Portraits by Cynthia Freeman Page A

to strike back at Lotte any more than he could have struck back at O’Leary.
    All that was left was the world.
    The next morning he woke up in the somber gray dawn and let his gaze wander about the dirty room. The mattress springs stuck into his aching ribs. His head pounded. When he rallied himself out of his drunken stupor he realized a nude body lay close to him. Unsteadily he got out of bed, throwing back the covers. He looked at the girl. Her arms were black and blue. There was a gash on her lips and a large reddish area on her swollen cheek. Her eyes were frightened as they met his. Heavily, he sat down on the edge of the mattress. She flinched as Jacob moved his hand to cover her body with the sheet.
    “You’re afraid of me? Why?”
    Swallowing hard, she said, “Because of what you did to me last night.”
    Jacob narrowed his eyes. “What did I do?”
    She hesitated, pulling the sheet up under her chin without answering.
    “Nothing will happen to you, tell me.”
    “Well,” she started slowly, “I met you coming out of the saloon and asked if you’d like to come home with me.” She hesitated.
    “Go on.”
    Taking a deep breath, she said, “You were pretty drunk. Then, when we got here, you asked if I had some whiskey. You won’t get upset?”
    He shook his head. “Just tell me what happened.”
    “You drank the whole bottle and then…you went kind of crazy.”
    “Crazy?”
    “Yeah. I mean for no reason, you began to beat me up. I never had a guy do that—a lot of other things but never that. I thought you were going to kill me. You kept hollerin’ out ‘Lotte.’ I really think you thought I was this Lotte.”
    Jacob was stunned. He couldn’t remember any of it. He shut his eyes and held his head with his hands. My God, he could have killed this girl. Of course, he wanted to punish Lotte. Yes, it was Lotte he had been beating.
    The long silence was so great the girl was beginning to wonder what he was planning. Running her tongue around her dry lips, she asked quietly, afraid to antagonize him, “Are you all right?”
    Jacob was brought up sharply. “Yes, I’m all right.” Looking at the girl he asked, “Why didn’t you try to get away?”
    “Listen, you’re very strong. Besides, you locked the door and threw the key away.”
    Jacob sighed and rubbed his throbbing forehead. “What else did I do?”
    “Well, you knocked me down on the bed. I got to be honest, I never had a guy do it so hard. I thought my insides was going to bust.”
    He couldn’t listen to any more. Quickly, he got up and started to dress. Still frightened, she asked, “How you gonna get out, mister?”
    Jacob took the jacknife out of his back pocket and stuck it into the lock. One turn and the door opened. He reached inside his coat pocket, took out whatever money he had and, without counting it, put it on the dresser. He looked at the girl once more, shook his head. “I’m sorry. I really mean that.” And as he turned and hurried from the room he was even sorrier that it had not been Lotte…
    He didn’t go to work that day. What difference did it make? What difference did anything make?
    After wandering aimlessly for hours, he went home. He passed Esther in the kitchen without a word. She followed him into his room and watched as he took off his shoes and lay down. Putting his hands behind his head, he stared up at the ceiling. What he saw were the bruises he had inflicted on the young prostitute’s body. The first woman he’d ever taken, a whore, and he couldn’t even remember what it felt like. And it was his beloved Lotte who had driven him to such ugly violence.
    This time, Esther did not question why he had not come home. Quietly she said, “Jacob, I know how sad you are. And why.”
    He wanted to put his hands over his ears and shut out her voice. He couldn’t stand the sound of it; it was false. All the anger and suspicions of her came back…she’d only taken him in because of her own