They were like brothers. Both named Abe!

In Poland, in the shtetl they always bragged that they slept in the same bed together.

Their humor complemented one to the other.

Two cousins. Two friends.

And then came "the loan."

Abe G. had a successful dry goods store in the East Bronx. Through saving and being careful with money he had turned it into a going business. He and his wife scrimped and saved and finally the store showed a profit. The store demanded seven days a week and seven days a week Abe G. and his wife worked.

Abe L. became a furrier. It was in the days when fur was a synonym for luxury and wealth. Not as in modern times when women fear wearing minks and ermines lest some dissenter douse them with paint.

Being a furrier was a craft. It was not particularly well paid but it was a job. There were union shops and the bosses did well and some of the workers made a good living.

Abe L. was a worker for many years. He secretly harbored the thought of being a "boss furrier." It was risky giving up a good salary and becoming a "boss furrier" with no guaranteed income.

Finally Abe L. made the transition. He took the gamble and went into business. "After all, isn't this America, the land of opportunity. When it's raining soup don't go outside with a fork. Go into business for yourself."

Abe L. did quite well for a while as a boss until the day of "the loan."

It was a Friday morning in the Bronx. The sun was shining (the sun shines in the Bronx also) and all was well.

Abe L. burst into his cousin's dry goods store. He was out-of-breath, sweat poured off his face and a look of anguish consumed his entire being.

He shouted incoherently at first and then the thought came through.

"Abe, I need money to meet my payroll. I will not take no for an answer. I will stand in your store until you give it to me. I won't leave without the money."

Abe G. was thrown off track. "What happened?"

he asked.

"I don't have money for the payroll. I can't face my workers in the fur factory. I want the money."

"How much?" asked Abe G. quietly.

"One thousand dollars," Abe L. said loudly.

"That's a lot of money," said the storekeeper.

"I'm not leaving without it. I swear to God."

"OK, OK, calm down. Let me see how much cash I have in the back of the store. It's a lot of money, all of a sudden."

He went to the back of the store and after about 25 minutes he emerged. All the while Abe the furrier kept wiping his brow of perspiration that was not there, while peering hopefully into the back room.

"Here's the money Abe. Do what you have to do."

The money was grabbed, a barely audible but not excessive "Thank you" was issued and the furrier was gone.

Weeks later the family learned that the whole furrier business had gone kaput. The $1,000 was like a finger in a dike that needed a tree to stem the water.

No contract was written. No oral agreement was sealed.

The loan was never paid back.

It remained an unspoken barrier between the two Abes and their wives until the deaths of all four of them. An unsatisfied loan. A broken friendship.

As a young child and now as a grown man I still cannot shake the look of terror and desperation that I saw that day in the furrier's eyes.

I hope that some day it will fade out of my memory.

I am the storekeeper's son.