Alexander's Gift

The Worker- 1

1957

Back at the great house, the beautiful man was gazing with wild eyes at the flamboyantly dressed Jew.

          "Jerry! I haven't seen you since . . ." He began, voice trembling with bitter anger disguised as surprise.

          "Yes. It has been a long time." Jerry finished, and if the other man hadn't been in his right mind, he might have thought it was said rather guiltily.

          "What are you- what are you doing here?" He asked Jerry, smoothing out his suit nervously.

          "The same as you, most likely." Both men settled into silence, feeling as if there was nothing else to be said between them.

          Never had someone seen two people stare at each other with such pure loathing, with each man viewing himself as the complete victim in the situation when neither of them was, in fact, justified.

          People were rarely only victims or only perpetrators, yet not many ever embraced themselves as perpetrators. Being the victim, of course, was much easier than being the perpetrator, for there was no blame associated with one who had been hurt. And of course, reputation- even just to one's self- was of supreme importance.

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1936

"Mr. Malter, I need to see you after class is over." The sharp, demanding tone of Mrs. Barton sent giggles cascading through the classroom like a wave rushing to the shore. The rest of the kids knew what that was about, and Jerry knew they did as he slouched in his chair, popping his collar to hide the reddening of his face.

          He couldn't help blushing; he also couldn't help the useless tears that rose behind his eyes. He was known as a silly, reckless kid with a lot of chutzpah. But yet he could be brought to tears with one embarrassment- or someone yelling at him.. But he'd gotten better, much better, at hiding it with his so-called antics.

          And for some reason these sorts of things didn't embarrass him so much as long as the other kids liked him for it. He remembered just last week when he had brought a few kids from his class to the bus stop, and told them to just watch and learn. The sleek, smooth-paneled bus came rolling up a minute later, and the doors swung open for him. Barely concealing a mischievous grin, Jerry lifted a foot onto the platform and bent over to tie his shoe. Then, with a laughing glance back to his friends, Jerry walked away. He could feel the drivers' annoyed stare at the back of his head, but as he heard the nervously awed laughs from his new friends, he didn't care.

          The bell rang intrusively, jerking him from his thoughts, and he stayed motionlessly in his chair as the rest of the class filed out eagerly, none of them wanting to stick around for whatever Mrs. Barton had to say to Jerry.

          Finally they were all alone, and Mrs. Barton's steel gray eyes flicked from him and back to her desk authoritatively. He obeyed reluctantly and stood in front of her, swallowing his fear.

          "Jerry, how do you think you're doing in my class? In school?"

          "Not too bad, but not too good, either." He shrugged.

          "Unfortunately, Jerry . . . " She looked down at her papers with a slight frown, "It doesn't look as if you're going to pass onto the eleventh grade." His heart dropped, and beads of sweat broke onto his temple. He covered up his panic with indignation, retorting, "Okay, well what am I supposed to do about it?"