He was a sick boy
she made a mistake to marry him."
"Marrying a widow
has never entered my mind."
"This is because you
have no experience. A widow, especially if she is young and healthy like this
girl, is a wonderful person to marry. She will be thankful to you the rest of
her life. Believe me, if I was looking now for a bride, I would marry a
widow."
Leo reflected, then shook
his head.
Salzman hunched his
shoulders in an almost imperceptible gesture of disappointment. He placed the
card down on the wooden table and began to read another:
"Lily H. High school
teacher. Regular. Not a substitute. Has savings and new Dodge car. Lived in
Paris one year. Father is successful dentist thirty-five years. Interested in
professional man. Well Americanized family. Wonderful opportunity."
"I know her
personally," said Salzman. "I wish you could see this girl. She is a
doll. Also very intelligent. All day you could talk to her about books and
theyater and whatnot. She also knows current events."
"I don't believe you
mentioned her age?"
"Her age?"
Salzman said, raising his brows. "Her age is thirty-two years."
"Leo said after a
while, "I'm afraid that seems a little too old.
Salzman let out a laugh.
"So how old are you, rabbi?"
"Twentyseven."
"So what is the
difference, tell me, between twenty-seven and thirty-two? My own wife is seven
years older than me. So what did I suffer?--Nothing. If Rothschild's daughter
wants to marry you, would you say on account her age, no?"
"Yes," Leo said
dryly.
Salzman shook off the no
in the eyes. "Five years don't mean a thing. I give you my word that when
you will live with her for one week you will forget her age. What does it mean
five years--that she lived more and knows more than somebody who is younger? On
this girl, God bless her, years are not wasted. Each one that it comes makes
better the bargain."
"What subject does
she teach in high school?"
"Languages. If you
heard the way she speaks French, you will think it is music. I am in the
business twenty-five years, and I recommend her with my whole heart. Believe
me, I know what I'm talking, rabbi."
"What's on the next
card?" Leo said abruptly.
There
is a folktale feel to this story, as the rabbi goes through female candidate
after female candidate. Leo, as he goes
through the list, can’t be satisfied with any of the women. But there are some questions that are brought
here that drive the story forward. What
is a right fit for a rabbi’s bride and how does Leo’s lack of experience with
the opposite sex cause him select or reject potential brides? The bulk of the story presents the drama
inherent in these abstract questions, and it’s quite entertaining. But I want
to move toward Leo’s central crises and then finally toward the climax. He finally accepts going out on a date with
the older woman, the one he rejected because of her age, Lily. And her probing questions, questions natural
of people trying to learn of each other, leads him to respond as to why he
chose to be a rabbi: "I was always interested in the Law."
"You saw revealed in
it the presence of the Highest?" He nodded and changed the subject.
"I understand that you spent a little time in Paris, Miss Hirschorn?"
"Oh, did Mr. Salzman tell you, Rabbi Finkle?" Leo winced but she went
on, "It was ages ago and almost forgotten. I remember I had to return for
my sister's wedding." And Lily would not be put off. "When," she
asked in a trembly voice, "did you become enamored of God?" 7 He
stared at her. Then it came to him that she was talking not about Leo Finkle,
but of a total stranger, some mystical figure, perhaps even passionate prophet
that Salzman had dreamed up for her--no relation to the living or dead. Leo
trembled with rage and weakness. The trickster had obviously sold her a bill of
goods, just as he had him, who'd expected to become acquainted with a young
lady of twenty-nine, only to behold, the moment he laid eyes upon her strained
and anxious face, a woman past thirty-five and aging rapidly. Only his self
control had kept him this long in her presence.
Lily
probed too deep. She hit a nerve, and
just like she had misrepresented her age, it became apparent that Leo had
misrepresented his faith, only not just to her, but to himself. Salzman had played up his devoutness, which
ultimately, days after the date came back to sting Leo into a self-realization.
He was infuriated with
the marriage broker and swore he would throw him out of the room the minute he
reappeared. But Salzman did not come that night, and when Leo's anger had
subsided, an unaccountable despair grew in its place. At first he thought this
was caused by his disappointment in Lily, but before long it became evident
that he had involved himself with Salzman without a true knowledge of his own
intent. He gradually realized--with an emptiness that seized him with six
hands--that he had called in the broker to find him a bride because he was
incapable of doing it himself. This terrifying insight he had derived as a
result of his meeting and conversation with Lily Hirschorn. Her probing
questions had somehow irritated him into revealing --to himself more than
her--the true nature of his relationship to God, and from that it had come upon
him, with shocking force, that apart from his parents, he had never loved
anyone. Or perhaps it went the other way, that he did not love God so well as
he might, because he had not loved man. It seemed to Leo that his whole life
stood starkly revealed and he saw himself for the first time as he truly
was--unloved and loveless. This bitter but somehow not fully unexpected
revelation brought him to a point to panic, controlled only by extraordinary
effort. He covered his face with his hands and cried.
The
experience of finding a wife has made him realize his “relationship to
God.” If he didn’t love anyone, he
didn’t love God, and of course this brings him to a spiritual crises,
questioning his faith and his vocation.
And finally we get to the climax. Leo falls in love with a girl of a picture
Salzman accidently left behind. He tries
to get Salzman to arrange a meeting.
Salzman refuses. This girl would
not be suitable for him. As it turns out
the girl is Salzman’s daughter who he has banish from his house because she is
“wild.” But Leo cannot let go.
Although he soon fell
asleep he could not sleep her out of his mind. He woke, beating his breast.
Though he prayed to be rid of her, his prayers went unanswered. Through days of
torment he endlessly struggled not to love her; fearing success, he escaped it.
He then concluded to convert her to goodness, himself to God. The idea
alternately nauseated and exalted him.
So he convinces himself he can convert her to
goodness. And so there is an
arrangement.
Leo was informed by
better that she would meet him on a certain corner, and she was there one
spring night, waiting under a street lamp. He appeared carrying a small bouquet
of violets and rosebuds. Stella stood by the lamp post, smoking. She wore white
with red shoes, which fitted his expectations, although in a troubled moment he
had imagined the dress red, and only the shoes white. She waited uneasily and
shyly. From afar he saw that her eyes--clearly her father's--were filled with
desperate innocence. He pictured, in her, his own redemption. Violins and lit
candles revolved in the sky. Leo ran forward with flowers out-thrust.
Around the corner,
Salzman, leaning against a wall, chanted prayers for the dead.
It is certainly not a
match made in heaven. Why prayers for
the dead? Leo and Stella are heading
toward a fall. Both their innocence will
suffer a death. They will be very
different people, as Leo already is from the beginning of the story.
Let
me give my thoughts on this chapter 2, "The Faëry Tree of Domremy."
It starts as a description of the little town, and moves to beyond the forest
and river, and then Louis talks about dragons that spout fire that once lived there
and perhaps one still do. He talks about "evidence" for the dragon
and he uses the word "evidence" a number of times throughout the
chapter. Now evidence is a loaded word when you project ahead in the story.
Joan will face a trial and evidence will be presented and falsified to condemn
her. That we know from the raw facts of her life. Louis makes a point that
knights killed the dragons at one time, but more recently priests have
exorcised them out. This has the sense of an allegory, but of what? Does the
dragon represent Joan or her enemies? Unless you've completed the novel (and I
haven't yet) I'm not sure we can tell what this is an allegory for. 
First,
Twain is telling us the complete divinity of Joan's claims are true. A modern
writer would probably couch her visions and voices in ambiguity because the
secular modernist couldn't quite believe it. He has to attribute it to
psychology or coincidence or misunderstood science, if not to outright lies.
And those secular modernists were already there in Twain's time. But Twain is
clearly separating himself from them here. For all of Twain's personal
antipathy toward organized religion, he is clearly separating himself here from
the secular enlightenment. He is saying that Joan of Arc really communicated
with the divine. 
