The Family Moskat (6 page)

taken another wife; others said that he had died. Whenever Asa Heshel talked about going away, his mother would tremble and red spots would flare up on her cheeks.

"You, too, will leave me," she wept. "Dear Father in heaven."

During this time it happened that Reb Paltiel, one of the synagogue elders, lost his wife. After the prescribed thirty-day mourning period he sent a matchmaker to Finkel. Asa Heshel's grandmother seized on the idea and his uncles hastened to talk his mother into it. Reb Paltiel promised to sign over to Finkel a house he owned and put aside a dowry for Dinah. But he stip-ulated that Asa Heshel leave the town.

"He's too smart for me," Reb Paltiel declared. "I don't like his goings on."

These things Asa Heshel brought with him to Warsaw--his grandfather's maledictions and predictions that he would come to no good; his mother's prayer that Elijah the prophet, the friend of the friendless, would intercede to save him in his trials; a nickel-plated watch from Jekuthiel. Todros Lemel, head of the modern Jewish school in Zamosc, gave him a letter of recommendation to the learned Dr. Shmaryahu Jacobi, secretary of the Warsaw synagogue, written in Hebrew, in a flowery and ornate script.

The letter read:

To my illustrious teacher and guide, world-renowned sage in Law
and Enlightenment, Reb Shmaryahu Jacobi, long may his light
shine forth!

Your worthiness has undoubtedly long forgotten my humble person. It was my elevated privilege to be your pupil at the seminary in the years between 1892 and 1896. I am now in the town of Zamosc, the director of the school, Torah and Learning, to teach the youth of Israel the foundations of Judaism and also to guide them through the doorway of modern knowledge. The youth who brings this letter to your distinguished self is, according to the unworthy opinion of your former pupil, one of those high and aspiring spirits which are so few in number. His grandfather, Reb Dan Katzenellenbogen, is a sage of great repute, and has been for fifty years the shepherd of his flock in Tereshpol Minor. Of this young man, Asa Heshel Bannet, it can be said that he is the true limb of his grandfather. Even in his tender youth he won renown. Learned men who heard -29-him deliver a discourse spoke words of mouth-filling praise. Secretly, and away from the censorious eyes of the fanatics of the town, with the help of dictionaries he taught himself to read European languages. In the study of algebra he has traveled as far as logarithms. His soul also yearns toward philosophy. In his removed village there are all too few enlightened books, and through a traveler who visits us on the market days I have sent him books on history, natural science, psychology, and whatever else his heart has longed for.

But it is difficult to satiate his spiritual hunger. I know that your honor has always striven to strengthen the hand of the youth who yearns to taste of the waters of wisdom, and I am prayerful that this neophyte will find favor in your eyes. It is his aspiration to complete high school as an extern and to enter a university, which is the Temple of Knowledge and also a threshold to an honorable livelihood. I add that many matches were bespoken for him with daughters of wealthy houses and he has turned away from them because of his thirst for enlightenment. He has also suffered many persecutions out of his search for truth. He is ready to eat bread and salt and to drink water by measure in order to reach the exalted goal of his heart. I could write many more words of praise for the youth Asa Heshel Bannet, and I could recount much of my town Zamosc and the struggles we must wage against the fanatics; the illumination that lights up all the corners of the Western lands has not yet penetrated into our towns, to our great shame be it said, and many still walk about in darkness at noon. But this paper is too small.

I remain bound to you, my teacher and guide, with stout ropes of love. I sign myself, your pupil Todros Lemel, founder and director of the school Torah and Learning for the young sons of Israel in the town of Zamosc.

3

Dr. Shmaryahu Jacobi, secretary of the synagogue on Tlomatska Street, had in recent years had little to do with the account books of the temple; he was occupied with more learned matters. His wife had long been dead and his children had all married. He spent his days and half his nights writing a book on the history of calendars. In addition he was engaged in translating Milton's Paradise Lost into Hebrew. He was in his seventies, -30-short, with rounded shoulders and a small head on which he wore a six-cornered skullcap. His sparse beard had passed through the stage of grayness and was now a faded yellow. A pair of blue-tinted spectacles was perched in front of his gray eyes. Now he was climbing a wall ladder to get a book from an upper shelf of the bookcase. He climbed slowly, one rung at a time, halting after each step. He put out his hand and took a volume from a lower shelf, peering at its pages through a magnifying glass.

"Yes, yes, yes, babble, babble, idle talk . . ." he muttered to himself, giving the Yiddish an elegant German intonation.

The door opened and the chief sexton entered, a red-faced man with a wavy beard. He was dressed in an alpaca surtout, striped trousers, and a wide cap shaped like a casserole.

"Herr Professor," he said, "some young man has come with a letter."

"What? Who is he? What does he want? I have no time."

"I told him, but he has a letter, a document of some kind from a pupil of the professor's."

"What kind of pupil? I have no pupil!" The old man began to shake, the ladder shaking with him.

"Then I'll tell him to go."

"Wait. Send him in. Always they bother me."

The sexton left the room. The old man climbed down off the ladder and stood on his tottering legs, lifting the magnifying glass to his face as though ready to peer through it at the visitor.

Asa Heshel opened the door and stood uncertainly on the threshold.

"Well, well, come in," the old man said in an impatient voice. "Where is the letter?"

He snatched the envelope that Asa Heshel held out to him, clawed at the leaf of paper with his thin fingers, and brought it up close to his tinted eyeglasses. For a long time he made no move. He might almost have fallen asleep on his feet. Suddenly he whipped the paper over to the other side. Asa Heshel took off his velvet cap. His flaxen-white earlocks were already half shorn away; only little tufts were visible behind his ears. After some hesitation he put his cap on again.

"
Nu, ja
. So, so," the old man said in a dry voice. "The old story.

The son of a rabbi, a philosopher, an extern--always the same--

just like fifty years ago."

-31-He turned the

letter over again, as though there were something else he might find between the lines, then suddenly dropped his elegant German enunciation and changed over to an unadorned Yiddish.

"Why didn't you learn a trade, instead of all this nonsense?"

"They didn't want me to."

"It's never too late."

"I would rather study."

"What do you mean, study? With these logarithms of yours you'll not impress anybody. How old are you?"

"Nineteen."

"It's too late to begin now. All the externs fail in the examinations. And if they do manage to pass they can't get into the university. They travel away to Switzerland and come back well-trained
schnorrers
."

"I'll not be a
schnorrer
."

"When you get hungry enough you'll be one. You're still young and inexperienced. All right, let's admit that we have heads on our shoulders, we Jews. But no one wants our brains. Read the ancient sages--the poor man's wisdom is despised!"

"I want to study for my own sake."

"
Quatsch!
Where there's no bread there's no learning. What about your health? Do you cough? Do you spit blood?"

"God forbid."

"Most of them get sick and then they have to be sent to a sanatorium. And some of them get so despondent that they get themselves converted."

"I won't convert."

"Yes, you all know everything in advance. But when your boots are torn and you have no roof over your head, you run to the missionaries fast enough."

"Maybe I can give some lessons," Asa Heshel ventured. He wiped the perspiration from his face with a blue handkerchief.

"What are you talking about? You know little enough yourself.

Forgive me for my frankness; I'm an old man, I will die soon, and so I speak the truth. You don't understand the way things are." His voice became milder and he took a step or two closer to Asa Heshel. "There's no shortage of education these days.

Everybody studies. Here in the synagogue we have a janitor, and the janitor has a son, and the son knows logarithms, too. And maybe better than you do. He certainly knows Polish and -32-Russian better,

and he's younger than you are, besides. And in addition he's a Christian; all doors are open to him. How do you think you can compete with him?"

"I don't want to compete with anybody."

"Just the same, you have to. That's the way life is--constant competition. Our young men don't get a chance anywhere. Even in other countries. Why is it you're not married?"

Asa Heshel was silent.

"Why not? A young man must get married sooner or later. At least there's a wife and food and lodging in her parents' house.

And as for tomorrow--let the Almighty worry about that. Here you can starve, for all anyone cares. I regret it, young man, but there's nothing I can do to help you. I am, as you see, half blind."

"I understand and I ask your pardon. Thank you and good day."

"Wait, don't go. Others make pests of themselves, and you want to run away. If you're proud, into the bargain, then you'll certainly go under."

"But you probably have no time."

"My time isn't worth a pinch of snuff. First I'll give you a note to Shatzkin, the manager of the free kitchen for intellectuals. You'll be able to get dinner there for nothing."

"I don't want any free dinners."

"My, my! Stubborn, too! It isn't free. Rich people pay for it.

Rothschild won't get poor on account of you."

The old man waved Asa Heshel to a small leather sofa, while he sat down at the writing-desk and dipped a pen into a half-dry inkwell. He made a few scrawls, groaning as he wrote. He shook the pen, dropping a small blot on the paper. The door opened and the sexton came in again.

"Herr Professor, Abram is here."

"What Abram? Which Abram?"

" Abram Shapiro. Meshulam Moskat's son-in-law."

A mild smile showed on the old man's parchment-yellow face.

"Ah, that one. That cynic. Let him come in."

Even before the words were out of his mouth the door was flung open and a large man entered. He had a square, pitch-black beard and wore a flowing cloak and a broad-brimmed plush hat, with a silk knotted scarf around his neck in place of a cravat. On his velvet waistcoat a gold chain bobbed up and down. In his -33-hand he carried a twisted walking-stick with a two-branched handle, like the horns of a stag, ornamented with silver and amber. He was so tall that he had to lower his head to get through the door. His broad shoulders brushed against the doorposts. His flushed face was a winy red. A big cigar was stuck between his lips. He brought with him the mingled odors of tobacco, scented soap, and something pleasant and cosmopolitan. Dr. Shmaryahu Jacobi came forward to greet him. The newcomer grabbed the old man's outstretched hand between his own hairy paws.

"Ah, professor!" he boomed in a thunderous voice. "Here I was, strolling around between Tlomatska and Bielanska, and suddenly it hit me--why shouldn't I go in and see how our dear Professor Jacobi is getting along? I had--if you'll permit me to say so--a rendezvous with a lady. But she let me stand and whistle. She was to meet me at the Hotel Krakow. Well, the devil take her. My God, professor, you're getting younger every day. As for me, I'm getting as old as Methuselah; I climb a single flight of stairs and my heart begins to pound like a thiefs with the police after him. My, my, all the books! They write and expound, these wise men of yours, but when it comes to the real stuff, it's nothing but wind. Well, how are you, my dear professor? How does it go with your book on calendars? What's the latest news from the sky? After all, you're an astronomer. On the earth here it's nothing but one colossal mistake. Enough to drive you out of your mind. The day I've had today--may the anti-Semites have such a day! Fights with everybody! My wife, my father-in-law, the children! Even with the servant girl. I've covered every corner of Warsaw. I went to Dr.

Mintz. 'Don't get yourself excited,' he says. 'Bad for your belly-button.' 'Aha," I tell him, 'a fine trick if you can do it. Suppose you try, doctor,' I tell him. He imagines that all I have to do is stretch out on the sofa, close my peepers, and everything is settled. That's not my way, professor. I have to roar like a lion. Do you hear me, professor? If I wasn't ashamed I would let out such a roaring that Warsaw would collapse. Who is this young man? What's he sitting there for like a kitten?"

All the time Abram had been talking the old professor had stood smiling, showing his empty gums and shaking his head from side to side. He had apparently forgotten all about the youth from Tereshpol Minor. Now he turned around, looked at him, and rubbed his hand over his ivory forehead.

-34-"This

young man? Ah, yes. I must give him a note. To the free kitchen."

"No, thank you. I don't want it, I don't need it," Asa Heshel said timidly. "I have money."

Abram made an astonished gesture and clapped his hands.

"You hear that, professor? He has money," he said violently. "The first time in my life I hear anyone acknowledge that he has money.

What are you so quiet about? For forty years I've been searching for a man like you, and here he sits like a no-body! Shame on you, professor. What does he need the free kitchen for!"

"He came to Warsaw to study--the grandson of a rabbi--a prodigy."

"Really? There are still specimens of that kind around? And I thought they'd gone for good, the whole species extinct, like the aurochs, if you'll forgive the comparison. Let me take a look at him. Tell me, professor, what sort of blessing does one recite over such a rarity? What does he want to study?"