The Hired Girl(110)

I dashed upstairs to find David. He wasn’t in the library or the parlor, but I’d listened all evening, and I hadn’t heard him leave the house. I was afraid it might seem indelicate to go to his room, but I couldn’t help myself. First I redid my hair. Then I took an armful of clean sheets and pillowcases from the linen closet, in case Mr. Rosenbach or Mr. Solomon saw me. Malka or Mrs. Rosenbach wouldn’t be fooled; they’d know David’s sheets were clean, but men never know about sheets.

I knocked very softly.

“Come in!”

He was lying down with his clothes on — he hadn’t taken off his boots, and the bedspread was sullied. Even though I’m deeply, ardently in love, I felt a flash of pure vexation. The carelessness of men, and the dirt! If Malka sees those boot scuffs, she’ll make me get the summer spread out of the cedar chest, and that means more ironing. But the flash didn’t last long: David got to his feet and tucked in his shirttail. The way he moves — the easy muscles in his shoulders, the way his face went from sleepy to alert — I felt myself tense and melt at the same time. “What is it?” he asked absently.

I set the bed linens on the dresser. “I had to know. Did you get the commission?”

His face darkened and his eyes kindled with a noble indignation. “I didn’t,” he said shortly. Then he burst out: “The wretched woman chose LeClerq! LeClerq, can you imagine? Of course you don’t know LeClerq, but he’s an idiot! He can’t draw, his perspective’s faulty; he couldn’t foreshorten if his life depended on it. All he does is slather on a lot of greasy impasto with a palette knife — it’s sickening; the man’s a fake, but he’s French, which makes him a god to Madame Marechaux, and he’s not a Jew —”

“Oh, David!”

“The way he carries on about religion, you’d think he was Beato Angelico. Oily little highlights everywhere; it’s enough to make you sick. Madame Marechaux said his sketches were imbued with the deepest piety. Can you imagine saying that — imbued with the deepest piety? Did you ever hear anything so pretentious in your life?” He snorted. “If she hadn’t chosen LeClerq, I could have borne it. Boscov’s not bad, not bad at all, and Findley’s up-and-coming. I could have stood it if she’d chosen Findley. But LeClerq!”

“Oh, David,” I mourned, but he scarcely seemed to hear me. He was wide-awake now, his eyes burning and his hands sawing the air.

“The time I’ve spent with that woman, confiding in her, flattering her; I’d have painted her portrait if she’d asked me. . . . Do you know what she wants me to do? She wants a miniature of her lapdog! Zizi!” he shouted. I guessed that was the name of the dog, but it sounded like swearing. “She wants a little picture of Zizi! That’s my consolation: I’ve been asked to paint the dog! She says that I’m bound to be at a disadvantage with Joan of Arc because I’m not a Roman Catholic. What does she know about it? When I’m painting, my religion is painting! I could paint Mahomet flying into the sky on a peacock, or a jackass, or whatever the hell it was. I could feel it, I swear I’d feel it, I’d be imbued with the deepest piety —”

“Oh, David,” I said, “it’s awful! It’s anti-Semitism, that’s what it is!”

He looked startled. It was as if he’d only just remembered that I was in the room. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said hell in front of a girl.”

“That’s all right,” I said. “I guess I’d swear, too.”

He went to the window and opened it wide. Then he swung back to face me. “Do you know what else she said? She asked if you’d be willing to come to New York so LeClerq can draw your head! I’m supposed to share my model with that charlatan!”

“You don’t think I’d do it, do you?” I demanded. His indignation was contagious, and I’d caught it.

David seemed to reconsider. “Well,” he said judiciously, “it’d be an opportunity for you. New York’s swell, and Madame Marechaux would find you a respectable place to stay. I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to go.”

“I wouldn’t think of such a thing,” I said hotly. (Though if anyone but Madame Marechaux were to offer me a trip to New York, I’d jump at it.) “After sitting for you, to sit for a man like LeClerq? I’d scorn it!”

I spoke those words very loftily. It was thrilling, wanting to fight for David. I was sorry he hadn’t gotten the commission, but being angry on his behalf made me feel close to him. I believe I have a fiery disposition. If I were a man, I’d probably fight duels for the girl I loved.