Tevye the Dairyman and the Railroad Stories (33 page)

“This time everyone was good and mad.
Two
dowries? Why, that was already a swindle! And so it was decided to let the letter go unanswered. Well, Kivke waited a week or two, mind you, or maybe even three, and then sent another letter, addressed once again to my grandfather. What, he wanted to know, did they take him for? Why hadn’t they sent him the two hundred rubles? He would give them, he wrote, another week and a half—and if he still hadn’t received the money by then, they could look forward to having him, God willing, as their guest in Kaminka, Yours Etcetera, amen and amen. He sure was some sheygetz!

“Don’t think that didn’t kick up a storm! What could anyone do, though? Once more there was a meeting at my grandfather’s house, and once more it was decided to send the most respected Jews from door to door. This time, mind you, people made a face, because who wanted to dish out still more money to such a scoundrel—but the fact of the matter was that when Reb Nissl Shapiro said ‘Give,’ being a pig was out of the question. Nevertheless, everyone swore that this was the last time. And my grandfather himself, mind you, didn’t think otherwise, because he wrote Kivke back in no uncertain terms that he wasn’t getting another cent and shouldn’t dream of it.

“No doubt you think that put the fear of God into the rascal, eh? Well, suppose I told you that one morning, and a Jewish holiday it was too, another letter arrived from the fine gentleman, addressed, naturally, to my grandfather! Insofar and inasmuch, he wrote, as he had struck up a friendship in Brody with a German, a most excellent and honorable fellow, and decided to go partners with him in the china business, which was a very good, very solid line that could support a person nicely, ‘Please be so kind as to send’ four hundred and fifty rubles—and for heaven’s sake, be quick and don’t dawdle, because the partner refused to wait, he had ten other candidates lined up, and if he, Kivke, was left without a business, he could either go for a long swim in the river or come hell-bent back to Kaminka … In short, the usual. And he signed off with the gentle hint that if he did not have the money in two weeks’ time, there would be the Devil to pay—or more precisely, his round-trip ticket from Brody to Kaminka and back. He sure was some shyster!

“I don’t have to tell you what kind of upside-down holiday it was—and most of all, mind you, for my grandfather, may he rest in peace, because he bore the brunt of it. At the meeting that was held that night, the whole town was griping and grumbling. ‘Enough! How long do we have to go on shelling out? There’s a limit to everything; even chicken soup with kreplach can get to be too much. This Kivke of yours will make paupers of us all!’ ‘Why is he my Kivke?’ asked my grandfather. ‘Whose Kivke do you think he is?’ was the answer. ‘Whose idea was it in the first place to have the little bastard go die of a stroke while in prison?’

“Well, my grandfather (he was one smart Jew, he was) saw right away that it was a waste of time to hope for more money from the town, so he went to the local authorities—after all, they were in the same boat as he was—and asked them for a donation to the cause. Do you think they gave him a kopeck? Not a chance! Your goy is not your Jew; such things don’t faze him in the least. And so my poor grandfather, mind you, had to swallow his medicine and stake that damned cutthroat to some more cash from his own pocket. You should have seen the letter he sent with it, though! (My grandfather, God rest his soul, could give as good as he got.) Mind you, he gave that sheygetz hell in it. He called him a scoundrel, a degenerate, a know-nothing, a leech, a bloodsucker, a fiend, a traitor, a disgrace to the Jewish people, and whatever-else-have-you. He also told him once and for all not to dare write any more letters or ask for another cent, reminded him that God above sees everything and pays back tit for tat, and ended by begging him (a Jewish heart is still a Jewish heart, after all!) to have pity on an old man like himself and not ruin a town full of Jews, in return for which the Almighty would surely assist him in all his endeavors. That was the letter my grandfather sent, and he signed it with his full name, ‘Nissl Shapiro’—which was, mind you, the biggest mistake he ever made in his life, as you’ll shortly see for yourselves.”

The Jew from Kaminka paused again, reached for his tobacco pouch, slowly rolled himself another cigarette, lit it, and took a few deep puffs without even noticing that the whole car was dying of curiosity. When he had breathed in and coughed out enough smoke, he blew his nose, rolled up his sleeves again, and continued in the same tone as before:

“You must be thinking, my friends, that my grandfather’s letter gave that son-of-a-bitch a good scare. Don’t kid yourselves! Half a
year didn’t go by, or maybe it was a whole one, mind you, when along came another letter from that turncoat. ‘In the first place,’ it said, ‘I wish to inform you that my German partner, may his life be one bad dream, has cheated me out of house and home and out of my share of the business. I would have sued him if it hadn’t been clear that I didn’t stand a Chinaman’s chance. Taking a German to court around here means taking your life in your hands. Why, I wouldn’t touch one of those bastards with a ten-foot pole! So I went and opened a store near his, right next door to him, in fact, and went into business for myself. With God’s help I’ll bury that Kraut yet, I’ll see to it he ends up eating dirt! The problem is that I need an advance of at least a thousand rubles, so please be so kind as to send …’

“That’s what Kivke wrote in his letter, which concluded: ‘If you don’t come up with the money in eight days, I’m taking your last letter signed “Nissl Shapiro” and forwarding it straight to the provincial governor with an unabridged account of all that happened: how I died of a stroke in prison, and how I was resurrected in the cemetery, and how Shimon the coachman brought me to Brody, and how you’ve kept sending me hush money. I’ll write him everything, I’ll let him know that we Jews have a great God above who rescued Kivke from the grave …’

“How’s that for a greeting card? Mind you, as soon as my grandfather, God rest his soul, read those sweet sentiments, he had such a fright that he fainted dead away. It shouldn’t happen to anyone, but he lost all control of … Jews, where are we? What station is this?”

“Baranovich station!” cried the conductors, running one after another past the windows of our car. “All out for Baranovich!”

Hearing the name Baranovich, the Kaminka Jew jumped from his seat, reached for his belongings, which were in a kind of sack stuffed with God only knew what, and, barely able to carry it, headed for the door. In another minute he was standing on the platform with the sweat pouring off him, struggling through the crowd and asking whomever he stumbled into:

“Baranovich?”

“Baranovich!”

He made me think of a Jew
blessing the New Moon in the synagogue courtyard, bumping into his fellow Jews in the darkness and inquiring of each:

“Is that you?”

“Yes, it’s me!”

Several passengers from our car, myself included, ran after him and seized him by the coattails. “Hey, there! You can’t do this to us! We won’t let you go. You have to tell us the end of the story!”

“What end? It’s barely begun. Let go of me! Do you want me to miss my train? A strange bunch of Jews you are! Didn’t you hear them say Baranovich?”

And before we knew it, the Jew from Kaminka had vanished into thin air.

I wouldn’t mind if Baranovich station burned to the ground!

(1909)

EIGHTEEN FROM PERESHCHEPENA

“Y
ou don’t say! Well, I’ll tell you an even better one. There’s a man in our town called Finkelstein, a rich Jew, but really loaded, with two sons. If I had his money, I could afford to laugh at the whole business. Do you know what it cost him, though? I wish the two of us were worth half as much …”

“I said as much a year ago, damn it all! Just you wait and see, I said, it won’t be long before half the Jews in Russia are baptized.”

“I couldn’t agree with you more! Why, we had a young fellow named Marshak who moved heaven and earth. It didn’t do a bit of good; he actually took poison in the end.”

“I hate to say it, but you’ll soon see the day, damn it all, when there isn’t a Jew left in Russia! How can anyone expect us to survive so many troubles, so many quotas, so much discrimination? Every day, every blessed day, there’s some new regulation against us. Why, there must be a regulation per Jew already! I’m telling you, before long they’ll find a way of turning down everyone. Take Shpole, for example. That’s a town with a few Jews in it, wouldn’t you say?”

“Why not Nemirov? I had a letter not long ago from Nemirov with the most depressing news.”

“Do you mean to tell me it’s any better in Lubin?”

“Why, what happened in Lubin?”

“Or in Ananyev, for instance. They used to take at least three Jews from Ananyev each year.”

“Who cares about Ananyev? Just look at Tomashpol. In Tomashpol, so I hear, they didn’t take a single Jew this year, not for love or money!”

“They didn’t? They took eighteen from our town!”

This last remark came from above. My two Jews and I craned our necks to look up at the top berth. A pair of high rubber galoshes hung down from it. The feet in them belonged to a man with a head of unruly black hair and a face that was swollen from sleep.

My two Jews stared at the sleepy-faced man, devouring him with their eyes as though he were a Martian. Both sat up as if given a new lease on life and asked the upper-berther eagerly:

“You say they took eighteen Jews from your town?”

“Eighteen whole Jews, my own son too.”

“They took your son too?”

“I’ll say!”

“Where? Where?”

“Where I come from, in Lower Pereshchepena.”

“In which Pereshchepena? Where exactly is that?”

The two of them were on their feet now, eyeing each other and the Jew in the upper berth, who looked swollen-facedly back down at them.

“You never heard of Lower Pereshchepena? I assure you there is such a place. You really never heard of it? There are even two Pereshchepenas: Upper Pereshchepena and Lower Pereshchepena. I’m from Lower Pereshchepena.”

“Pleased to meet you! Why don’t you come on down? Why sit up in the sky all by yourself?”

The owner of the high rubber galoshes clambered down with a groan, and the two moved over to make room for him and fell on him like hungry locusts.

“They honestly took your own son?”

“I’ll say!”

“But tell us, old man, how did you manage it? It must have cost you a pretty penny!”

“What are you talking about? You mustn’t even mention money to them. There was a time, I admit, when they could be bought. And how they could! Oho! Jews came flocking to us from all over in those days. Everyone knew that Pereshchepena was the place for it. For the last several years, though, ever since somebody snitched—it’s just my luck it happened when it did!—they haven’t taken a cent.”

“Then how do you explain it? Someone must have pulled strings!”

“What strings? They simply decided once and for all to take every last Jew automatically.”

“You must be joking! Do you realize what you’re saying? Are you trying to pull our legs?”

“Pull your legs? Do I look like the type to you?”

All three stared hard as if trying to read each others’ faces. Since nothing was written there, however, the two Jews resumed their interrogation.

“Just a minute, now. Where did you say you were from?”

“From Pereshchepena!” The third Jew was beginning to get annoyed. “I’ve already told you three times. From Lower Pereshchepena!”

“Don’t take offense. We’ve just never heard of your city before.”

“Ha ha! Pereshchepena a city? That’s rich! Pereshchepena’s barely a town. In fact, it’s more like a village.”

“And from a place like that, you say, they took … from Pere-what? What’s it called?”

By now the Jew from Lower Pereshchepena was hopping mad.

“I’ve never seen such queer Jews in my life! Can’t you pronounce a jewish word? Pe-resh-che-pe-na! Pe-resh-che-pe-na!”

“All right, all right. Pereshchepena is Pereshchepena. Why fly off the handle?”