Jewish Children Part 3

And what had the tale to do with him and Feitel? Why had his mother pulled his flaxen hair and boxed his ears? He did not care about these.

He was used to them. He only wanted to know why he had had such a good share that day.

"Well?" Feitel heard his father remark to his mother immediately after the Festival. His face was s.h.i.+ning as if the greatest good fortune had befallen him. "Well? You fretted yourself to death. You were afraid. A woman remains a woman. Our Pa.s.sover and their Easter have gone, and nothing."

"Thank G.o.d," replied his mother. And Feitel could not understand what his mother had feared. And why were they glad that the Pa.s.sover was gone? Would it not have been better if the Pa.s.sover had been longer and longer?

Feitel met Fedoka outside the door. He could not contain himself, but told him everything--how they had prayed, and how they had eaten. Oh, how they had eaten! He told him how nice all the Pa.s.sover dishes were, and how sweet the wine. Fedoka listened attentively, and cast his eyes on Feitel's blouse. He was still thinking of "_matzo_." Suddenly there was a scream, and a cry in a high-pitched soprano:

"Fedoka, Fedoka!"

It was his mother calling him in for supper. But Fedoka did not hurry.

He thought she would not pull his hair now. First of all, he had not been at the mill. Secondly, it was after the Pa.s.sover. After the Pa.s.sover there was no need to be afraid of the Jews. He stretched himself on the gra.s.s, on his stomach, propping up his white head with his hands. Opposite him lay Feitel, his black head propped up by his hands. The sky is blue. The sun is warm. The little wind fans one and plays with one's hair. The little calf stands close by. The c.o.c.k is also near, with his wives. The two heads, the black and the white, are close together. The children talk and talk and talk, and cannot finish talking.

Nachman Veribivker is not at home. Early in the morning he took his stick, and let himself go over the village, in search of business. He stopped at every farm, bade the Gentiles good-morning, calling each one by name, and talked with them on every subject in the world. But he avoided all reference to the Pa.s.sover incident, and never even hinted at his fears of the Pa.s.sover. Before going away, he said: "Perhaps, friend, you have something you would like to sell?" "Nothing, 'Lachman,'

nothing." "Old iron, rags, an old sack, or a hide?" "Do not be offended, 'Lachman,' there is nothing. Bad times!" "Bad times? You drank everything, maybe. Such a festival!" "Who drank? What drank? Bad times."

The Gentile sighed. Nachman also sighed. They talked of different things. Nachman would not have the other know that he came only on business. He left that Gentile, and went to another, to a third, until he came upon something. He would not return home empty-handed.

Nachman Veribivker, loaded and perspiring, tramped home, thinking only of one problem--how much he was going to gain or lose that day. He has forgotten the Pa.s.sover eve incident. He has forgotten the fears of the Pa.s.sover. The clerk, Kuratchka, and his governors and circulars have gone clean out of the Jew's head.

Let winds blow. Let storms rage. Let the world turn upside down. The old oak which has been standing since the creation of the world, and whose roots reach to G.o.d-knows-where--what does he care for winds? What are storms to him?

Elijah the Prophet

It is not good to be an only son, to be fretted over by father and mother--to be the only one left out of seven. Don't stand here. Don't go there. Don't drink that. Don't eat the other. Cover up your throat. Hide your hands. Ah, it is not good--not good at all to be an only son, and a rich man's son into the bargain. My father is a money changer. He goes about amongst the shopkeepers with a bag of money, changing copper for silver, and silver for copper. That is why his fingers are always black, and his nails broken. He works very hard. Each day, when he comes home, he is tired and broken down. "I have no feet," he complains to mother.

"I have no feet, not even the sign of a foot." No feet? It may be. But for that again he has a fine business. That's what the people say. And they envy us that we have a good business. Mother is satisfied. So am I.

"We shall have a Pa.s.sover this year, may all the children of Israel have the like, Father in Heaven!"

That's what my mother said, thanking G.o.d for the good Pa.s.sover. And I also was thankful. But shall we ever live to see it--this same Pa.s.sover?

Pa.s.sover has come at last--the dear sweet Pa.s.sover. I was dressed as befitted the son of a man of wealth--like a young prince. But what was the consequence? I was not allowed to play, or run about, lest I caught cold. I must not play with poor children. I was a wealthy man's boy.

Such nice clothes, and I had no one to show off before. I had a pocketful of nuts, and no one to play with.

It is not good to be an only child, and fretted over--the only one left out of seven, and a wealthy man's son into the bargain.

My father put on his best clothes, and went off to the synagogue. Said my mother to me: "Do you know what? Lie down and have a sleep. You will then be able to sit up at the '_Seder_' and ask the 'four questions'!"

Was I mad? Would I go asleep before the "_Seder_"?

"Remember, you must not sleep at the '_Seder_.' If you do, Elijah the Prophet will come with a bag on his shoulders. On the two first nights of Pa.s.sover, Elijah the Prophet goes about looking for those who have fallen asleep at the '_Seder_,' and takes them away in his bag." ... Ha!

Ha! Will I fall asleep at the "_Seder_"? I? Not even if it were to last the whole night through, or even to broad daylight. "What happened last year, mother?" "Last year you fell asleep, soon after the first blessing." "Why did Elijah the Prophet not come then with his bag?"

"Then you were very small, now you are big. Tonight you must ask father the 'four questions.' Tonight you must say with father--'Slaves were we.' Tonight, you must eat with us fish and soup and '_Matzo_'-b.a.l.l.s.

Hush, here is father, back from the synagogue."

"Good '_Yom-tov_'!"

"Good '_Yom-tov_'!"

Thank G.o.d, father made the blessing over wine. I, too. Father drank the cup full of wine. So did I, a cup full, to the very dregs. "See, to the dregs," said mother to father. To me she said: "A full cup of wine! You will drop off to sleep." Ha! Ha! Will I fall asleep? Not even if we are to sit up all the night, or even to broad daylight. "Well," said my father, "how are you going to ask the 'four questions'? How will you recite '_Haggadah_'? How will you sing with me--'Slaves were we'?" My mother never took her eyes off me. She smiled and said: "You will fall asleep--fast asleep." "Oh, mother, mother, if you had eighteen heads, you would surely fall asleep, if some one sat opposite you, and sang in your ears: 'Fall asleep, fall asleep'!"

Of course I fell asleep.

I fell asleep, and dreamt that my father was already saying: "Pour out thy wrath." My mother herself got up from the table, and went to open the door to welcome Elijah the Prophet. It would be a fine thing if Elijah the Prophet did come, as my mother had said, with a bag on his shoulders, and if he said to me: "Come, boy." And who else would be to blame for this but my mother, with her "fall asleep, fall asleep." And as I was thinking these thoughts, I heard the creaking of the door. My father stood up and cried: "Blessed art thou who comest in the name of the Eternal." I looked towards the door. Yes, it was he. He came in so slowly and so softly that one scarcely heard him. He was a handsome man, Elijah the Prophet--an old man with a long grizzled beard reaching to his knees. His face was yellow and wrinkled, but it was handsome and kindly without end. And his eyes! Oh, what eyes! Kind, soft, joyous, loving, faithful eyes. He was bent in two, and leaned on a big, big stick. He had a bag on his shoulders. And silently, softly, he came straight to me.

"Now, little boy, get into my bag, and come." So said to me the old man, but in a kind voice, and softly and sweetly.

I asked him: "Where to?" And he replied: "You will see later." I did not want to go, and he said to me again: "Come." And I began to argue with him. "How can I go with you when I am a wealthy man's son?" Said he to me: "And as a wealthy man's son, of what great value are you?" Said I: "I am the only child of my father and mother." Said he: "To me you are not an only child!" Said I: "I am fretted over. If they find that I am gone, they will not get over it, they will die, especially my mother."

He looked at me, the old man did, very kindly, and he said to me, softly and sweetly as before: "If you do not want to die, then come with me.

Say good-bye to your father and mother, and come." "But, how can I come when I am an only child, the only one left alive out of seven?"

Then he said to me more sternly: "For the last time, little boy. Choose one of the two. Either you say good-bye to your father and mother, and come with me, or you remain here, but fast asleep for ever and ever."

Having said these words, he stepped back from me a little, and was turning to the door. What was to be done? To go with the old man, G.o.d-knows-where, and get lost, would mean the death of my father and mother. I am an only child, the only one left alive out of seven. To remain here, and fall asleep for ever and ever--that would mean that I myself must die....

I stretched out my hand to him, and with tears in my eyes I said: "Elijah the Prophet, dear, kind, loving, darling Elijah, give me one minute to think." He turned towards me his handsome, yellow, wrinkled old face with its grizzled beard reaching to his knees, and looked at me with his beautiful, kind, loving, faithful eyes, and he said to me with a smile: "I will give you one minute to decide, my child--but, no more than one minute."

I ask you. "What should I have decided to do in that one minute, so as to save myself from going with the old man, and also to save myself from falling asleep for ever? Well, who can guess?"

Getzel

"Sit down, and I will tell you a story about nuts."

"About nuts? About nuts?"

"About nuts."

"Now? War-time?"

"Just because it's war-time. Because your heart is heavy, I want to distract your thoughts from the war. In any case, when you crack a nut, you find a kernel."

His name was Getzel, but they called him Goyetzel. Whoever had G.o.d in his heart made fun of Getzel, ridiculed him. He was considered a bit of a fool. Amongst us schoolboys he was looked upon as a young man. He was a clumsily built fellow, had extremely coa.r.s.e hands, and thick lips. He had a voice that seemed to come from an empty barrel. He wore wide trousers and big top-boots, like a bear. His head was as big as a kneading trough. This head of his, "_Reb_" Yankel used to say, was stuffed with hay or feathers. The "_Rebbe_" frequently reminded Getzel of his great size and awkwardness. "Goyetzel," "Coa.r.s.e being,"

"Bullock's skin," and other such nicknames were bestowed on him by the teacher. And he never seemed to care a rap about them. He hid in a corner, puffed out his cheeks, and bleated like a calf. You must know that Getzel was fond of eating. Food was dearer to him than anything else. He was a mere stomach. The master called him a glutton, but Getzel didn't care about that either. The minute he saw food, he thrust it into his mouth, and chewed and chewed vigorously. He had sent to him, to the "_Cheder_," the best of everything. This great clumsy fool was, along with everything else, his wealthy mother's darling--her only child. And she took the greatest care of him. Day and night, she stuffed him like a goose, and was always wailing that her child ate nothing.

"He ought to have the evil eye averted from him," our teacher used to say, behind Getzel's back, of course.