From the short story collection, The Street, 1969.*
IN THE FINAL SCENE WHERE THE SPEAKER'S UNCLE, the rabbi, asks the boys what they
want to be when they grow up the reader is almost compelled to shout in answer
“a man!”, but the story ends before the boys can respond, and the reader is
left with the open question. Here, the rabbi’s question seems almost
rhetorical, not requiring an answer or perhaps that any will do, for it is the
rabbi, along with Dr. Katzman, who decides which roles are valid and which are
not. The individual choices the boys may make are irrelevant. That they will
choose some role in society is
certain, but it is the rabbi and the doctor who will judge how well they
perform and thus grant them their status. The fact that the boys are asked what
future roles they wish to play—what professions, what part of the social
hierarchy they wish to enter—is central to Richler’s exploration of male/female
relationships in 1940s Montreal: boys, at least, have some choice in the matter.
The final scene, where the young speaker and his friend sit outside with the
speaker’s uncle and Dr. Katzman, is richly symbolic of the nature of the society
into which the boys will enter as men, a society that dissuades the
participation of women in roles other than those of wife, mother and caregiver.
On
the stoop, Dr. Katzman consoles the rabbi. He says he knows “exactly” how the
rabbi feels, that the world “seems indifferent” to his loss and that it must
seem cruel to him that he is broken-hearted on such a “splendid summer day”
(144). The rabbi nods in agreement and sighs. Dr. Katzman next comments how
“remarkable” (146) it is that the rabbi’s mother lasted as long as she did. The
rabbi, in turn, informs the doctor that her longevity was in no way remarkable.
He recites a scriptural lesson that says if a man has two wives during his
lifetime, he will spend “as much time with his first wife in heaven as he did
on earth” (147). The rabbi’s father was married to his first wife for seven
years. He died seven years ago and now seven years later the rabbi’s mother
dies, making her eligible to take up her wifely role in heaven beside her
husband, now that Wife Number One must vacate her position. It is ‘lucky sevens’ for the rabbi’s father in
heaven. It is also lucky for the rabbi, his brothers, sisters and their
families who do not have to care for Malka, and it is lucky for Sam, the
speaker’s father, who is not obligated to confront them. The rabbi’s teaching
leaves Dr. Katzman suitably amazed and astonished, as he so often is, at the
“mysteries of the human heart” (148), for apparently the rabbi’s mother,
bed-ridden and senescent these past seven years, knew of her husband’s need for
her in heaven and, ever dutiful, she dutifully dies on time. Thus, the
ambiguity of Richler’s title is explained and the deep irony it conveys is
revealed in this remarkable passage: Malka is not “supposed” to die because she
is too ill, or because Dr. Katzman is incompetent, or because the speaker’s
mother receives little help caring for her from her husband or her siblings.
Malka is supposed to die because she is a good wife and her dead husband waiting
in Heaven requires it of her.
As
an aside, it is interesting to note that Richler does not name the speaker or
his mother. This suggests a level of commonality and a degree of sympathy and
shared awareness between the two, and their dialogues together reinforce this
impression. However, the fact that Richler does not name any female character
in his story other than the speaker’s grandmother and sister1 ,and
in passing, the neighbour “Mrs. Waxman” (29), is problematic. Without names,
the women of Richler’s story have little status in society other than as wives
and mothers. The female relatives (the aunt arriving in the cab, for example) are
nameless, and like the speaker’s mother they are seen as interchangeable and
lacking individuality. However, the names given to the speaker’s grandfather
and grandmother are instructive. The grandfather, who was a well-known rabbi
and scholar, is referred to as “the zeyda” meaning “grandfather” (31) and “the
Zaddik” (105), which is a devoutly religious leader. His status in society,
even years after his death, is unquestioned. In contrast, his wife Malka (her
name means “queen”—ironic because she ruled nothing) is called “the baba” (102),
which is Hebrew for “grandma”. Her name suggests the image of an infant,
powerless and dependent like all the women in Richler’s story, with the plight
of the speaker’s mother most clearly depicted.
In
Richler’s story, it is the rabbi, the religious authority, who holds greatest
sway in deciding what values society lives and dies by. However, it is
interesting to note how the roles of the rabbi and doctor seem to be
interchangeable at times. For example, the doctor confides to the rabbi that he
is writing a book based on his experiences “as a healer” (148), which the
reader takes to mean is some discussion concerning physical disease. Yet
Richler places this statement following Dr. Katzman’s expression of admiration
for the rabbi’s explanation of why his mother died when she did, and before the
doctor breathlessly exclaims “[t]he mysteries of the human heart!” (148),
suggesting the book may be more spiritual in nature and thus within the rabbi’s
area of expertise. Conversely, just prior to the final scene, the rabbi adopts
the doctor’s role by proposing his sister be given a sedative (137). Early in the story when the reader first
meets Dr. Katzman, he says the speaker’s grandmother is “in the hands of the
Almighty” (4). This line suggests a religious appeal more in keeping with the
rabbi, while the story’s final line has the rabbi, in turn, asking the boys
what they want to be when they grow up. Instead of providing spiritual comfort,
his question suggests he is more concerned with their secular growth. It is
this omnipresent and omnipotent authority of the doctor and the rabbi over the
body and the soul of society’s members that entrenches the powerlessness of the
women: there is no venue of appeal for them. And Richler cleverly structures
his story to suggest this oppressive envelopment by giving the opening line to
the doctor and the final one to the rabbi. Thus, Dr. Katzman gets the first
word in and the rabbi has the final say. Furthermore, when Dr. Katzman is
called inside to deal with Sam’s distraught wife, he asks the rabbi to
“[e]xcuse” (152) him and the rabbi says “[o]f course” (153), suggesting a
partnership of sorts between the two, with the rabbi providing religious
‘cover’ for Dr. Katzman’s actions.
If
the rabbi dictates why people live,
as discussed earlier with respect to Malka’s timely death, then Dr. Katzman
dictates how they live. For example, two
years previously when the speaker’s mother collapses, the doctor says it is
because she has a “gallstone condition” (57). This fatuous diagnosis disguises
the real reason she is ill: she is exhausted caring for her mother with little
or no support from her husband, her relatives or the good doctor. Dr. Katzman
does not state this because to do so would legitimize her complaints and expose
her powerlessness as a woman, something that cannot be acknowledged. Along with
the rabbi and the doctor, the men of Richler’s society are complicit in
abetting their women’s powerlessness, including the young speaker who, while he
is attentive and respectful toward his mother, nevertheless like his father Sam
he does nothing to help her; he observes but does not act.
For
example, if Sam acknowledges that his wife needs help, then he would have to
admit his own complicity in the matter, and this would challenge his authority
in their marriage and his status in society. While he acknowledges that she
will be “flat on her back again” (77) in a month if Malka returns, he does
nothing to help her. He refuses to acknowledge that she is in the untenable
position of working herself to exhaustion to care for her mother or else accept
the possibility that her mother will die prematurely in the nursing home. As
the speaker suggests, Malka had become a “condition” (39) in the house, one that
Sam and the other men can choose to ignore, while the speaker’s mother cannot. Additionally,
if he were to acknowledge his wife’s plight, then he would have to take a stand
against his brother-in-law, the rabbi, something the reader sees Sam is
incapable of doing except in the most indirect manner. When begged by his wife
to demand that the rabbi leave their home (she is particularly incensed with
her brother’s lack of support for their mother over the years), Sam calls him
“Israel” (139). Perhaps it is the rabbi’s name or Sam may be sarcastic, but it suggests
an indirect form of address akin, and in this sense Sam does not confront the
rabbi directly. Israel is a common name. It means “he who
struggles with God”. It is interesting that Sam switches to calling the rabbi
by his first name here, though. He goes on to say that the rabbi’s “stock”
(141) has gone down with him, meaning Sam has lost respect for him, and his
tone of address is less formal with the Rabbi at this point. And while the
Rabbi’s ‘stock’ has gone down with Sam, it has apparently not gone so low that
Sam will sell it; he remains ‘invested’ in the rabbi. Again, the
reader notes the element of luck in Richler story: Sam continues to ‘play the
market’, hoping the rabbi’s stock will rise, and with it, his own fortunes. As
with his earlier reference to “Hoyle” (13), the compiler of card game rules, for
Sam, it is luck that determines who is privileged in society. However, Sam
fails to acknowledge—or be aware of—how the cards are stacked in men’s favour. The
rabbi acknowledges Sam’s mild efforts at confrontation by smiling at him “a
little” (140).
As
the doctor and the rabbi finish their conversation on the stoop, Sam rushes out
to ask Dr. Katzman to come inside and give his wife another injection. She
remains upset. In reality, she is upset because Sam fails to take a stand, to
support her and ask her brother to leave their home. Sam does not acknowledge
the real reason for her distress. Instead, her tears pour down “like a tap”
(151) and are seen as merely a mechanical problem disconnected from her
experiences. It is striking to remember that after she receives her first injection,
Dr. Katzman says in a satisfied tone “[t]here we are” (142). This grotesque image
suggests that the doctor and the rabbi are in her blood now, and that the
strictures and precepts they promote have been forced inside her: she has
nowhere to turn for help, not even within herself.
Earlier
in the story after the speaker’s mother recovers from her “gallstone
condition”, she decides to visit her mother who, in the meantime, has been
moved into a nursing home. Sam bemoans his luck, for he knows she will return
with her mother in tow. He says, meaning it ironically, that he was “born
lucky” (70), “born with all the luck” (71). He sees himself as unlucky, but he
is incorrect. Unlike his wife who according to Dr. Katzman was “a born nurse”
(18) and therefore her role in life determined at birth, Sam was born lucky. He
was born a man.
Notes:
1.
One
female character not discussed so far is the speaker’s older sister, Rifka. In
the story, she acts as a kind of reality check for the speaker, reminding him
of who he is, what he will become and what privileges he will acquire. She
reminds him that he will soon take over the deceased Malka’s room, something he
has coveted since he was seven years
old. Interestingly, there is no
discussion of what Rifka will do, now that she will have her own room. Presumably,
whatever she does is unimportant; it is only important that the speaker gets
what he wanted. Here, the number seven suggests the speaker is part of a
society where men are “lucky”, and while he is not quite as lucky as his elders
are (he had to wait seven years to
get Malka’s room), it is only because he is still a boy. He asks Rifka to talk
with him a while, as it is their last night together in their shared bedroom. She
complies and teasingly tells her more naïve brother that when a man is hanged
the last thing he experiences is an orgasm, suggesting with this revelation that
men are born to be gratified, even in death. However, she returns to the topic
of their grandmother, telling the speaker that he must look upon her in her
coffin the next day at the funeral and throw dirt on her face as part of the
ceremony. In other words, she is saying he must accept the part he played in
creating the kind of life Malka had at the end, as well as share in the
responsibility for her death (even though he was just a boy who wanted his own
room). This image of throwing dirt on his grandmother’s face suggests his
complicity in the matter as well as his need to bury the fact along with her body.
Later in the evening, Rifka playfully disguises herself in a bed sheet and
pretends to be the ghost of Malka, suggesting their grandmother will haunt her
brother because he is guilty of viewing her as just an impediment to acquiring
his own room. Thus, during their last night together as children, Rifka reminds
the speaker that he is a man in the making.
Work Cited
Richler,
Mordecai. “The Summer My Grandmother Was Supposed to Die”. English 255 Introductory Composition Reading File.
Athabasca: Athabasca University, 2008. Print.
Professor’s comments:
Well done.
96
Your
analysis of the depiction of gender roles and the recurring theme of men’s luck
is very interesting. Many of your observations are perspicacious. The essay is
well organized. Your title suggests that the theme of men and luck will be the
main focus. If this is what you intended, then you should reveal this closer to
the beginning of the essay. The essay is clearly written, although the frequent
use of parentheses can be confusing at times, especially when it is combined
with in-text citations in parentheses. I have noted some minor problems with
grammar, mechanics, and style. They do not interfere with comprehension.
*This is another more recent essay from an on-line course I took a few years ago. Enjoy or toss onto the nearest tip.
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