Sholem Aleichem - Tevye the Dairyman and Motl the Cantor's Son

My brother Elyahu says to him, “Whoever asks is an—”

Isn’t he surprised when suddenly a muffled voice is heard from under the ground: “You are mistaken, Reb Elyahu, because you yourself are the i-di-ot!”

I.

My brother Elyahu no longer goes to the movies and doesn’t even want to hear about Charlie Chaplin.

A.

In America people hate to stay in one place. In America they must go forward, grow bigger every day. The business we do at our stand is not enough to support a family of seven people, kayn eyn horeh. We began looking for a bigger business, not a stand but a real store. In America you don’t have to look long.

As I told you, all you have to do is look in the newspapers, where you’ll find whatever your heart desires. The problem is that a proper business is expensive. Even the name costs money. Sometimes you have to pay more for the name than for the merchandise. Our own stand barely brings in ten dollars a week, but we’re able to sell it for good money — only because of the name. A greenhorn buys it from us. He doesn’t even asks how much we’re making. It’s enough for him to see seven people working the stand and making a living. That’s probably proof enough for him to think it’s a good business.

B.

We sell the stand, together with the wares, the baskets, the equipment, and even the showcase. But the secret of how we manufacture soda water, all kinds of syrup, and especially the drink they call cider — that my brother Elyahu will not give out for any amount of money. (He says that everyone manufactures these things.) How does he manufacture wine for Passover? My brother Elyahu’s Passover wine already has a reputation in America. Never mind that it’s his first year manufacturing it. All our friends who pray with us on Shabbes in our Kasrilevka shul won’t buy wine anywhere else but from us. Our friend Pinni spreads the good word all over New York that my brother Elyahu manufactures wine that the president himself could drink. When it comes to promoting things, our Pinni is a demon. Here they call it advertising. Pinni says America stands on advertising. Salesmen praise their own wares. Workers advertise their own skills. My drink may taste as sour as vinegar, but I can still advertise that it’s sweeter than sugar. My work may not be worth a penny, but I can value it as worth a million. This is America, a free country.

C.

Having spread the good word about my brother Elyahu’s Passover wine all over downtown, our friend Pinni calls him aside and says to him, “Listen here, Elyahu. I advertise your Passover wine better than anyone else could. Make sure you don’t shame me. You’re fully capable of manufacturing a wine that tastes as delicious as your kvass in the Old Country. Remember, this is America, and here they drink wine, not kvass.”

My brother Elyahu cannot respond because he feels so insulted. It is Bruche who responds for him. My sister-in-law launches into a tirade at our friend Pinni: “If a stranger would hear those words, he would surely think that in America there are only rich people and aristocrats who drink nothing but wine and bathe in honey and shmaltz . I have seen with my own eyes how an allrightnichkeh from Grand Street ordered a barrel of apple cider and a hundred sour apples. May I be blessed if those apples aren’t better and tastier than the local oranges and grapefruits, which are impossible to cut and figure out how to eat.”

I’m not telling you everything Bruche said. Once Bruche starts talking, she won’t stop quickly. Pinni knows this as well as I. He pushes his cap back on his head and takes off. That’s the best thing to do. I do the same.

D.

CANDY — CIGAR — STATIONERY STORE WITH FIVE ROOMS. BIG BARGAIN. GOOD BUSINESS. BEST NEIGHBORHOOD. REASON FOR SELLING: I AM SINGLE. FAST SALE NECESSARY.

We find this ad in the newspaper, and we all feel it’s a business made to order for us. We men set out first to look it over, and we like it. Then the women go, and they don’t like it. Each of them finds a different fault. My mother says it’s too far from the shul . There is shul down the street, but it’s not our Kasrilevka shul . My brother Elyahu asks her if it’s the same God in the new shul as in her old shul . My mother says it’s the same God but different Jews, not Kasrilevka Jews with whom it’s easier to pray. Furthermore she can’t imagine praying with someone other than her cantor, Hersh-Ber.

E.

My sister-in-law finds a different fault. What will we do with so many rooms? Why do we need five rooms? Our neighbor Fat Pessi suggests that we can rent the spare rooms, take in “boarders.” Bruche says, “That’s all we need, having to worry about strangers in our house.” Teibl echoes her every word like a parrot.

Pinni says to his wife, “Why don’t you try to say something on your own for a change, not repeat Bruche’s words?”

Bruche steps forward and cools him off: “Some people know everything about others but nothing about themselves.” And Teibl repeats this as well, word for word.

Pinni says to his wife, “What would you do if you were alone?” Bruche retorts, “Would you, should you — what a lot of questions!” And Teibl repeats her every word.

Pinni spits a “Tphoo!” and leaves.

F.

Do you think we’re the only ones who go to look at the business? Our in-laws and friends also come along with us. The first is our in-law Yoneh the baker. After a while his wife Rivele comes. They can’t leave the knishes alone and have to take turns wherever they go. Then comes Moishe the bookbinder, followed by Fat Pessi. But wait! Here I must interrupt myself and say in the local language, “Excuse me, I made a mistake.” It is Fat Pessi who comes first, followed by Moishe. After them come some good friends who pray with us in shul, some Kasrilevka Jews who understand business. The owner doesn’t receive them kindly. As a matter of fact, he practically throws them out. He says he never imagined such a large family! This hurts my mother’s feelings. She goes with Bruche to see him privately, and Bruche gives him a piece of her mind he will never forget! The businessman swears by God that he’s giving up the business only because he’s getting married, but now he regrets his decision. If a woman, he says, can open up her mouth like our Bruche, it’s not worth getting married. He says he’s better off remaining single.

G.

But he’s just saying that. He’s as eager to sell the business as we are to buy it, especially since we’ve almost sold our stand. I say “almost” because the greenhorn who came to take over our stand has forced a ten-dollar deposit on us. We’re already sorry we’ve taken his deposit, because now he hangs around us all day and won’t move a step away from our stand — a nudnik of a Jew, even more of a nudnik than my brother Elyahu! My brother is an angel compared to him. He makes such a pest of himself that we throw the deposit back in his face. But he refuses to take it back. He’s fallen in love with our stand. He’s sure we’ve become rich from it. “A greenhorn remains a greenhorn!” says our friend Pinni.

H.

What is a greenhorn? Ask me something easier! My friend Mike doesn’t really know either. We hear people saying “greenhorn,” so we say it too. I draw a picture of the man who’s buying the stand from us on the sidewalk. I draw him with a long horn on his forehead, in green chalk. (You should hear them laugh.) Everybody recognizes him and laughs, all except my brother Elyahu. He is not amused. Oh, he doesn’t hit me, but he does make me wipe off the green horn with a wet rag or else we could be fined. You can get fined for everything around here. Try spitting on the street, and a policeman will appear, grab you by the ear, and take you straight to the police station, where you’ll be fined five dollars. America is very strict!