Yeshiva University High School For Boys - Elchanite Yearbook (New York, NY)

Page 33 text:

THE ELCHANITE COLD AND HARD by MILTON SHAPIRO TURNED the dial, I heard no music, I went to the window. Ioe was coming, blowing. I whistled and made steam on the window. A man's hat blew down to the sewer. I went to the door. Ioe rapped and I let him in. Cold day. Where's the gang? Don't know. They're supposed to be here. I saw no light in the room. The light was out, like a pug in the prize-fighter ring. Anything on the radio? Heard Navy was losing . . . Ain't interested in football. That's a man's game. Put on the light. It's better to talk in the dark. I can't see your face. loe breathed like ct horse. He was heavy. He played football for money, on Sunday. He broke his thumb once in a game. He hasn't got it anymore. I took out a cigarette and gave it to loe. I lighted a match. Saw his face, oily and fat. You're getting fatter, Ioe. I ain't hanging around women. I thought you'd get wise some day. 'Women are like a flock of black sheep. And they scream and laugh too much. I didn't say anything. I kept my mouth shut. loe didn't say anything. He kept his mouth closed. He made a lot of noise, smoking and blowing. He moved in his chair and said, I got a job. Where? At that tire place on the avenue. Good luck. Getting much? Ten spot. The old lady gets some. I grinned. I never grinned, only at funny jokes. loe's story was funny. Never knew the guy had it in him to work. I told him. He said nothing. I jingled money in my pocket. Got cards? Yeah, Ioe. Got much dough? Two in change. Rusty coming? Soon. '31

Page 32 text:

THE ELCHANITE Shapiro, and he followed his every step down the gangplank with longing eyes and brooding soul. Freed was preparing for his leaving of the ship. He whistled merry tunes and his heart leaped in bounding joy. The voyage had proven a wonderful one and he had obtained a lengthy interview with Polikoft. As he marched on deck with the satchels swinging from his arrns, he saw no passengers. All was unnecessarily quiet at his end of the ship. Suddenly, at a dark end of the ship, Freed was grabbed from behind, and his eyes popped out as he saw a thin and dirty hand, holding a dagger, drop on hirn with the swiftness of hail drops .... I Continued next year! 30'

Page 34 text:

THE ELCHANITE Put on the light. I got up and went to the Wall. I rubbed it. It was cold, like Rusty's face, hard. I pushed the button. I looked at joe and saw him blink, looking at the bulb. Put something on the radio. I don't like football. What's the matter with you? I don't like football. Maybe there's some music. See. I saw joe go to the radio. I turned around and didn't see joe anymore. It was darker in the street. I put my forehead on the glass and took it off quick. llt was cold outsidel. I saw a star. It was inside the blue. It all looked cold. joe played solitaire. joe listened to some jazz. I saw joe play. He looked fat, like the image on the incense burner. I heard the jazz. The rhythm was hard, funny, not natural. It didn't have motion like symphonic music. I told joe to lower the noise. Don't you like jazz? Too hard. He's funny. You're crazy. Don't like anything. Hard? Ever hear Guy Lombardo? jazz is no good. The songs are full of illiteracy, vulgarity, dumbness. I joe didn't say anything. I felt odd, saying such things and sounding smart. I went to the bathroom and rinsed my mouth, wet my hair, combed it. I went into joe. He was singing a song, something like: , If my dog loves your dog And your dog loves my dog Why can't we love each other. I told joe it was dumb. I told him to shut up. What's the matter? Don't like jazz? joe was smiling, at me. I went to another room. The song was dumb. Thoughts so irrelevant, silly, put together. It made money. It was hard, stilted, like some of joyce's Ulysses. He's good stuft but I can't understand him. joe was dumb. I-Ie couldn't understand. I went to joe. I heard raps on the door. I opened it. It was rusty. He was sweating. He ran. He was black. His face was big, like a melon, blown, protuberant. Hello, Rusty. 32'