Jewish Children Part 11

When he got no satisfaction from his mother, Abramtzig waited for his father, who had gone off to the market with a treasure of boxes.

"Children, guess what present father will bring us from the market,"

said Abramtzig. And the children tried to guess what their father would bring them from the market. They counted on their fingers everything that was in the market--everything that an eye could see, and a heart desire--cakes and buns and sweets. But no one guessed aright. And I am afraid you will not guess aright either. Peisa the box-maker brought from the market this time neither cakes, nor buns nor sweets. He brought the children gra.s.s--curious, long, sweet-smelling gra.s.s.

And all three children gathered around their father.

"Father, what is it--that?"

"It is gra.s.s."

"What is gra.s.s?"

"It is a bunch of greens for '_Shevuous_.' Jews need gra.s.s for '_Shevuous_.'"

"Where do they get it, father?"

"Where do they get it? H'm! They buy it. They buy it in the market,"

said their father. And he strewed the green, sweet-smelling gra.s.s over the freshly-swept floor. And he was delighted; it was green and smelt sweet. He said to the mother gaily, as is his way:

"Pessa, good '_Yom-tov_' to you!"

"Good luck! A new thing! The young devils will now have something to make a mess with," replied the mother, crossly, as is her way. And she gave one of the children a smack, the second a dig in the ribs, and the third a twist of the ear. She is never satisfied, always cross, and always sour, exactly the opposite of father.

The three pretty heads looked at the mother, and at the father, and at one another. The moment their parents turned away, they threw themselves on the floor, and put their faces to the sweet-smelling gra.s.s. They kissed it--the green gra.s.s that Jews need for "_Shevuous_" and which is sold at the market.

Everything is to be found at the market, even greens. The father buys everything. Jews want everything, even greens--even greens.

Greens for "Shevuous"

On the eve of "_Shevuous_," I induced my mother--peace be unto her!--to let me go off outside the town, by myself, to gather greens for the Festival.

And my mother let me go off alone to gather the greens for the Festival.

May she have a bright Paradise for that!

A real pleasure is a pleasure that one enjoys by one's self, without a companion, and without a single argument. I was alone, free as a bird, in the big cultivated field. Above me was the whole of the blue cap called "the sky." For me alone shone the beautiful queen of the day, the sun. For my sake there came together, here in the big field, all the singers and warblers and dancers. For my sake there was spread before me the row of tall sunflowers, and the delicate growths were scattered all over the field by a benevolent nature. No one bothered me. No one prevented me from doing what I liked. No one saw me but G.o.d. And I could do what I liked. If I liked I might sing. If I liked I might shout and scream at the top of my voice. If I liked I might make a horn with my hands, and blow out a melody. If I liked I might roll on the green gra.s.s just as I was, curling myself up like a hedgehog. Who was there to give me orders? And whom would I pay heed to? I was free--I was free.

The day was so warm, the sun so beautiful, the sky so clear, the field so green, the gra.s.s so fresh, my heart so gay, and my soul so joyful that I forgot completely I was a stranger in the field and had merely come out to cut green boughs for "_Shevuous_." I imagined I was a prince, and the whole field that my eyes rested on, and everything in the field, and even the blue sky above it--all were mine. I owned everything, and could do what I liked with it--I, and no one else. And like an overlord who had complete control of everything, I longed to show my power, my strength, my authority--all that I could and would do.

First of all I was displeased with the tall giants with the yellow hats--the sunflowers. Suddenly they appeared to me as my enemies. And all the other plants with and without stalks, the beans and beanstalks, were enemies too. They were the Philistines that had settled on my ground. Who had sent for them? And those thick green plants lying on the ground, with huge green heads--the cabbages, what are they doing here?

They will only get drunk and bring a misfortune upon me. Let them go into the earth. I do not want them. Angry thoughts and fierce instincts awoke within me. A curious feeling of vengefulness took possession of me. I began to avenge myself of my enemies. And what a vengeance it was!

I had with me all the tools I would need for cutting the green boughs for the Festival--pocket-knife with two blades, and a sword--a wooden sword, but a sharp one.

This sword had remained with me after "_L'ag Beomer_." And although I had carried it with me when I had gone with my comrades to do battle outside the town, yet I could swear to you, though you may believe me without an oath, that the sword had not spilled one drop of blood. It was one of those weapons that are carried about in times of peace. There was not a sign of war. It was quiet and peaceful around and about. I carried the sword because I wanted to. For the sake of peace, one must have in readiness swords and guns and rifles and cannon, horses and soldiers. May they never be needed for ill, as my mother used to say when she was making preserves.

It is the same all the world over. In a war, one aims first at the leaders, the officers. It is better still if one can hit the general.

After that the soldiers fall like chaff, in any event. Therefore you will not be surprised to hear that, first of all, I fell upon Goliath the Philistine. I gave him a good blow on the head with my sword, and a few good blows from the back. And the wicked one was stretched at my feet, full length. After that I knocked over a good many more wicked ones. I pulled the stalks out of the ground, and threw them to the devil. The short, fat green enemies I attacked in a different manner.

Wherever I could, I took the green heads off. The others I trampled down with my feet. I made a heap of ashes of them.

During a battle, when the blood is hot, and one is carried away by excitement, one cuts down everything that is at hand, right and left.

When one is spilling blood, one loses one's self, one does not know where one is in the world. At such a time, one does not honour old age.

One does not care about weak women. One has no pity for little children.

Blood is simply poured out like water.... When I was cutting down the enemy, I felt a hatred and a malice I had never experienced before, immediately after I had delivered the first blow. The more I killed the more excited I became. I urged myself to go on. I was so beside myself, so enflamed, so ecstatic that I smashed up, and destroyed everything before me. I cut about me on all sides. Most of all the "little ones"

suffered at my hands--the young peas in the fat little pods, the tiny cuc.u.mbers that were just showing above ground. These excited me by their silence and their coldness. And I gave them such a share that they would never forget me. I knocked off heads, tore open bellies, shattered to atoms, beat, murdered, killed. May I know of evil as little as I know how I came to be so wicked. Innocent potatoes, poor things, that lay deep in the earth, I dug out, just to show them that there was no hiding from me. Little onions and green garlic I tore up by the roots. Radishes flew about me like hail. And may the Lord punish me if I even tasted a single bite of anything. I remembered the law in the Bible forbidding it. And Jews do not plunder. Every minute, when an evil spirit came and tempted me to taste a little onion or a young garlic, the words of the Bible came into my mind.... But I did not cease from beating, breaking, wounding, and killing and cutting to pieces, old and young, poor and rich, big and little, without the least mercy....

On the contrary, I imagined I heard their wails and groans and cries for mercy, and I was not moved. It was remarkable that I who could not bear to see a fowl slaughtered, or a cat beaten, or a dog insulted, or a horse whipped--I should be such a tyrant, such a murderer....

"Vengeance," I shouted without ceasing, "vengeance. I will have my revenge of you for all the Jewish blood that was spilled. I will repay you for Jerusalem, for the Jews of Spain and Portugal, and for the Jews of Morocco. Also for the Jews who fell in the past, and those who are falling today. And for the Scrolls of the Law that were torn, and for the ... Oh! oh! oh! Help! Help! Who has me by the ear?"

Two good thumps and two good smacks in the face at the one time sobered me on the instant. I saw before me a man who, I could have sworn, was Okhrim, the gardener.

Okhrim the gardener had for years cultivated fields outside the town. He rented a piece of ground, made a garden of it, and planted in it melons and pumpkins, and onions and garlic and radishes and other vegetables.

He made a good living in this way. How did I know Okhrim? He used to deal with us. That is to say, he used to borrow money off my mother every Pa.s.sover eve, and about "_Succoth_" time, he used to begin to pay it back by degrees. These payments used to be entered on the inside cover of my mother's prayer-book. There was a separate page for Okhrim, and a separate account. It was headed in big writing, "Okhrim's account." Under these words came the entries: "A '_rouble_' from Okhrim.

Another 'rouble' from Okhrim. Two 'roubles' from Okhrim. Half a '_rouble_' from Okhrim. A sack of potatoes from Okhrim," and so on....

And though my mother was not rich--a widow with children, who lived by money-lending--she took no interest from Okhrim. He used to repay us in garden-produce, sometimes more, sometimes less. We never quarrelled with him.

If the harvest was good, he filled our cellar with potatoes and cuc.u.mbers to last us all the winter. And if the harvest was bad, he used to come and plead with my mother:

"Do not be offended, Mrs. Abraham, the harvest is bad."

My mother forgave him, and told him not to be greedy next year.

"You may trust me, Mrs. Abraham, you may trust me," Okhrim replied. And he kept his word. He brought us the first pickings of onions and garlic.

We had new potatoes and green cuc.u.mbers before the rich folks. I heard our neighbours say, more than once, that the widow was not so badly off as she said. "See, they bring her the best of everything." Of course, I at once told my mother what I had heard, and she poured out a few curses on our neighbours.

"Salt in their eyes, and stones in their hearts! Whoever begrudges me what I have, let him have nothing. I wish them to be in my position next year."

Naturally, I at once told my neighbours what my mother had wished them; and, of course, for these words they were enraged against her. They called her by a name I was ashamed to hear.... Naturally I was angry, and at once told my mother of it. My mother gave me two smacks and told me to give up carrying "'_Purim_' presents" from one to the other. The smacks pained, and the words "'_Purim_' presents" gnawed at my brain. I could not understand why she said "'_Purim_' presents."

I used to rejoice when I saw Okhrim from the distance, in his high boots and his thick, white, warm, woollen pellisse which he wore winter and summer. When I saw him, I knew he was bringing us a sackful of garden produce. And I flew into the kitchen to tell my mother the news that Okhrim was coming.

I must confess that there was a sort of secret love between Okhrim and myself--a sort of sympathy that could not be expressed in words. We rarely spoke to one another. Firstly, because I did not understand his language, that is to say, I understood his but he did not understand mine. Secondly, I was shy. How could I talk to such a big Okhrim? I had to ask my mother to be our interpreter.

"Mother, ask him why he does not bring me some grapes."

"Where is he going to get them? There are no grapes growing in a vegetable garden."