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

A.

The great thing about America is that everything is brought right to the house. You can buy anything and pay for it gradually. For one dollar a week you can furnish your home like a count.

B.

Nobody buys anything for cash except someone like the millionaire Jacob Schiff. My brother Elyahu says he’s the wealthiest man in America. But our friend Pinni says that’s not true. He says Carnegie is much richer, and Vanderbilt — certainly! And Rockefeller — most certainly! Elyahu argues that he’s absolutely wrong. Maybe those men are wealthier in land and estates, but as for money, not a chance! Schiff is richer than all of them. Pinni goes off on one of his tears, insisting that my brother Elyahu doesn’t know what he’s talking about. What Rockefeller gives away to charities alone every year, Schiff doesn’t even own. Now my brother Elyahu is riled up and says Pinni is an anti-Semite, because even if it were true that Rockefeller is richer than Schiff, he should say Schiff is richer because Rockefeller is a Gentile and Schiff is a Jew.

Pinni explodes. “And if Schiff were a Jew three times over, is that a reason for me to lie? You forget too often, Elyahu, we are in America, and America hates bluffing!”

My sister-in-law Bruche weighs in with a comment that ends the argument: “May our enemies have as many boils in one spot, and may we have as many good years, as there are lies spoken every day in New York alone, never mind Brooklyn, Brownsville, and the Bronx!”

C.

If you can buy furniture for one dollar a week, you need people to collect the dollars. The collectors, as they’re called, go from house to house collecting them. Each collector has his own “route” of houses he visits every week. His work begins by knocking on your door. Then he enters and says, “Good morning!” Then he says, “Very nice day.” He takes your dollar, hands you a receipt, and says, “Goodbye.” That’s all there is to it. It isn’t even necessary for him to take off his hat. It isn’t customary here. You can go into the richest home wearing a hat, with galoshes on your shoes, smoking a cigarette, whistling a tune, or chewing gum, and no one will say anything. It’s America.

D.

My brother Elyahu is very satisfied with his job. It’s much better than standing around and selling sausages, and besides, he’s earning much more. Sometimes he makes eight dollars a week, sometimes ten, and sometimes twelve. It all depends on the weather. In good weather you can go on foot. In bad weather you have to go by trolley, which costs a nickel. But my brother Elyahu doesn’t spend too many nickels. He is by nature a thrifty person, unlike Pinni, who has a more open hand. Pinni rarely goes on foot — he says he has to ride because he’s nearsighted, and it’s easier to get run over, not because he is nearsighted but because he’s absent-minded. He gets carried away, in addition to which he can’t manage without looking into a book or a newspaper. And sometimes he scribbles. As he walks, he thinks and he hears nothing that’s being said to him. Sometimes he takes out a pencil or a pen and begins writing. He can easily fill ten pages of paper on both sides. What he writes, and what he does with this writing, no one knows, not even his wife Teibl.

When my brother Elyahu asks him what he’s written, he says, “When we get older, we’ll know.”

We’re now quite a bit older, and we still don’t know.

E.

Still and all, Pinni makes a living, and quite a good one! He’s a collector too, not for furniture but for life insurance. Here everyone has life insurance, young and old, women and children, mothers and fathers, sisters and brothers, grandmothers and grand-fathers. They pay for it with a nickel to a dollar a week. The higher your insurance, the more you must pay. In some homes all the members of the family, from the oldest to the great-grandchildren, have life insurance. And if some of them aren’t insured yet, the collector has to make sure the uninsured buy insurance. How this is done, I do not know. I only know that my brother Elyahu refuses to do that kind of job. He prefers to collect for furniture. Why? Because to collect for furniture, you only need to say “Good morning” and “Goodbye.” For insurance collecting you have to talk and convince and explain and repeat yourself. At that our friend Pinni is a whiz. He could convince a wall and make the dead talk.

F.

To our friend Pinni it doesn’t matter who you are or what you are. Whatever you say, he gets his spiel in. Are you insured? Then he’ll talk to you about insurance. Are you not yet insured? Then you must certainly talk about insurance with him. And once he starts talking, you’ll never get out of his clutches. He’ll insure you, your wife, your child, your grandfather, your father-in-law, your cousin, and even your next-door neighbor. And if your next-door neighbor dies before you, then the company will give you a nice few hundred dollars. The next-door neighbor also insures you, so if you die, God forbid, before him, he’ll get a few hundred dollars from the company. The next-door neighbor also buys insurance for himself, as you do for yourself. You both pay the company a quarter a week. You don’t have to go to the company. The company will find you through its collector. For collecting your quarters, Pinni makes a 15 percent commission.

G.

If Pinni persuades you to write a new policy, as the agent he gets fifteen times as much as the weekly payment. If you pay a quarter for your premium, the agent of the company gets fifteen quarters in one shot! Please figure out how much that is. Imagine, if our friend Pinni is lucky enough to write two or three or more policies in a day and all at a quarter a policy — that adds up to a fortune!

“Oh, my God! You’ll be filling the house with gold!” says Bruche, and Teibl blushes, looking on, as her Pinni pulls out quarters and nickels from one pocket after another.

“What do you think?” Pinni makes separate piles of quarters and nickels. “Do you think Carnegie, Vanderbilt, and Rockefeller were born with their millions?”

H.

Now, where can I find a sheet of white paper? If I had a stick of charcoal, I’d draw this picture. A table. My mother is sitting at the head, her hands folded. On one side of her stands Bruche, tall and slim, with big feet. On the other side is Teibl, small as a quarter of a chicken. Both of the younger women work, one sewing, the other knitting. At the other end of the table stands my brother Elyahu, a man with a full beard holding a bunch of receipts in one hand and a pack of paper dollars in the other. This is what he has collected during the day. At one side of the table, standing bent over, is our friend Pinni, clean shaven, a real American. He draws out quarters and nickels from both his pockets, and since he is nearsighted, he brings each quarter and nickel close to his nose. On the table stand two high piles, one of quarters and one of nickels. Pinni isn’t finished yet. He has more. This you can see by his pants pockets, which are still bulging.

I.

Nothing lasts forever, and a person is never happy with what he has. We become sick and tired of going around collecting other people’s dollars and quarters and nickels. It’s better to have your own little rolls than someone else’s big loaves of bread. This is what Bruche says. First my brother Elyahu lost his enthusiasm for collecting. The business got to him, and not so much the business as the customers. Some customers stopped paying. They said, “Take back your furniture — we don’t need it.” Others complained that the bed squeaked, or that the mirror showed a double image, or that the dresser drawers wouldn’t open or shut, or that the chairs were too heavy and when you sat down on them it was like sitting on nails! Others decided to move away to another street — and go find them!