The Belly
When the boys next door practiced on the ’cello, he would
        draw up his chair and listen, pressing his palms against the
        wall as if to gather the sounds.
His mother would drive him away. “Do your lessons,. you’ll be
        left back again in school!"
But in the evening she would speak to her husband in Russian,
        so that the boy might not understand. “He is longing for
        it, let him take music lessons.”
“Don’t put such ideas into his head. Do I want my son to grow
        up a fiddler? Let him do his school work, why don’t you
        see he’s neglecting that?”

They thought that his father might make a man of him in business,
Gabriel liked to open and help lift the cases of cotton goods,
        to hammer nails into the cases they shipped and carry bundles to customers.
His father spoke kindly to him and told his mother, “He’ll be all right after all.”
He began to ask again for ’cello lessons. Spittle dripped from
        his father’s lips. “What does he want of me?
If he wants to study, let him go to night school and take up 
        bookkeeping, for instance.
I always wanted to study algebra, but what chance was there
        in Russia? Here the world is open for a young man.
But he has taken a notion to scratch on a fiddle into his head
        and I can’t hammer it out.
If he had a great talent—but where will he end up, a fiddler at 
        weddings or in a theatre?"

A rich uncle came on a visit when Gabriel was twenty. They
        were out walking and Gabriel spoke to him.
His uncle answered kindly, “Do you know what I advise you:
        stay with your father and do your best in the business;
        your father wants to do the best for you.
If he sees you’re willing and capable, he’ll take you into the
        firm. Then, when you’re established and make a com-
        fortable living, take up whatever side-line you want to, 
        music or anything else;
as long as you’re dependent on your father, you must obey.”
        “At that time, Uncle, I’ll be too old to begin my music.”
        “One is never too old to learn.”

He saved some money from his allowance and left home. He priced ’cellos.
He did not want to work for any of the cotton merchants and meet his father.
He had found no job and all his money was spent.
He had not eaten that day and could not sleep at night.
        When day came he fell asleep and woke at noon.
Holding on to the bannisters, he walked down the stairs of the
        lodging house. He began to walk along the street, his head 
        light as if it were a balloon.
Each step was a distance. He sat on stoops to rest. If no stoop 
        was near, he sat down on the curb-stone.
When he reached home, he tried to walk upstairs, but afraid
        of fainting, he went up on hands and knees.