angel levine short story shmoop

Should he say he believed a half-drunken Negro to be an angel?Manischewitz was recalling scenes of his youth, as a wheel in his mind whirred: believe, do not, yes, no, yes, no. The tailor searched his heart and found no hope. This I don’t have to tell you.” And Manischewitz, aching all over and grief-stricken, wept.Manischewitz’s flat, which he had moved into after the disastrous fire, was a meager one, furnished with a few sticks of chairs, a table, and bed, in one of the poorer sections of the city. Yet if there was no choice, he did at last what was chosen.He hobbled to Bella’s but the place had changed hands. She fondled his knee.Manischewitz, girding himself, pushed open the door and was not well received.He gasped, but moved towards the table where Levine sat, the crowd breaking before him as he hobbled forward.“Mr. Bella, grown bored, picked up the cards and dealt herself a hand.“Wait’ll I freshen up.” Levine went to the men’s room and returned in his old clothes.They rode to the flat via subway. The fourth was a boy, no older than thirteen. “So if God sends to me an angel, why a black? Manischewitz gasped as it turned white, but it was only snowing.He rushed downstairs. How come it become substance, if it all de time a spirit?”“But has dis spirit got some kind of a shade or color?” asked bubble eyes, deadpan.“Then how come we is colored” he said, with a triumphant glare.“God put the spirit in all things,” answered the boy. They slid past the window where Manischewitz, white-faced, stood staring in. As such I offer you my humble assistance, if to offer is within my province and ability—in the best sense.” He lowered his eyes in apology. He left at once, not without mercy, to spare himself Manischewitz’s multiplied despair; the man who never stopped hurting. Thereafter Manischewitz became the victim of incessant excruciating backaches that knifed him over in pain, and he found himself unable to work even as a presser—the only job available to him—for more than an hour or two daily, because after that the pain from standing became maddening. If you believed it you must say it. “He put it in the green leaves an’ the red flowers. Levine winked slyly and the tailor fled home.Leah lay at death’s door. At almost the same time, his son, of much promise, was killed in the war, and his daughter, without a word of warning, married a worthless lout and disappeared with him, as if off the face of the earth.

Please stand by, while we are checking your browser...Completing the CAPTCHA proves you are a human and gives you temporary access to the web property.If you are on a personal connection, like at home, you can run an anti-virus scan on your device to make sure it is not infected with malware.If you are at an office or shared network, you can ask the network administrator to run a scan across the network looking for misconfigured or infected devices. In the flat, Leah wielded a dust mop under the bed and upon the cobwebs on the wall.“A wonderful thing, Leyka,” Manischewitz said. She embraced him with vigor, both his hands going around her big restless buttocks, and they tangoed together across the floor, loudly applauded by the other customers. Half-frightened, he observed her until he became convinced she was not dead; then, still disturbed by the thought of an unannounced visitor, he stumbled into the living room, and there had the shock of his life, for at the table sat a burly Negro reading a newspaper he had folded up to fit into one hand.“What do you want here?” Manischewitz cried out in fright.The Negro put down the paper and glanced up with a gentle smile. A Story. It is several years since we have printed a short story by Bernard Malamud; his last previous one was “The Loan,” in our July 1952 number. His eyes showed disappointment and worry. Meantime, in 1953, he published his first novel, The Natural, which attracted favorable attention.

His shoes and the bottoms of his trousers were caked with mud, and his face covered by an impenetrable stubble the color of licorice. Why not a white that there are so many of them?”Manischewitz could not be convinced. It was not a gift. One had still to make a choice.“I believe you are also an angel—from God.” He said it simply but in a broken voice. Please enter your username or email address.

“I think you are a faker.”Levine slowly rose. “I am looking for Alexander Levine. A day at most, or two. “There are Jews everywhere.”Explore the scintillating September 2020 issue of Commentary. Manischewitz approached.“You’ll excuse me,” he said. One was bubble-eyed. Levine,” he spoke in a trembly voice. This I am not convinced.But he asked one last question. When, however, his burden had grown too crushingly heavy to be borne alone, he eased himself into a chair and with shut hollow eyes prayed: “My dear God, my soul, sweetheart, did I deserve this to happen to me?” But recognizing the worthlessness of this thought, he compelled himself to put complaint aside and prayed humbly for assistance: “Give to Leah back her health, and give to me, for myself, that I should not feel pain in every step I make. The doctor panted up the stairs, a broad but bland, unshaven man (it was Sunday) and shook his head. The former tailor sat stiffly but patiently at the table, waiting for the investigator to take out his pad and pencil and begin asking questions; but before long he became convinced the man intended to do nothing of the sort.“If I may, insofar as one is able to, identify myself, I bear the name of Alexander Levine.”Despite himself, a trace of smile appeared on Manischewitz’s bitter lips.Carrying the jest a bit farther, Manischewitz asked, “You are maybe Jewish?”Manischewitz hesitated.