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Updated: May 7, 2025
Our Leon, who could so easily have been excused, not even to wait for the draft." "It's not too late yet please, Leon " "Our Roody and Boris both in camp, too, training to serve their country. Why, mamma, we ought to be crying for happiness! As Leon says, surely the Kantor family who fled out of Russia to escape massacre should know how terrible slavery can be.
Esther, grief-crumpled, but rich in the enormous hope of youth. The sweet Gina, to whom the waiting months had already begun their reality. Not so Sarah Kantor. In a bedroom adjoining, its high-ceilinged vastness as cold as a cathedral to her lowness of stature, sobs dry and terrible were rumbling up from her, only to dash against lips tightly restraining them.
Even in cutlery, the Kantor family was not lacking in variety. Surrounding a centerpiece of thick Russian lace were Russian spoons washed in washed-off gilt, forks of one, two, and three tines. Steel knives with black handles. A hart's-horn carving-knife. Thick-lipped china in stacks before the armchair.
Kantor, disheveled and a smudge of soot across her face, but beneath her arm, triumphant, a violin of one string and a broken back. "See, Leon what mamma got! A violin! A fiddle! Look the bow, too, I found. It ain't much, baby, but it's a fiddle." "Aw, ma that's my old violin gimme I want it where'd you find " "Hush up, Izzy! This ain't yours no more. See, Leon, what mamma brought you! A violin!"
"But that's how I feel toward all the boys, Leon our fighting boys just like flying to them to kiss them each one good-bye." "Come over, Gina. You'll be a treat to our mother. I well, I'm hanged all the way from Philadelphia!" There was even a sparkle to talk then, and a let-up of pressure. After a while, Sarah Kantor looked up at her son, tremulous but smiling.
"Go down this minute do you hear? Rudolph, stop always letting your big brother get the best of you in marbles. Iz-zie!" "In a minute." "Don't let me have to ask you again, Isadore Kantor!" "Aw, ma, I got some 'rithmetic to do. Let Esther go!" "Always Esther! Your sister stays right in the front room with her spelling." "Aw, ma, I got spelling, too."
Kantor. "Esther, you dish up. I'm going somewhere. I'll be back in a minute." "Where you going, Sarah? Won't it keep until " But even in the face of query, Sarah Kantor was two flights down and well through the lambent aisles of the copper-shop. Outside, she broke into run, along two blocks of the indescribable bazaar atmosphere of Grand Street, then one block to the right.
There entered then, in a violet-scented little whirl, Miss Gina Berg, rosy with the sting of a winter's night, and, as usual, swathed in the high-napped furs. "Gina!" She was for greeting everyone, a wafted kiss to Mrs. Kantor, and then arms wide, a great bunch of violets in one outstretched hand, her glance straight sure and sparkling for Leon Kantor. "Surprise everybody surprise!"
Isadore, already astride his chair, well into center-table, for first vociferous tear at the four-pound loaf; Esther Kantor, old at chores, settled an infant into the high chair, careful of tiny fingers in lowering the wooden bib. "Papa, Izzy's eating first again." "Put down that loaf and wait until your mother dishes up or you'll get a potch you won't soon forget." "Say, pop "
"Don't let them little devils of French girls fall in love with my dude in his uniform." Her pretense at pleasantry was almost more than he could bear. "Hear! Hear! Our mother thinks I'm a regular lady-killer! Hear that, Esther?" pinching her cheek. "You are, Leon only only, you don't know it!" "Don't you bring down too many beaux while I'm gone, either, Miss Kantor!" "I won't, Leon."
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