Matters of Honor by Louis Begley Read Free Book Online

thing my mother asked was, Why don’t you have Jewish roommates? I said that I hadn’t picked you; it just happened. That didn’t satisfy her. She said, You could have asked to room with someone Jewish. Sure, I replied, but I didn’t, and why should I? I don’t think you want to hear the response to that crack. Her next line of attack was: Do they know you are Jewish? I said I wasn’t sure, but if they’re intelligent enough to be at Harvard they should be able to figure it out, and if they can’t, all they have to do is ask me. You want to hear my mother’s reply? She said that maybe they’re too polite. That really broke me up and I reminded her that you, and maybe Archie as well, have spoken on the telephone with her and my father many times. Does she think that having heard them you have concluded we had come over on the
Mayflower
? Then, I confess, I turned cruel. I said that if she and my father had wanted to leave no doubt that we were Jews, they shouldn’t have changed our name. If it were still Weiss, you’d have to be a total moron to think we weren’t Jews. Yes, she and Father changed our name after we came here, as quickly as they could. The official reason is that White is an accurate English translation, and everybody knows how to spell it. That’s obvious nonsense; there is nothing unusual about Weiss, certainly not in New York. But to answer your interesting question, no, I’m not trying to pass, but I know that some people don’t immediately think that I’m Jewish, and I do nothing to disabuse them. Part of it is my name; part of it is that I don’t look especially Jewish. But the false impression usually doesn’t last long. Because of my accent, mostly they ask where I come from, as Archie did. When I say I’m from Poland, and that I was there during the war, those who have an idea of what went on there may well say to themselves, He can’t be Jewish; otherwise, he’d be dead. He must be a regular Catholic Pole who changed his name from something like Wilczuk, and they leave it at that. That’s when I wish I were called Weiss or, better yet, Cohen or Levin. There would be no such confusion. People couldn’t say I was trying to pull the wool over their eyes. The subject wouldn’t have to be discussed. But the people who get fooled are a minority. Either they aren’t curious or they don’t want to seem nosy. A regular American will follow up with something along the line of: How did you survive? Then the fat is in the fire. In case you’re interested, I knew I wasn’t fooling you and Archie, and I wasn’t trying. That you thought I was is another matter. It hurts. But I don’t blame you.
    He looked downcast. It’s all right, Henry, I told him. There is no problem between you and me. Or between you and Archie. I’m sure of that.
    He brightened at that, and we talked about courses and movies until the end of the meal and as we walked through the Yard to the dormitory. Once we were in our living room, however, he said he wanted to continue the conversation we had begun.
    You’ve let the genie out of the bottle, he told me. You might as well know, he continued, that my mother isn’t only interested in whether you or Archie or anyone else I know realizes that I’m a Jew, and, if so, how they found out. Keeping me from leaving home—literally or metaphorically—is a more complicated undertaking. You see, they’re good parents in their own way. They want me to have a roof over my head and nice clothes, provided my mother picks them. And, of course, an excellent education. They’re willing to make financial sacrifices for that, but so far none has been needed. High school was free, and I have a scholarship here. Naturally they want me to succeed, and they want me to have all the right opportunities. But there is a limit. I’m not supposed to fly too high. Dickens might have said I mustn’t try to rise above my station. That’s a big unarticulated anxiety. Partly it’s