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

D.

In the room is a handsome man, tall, with a gray beard and a broad forehead, wearing a silk robe, a yellow silk yarmulke, and embroidered sparkling silk slippers. This is old Luria. He sits bent over a big, thick book. He says nothing but chews the tips of his beard, looks into the book, shakes his foot, and mumbles quietly to himself. A strange man, this old Luria. I look at him and wonder, Does he see me or doesn’t he? He doesn’t seem to, because he isn’t looking my way, and no one has told him about me. They simply brought me there, left, and locked the door behind me.

Suddenly old Luria calls out to me, still without looking at me, “Come here, and I’ll show you a bit of Rambam.”

To whom is he speaking? To me? He speaks to me in the polite form of address? I look around. Except for me no one else is there.

Old Luria mumbles again in his deep voice, “Come here, and you’ll see what Rambam says!”

I want very much to go closer to him. “Are you speaking to me?”

“You, you, who else?” old Luria says to me. I approach him. Still looking into the large book, he takes my hand, points with a finger, and tells me in a loud and passionate voice what Rambam says. He gets so worked up, he turns red as a beet. He gestures with his thumb for emphasis, and with his elbow he pokes me in the side repeatedly. “ Nu, what do you say? It’s good, isn’t it?” he exclaims.

That it is good I cannot say, so I stay silent. The more I stay silent, the more worked up he gets. The more worked up he gets, the more silent I stay.

I hear the sound of a key from the other side of the door. The door opens, and in comes the elegantly dressed woman. She goes over to old Luria and shouts directly into his ear. He is apparently hard of hearing. She tells him to let me go now because I must sleep.

She leads me to another part of the room and lays me down on a sofa with real springs in it. The bedding is white as snow. The quilt is silky and soft — paradise! The elegant woman tucks me in, leaves, and locks the door from the other side.

As I lie on the sofa, old Luria paces the room, his hands clasped behind him. He looks down at his fine slippers while mumbling and grumbling and doing strange things with his eyebrows. I can hardly keep my eyes open. I want to sleep.

Suddenly old Luria comes up to me and says, “I am going to eat you up!”

I don’t understand what he is saying.

“Get up. I am going to eat you up.”

“Who? Me?”

“You! You! I must eat you! It can’t be otherwise!” says old Luria. He paces the room, head down, hands behind him, forehead furrowed. He speaks more quietly to himself.

I try to catch his words but can barely breathe from fright.

He asks questions and answers them himself. This is what old Luria is muttering: “The Rambam says the world is not ancient. But how can that be? For one reason must have another reason! How can I prove it? Just by willing it. But how? Right now I want to eat him, so I will eat him up. Then what? Out of pity? It doesn’t matter. I will do my will. The will doesn’t settle matters. I’ll eat him up. I want to eat him up. I must eat him up!”

E.

What great news to receive from old Luria — he must eat me up! What will my mother say? I’m terror-stricken. I’m shivering all over. The sofa I’m lying on is set away from the wall. I manage to slip off the sofa and slide down onto the floor between the sofa and the wall. My teeth are chattering. I listen intently and wait for him to come eat me up. And how will he do it? Silently I call for my mother, and wet drops roll down my cheeks into my mouth. The drops are salty. I’ve never longed so hard for my mother as now. I also long for my brother Elyahu, but not as much. I remind myself of my father, for whom I am still saying kaddish. Who will say kaddish for me if old Luria eats me up?

Somehow I must have fallen asleep for a good while, because when I wake up, I look around and wonder where I am. I touch the wall. I touch the sofa. I stick my head out and see a large, bright room with satin carpeting. The walls are decorated with knickknacks, and the ceiling is painted like a synagogue. Old Luria is still sitting bent over that large book he calls Rambam. I like the name Rambam — to me it sounds like bimbam. Suddenly I remember that just yesterday old Luria wanted to eat me up. I’m afraid he might see me and again want to eat me up. I hide between the wall and the sofa and remain silent.

A key jingles outside the door. It opens, and in comes the elegantly dressed woman. Behind her comes the cook named Chanah, carrying a big tray with cups of coffee, hot milk, and fresh butter rolls.

“Where is the boy?” Chanah looks all around the room, then sees me between the wall and the sofa.

“You’re a rascal! What are you doing there? Come with me to the kitchen. Your mother’s waiting for you.”

I jump out from my hiding place and run down the carpeted stairs in my bare feet, singing “Rambam, bimbam, bimbam, Rambam!” till I get to the kitchen.

“Don’t be in such a hurry!” Chanah the cook says to my mother. “Let him at least have a glass of coffee and a butter roll! And you have some coffee too. They have enough. They won’t miss it.”

My mother thanks her and sits down. Chanah serves us wonderful-smelling hot coffee and fresh butter rolls.

Have you ever eaten egg kichel with sugar? That’s what the rich call butter rolls. Maybe they’re even better. The flavor of the coffee I can’t describe — it’s a taste of paradise! My mother holds the glass, sips, and savors it all. She gives me more than half of her butter roll.

When Chanah the cook sees this, she raises a big fuss. “What are you doing? Eat, eat — there’s plenty!” Chanah gives me another butter roll, and now I have two and a half. I listen to their conversation.

It’s a familiar conversation. My mother bewails her bad luck. She is a widow and has two children. One stumbled onto a gold mine — the other one you can see for yourself. I’d like to know how my brother Elyahu stumbled onto a gold mine. A gold mine? Chanah hears out my mother and shakes her head in sympathy.

Then she starts to talk, bewailing her bad luck in having to work for others. She was her father’s favorite. Her father was once well-to-do but was badly burned in business. After that he fell ill, and then he died. If her father, she says, were to rise from the grave and see his Chanah working at a stranger’s oven! But she can’t complain, thank God for that. She has a good job. The only problem is that the old man is a little — and Chanah points to her forehead. I can’t figure out what that means. My mother listens and shakes her head. Then my mother starts talking again. Chanah listens to my mother and shakes her head. She gives me another butter roll for on the way.

I show it off to the other schoolboys. They gather around me and can’t take their eyes off me as I eat it. It must be something special for them too. I give each of them a small piece, and they lick their fingers.

“Where’d you get such a delicious treat?”

I stuff my cheeks and shove my hands deep into the pockets of my stiff pants. I chew and swallow slowly.

Then I do a little dance in my bare feet, as if to say, “Eh, you poor, flea-bitten good-for-nothings! These are a rare treat, these butter rolls, ha ha ha! You should try them with coffee, and then you would know what paradise on earth really is!”

A.

The only thought that keeps my mother going is that my brother Elyahu has stumbled onto a gold mine, thank God. That’s what my mother calls it, and as is her way, she wipes her eyes even out of great pride. He is set for life, she says. Her daughter-in-law is no great prize (I agree!), but God sent her son a wealthy father-in-law, Yoneh the baker. He does not do the actual baking himself. He just buys the flour and sells the bread. On Passover he bakes matzo for the whole town. He is a whiz at running the bakery business, but as a person he is always grumpy, even angry. In fact, he’s a terror.