"A Slice Tomato You Have, Maybe?"

I posted a few weeks back about Bernard Malamud. I didn't excerpt him because the stories seemed so self-contained, it was a shame to break any on up. But here is a passage that has been haunting me. Salzman the marraige broker (and perhaps magician) makes one last push to catch the attention of Leo, the rabbinical student:

Almost at once there came a knock on the door. Before Leo could say enter, Salzman, commercial Cupid, was standing in the room. His face was gray and meager, his expression hungry, and he looked as if he would expire on his feet. Yet the marriage broker managed by some trick of the muscles, to display a broad smile.

“So good evening, I am invited?”

Leo nodded, disturbed to see him again, yet unwilling to ask the man to leave.

Beaming still, Salzman laid his portfolio on the table. “Rabbi, I got for you tonight good news.”

“I’ve asked you not to call me rabbi. I’m still a student.”

“Your worries are finished. I have for you a first-class bride.”

“Leave me in peace concerning this subject.” Leo pretended lack of interest.

“The world will dance at your wedding.”

“Please, Mr. Salzman, no more.

“But first must come back my strength,” Salzman said weakly. He fumbled with the portfolio straps and took out of the leather case an oil paper bag, from which he extracted a hard, seeded roll and a small smoked whitefish. With a qwuick motion of his hand he stripped the fish out of its skin and began ravenously to chew. “All day in a rush,” he stuttered.

Leo watched him eat.

“A sliced tomato you have maybe?” Salzman hesitantly inquired.

“No.”

The marriage broker shut his eyes and ate. When he had finished he carefully cleaned up the crumbs and rolled up the remains of the fish in the paper bag. His spectacled eyes roamed the room until he discfovered, amid some piles of books, a one-burner gas stove. Lifting his hat he humbly asked, “A glass of tea you got, rabbi?”

Conscience-stricken, Leo rose and brewed the tea…

--Bernard Malamud, The Magic Barrel,
in Bernard Malamud: The Complete Stories 134-149, 139 (1997)