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

She opens the envelope and reads the note, then stops laughing and wrings her hands.

My mother asks, “What is it?”

“What is it? The news, my dear woman, is bad! The doctor says you can’t go to America.”

My sister-in-law Bruche falls into a faint. My brother Elyahu turns pale. My mother turns to stone — she can no longer cry. Fräulein Zaichik runs for a glass of water. She revives Bruche, comforts Elyahu, consoles my mother, and tells us to come back in the morning.

On the way home my brother Elyahu lectures my mother for crying all the time and reminds her how many times he warned her not to cry. She wants to answer him but has no words. She raises her eyes and begs God, “Grant me and my children a favor, O Lord of the Universe, and take me from this world!” Our friend Pinni insists it’s all the fault of that liar, that barber-surgeon Beaver. All that day and night we blame one another. In the morning we go to the Ezra, who advises us to try to go by way of London. Maybe London will let my mother and her weepy eyes go to America. And if not America, at least Canada.

Where Canada is we do not know. They say it’s even farther away than America. My brother Elyahu and his friend Pinni now have something to argue over. Elyahu asks him, “Pinni! Where is this Canada? You’re supposed to know all about geography.” Pinni tells him that Canada is in Canada — that is, not in America. He means to say that Canada is really the same as America but not exactly America. Elyahu asks him, “How can that be?” Pinni answers, “Well, that’s the way it is!”

Meanwhile we have to go to the ship to say goodbye to our good friends Pessi and her husband Moishe the bookbinder and their whole gang of kids.

Oh my, what is going on at the ship! So many men, women, and children, with bundles, satchels, pillows, and mountains of bedding, all running, shouting, crying, sweating, eating, and cursing. Suddenly the cry of a wild beast, a buffalo, is heard: Hoo-oo-ooh!

That’s the ship’s horn warning passengers to say goodbye and board the ship. More running, kissing, and crying — it’s a living theater! Everyone is saying goodbye. We’re saying goodbye too. Everyone is kissing. We’re kissing too. We’re kissing the whole gang. My mother is kissing her neighbor Pessi, who consoles my mother and begs her not to worry — they will, God willing, soon see one another in America. My mother waves her hand sadly and swallows her tears. Lately she’s crying much less. She’s taking some medicine to help her cry less. All the passengers have boarded the ship. We’re standing on the dock. Oh, how we envy them! Oh, how I envy Vashti! Once he envied me — today I envy him!

Vashti stands with a tattered cap on the deck of the ship. He holds his hands behind his back and sticks out his tongue at me to let me know that he’s going and I’m not. This really hurts my feelings, but I thumb my nose at him: “That’s for you!” meaning, Vashti! May your face break out in boils! I will soon be in America too! And I will get rich there!

Oh! Don’t you worry. I’ll be in America very soon!

A.

Day by day the gang of emigrants grows smaller and smaller, and Antwerp empties. On Shabbes another large group of emigrants sails away on a ship, all to America. Among them is my friend Big Motl, the one who taught me ventriloquism and other tricks. I don’t know what made my brother Elyahu dislike him. I think it began with my sister-in-law Bruche. Bruche has a habit of eavesdropping on people who are talking and laughing. Is it her business why we laugh? Maybe we’re laughing at our friend Pinni, at the way he fishes bits of honey cake and candy from his pockets and eats them. Maybe we’re laughing at the way Beaver is always bragging.

But I tell you, this time Bruche is right. We make up a skit about her mother Rivele the baker’s wife, with her fur cape. Rivele can’t stop talking about that fur cape she was robbed of at the border.

Imagine, even my mother can’t take it any longer! She says to Rivele, “Oy, my dear in-law! If I talked about the bedding and pillows that I was robbed of at the border as much as you carry on about your fur cape. .!”

Rivele the baker’s wife responds in her mannish voice, “At least realize there’s no comparison!”

My mother retorts, “Weren’t my pillows stolen goods too?”

“Were they stolen? I wasn’t there to see it.”

My mother is puzzled. “What are you implying, my dear in-law?” Rivele says, “Let’s leave it at that.”

“My dear in-law, how have I offended you?”

“Who says you have offended me?”

“Why then are you saying there is no comparison between my bedding and your fur cape?” my mother asks.

“It’s obvious! I’m speaking of my fur cape, and you start in with your bedding and your pillows!” Rivele replies.

“Aren’t my pillows stolen goods?”

“Stolen goods or not, I wasn’t there to see it.”

And around and around it goes!

Tell me, do we need theater?

B.

The situation with my mother’s eyes is not good at all. They say they won’t allow her on the ship for any amount of money, not even a million. We must flee Antwerp. In Antwerp the doctors are fiends! They examine your eyes, and if they see trachoma, they turn into devils. They have no respect, no pity! We’ll have to go to America by a different route but which route we don’t yet know. There are plenty of routes if we only had the means. Most probably the money in my brother Elyahu’s pocket is dwindling. We spent the proceeds from the sale of our house on doctors and barber-surgeons, all on account of my mother’s eyes. I overheard my brother Elyahu saying to his friend Pinni, “I just hope we can manage to get to London!” Of course I’d rather go straight to America than by way of London. Our friend Pessi and her whole gang have long been in America by now. They’re already making a living. Vashti must be strolling at his ease with his hands in his pockets cracking nuts.

Our in-laws and their family couldn’t wait for my mother’s eyes to heal and left for America without us. Oh! What went on that day in Antwerp! We didn’t let my mother go to the ship to say goodbye to her in-laws, because we knew she would cry and ruin whatever was left of her eyes. What good did it do? She cried even harder. She lamented that we were taking away her only pleasure — crying her sorrows out, soothing her heart! But who listens to her now?

C.

Do you know who is happy that our in-laws have left? You’ll never guess — Goldele! The very same Goldele whose parents are now in America for over a year and she is still in Antwerp on account of her sick eyes. When she heard our in-laws were leaving, she wanted to dance. What’s going on? She doesn’t like Alteh, my so-called future bride. She doesn’t like her because she is haughty. Goldele doesn’t like a person who is full of herself.

“I can’t stand your bride with the red braids. She’s a snob!” Goldele once said to me, and her cheeks were flushed.

“Where did Alteh get red braids when her hair is black?” I said.

Goldele got angrier, cried, and said, “Red! Red! Red!”

When Goldele is angry, you have to leave her be till she is over it. After that she’s as good as ever. She’s like a sister with me. She tells me everything. She works hard at the inn, sweeps the rooms, takes care of the chickens, and puts the children to sleep. For a long time the innkeeper’s wife didn’t have any children, but now God has blessed her with twins. Goldele goes to the doctor every day to cure her eyes, and the doctor smears them with the same bluestone salve he uses for all the other patients.