Sholem Aleichem - Stempenyu - A Jewish Romance

“You are right, Reb Youdel. Thanks be to the Blessed Name! They are indeed well off. May no Evil Eye fall upon them! But I am full of pain. I can never forget them.”

And, Dvossa-Malka set out to explain to Reb Youdel all the noble qualities of her daughter-in-law, down to the minutest detail. And, she wept copiously because she could never forget her. Around her in the room the people were talking about Yehupetz, and the merchants of Yehupetz. Afterwards they got out glasses, and drank a toast, holding the glasses in their hands for a long time. They wished each other everything that was good. Nor did they forget to add that they hoped fervently to see all the Children of Israel flourishing and joyous.

The supper was placed on table, the dishes sending out a fragrance through the whole room.

The company grew flushed, and talkative, and joyous. They talked, and they talked, and forgot all about Moshe-Mendel and Rochalle and the town of Yeheputz, and everything connected with it.

But there is one person who cannot forget Rochalle. Perhaps the reader has guessed that Stempenyu is here referred to. Yes, Stempenyu is the person referred to. But, who is there can describe the pain that was his? Who can read his heart and measure his agony?

“How I suffer! How my heart aches!” he says to himself again and again. “And, she never confessed anything. She never wrote down two broken words to tell me that she was going away. Phew! It was shameful!”

Nothing of the sort had ever happened to Stempenyu before, though there had happened to him all sorts of strange things. And, often nasty things, with bad endings. But, such an aggravating thing, such a downfall as that which was connected with the flight of Rochalle he never dreamt would happen to him. Stempenyu, who had been so intimately connected with all the nobility and gentry, whose daughters had shown him their open admiration — Stempenyu, about whom the beautiful noblewoman had gone mad, and for despair of winning him had committed suicide — Stempenyu, who had talked in French and German with the greatest ladies in the land — it was terrible that this same Stempenyu should have come to suffer so much and so keenly through an ordinary, commonplace young woman!

“It makes my heart ache to think of her,” Stempenyu confessed to his company of musicians. “That young woman makes my heart ache every time I think of her. And, I should like to go after her to Yehupetz, if it were not for — if it were not that—” Stempenyu was confused. He looked around him at each of the men in turn. And, they knew well whom it was that he was searching for with his eyes. They were all very fond of Stempenyu, and passionately devoted to him. They were ready to go through fire and water for him. And, as much as they loved Stempenyu, they hated Freidel. They could not bear to look at her because of her miserliness, and her love of money, and all her mean, despicable ways.

“Oh, yes; when he was a bachelor,” the musicians would say—“when he was a young man, a rouble was nothing at all to him; and, one could get round him easily. One could get a loan of a three -rouble note from him never to be repaid. And, even a five -rouble note. Sometimes one got a present from him in the ordinary way. But, now, since that wicked woman has him in her talons, he himself might die for a kopek -piece. He might be hung for a groschen . The old times are gone for ever, and the glorious suppers Stempenyu used to make for us and the jolly knocking about from place to place. Nowadays, one might as well lie down in a ditch and die, because one gets withered and swollen up with hunger. The whole year one has to go without bread; and, when the season for weddings comes round at last, she never even offers a man, out of mere decency itself, so much as a bite of bread or a glass of tea. She never has the good manners to offer a man a meal — may the worms devour her from head to toe!”

“Believe me, there are times nowadays when a man is actually hungry. And, it is terrible to suffer for want of food. But, if she were to place a heap of gold before me, I would not demean myself by tasting so much as a single crumb of hers — the vixen!”

“How does he manage to live with her — with such a female Turk — with such a hag — a she-devil? I would have poisoned her, or hung her up long ago, as sure as you see me alive!”

“Oh, Stempenyu! You have been buried alive! You are lying in the earth and baling cakes, as the saying has it!”

That was how the musicians spoke of Stempenyu. They saw how he suffered, and they felt keenly what he was feeling, out of sympathy, though he had not said more than a word or two of what was really taking place within him to anybody. When he suffered most he was dumb, not knowing what to say.

Whenever Freidel when to market, or when she was occupied in taking pledges, or in attending to her customers, it was not so bad. Stempenyu could treat the musicians to cigarettes. They would sit and chat, and tell one another stories of bygone times. They smoked and talked as if the whole world was theirs. But, the very moment Freidel crossed the threshold their hearts were chilled and they crept from the room one by one.

“Just see how they have filled the room with smoke, as if this were a public house,” she said, sniffling here and there, and looking daggers at the remains of the cigarettes in the packet, “They only want to smoke — to puff, and nothing else. My head aches from your cigarettes. You will make me ill. You imagine, Stempenyu, that it is good to smoke? Be advised by me, Stempenyu. Give up smoking. My soul, believe me, it is injurious to your health.”

“What do you care, Freidel, about my health! Sat that you begrudge me the money I spend on tobacco, and have done with it. What is the use of pretending?”

“What do you say to him? He talks of pretenses! I mean only his good, and he talks only of pretenses. There’s for you! I suppose I do begrudge you everything because of the beautiful day I have had, fighting, and sweating, and eating out my heart with aggravation, and without taking in a kopek . And, along with this I was abused as if I were a servant girl — worse than any servant girl. They called me names, and blackened my character, until it was as mud that lies in the middle of the road … And, the goods are not sold. They are lying there and rotting.”

“I should like to know, Freidel, devil, why you protest so much. Why do you stint and scrape? Have your children fallen upon you, demanding from you the Lord knows what?”

“Just look at him, I beg of you, the innocent! He knows nothing. One has to put everything on the tip of his tongue. I suppose I carry everything off to my mother — eh, Stempenyu? Or perhaps I eat everything up myself? A glutton and a drunkard like your wife is a terrible person to come upon without warning, eh, Stempenyu? Look into my eyes, Stempenyu. Can you do that?”

“Did I say you eat up everything? On the contrary …”

“You say — you say — I know what you say. Perhaps you ought to male complaints, Stempenyu? You ought to rebel against the Lord because He sent you such a thriftless wife — such a wife as I am, who can make two groschens out of one at any time, and who keeps your interest in mind day and night. Yes, tell me what you are short of, and how much you are losing. You are silent. I should only like to know this much. What would you have had to lean on with your fiddle this day if you had not had me for your wife?”

“Oh! Ha!”

“You would surely have been in ‘Oh! Ha!’ It seems that you have forgotten what condition you were in when you married me. You hadn’t a shirt on your back. You hadn’t a pair of socks that were not full of holes. You had not a pillow to rest your head on, nor a pillow-case either. And, you were earning lots of money. Where did it all go to?”