The Family Moskat (12 page)

"Aunt Leah! Please stop! Oh, you'll be the death of me!" they kept on shrieking. They shook with laughter, fell into one another's arms, and made such a hubbub that Meshulam banged his fist on the table; he did not like female giggling and chattering.

Rosa Frumetl was not playing with the others. She swore that she neither knew the game nor had the head to learn it. She made a show of ordering the servants about in the kitchen, serving the older guests tea and anise cakes and the younger ones lit-tle paper cones of candy, raisins, almonds, figs, dates, carob beans. If one of the children coughed she at once showed the deepest concern; the child should be given rock candy or an eggnog. Whenever Meshulam scolded one of the boys at the game table or called him names, she immediately rushed to the victim's defense.

-68-"The

poor darling! What language to use to such a little treasure!"

"All right, all right!" Meshulam grumbled. "What difference does it make to you! I know all about it."

Adele had not wanted to come out of her room at all. But when Rosa Frumetl put her handkerchief to her eyes and pleaded with her not to shame her, she consented to put in an appearance while the blessing was being recited over the Channukah light. Then she retired to her room with her head at an elegant angle. Queen Esther poked Saltsha in the ribs.

"Playing the proud lady, that skinny hen," she said behind her hand, and then whispered something salty into the other's ear.

Whatever it was, the younger girls were not permitted to hear it, but they laughed and blushed just the same.

2

After Meshulam had managed to lose a dozen or so five-kopek pieces to the children, he got up from his chair and threw a meaningful glance toward Pinnie. Pinnie was considered the family chess-player; the old man played only rarely, but everyone knew that he liked the game. Pinnie dropped his cards and set up the chessboard. Father and son took their places opposite each other, ready for a lengthy struggle. Nyunie had to go home--

Dacha was complaining of a headache--so Joel and Nathan sat around to watch the contest.

As was his custom, Meshulam plunged directly into an offensive.

He moved his bishop out and then his queen, in the mat-ing position. Pinnie blocked him by bringing out a knight and later maneuvered a simultaneous attack on queen and rook. This was a surprise to the old man. He clutched his thin beard. He had not expected such a development.

"If you'd like, Papa, you can take the move back."

"A mistake is a mistake," the old man answered sharply. "A move is a move."

"But you just happened to overlook--"

"When you overlook something, you've got to take the consequences," the old man declared with finality.

"I warned you to move the pawn," Joel remarked.

"If people listened to everything you say--" Meshulam dismissed him. He stroked his beard, contemplating the board and -69-humming a

synagogue melody. Nathan hummed along and Pinnie joined in.

After much deliberation Meshulam gave check with his knight.

True, the piece would be captured, but at least it would serve to postpone disaster for a while. He thumped the knight down and said: "Check!" then resumed the melody.

As he did so, the shrill ring of the outer doorbell echoed in the room. Everyone turned toward the corridor, expecting Naomi or Manya to answer. But both of them must have been occupied elsewhere, for after a pause the bell rang again. Rosa Frumetl had gone to Adele's room. Saltsha went to the door and after a while came back.

"A stranger," she said to Meshulam, "some young man is here to see you."

"A young man? What sort of young man?" Meshulam asked angrily. "Let him go back where he came from."

"He says he was asked to come here to look over a manuscript."

"Who knows anything about manuscripts? Tell him not to annoy me."

"Maybe it's something important, Papa," Pinnie said. He would have been glad to see the game broken up to avoid his father's bad temper over his defeat.

"If it's anything important let him come to see me at my office,"

Meshulam growled. He could see that the game was hopeless.

"It's a pity. Somehow he makes you feel sorry for him,"

Saltsha said. "What shall I tell him?"

"You know what, Papa? Let him come in. You've lost the game anyway," Nathan advised.

"Yes, you're right, it's lost."

Saltsha did not wait to hear anything else. She went out into the corridor and in a moment returned with Asa Heshel. Everyone in the room looked curiously at him; a stranger had never found his way into the Moskat household on the first night of Channukah.

Asa Heshel hesitated for a few moments at the threshold. He had completely forgotten that this was a holiday night; the room-ful of people embarrassed him.

"Well, don't stand at the door. Come in," Meshulam called out in his deep voice. "We don't eat people alive here."

Asa Heshel threw one last fearful look over his shoulder, as -70-though

preparing for his escape, and came forward. He stopped a few steps from the chess table and said: "You're Reb Meshulam Moskat?"

"Who else did you expect? Who are you?"

"Your lady--that is, your wife--told me to come here."

"Aha! So that's it! You came to see my wife." Meshulam allowed one eyelid to drop ponderously down and cover his eye.

Everybody burst into laughter.

"I met her at your son's house."

"My wife! At my son's!" There was another outburst of hilarity.

They all knew that the old man was given to heavy humor once in a while, and no kind of flattery pleased him as much as laughter at his jokes. Besides, this was a good opportunity for him to take away the sting of defeat. Asa Heshel looked around in confusion.

"It's about a manuscript," he said haltingly.

"What kind of manuscript? Speak up, young man. Make yourself clear!"

"It's a commentary--written by her first husband--on Ecclesiastes."

"Aha, I see. Where is she? Call her in!" Meshulam ordered.

Stepha, Abram's daughter, went out of the room to get Rosa Frumetl, who came in quickly, blushing, as though she, too, were embarrassed by the sudden intrusion.

"An unexpected visitor!" she exclaimed. "I was sure you wouldn't come at all. Why did you wait so long?"

"I was busy. I didn't have time."

"Do you hear that? I want to give him a chance to earn something--and he has no time! You must have found a fortune all of a sudden. Even my daughter was wondering why we didn't see you."

"I didn't have time. I couldn't help it," Asa Heshel repeated.

"But you had time for your lessons--or so I hear," Rosa Frumetl said.

Asa Heshel moved his lips, but no sound escaped. Rosa Frumetl shook her shoulders mournfully back and forth. "And your sidelocks--you've cut them off," she said. "Well, I suppose I'm not the Lord's watchman, to keep an eye out for orthodox ways.

Come into the library with me; I'll show you the manuscript. I was already thinking of finding someone else."

She went out of the room and Asa Heshel followed her. Im--71-mediately the women began to whisper and giggle. Meshulam scowled. "Who is this young man?" he asked. "What kind of lessons is she talking about?"

"Hadassah is tutoring him," Stepha informed him. "My papa told me about him. He could have been a rabbi--and he studied mathematics in the attic."

"So now she's become a teacher," Meshulam said angrily.

"Well, I'll see to it that the marriage contract is fixed right away. Right after the Sabbath."

He scattered the chess pieces and stood up. Dacha, that daughter-in-law of his, was taking things into her own hands too much.

More than nine months ago he had given orders that the preliminary arrangements be drawn up for Hadassah's marriage to Fishel, Reb Simon Kutner's grandson. Zeinvele Srotsker, the
shadchan
, had even been given a fifty-ruble advance for his services. The dowry was ready and waiting. But Dacha was always managing to postpone things, pleading that the girl was sick, or giving some other excuse. Meshulam knew what the truth was: Dacha was opposed to the match, Hadassah was too much interested in this modern nonsense, and Abram, that charlatan, that no-good, was egging everybody on to pay no attention to Meshulam Moskat's wishes. He, Meshulam Moskat, would settle things once for all--and now! He would show all of them who was the boss--he, Reb Meshulam, who provided for all these hangers-on and gluttons, and married off their children, or Abram, that goat in heat, that woman-chaser, who was good for nothing ex-cept spending money and neglecting his family.

He began to pace back and forth, his shoes squeaking. He felt a tingling in his fingertips and a surge of strength, as always be-fore he embarked on some enterprise. There was a glint in his pale eyes. He rubbed his forehead with the palm of his hand and began to map out a plan for crushing the stubbornness of his arrogant daughter-in-law and of that "delicate" and "precious"

granddaughter.

"
Schlemiels
, parasites, time-wasters!" he rumbled. "Who asks for their advice!"

For the hundredth time he made up his mind to cut Abram out of his will entirely. He wouldn't leave him a copper, even if his own daughter and her children should--God forbid!--

have to eat the bread of charity.

-72-

3

In the library Rosa Frumetl took a manuscript down from a shelf. It was held together by boards and tied with green ribbon.

She placed it carefully on the table.

"Here it is," she said. "Take off your overcoat and make yourself comfortable."

Asa Heshel took off his coat and Rosa Frumetl carried it out into the corridor. He sat down on a leather chair and began to leaf the pages. The manuscript was yellowish and faded, the pages of varying sizes, most of them unnumbered. The handwriting was small and angular, with many erasures and emenda-tions in the margins and between the wavering lines. He glanced at the introduction. The author had undertaken the writing of the work, it said, not with the hope of seeing it in print, but for himself and the issue of his loins. The introduction went on to say that if the grandsons or great-grandsons of the writer should consider the work worthy of publication they were first to get the consent of three rabbis, whose task it would be to judge whether the author had not unintentionally erred and interpreted the Biblical text falsely. The work itself was a mixture of research, speculation, and hairsplitting. There was a complete lack of punctuation. The style was awkward, full of high-flown and artificial phraseology.

"Well, what do you think? Will you be able to manage it?"

Asa Heshel heard Rosa Frumetl ask him.

He looked up. She had brought him a glass of tea and a lit-tle tray of cakes. Adele had come into the library with her mother.

She was dressed in the same pleated skirt and embroidered blouse he had seen her in at their first meeting. In the reddish glow of the lamp her face seemed thinner, and her forehead, with her hair combed back, loftier. She had the yellowish appearance of someone just up from a sickbed.

"Good evening," she said. "I'd made up my mind that you didn't want to see us any more."

"Oh, no," Asa Heshel stammered. "I had no time. Each day I wanted to come but--"

"What do you think?" Rosa Frumetl interrupted. "Can you read it?"

"I'm afraid it'll all have to be written over."

-

73-"Too bad!"

"And in some places additions will have to be made--in brackets.

It's too concise; there'll have to be some explanations."

"Well, go ahead with it." Rosa Frumetl sighed heavily. "No hurry.

Come here every day, whenever you have time, and work on it.

Make yourself at home. And about money--I'll talk to my husband."

"Please don't bother about that."

"No, I'll talk to him now. Have your tea. I'll be back in a minute."

Rosa Frumetl gathered the folds of her skirt and went out, the door hinges creaking after her. Adele came closer.

"I thought we'd offended you or something," she said.

"Oh, no!"

"I have the same temperament as my father. I speak frankly--and I make enemies. I'm afraid that I'll come to a bad end."

She sat down on the step of a ladder that leaned against the bookshelves. Her pleated skirt spread before her like an open fan.

"Tell me, what's the manuscript like? I tried so many times to look into it, but I didn't understand a word."

"Oh, it wouldn't be of interest to a girl."

"Tell me something about it. I'm not so ignorant."

"Well, I really don't know where to begin. It's what they call scholasticism."

Asa Heshel began to finger the pages, Adele looking curiously at him. He read a few passages to himself, his lips moving silently while he gave a negative shake of his head; then a few minutes later he clutched at his chin and read intently. His brow creased into deep wrinkles. The expression on his face kept changing rapidly--from the rapt attention of a youth to the thoughtfulness of a mature man. An unexpected idea struck Adele --this was the way her father must have looked when he was young.

"Well," she said, "I'm listening."

"You see, there's a certain passage in Ecclesiastes--'The wind goeth toward the south, and turneth about unto the north; it whirleth about continually, and the wind returneth again according to his circuits.' Now, you see, the wind is interpreted to mean the soul. When a man sins, his soul, after he dies, might be transmigrated into all sorts of things--a dog, a cat, a worm--even -74-into the whirling wings of a windmill. But at the end the soul returns to its beginnings."

While Asa Heshel was talking, Adele kept her wide-eyed gaze fixed on him. There was something of awe and astonishment in her look. The tiny blue veins in her temples throbbed.

"I hope I made it clear," Asa Heshel said after a while.

"Oh, yes."

"And what do you think?"

"If only these things could be written in a European tongue!"

Asa Heshel was about to answer, but at that moment the door opened and Meshulam came in, followed by Rosa Frumetl.