in a way that had nothing to do with the kind of love they were talking about. That kind was impossible between men in the world as he understood it, an abomination, in fact. But why? He realized it was only his intake of spirits that even allowed him to entertain such a question… despite which he took another drink. As if not to be outdone, Max followed suit. Then Shmerl felt the words rising like some kind of volcanic rudeness from deep in his gut, an utterance he could no longer withhold. “I—,” he pronounced, while at the same time Max fell victim to a sneeze.
“Gezuntlikheit,” said Shmerl, grateful for the reprieve. Then realizing his slip of the tongue—he’d wed the blessing with the word for a cozy congeniality—began helplessly to giggle, making an effort to bite off the laughter when he saw that Max remained unamused. “They say,” he tried again, apropos what?, “is not so important between men and women the division as it is the multiplication,” which only triggered another fit of giggling.
His host had shut his eyes as if against a sudden cloudburst, and Shmerl endeavored once more to get hold of himself. Clearing his throat, he attempted yet another conversational sally, this time trying hard to preserve a neutrality of tone. “Do you know perhaps from the false messiah Shabtai Zvi?”
This at least elicited a sardonic, “Not personally.” Max’s eyes opened one at a time.
“The Jews in olden times, that they believed by him they would ascend to Gan Eydn until he converted to the cult of Ishmael. He was famous for the saying, ‘Praise God who permits the forbidden.’”
Max squirmed in his chair, took another drink. “Apostates and epicurians we may be,” he offered, “but leastwise we ain’t in his camp, eh, Karp?”
“God forbid,” said Shmerl, though with faint conviction, after which, feeling sufficiently chastised, he fell silent. He was surprised when a mirthless tear escaped his eye, and as he dragged it with the palm of his hand to his tongue, he clenched his stomach as if to close his ribcage like floodgates around his heart. So harsh was his judgment of himself at that moment that he thought he must have absorbed his friend’s censure as well—because Max had clearly let go of his disapproval. His expression had softened as he gazed at his friend with a sympathy that Shmerl had not invited and did not want. The inventor was on the verge of asking the alrightnik what he was looking at, but Max spoke first, the edge gone from a voice pitched perhaps an octave higher than its normal tone. “Shmerl,” he said, using the familiar form of address, “you can’t love me, you know.” And there it was.
“I know,” Shmerl was quick to respond, though he didn’t know; he knew nothing then but that they seemed, the two of them, to have entered a zone wherein all bets were off. The universe was again formless and void, there were no laws or even names of things, and if the righteous so willed it, they could make a world—that was in Talmud. But who here was righteous?
“No you don’t,” insisted his friend, his speech melodious if a little slurred. “You don’t know.”
“I don’t?” Shmerl tried to remember exactly what it was he didn’t know.
“You think you can’t love me because I’m a man.”
Shmerl could see no contradiction.
“But I’m not a man.”
“You’re not?”
Max shook his head.
Thoroughly befuddled, Shmerl asked, “Then what are you?”
His host took an instant to deliberate, then submitted evenly, “A who-er.”
Shmerl wasn’t sure he had heard him correctly. “Vos du zogst?”
Max was on his feet, repeating hotly, “I’m a who-er!” Whereupon he removed his waistcoat, shrugged off his suspenders, and tore open his collarless shirt, spraying a volley of studs that forced the inventor to duck. He lifted his head in time to see the yungerman haul the undervest over his head, upon which Shmerl had to shield his eyes again—because he was gazing at a pair of breasts so orient and ripe, their nipples like the stems of marzipan pears, that they stirred what he felt was a life-threatening ache in his vitals. It was an ache Shmerl thought he might be glad to die of.
“You still don’t understand?” inquired his friend, disappointed that the revelation had apparently not had its anticipated effect; since instead of being revolted by a body deformed by abnormal appurtenances, the inventor appeared to be merely struck with awe. Furious now, tears