Chapters (43)
He didn’t say anything. The driver was starting to cast glances at them in the rearview mirror.
“Do you think patriotism is something harmless?” She wouldn’t let it go.
He felt a twinge of anger but made an effort to keep his voice calm. “I don’t know, Lauren. I, for example, like America. What’s wrong with that?”
“Joe, in the name of patriotism they want to establish authoritarian regimes like Germany’s all over the world.”
“So Communism isn’t authoritarian?”
She sighed, and when no answer came he said, “The danger is just as real, Lauren. There’s a Communist threat. Surely you don’t deny it, do you? The Jew Trotsky is sitting there in Mexico and planning an attack on America. Just to mention one example.”
“He’s there in exile, Joe. His being Jewish caused big problems for him in Russia.” She emphasized every word, like she was talking to a deaf person. Then she turned and looked out the window and seemed not to want to continue the conversation. Her profile was sharply defined. He saw her pointed chin, there was something touching about it, and even though he was furious at Lauren, he would have liked to take her in his arms and press her to him. What in God’s name were they talking about anyway? They passed by a large cemetery and he had no idea where they were. He knew Brooklyn only from his trips to Coney Island. Every now and then they’d made deliveries to a politically engaged women’s group in Bushwick that called itself Women Against Communism.
The taxi stopped. Josef could see the lights of a freighter down a side street, which meant they were on a street running parallel to the shore.
Lauren got out. Standing in the rain, she knocked on his window. He rolled it down. “I think you’ve gotten Thoreau all wrong. Thoreau’s individualism isn’t a license to reshape the world as you see fit.”
He watched her walk up to a two-story house with a small front yard. When the light went on inside, he told the driver to take him to the nearest subway.
“You shouldn’t talk to women about politics,” said the driver as he paid.
He turned up his collar and ran off. The rain beat against his face, each drop a little fist.