The Fixer by Bernard Malamud Read Free Book Online

cry.” Clearing his throat, Nikolai Maximovitch read on: “ ‘Blessed are the merciful; for they shall obtain mercy.’ “
      Mercy, the fixer thought, it makes him cry.
      “ ‘Blessed are they which are persecuted for righteousness sake; for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.’ “
      Come already to the reward, thought Yakov.
      “Ah, this is most moving,” Nikolai Maximovitch said, having to wipe his eyes again. “You know, Yakov Ivanovitch, I am in some ways a miserable man, melancholic, a heavy drinker, yet something more than that although I recently set my clothes on fire while smoking a cigarette when a piece of hot ash fell on my trousers, and if Zina had not alertly poured a pitcher of water over me, I would now be a burnt corpse. I drink because I happen to be more sensitive than most—I feel much too keenly the sorrows of life. My daughter will attest to that.”
      “It’s true,” she said. “He is a man of more than ordinary feeling. When our former little dog Pasha died of a distemper, Papa couldn’t eat for weeks.”
      “When Zina was a child, after her severe illness I wept every night over her poor crippled leg.”
      “It’s true,” she said, her eyes moist.
      “I tell you this so that you may know the kind of person I am,” Nikolai Maximovitch said to Yakov. “Zina, please serve the tea.”
      She brought the tea to the marble-top table on a thick silver tray, with two clay pots of whole-fruit jam, raspberry and peach; and Viennese rolls, and butter.
      It’s mad, I know, Yakov thought. Tea with rich goyim. Yet he ate hungrily.
      Nikolai Maximovitch poured a little milk into his tea and ate a buttered roll. He ate with gulping noises, as though drinking what he ate. Then he sipped again from the hot glass and set it down, patting his snuff-swollen lips with a linen napkin.
      “I would like to offer you a modest reward for your timely assistance.”
      Yakov hastily put down his glass and rose.
      “I ask for nothing. Thanks for the tea and I’d better be off.”
      “Spoken like a Christian, but please sit down and listen to what I have to say. Zina, fill Yakov Ivanovitch’s glass and put plenty of butter and conserves on his roll. Yakov Ivanovitch, what I have to say is this. I have an empty flat on the next story, recently vacated—the tenants proved entirely unsuitable—four fine rooms that need painting and repapering. If you care to undertake the task I offer forty rubles, which is more than I would ordinarily pay, considering the fact that I furnish the paint and other materials; but the circumstances in this case are different. It is, of course, a matter of gratitude, but wouldn’t you rather work than peremptorily receive from me some silver coins? Is money ever valuable if it is come by without labor? An offer of work is an appreciation of merit. Notwithstanding you did me the greatest of favors—I might have suffocated in the snow, as Zina points out—isn’t my offer of work a more estimable reward than a mere payment of money?” He looked eagerly at Yakov. “Therefore will you accept?”
      “In the way you put it, yes,” said Yakov. He got up quickly, said he had to be going, and after stumbling into a closet on his way out, hurriedly left the apartment.
      Though he worried what he was getting into and changed his mind every half hour as he lay restlessly on his bed-bench that night, the next morning he went back. He returned for the same reason he had gone the first time—to collect his reward. What he earned for his work in this case was the reward. Who could afford to say no to forty rubles—a tremendous sum? Therefore why worry about returning? Go, do the job quickly, collect the money, and when you have it in your pocket, leave the place once and for all and forget it. After all it’s only a job, I’m not selling my soul. When I’m finished I’ll wash up and go. They’re not bad people. The girl’s direct