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

By trade he is a baker and is called Yoneh the baker. “You might as well lie in the earth and bake your bagels,” Pessi says to him, probably joking, or maybe she really means it. I don’t understand how you can lie in the earth and bake bagels. Who will buy them?

Our future in-law is a rich man. Pessi claims he’s really wealthy! She says to his face that even if she had half of what he had, she wouldn’t make a match with any of his children. She hates a greedy pig. He’d better be quiet — if someone falls into her trap, watch out! He’s willing to forget the fob watch as long as she shuts up. But Pessi says she isn’t willing to shut up. She wants him to buy the groom a new fob watch. It’s not right for a groom to go under the wedding canopy without a fob watch. Yoneh the baker argues back: what business does Pessi have with the groom? She says it’s her business because the groom is Peysi the cantor’s son, and he, Yoneh the baker, is both a rich man and a greedy pig. This hurts his feelings. He slams the door and shouts, “Go to hell!” She retorts, “You’re in better shape than I to go where it’s hot — you’re a baker!”

My mother is worried that Yoneh might break off the match. Pessi tells her to sleep peacefully — you don’t break off a match with an orphan. Who do you think won out? We did! Yoneh bought the groom a new fob watch, also silver, but even better than the first one. He even brought it over himself. If only I had such a fob watch! What would I do? First I’d remove the insides to figure out how it works. And then? And then — I know what would happen.

My mother congratulates the bride’s father and wishes he live long enough to buy her son a gold watch. The bride’s father congratulates her as well, wishes that she live to see her youngest marry. He means me. I’m willing to get married this very day as long as I get a fob watch.

My mother caresses me and says that a lot of water will flow before then, but in the meantime her eyes become moist. Why does so much water have to flow before I get married? Why does she have to cry about it? Crying is for her a habit, I think, something she has to do every day. For her crying is like your daily praying, or eating. When the tailor delivers the groom’s clothes, ordered by his future father-in-law, she has to cry. When Pessi bakes a honey cake for the wedding, she has to cry. Tomorrow is the time for the wedding ceremony — again crying! I do not understand where people get so many tears from!

C.

It turns out to be a magnificent day — like in paradise! It’s the middle of the month of Elul, springtime, and the weather is actually springlike. The sun isn’t hot enough to sweat, but it still makes you want to swim. It warms and caresses and kisses like a mother. The sky is decked out for Shabbes.

The whole town is happy that my brother Elyahu is getting married. Early in the morning a fair is being set up in the town square. Fairs are something I can’t miss — I’m crazy about fairs. People run around like mice, sweat, shout, and yank the goyim by their shirt-tails, eager to earn money — it’s a real show! But the goyim have plenty of time; they stroll around slowly, push their caps back, and look, touch, and scratch themselves, haggling for bargains. Peasant women wear strange shawls and wide-open blouses, exposing their breasts. Into these open blouses they stick bits of merchandise when no one is looking. Jews know this trick and look out for it. If they see it, they make sure to shake out the pilfered goods, which leads to a scene. Sometimes a peasant woman buys a candle in church and hides it in her shawl. Young folks, with nothing else to do, want to have some fun — they sneak up behind her and light the candle. Everyone points at the peasant woman and laughs. She doesn’t know why the Jews are laughing and reviles them with deadly curses. This makes them laugh even more. Sometimes this leads to a fight between peasants and Jews. I tell you — you don’t need a theater!

Best of all is the konneh . Do you know what that is? It’s the horse market, where they buy and sell horses. Here you can see all kinds of horses, along with gypsies, Jews, peasants, and gentry. The noise is not to be described — you can go deaf. The gypsies curse, the Jews clap their hands together, the rich folks crack their whips, and the horses run back and forth at top speed. I love to watch the horses running, especially the colts! I would give my life for a colt! I love everything small: puppies, kittens. You know, I even like small cucumbers, young little potatoes, onions, garlic. I like everything small — except piglets. I hate even small-size grown-up pigs.

Let me return to the horses. They run. The colts run after them. I run after the colts. We all run. At running I’m a whiz. I’ve got very light feet, and I go barefoot. I wear a light shirt, a pair of short trousers, and a cotton arbe kanfes, an undergarment with four corner tassels that no Jew can be without. When I run downhill, the tassels loosen in the wind, and I imagine I have wings and am flying.

“Motl! God be with you! Stop a minute!” shouts Pessi’s husband Moishe the bookbinder. He’s heading home from the fair with a pack of paper. I am afraid he’ll tattle on me to my mother, and then my brother Elyahu will yell at me. I stop running and walk slowly to my neighbor’s husband with lowered eyes.

He puts down the pack of paper, wipes the sweat with the hem of his shirt, and gives me a sermon. “How is a young orphan boy not ashamed to be hanging around gypsies and running wild with all the horses? Especially on this day! Your brother’s wedding ceremony is starting very soon, do you know that? Go home!”

D.

“Where have you been? God help you!” My mother claps her hands together and looks over my torn pants, my bloodied feet, and my flaming, flushed face. Long live Moishe the bookbinder — he didn’t breathe a word to her! My mother washes me off and puts a pair of new pants and a little cap on me for the wedding. The pants are made of some I-don’t-know-what fabric. When you take them off, they stand up on their own, and when you walk, they screech — strange pants!

“If you tear these pants, it’ll be the end of the world!” my mother says, and I agree. But these pants can’t be torn unless you break them. The little cap is great, with a shiny black visor. If it stops shining, you spit on it, and it gets shiny again. My mother glows with pride and tears roll down her wrinkled cheeks. She’s eager for me to be a success at the wedding. She says to the groom, “Elyahu! What do you think? He won’t put me to shame, will he? He’s dressed, kayn eyn horeh, like a prince.”

My brother Elyahu looks me over, strokes his little beard, and his eyes stop at my feet. He sees that the “prince” is barefoot. My mother sees it too but pretends not to. She’s wearing an odd yellow dress that I’ve never seen on her. It’s too big for her — I swear I once saw it on our neighbor Pessi. But she’s also wearing a brand-new silk head scarf that still has the original folds. The color of the head scarf is difficult to describe. It might be white, or yellow, or rose — it depends on the time of day. During the day it’s light rose, but in the evening it looks yellowish, and at night — white. Early in the morning it seems greenish, and sometimes if you look very hard it appears to be a light-rose-blue-dark-green-ash-gray. You can’t find fault with that head scarf — it’s a rarity. But it looks odd on my mother, very odd. Somehow it doesn’t fit her face. The head scarf is one thing and her face is another. A woman’s head scarf is like a man’s hat. The hat and the face must match and look as if they go together.