The Family Moskat (36 page)

The rabbi carried on his daily life as he had done in the old days.

He lay down in bed directly after the evening prayers, in his white trousers and stockings, and with the ritual fringed gar--228-ment still on him, and got up again at midnight to wail over the destruction of the Temple. He wrote with a pen made of a goose quill. He ate only once a day, some bread, beet soup, and a dry piece of beef. The house in which he lived--it was the rabbinical residence, maintained by the community--was old and decrepit.

The community elders wanted to put everything in order, but the rabbi refused to allow it.

It might have seemed as though Reb Dan was hiding away from the world behind the yellow window hangings that separated his study from the Shulgass. All matters of arbitration or ritual decision he left to his sons; the only community problems to which he would give any consideration were those of great complexity and importance. Rabbis from other communities wrote epistles to him, but he never answered. He was invited to grace weddings and circumcisions with his presence, but he rarely accepted any of these honors. All his life he had hoped that in his old age all worldly temptations would depart from him so that he might be able to serve the Eternal in full faith. But even now, at the very threshold of the grave, he still found himself carrying on interminable wrangles with Satan, confusing his mind with alien thoughts, troubling himself with questions into which a man of piety should not inquire. The old riddle remained: the pure in heart suffered and the wicked flourished; the people chosen of God were still ground into the dust; Israel's people, instead of living a life of penance, were turning to heresy. What would the end be? What had Reb Dan accomplished during his span on earth? What meritorious deeds would he be able to offer on the scales of judgment in the world to come?

He would get up from his chair and go out to the study house, his wide skullcap pushed aslant on his forehead, his vel-vet coat wrinkled and unbuttoned. His beard, which had been white for years, was again taking on a parchment-yellow tinge. His heavy eyebrows almost hid his eyes. Sometimes he felt an urgent need to speak with someone, not simply idle conversation, but words of substance. But there was rarely anyone in the study house to whom he might talk. He would go over to a youngster who sat hunched over an open volume and pinch him on the cheek.

"You're studying, my son? You want to be a God-fearing Jew?"

"Of course, rabbi."

-229-"And you

have faith in the almighty God?" "What else, rabbi?" "It is good, my son. The righteous shall live by his faith."

2

The wagon that was bringing Asa Heshel and Adele from the railroad station to Tereshpol Minor followed the main roadway at first and then turned onto the so-called Polish road. The fields stretched out on both sides. The wheat was already high. Along the furrows peasants were bent over, pulling out the clumps of weeds. Scarecrows held out their wooden arms, their ragged sleeves flapping. Birds wheeled and circled overhead, chattering and cawing. As the wagon went by, the peasants lifted their straw hats in greeting to the passengers, the girls turning their covered heads and smiling. Fresh as he was from the scenery in Switzerland, southern Germany, and Austria, nevertheless Asa Heshel found something in the Polish landscape that none of those other countries possessed. It seemed to him that the difference lay in the strange silence over everything. The sky hung low over the earth, descending to form a circular horizon. The small silver clouds that floated above appeared to have a peculiarly Pol-ish shape. All the sounds merged into a single stilled murmuring: the chirping of field insects, the humming of bees, the croaking of frogs in the marshes. The sun seemed to be standing slightly askew in the sky, glowing with a strange ruddiness, as though it had lost its way in the low-hanging spaces. From a distance the farms with their straw-covered cottages appeared like the relics of ancient settlements. Shepherds had built a fire on pasture land.

The smoke ascended in a straight column, as though from some pagan altar. An open roadside shrine revealed a figure of Mary holding the Christ child. The sculptor who had carved the statue had given the figure of the mother a big round belly, like a pregnant woman. In front of the shrine a candle burned. The air was filled with the sharp odor of cow-droppings, upturned roots, and a faint pre-harvest tang. A timeless tranquillity seemed to ex-ude from the white birches, which gazed far off into space, and the silver-gray willows, bent like old men, with long, dangling beards. Asa Heshel was reminded of the Emperor Casimir and of the Jews who had come to Poland a thousand years before, asking -230-to be permitted to trade, to build their temples, and to acquire ground to bury their dead.

Adele had not been able to sleep the previous night. Now she reclined on the piled straw in the bed of the wagon, dozing. The driver, a small, broad-shouldered man wearing a sheepskin hat, sat motionless, the reins dangling limply in his hands. It was difficult to tell whether he had fallen asleep or whether he was just lost in thought. The horse crept along slowly, its head lowered. At the edge of a forest Asa Heshel noticed a gypsy camp. A short man with a wide coal-black beard fussed over a copper pan.

A swarm of children, mother-naked, ran around in the sun.

Women in gaily colored calico dresses were cooking pots of food over fires burning in shallow trenches. Asa Heshel had never come across any gypsies outside of Poland; they were a sign that he was home again.

The wagon entered the forest, and at once it got darker. The fir trees lining both sides of the path stood motionless, trancelike in their dense greenness. There were the shrill whistle of a bird and the call of a cuckoo. The horse cocked its ears and came to a dead stop, as though a disaster that only a beast could sense lay ahead.

The driver started up.

"Hey, on with you!"

Asa Heshel sat on a sack of straw and gazed about him. He was back in the familiar region of his youth; each moment was bringing him nearer to Tereshpol Minor. He had gone through a lot in the less than three years since he had left, a green youth, for Warsaw. He had fallen in love with one woman and had married another; he had stolen across borders; he had studied in a university. Jekuthiel the watchmaker had written him that all the youths of the town envied him his great good fortune. But now he felt low in spirits. His suit was wrinkled from the long journey, covered with wisps of straw and hay. In order to save his mother and grandfather the shock of seeing his clean-shaven face, he had refrained from shaving for several days, and now his cheeks and chin were covered with a thick stubble. His eyes were bloodshot from nights of insufficient sleep. What had all his adventures amounted to? He had married a woman he didn't love. He had broken off his studies before they were ended. He would soon have to report to the military. How many times had he sworn to hold fast to the Ten Commandments, the foundation stone of any -231-ethical system!

Instead he was carrying on a love affair with a married woman.

Well, and what of his dreams of revaluating all values, of discovering Truth, of bringing salvation to the world? His marriage to Adele had trapped him in every way.

As though she had sensed the thoughts that were going through his mind, Adele awoke and sat up. She was wearing a white blouse and a skirt with black and white checks. Red welts covered her cheeks from the hard wagon bed. Her hair had come undone. She adjusted the loose tresses, sticking hairpins in place.

She looked at Asa Heshel with her pale, wide-open eyes.

"Where are we?"

"We're getting close to Tereshpol Minor."

"Where's my bag? Where's my comb? What's happened to the valises?"

She broke into a flood of complaints. What did he mean by dragging her around this way? What did she care about Tereshpol Minor? Their whole life together was a mistake. What had he against her? Why had he decided to ruin her young life? She knew very well why he was coming back to Poland. She was mad, out of her mind, to have come along with him. She should have gone directly to Warsaw and let him go wherever he wanted by himself.

Dear God in heaven! The best thing for her would be to swallow a vial of iodine and put a finish to the whole degrading business.

All of these complaints came flooding from her lips in German, so that the driver should not understand. As she talked every one of her features quivered--her throat, her chin, her temples. Every once in a while her upper lip would draw back convulsively, revealing a row of small teeth, sharp and widely spaced.

Asa Heshel looked at her, but he did not answer. What was the use of all this babbling? They had an agreement, hadn't they? Before they left for Poland he had promised to introduce her to his family and to spend at least a few days with her at her mother's. That promise he was going to keep. All her talk about her love for him and his treachery was hopeless repetition. She had known, the very day she dragged him to the canopy, that he loved Hadassah, not her. She herself had called their marriage an experiment--two people living together without love.

He could show her these words in her own handwriting.

The wagon reached the approaches of the town, near the Christian section. The white-painted houses stood a little distance apart -232-from each other,

with small garden patches between them. Here and there a potato field stretched between two cottages. The windows were hung with curtains, and the sills were covered with flowerpots. A cat sunned itself behind one of the panes. A barefoot girl drew up a bucket of water from a well. As she bent over, the embroidered edge of her petticoat showed beneath her dress. At the end of the street stood a Catholic church with its two spires. The Orthodox Russian church was behind a row of chestnut trees, its walls covered with figures of bearded apostles.

Soon the wagon rumbled into the market place. Here the houses were taller, dilapidated-looking, and huddled closer together. The shops displayed a motley of goods--textiles and iron pots, kerosene and writing-stands, leather and brooms. On the tower of the town hall the hands of the clock pointed to twelve, as they had for nobody knew how many years. Asa Heshel ordered the driver to stop in front of Jekuthiel the watchmaker's shop. Jekuthiel came out, a small man, with crooked shoulders, almost hunchbacked, in an alpaca coat, striped trousers, and a silk skullcap perched on top of his head. There was a jeweler's eyepiece in his left eye. He stared at the conveyance, saying nothing. Asa Heshel climbed down.

"You don't recognize me?"

"Asa Heshel!"

The two threw their arms about each other.

"Welcome! Welcome! You didn't let me know. This is probably your wife."

"Adele, this is Jekuthiel. I've told you about him."

"I knew your husband before you did," Jekuthiel said, smiling.

They talked for a while, then Asa Heshel climbed back into the wagon and directed the driver toward the Shulgass. The village now revealed itself to Asa Heshel in all its familiarity. The house in which his grandfather lived seemed to have shrunk through the years. The windows hung awry in their frames. A white plume of smoke rose from the chimney. Someone had apparently rushed to carry the news of Asa Heshel's arrival, for as the wagon approached, three women appeared at the door, Asa Heshel's mother, his grandmother, and his sister Dinah. His grandmother's shoulders were bowed with age, her face dried up like a fig. There were yellowish pouches beneath her eyes. Sparse white hairs descended from her chin. She peered over her eyeglasses and shook her head.

-233-"It's you,

my child. God knows I wouldn't recognize you. A real foreigner!"

His mother was wearing a loose house robe, with slippers on her white-stockinged feet and a scarf wound tightly over her close-cropped head. Since Asa Heshel had seen her, her chin seemed to have become smaller and her nose sharper. A fine network of wrinkles stood at the corners of her eyes. When she saw him she held her arms wide. An embarrassed flush flamed over her pale cheeks.

"My son, my son! That I have lived to see this day!"

Asa Heshel kissed her. She seemed light and thin in his embrace.

His nostrils breathed in her familiar odor. His lips were wet and salty with her tears. Dinah had married the year before; her husband, Menassah David, was away from the village just now.

She had changed beyond all recognition. She was wearing a loose dress and a wide matron's wig. She had become stouter. A queer alarm peered out of her eyes.

"Mamma, Mamma, just look at him!"

"This is Adele, my wife." Asa Heshel addressed the remark to all of them.

Finkel fluttered slightly, not knowing what to do. After a momentary hesitation Adele came forward and kissed her.

"My mother-in-law is the image of her son," she said. "Just like two drops of water."

"You're Asa Heshel's wife--now you're my daughter."

"Asa Heshel wrote to all of us," Dinah broke in timidly. "He told us all about you. It seems so strange. As though it were only yesterday when we were children playing together." She put her hand up to the braided matron's wig. The gesture made her seem again a young maiden.

It did not take long for the entire family to gather. There was Uncle Zaddok, his wife Zissle, Uncle Levi and his wife Mindel, and Asa Heshel's cousins as well. The neighbors be-gan to pour in, and soon the kitchen was full of noise and hearty talk.

In the meanwhile the wagon-driver unloaded Adele's large trunk and the four valises, pasted over with customs labels. The house was soon filled with the fragrant odor of cakes, milk, and freshly brewed coffee seething in a pot on a tripod over the fireplace. The flames rose from the burning pine branches and cones which the girls of the family gathered in the forest.

-234-

3

As evening approached, the bell rang in the church tower, calling the pious Christians to Mass. From the gentile neighborhoods the women began to stream toward the church, in their long black dresses, old-fashioned shoes with pointed toes and low heels, with rosaries and crucifixes dangling from their throats, and with their heads wrapped in black shawls. In their hands they carried gold-stamped prayerbooks. The Jewish townsfolk walked slowly to the prayerhouses and study houses.