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Updated: June 6, 2025
Do you know the eyes of Bellini's "Agony in a Garden"? Can you hear for yourself the note that must have been Cassandra's when she shouted out her forebodings? There were these now in the glance and voice of Mrs. Lipkind as she drew back from him, her face actually seeming to shrivel. "No, Sammy! No! No! No!" "Ma please " "You wouldn't! You couldn't! No, Sammy my son!"
"Eddie Leonard ain't a Sam Lipkind, but after the war his five-thousand-dollar job is down at Arnstein's waiting for him, and he's got a good stiff bank-account saved as good as yours and and no strings to it. I believe in a girl facing those facts the same as any other facts.
Memories love to be mumbled and chewed over the unconscious kind of articulation which comes with the years and for which youth has a wink and a quirk. A tiger cat with overfed sides and a stare that seemed to doze purred on the window-ledge, gold and unswerving of eye. The silence was like the singing inside of a shell, and into it rocked Mrs. Lipkind.
Why, I I Good night good night ma." At just fifteen minutes before seven, to the pungency of coffee and the harsh sing of water across the hall, Mrs. Lipkind in a fuzzy wrapper the color of her eyes and hair, kissed her son awake. "Sam! Sammy! Get up! Thu, thu! I can't get him up in the morning!" The snuggle away and into the crotch of his elbow. "Sam-my quarter to seven!"
At a training-camp somewhere from his side of a tent that had flapped like a captive wing all through a wind-swept night, Lieutenant Lipkind stirred rather painfully for a final snuggle into the crotch of an elbow that was stiff with chill and night damp.
Lipkind, upon whom such matters of bad form lay as a matter of course, was wont to remonstrate. "What's the matter with the dining-room, ma? Since when have dining-rooms gone out of style?" Pouring his coffee from the speckled granite pot, Mrs. Lipkind would smile up and over it. "All I ask is my son should never have it worse than to eat all his lifetime in just such a kitchen like mine.
In fact, for two more hours sat there impervious to proffered warmth of word or deed. Meanwhile, the snow behind the drawn shade had turned to rain that beat and washed against the pane. Just so the iciness that had locked Samuel Lipkind seemed suddenly to melt in a tornado of sobs that swept him, felled him into a prostration of the terrible tears that men weep.
"No, Sammy; your mother knows she ain't, and if she was anything but a selfish old woman, she would be glad that she ain't." "'Sh! 'Sh!" said Mr. Lipkind, reaching this time half across the table for a still steaming muffin and opening it so that its hot fragrance came out. "Sh! No April showers! Uh! Uh! Don't you dare!" "I ain't," said Mrs.
When Samuel Lipkind greeted Clara Bloom there was just that in his ardently appraising glance. "Didn't mean to keep you waiting, Clara a last-minute customer. You know." "I've been counting red heads and wishing the Subway was pulled by white horses." "Say, Clara, but you look a picture! Believe me, Bettina, that is some lid!"
For the fifteen years that Samuel Lipkind had reached the Two Dollar Hat Store before his two clerks, he had awakened to that same kiss on his slightly open mouth, the gray hair and the ever-graying eyes close enough to be stroked, the pungency of coffee seeming to wind like wreaths of mundane aroma above the bed, and always across the aisle of hallway that tepid cataract leaping in glory into porcelain.
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