Sholem Aleichem - Tevye the Dairyman and the Railroad Stories

One thing still bothered me, though: I simply couldn’t understand how they had decided such a thing on their own. What has the world come to when a boy meets a girl and says to her, “Let’s you and I get married, just the two of us”? You’d think it was as simple as eating an onion!.. But when I saw my Motl standing there with his head bowed contritely, looking so serious and sincere, I couldn’t help thinking that maybe I had the wrong attitude. What was I being so snooty about and who did I think I was, the great-grandson of Rabbi Tsatskeleh of Pripichek? One might suppose I was giving my daughter a huge dowry and buying her a grand trousseau … Motl Komzoyl may be only a tailor, I thought, but he’s a fine, hardworking boy who’ll support his family, and he’s as honest as the day is long, why look down on him? Tevye, I said to myself, stop hemming and hawing and sign on the dotted line! How does the Bible put it? Solakhti kidvorekho —congratulations and good luck to you both!

But what was I going to do about the wife? I was sure to get it in the neck from her unless I could make her see the light. “You know what, Motl?” I said to my future son-in-law. “You go home and leave the rest of it to me. There’s one or two people I need to have a word with. As it says in the Book of Esther, vehashtiyoh kedos —there’s a right and a wrong way to do everything. Tomorrow, God willing, if you haven’t changed your mind, you and I will meet again …”

“Changed my mind?” he says. “I should change my mind? May sticks and stones break all my bones if I do a thing like that!”

“There’s no need for oaths,” I say, “because I believe you without them. Now run along home, and sweet dreams …”

And with that I went to bed too. But I couldn’t fall asleep. I was thinking so hard of plan after plan that I was afraid my head would explode. Until finally I hit on the right one. What was it? Be patient and you’ll hear what a brainstorm Tevye had.

In a word, in the middle of the night, when the whole house was sound asleep, snoring and whistling to wake the dead, I suddenly sat up in bed and began to shout at the top of my voice, “Help! Help! For God’s sake, help!”

Everyone woke up, of course, and quickest of all, my wife Golde. “My God, Tevye,” she said, shaking me, “wake up! What is it? What are you screaming for?”

I opened my eyes, glanced all around as though looking for someone, and gasped in a trembling voice, “Where is she?”

“Where is who?” asks my wife. “Who are you looking for?”

“For Frume Soreh,” I say. “Layzer Wolf’s Frume Soreh was just here.”

“You must have a fever,” she says. “God help you, Tevye, Layzer Wolf’s Frume Soreh passed away years ago.”

“I know she did,” I say. “But she was just standing here by my bed, talking to me. And then she grabbed me by the throat and tried to choke me!”

“Oh, my God, Tevye,” she says, “you’re delirious. It was only a dream. Spit three times against the Evil Eye, tell me what you dreamed, and you’ll see that it’s nothing to be afraid of.”

“God bless you, Golde,” I say. “If it weren’t for you, I would have croaked on the spot from sheer fright. Bring me a glass of water and I’ll tell you my dream. But I’ll have to ask you, Golde, to control yourself and not panic, because our holy books say that no dream can come true more than seventy-five percent, and that the rest of it is pure poppycock, such stuff and nonsense that only a fool would believe in … And now listen. At first I dreamed that we were having some sort of celebration, a wedding or an engagement party, I’m not sure which. All sorts of people were there, the rabbi too, even a band of musicians. Then a door opened and in came your Grandmother Tsaytl, God rest her soul …”

As soon as I mentioned her grandmother, my wife turned as white as the wall and cried out, “How did she look and what was she wearing?”

“She looked,” I said, “like your enemies should, as yellow as wax, and she was wearing something white, it must have been a funeral shroud … ‘Mazel tov!’ she says to me. ‘I’m so pleased to hear that you’ve chosen a fine young man for your Tsaytl, your eldest daughter who’s named for me. He’s called Motl Komzoyl, after my cousin Mordechai, and he’s an excellent fellow, even if he is a tailor …’ ”

“Why in the world,” says my Golde, “is she bringing us a tailor? We’ve always had teachers in our family, cantors, beadles, even undertakers — I won’t say that some of them weren’t poor, but we never, God forbid, had a shoemaker or a tailor.”

“Don’t interrupt me, Golde,” I said. “Your Grandmother Tsaytl must know what she’s talking about — though in fact I also said, ‘Grandma, I’m afraid you’ve got it wrong: Tsaytl’s fiancé is a butcher, not a tailor, and his name is Layzer Wolf, not Motl Komzoyl …’ ‘No,’ says your Grandma Tsaytl. ‘No, Tevye, you’ve got it wrong: Tsaytl’s young man is called Motl. He’s a tailor, all right, and he and she, God willing, will have a long and happy life together …’ ‘Right you are, Grandma,’ I say. ‘But what exactly do you propose that we do about Layzer Wolf? I hope you realize that I’ve given him my word …’ No sooner had I said that than I looked up — your Grandmother Tsaytl was gone! Now Frume Soreh was standing in her place, and this is what she said to me: ‘Reb Tevye! I’ve always thought you were a learned, honorable Jew; would you kindly explain to me, then, how you can let your daughter take over my house, sit in my chairs, carry my keys, walk around in my coats, put on my jewelry, and wear my pearls?’ ‘But why blame me?’ I say to her. ‘That’s what your Layzer Wolf wants.’ ‘Layzer Wolf?’ she says. ‘Layzer Wolf will come to no good end, while as for your daughter Tsaytl — I feel sorry for your daughter, Reb Tevye, because she won’t live out three weeks with him. If she does, I promise you that I’ll come to her in person the next night and throttle her, like this …’ And with those very words, Golde, Frume Soreh grabbed me by the throat and began to squeeze so hard that if you hadn’t waked me when you did, I’d be in the world to come now.”

“Tfu! Tfu! Tfu!” goes my wife, spitting three times. “May the river drown it, may the earth swallow it up, may the wind carry it off, may the forest blot it out, and no harm come to us and our children! May the butcher have black dreams himself! He should break a hand and a foot before anything happens to Motl Komzoyl’s little finger, even if he is a tailor! Believe me, if he’s named after my cousin Mordechai he doesn’t have a tailor’s soul. And if my grandmother, may she rest in peace, has taken the trouble of coming all the way from the next world to wish us a mazel tov, we’d better say mazel tov ourselves. It should only turn out for the best. They should have lots of happiness, amen and amen!”

Why make a short story long? I must be made of iron if I could manage to lie there under the blankets without bursting from laughter. Borukh shelo osoni ishoh —a woman is always a woman … Needless to say, we celebrated the engagement the next day and the wedding soon after, and the two lovebirds are as happy as can be. He tailors in Boiberik, going from dacha to dacha for work, and she’s busy day and night, cooking, and baking, and washing, and scrubbing, and fetching water from the well. They barely manage to get by. In fact, if I didn’t bring them some produce now and then, and sometimes a bit of cash, they’d be in a real fix — but listen to her and she’s sitting on top of the world as long as she has her Motl …

Well, go argue with today’s children! It’s like I said at the beginning, bonim gidalti veroymamti: you can slave for them, you can knock your head against the wall— veheym poshu vi , they still think they know better than you do. No, say what you will, today’s children are too smart for their own good. But I’m afraid I’ve chewed your ear off even more than usual today. Please don’t hold it against me — you should only take care and be well!