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

What was I to do? This was bad. If I said one ruble, I might get two, but that would be a shame. Then again, if I said two, they might look at me as if I were crazy — they’d wonder where I got off asking for two.

“Three rubles!” popped out of my mouth, and such great laughter broke out among them that I wanted to sink into the ground.

“Please don’t be offended,” I said. “That just slipped out. Even a horse with four legs stumbles, so what can you expect of a man with one tongue?” The laughter grew louder.

“Enough laughing!” the rich man called out. He drew from his bosom pocket a large purse and from it removed — How much do you think? Go on, guess! — a ten-ruble note, may you and I live so long! And he said, “This is from me. And now the rest of you, give from your pockets as much as you think is right.”

What more can I say? Flying onto the table came fives and threes and ones. My arms and legs were shaking, and I thought I was going to faint right then and there.

“ Nu, why are you still standing there?” the rich man said to me. “Pick up your few rubles from the table and go home in good health to your wife and children.”

“May God reward you,” I said, “many times over. May you have ten times, a hundred times over what you possess now. May you have all that is good and enjoy great happiness!” I gathered up the money with both hands — Count it? Who had time to count? — and stuffed it into all my pockets. “Goodnight,” I said. “May you always be happy and healthy and enjoy much pleasure, you and your children and your children’s children and your whole family.” And I started toward the wagon.

Then the rich man’s wife called out to me, she of the silk kerchief: “Wait a moment, Reb Tevye! I want to give you a gift of my own. God willing, come back tomorrow. I have a milk cow. She was once a wonderful animal, used to give twenty-four glasses of milk a day, but lately, maybe we bragged too much, she stopped giving milk. I mean,” she said, “she lets herself be milked, but there’s no milk.”

“Long life to you,” I said. “May you never have any troubles. At my house your cow will let herself be milked and will give milk. My wife, God bless her, is so capable that out of thin air she makes noodles, with empty hands she concocts delicacies. With miracles she prepares the Shabbes, and with nothing but a box on the ear for supper she puts the children to bed. Forgive me,” I said, “if without thinking I ran on too long. Goodnight and God be with you and be well.” And I was on my way.

I came out into the courtyard, went over to my wagon, and put my hand out to stroke my horse. Oy vey! A calamity, a disaster, a catastrophe! No horse! Nu, Tevye, I thought, now you’re really in trouble! I’d read somewhere an awful tale about a gang that spirited away a pious Jew, a Chasid, one evening. They took him to a castle outside the city, gave him food and drink, and then suddenly vanished, leaving him alone with a beautiful woman. The woman soon turned into a wild beast, the wild beast became a cat, and the cat a dragon. I’d better be careful, I thought, and make sure they weren’t putting something over on me!

“Why are you grumbling and fumbling around out there?” they asked.

“An awful thing has happened!” I answered. “I’ve suffered a terrible loss — my horse. .”

“Your horse,” they said, “is in the stable. Over there.”

I went into the stable and looked around. Yes, as I am a Jew! My handsome fellow was standing there very cozily among the aristocratic horses, deeply absorbed in munching, burying his muzzle in the oats with great relish.

“Listen, smart aleck,” I said to him, “it’s time to go home. Don’t eat so much too quickly — it’ll make you sick.”

I finally convinced him to kindly allow me to hitch him up to the wagon. We headed home, both of us, in a lively, happy frame of mind, I singing “God Our King” tipsily. My little horse was not the same as before — he seemed to have grown a new coat of fur. He didn’t even wait for the whip but ran like the wind. We arrived late that night, and with great excitement and joy I woke up my wife.

“Good evening!” I said. “Happy holiday, Golde!”

“A dismal happy holiday to you, a miserable one,” she said. “What makes you so jolly, my worthy breadwinner? Are you coming from a wedding or from a bris, my gold spinner?”

“It’s a wedding,” I said, “ and a bris ! Just wait, my wife, and you’ll soon see the treasure I’ve brought home. But first wake up the children, let the poor things also enjoy the Yehupetz delicacies.”

“Are you crazy? Are you out of your mind or just delirious? You’re talking like a madman, heaven help us!” She treated me to all the curses in the Bible, as a woman can do.

“A woman,” I said, “remains a woman. No wonder King Solomon complained that even among his thousand wives he couldn’t find a proper one. It’s a good thing, believe me, that it’s out of fashion nowadays to have a lot of wives.”

I went out to my wagon, brought in all the wonderful things they had packed for me, and laid them all out on the table. When my little gang set eyes on the breads and sniffed the meats, they fell upon the table like starving wolves, poor things. It turned into a grab-fest, hands trembling, teeth working. As Rashi stated: “Eat!” They chomped away like locusts. Tears came to my eyes.

“Now tell me,” my wife said to me. “Where did you get this fancy banquet, this feast, and how come you’re looking so smug?”

“Be patient, my Golde,” I said. “You’ll soon know everything. Why don’t you blow on the coals under the samovar, and then we can all sit around the table and drink our tea properly? A person,” I said, “only lives once, not twice — especially now that we’ll have our own milk cow that gives twenty-four glasses of milk a day. Tomorrow, God willing, I’ll bring her home. Come on, Golde.” I pulled the banknotes from my pockets. “Come, let’s see if you can guess how much money we have here.”

My wife was dumbstruck, mouth agape.

“God be with you, Golde dear,” I said. “Are you afraid that maybe I stole it or robbed someone? Feh, shame on you! You’re Tevye’s wife so many years, and you can still think that way about me? Silly,” I said, “this is kosher money, honestly earned with my own cleverness and with my own hard work. I rescued two souls from great peril,” I told her. “If not for me, God knows what would have happened to them!”

And I told her everything from A to Z, how God had dealt with me. And then we both counted the money. We counted it over and over again. There was exactly twice eighteen plus one, which comes to no less than thirty-seven rubles! My wife broke down in tears.

“Why are you crying, foolish woman?” I asked.

“How can I help crying when tears come? If your heart is full,” she said, “the eyes overflow. May God help me, my heart told me you’d come back with good news. One time my grandmother Tzeitl came to me in a dream. I was lying in bed asleep, and suddenly I dreamed about a milk pail, a full one. Grandma Tzeitl, may she rest in peace, was carrying the full milk pail under her apron so it wouldn’t tempt the evil eye, and the children were crying, ‘Mama, look!’—”

“Don’t put the cart before the horse, my dear,” I interrupted. “May Grandma Tzeitl have a bright paradise, but I still don’t know if something good will come of this dream. Still, if God could miraculously bring us our own cow, He could also make her give milk. Give me advice, Golde darling — what should we do with the money?”