The Slaughterman's Daughter

by Yaniv Iczkovits

  Mrs Resnick is unconvinced, but Mende leaves her to bicker with her husband and resumes her stroll around the market with her children. The accomplices of her last shopping spree rush at her, their guilt at their part in her breakdown overcoming all business sense. Schneider is all over her, telling her that he has been thinking of visiting her for quite some time and now she has beaten him to it. After all, he needs to mend her turquoise dress, the one he sewed for her on her birthday. Now he can see that he miscalculated. It is too narrow at the waist, and he misjudged the breadth of the shoulders. He has no choice but to make the dress again from scratch. The tailor fusses over Mende as though she were a bride. Remembering her children, he takes Mirl’s measurements for a brown dress with white muslin, and finds a new jacket and a smart white shirt for Yankele. And when Mende thanks him and promises to repay her debt, he dismisses her courteous words. “Have we just met? There are no debts among friends.”

  Liedermann is not far behind. He gives Yankele and Mirl a pair of sandals each, and when the two of them look at him, amazed, he places in their hands two pairs of old galoshes for the coming winter months.

  “For your mother,” he announces loudly, “I intend to make a pair of leather boots. Now, I know what you are thinking, Mrs Speismann: he just made me a pair of boots, why do I need two pairs? Well, I shall tell you exactly why – today we are not settling for the necessary, but striving for the possible.”

  And before Liedermann finishes his job, Grossman the handkerchief salesman and Blumenkrantz the baker are standing at the entrances to their shops, arguing over whom she should visit next: will it be the finest handkerchief vendor in the district or the pâtissier whose reputation has travelled as far as Minsk?

  But Mende comes out of Liedermann’s store without heeding either of them. She has little time for them now, so perhaps they had better come to her house in the next few days instead.

  “Your house?” Blumenkrantz says, unsure.

  “I mean, this is unusual . . . But of course, your house!” Grossman agrees, stealing a march on his rival with his enthusiasm.

  What a miracle. Only recently, on her twenty-sixth birthday, Mende Speismann had walked around the market with thirty-two roubles and seventy-one copecks in her pocket – quite a sum – and a few hours later she was unconscious and nearly broke. And now, without a single coin to her name, she is returning to her in-laws with an impressive catch: fine clothes and footwear, succulent cuts of meat and promises of calls from traders. How could she ever have doubted the All-Merciful’s sagacity and faith in His people’s generosity, knowing how eager they are to fulfil His commandments? “Bless His name for ever!” she cries as she skips with her children all the way back to her in-laws, feeling new life pulsating inside her. Could it be that a child is growing in her womb, even though her husband has been gone for so long? She believes in miracles, by God she does, for no-one predicted that she would ever get up from her bed again. And now she is preparing to go to the village and rescue her sister’s household. As long as the Protector of Israel is up in Heaven, anything is possible, however outrageous it might seem.

  III

  * * *

  People say: Rivkah Keismann, Natan-Berl Keismann’s mother, is a difficult woman. The truth is that Rivkah Keismann is a good-natured woman.

  People say: Rivkah Keismann complains all day long. Actually, most of the time, Rivkah Keismann says nothing at all, because her woes are beyond words.

  True, every now and again, her old body will let slip the odd groan. She cannot help that she has gnarled hands from washing clothes in the river, or a crooked back from carrying buckets of water for years, or that her skin is not as soft as it used to be. One must remember that Rivkah Keismann is not a spring chicken anymore; she is fast approaching sixty. Still, she has never complained in her entire life. They told her to marry Shevach Keismann and she did. They told her she should be the valiant wife everyone sings about on Sabbath eve, and she was. They told her to follow her husband wherever he went, and she did, even though he chose to live alongside the goyim in the country. They told her that Natan-Berl would be all that the God-Who-Sits-On-High would ever give her, and he became the apple of her eye, her only son whom she loves dearly. They told her: your son has become a man and he has found a bride, so now you must step back and stay on the sidelines. Well, did she not step back? But they did not tell her that the couple would have forgotten the commandment to “honour your father and mother”. And they did not tell her that “the sidelines” would mean a cabin in the yard rather than a room inside the house. Her son and daughter-in-law do not want to live under the same roof as her, so they send her to sleep in the outhouse, like a dog in a kennel. Instead of appreciating her help, they treat her as a burden. And what does she ask for in her old age? Money? God forbid. Love? In her dreams. Health? Not at her age. So what is it, in short, what does she ask for? A bit of attention and respect, that is all. Things that do not cost money and do not even take time: a word, a look, a mattress inside the house. If only God could see how she lives. She would be better off dead.

  People say: Rivkah is making the life of her daughter-in-law, Fanny Keismann, a living hell. She criticises everything Fanny does. If Fanny has just cleaned the house, Rivkah will detect a speck of dust in a corner. If Fanny makes a lentil stew, Rivkah will recommend a different seasoning. When Fanny dresses the children, she will immediately hear a yell from the next room: “It’s too warm for a coat!” Or: “It’s too cold for just one layer!” No mistake goes unnoticed by Rivkah Keismann. And what is the source of each mistake? That the task was not placed in the hands of Rivkah Keismann from the start, of course.

  The truth is that Rivkah Keismann is the only one to be subjected to such scrutiny. Why shouldn’t she think that Fanny, her daughter-in-law, known in the Grodno congregation as a vilde chaya, a beast who slaughters sheep with a quick cut, why shouldn’t she think that Fanny is not good enough for her son? Is it unacceptable to think that the rooms are not clean enough after Fanny has swept them? Is it outrageous to say that Fanny’s cooking is too salty? Did Rivkah Keismann not raise a child of her own to know the difference between playful and disobedient grandchildren? And what about her daughter-in-law’s reckless spending? New clothes – is patching up old clothes not good enough? Sumptuous food – weren’t they happy before they started eating trout? Hebrew and arithmetic lessons for her daughters – did Rivkah Keismann not marry and have a family without either?

  Naturally, she keeps most of her opinions to herself; anything for a quiet life. She tries to stay on good terms with everyone, and perhaps this was her mistake. Because you cannot deny that this woman, Fanny Keismann by name, a righteous woman indeed, left her home in the middle of the night. She left a short, ludicrous message for her husband, Natan-Berl: “Take care of yourselves until I return.” How will bewildered children abandoned by their mother take care of themselves? And the mother-bird has still not returned to her fledglings’ nest.

  At first, Rivkah Keismann told the children that their mother had gone away to care for their grandfather. But then she realised that these children were old enough to remember that Meir-Anschil Schechter died a while ago. So she told them that their mother had gone away, just for a week, to fill an important clerical position. Shmulke was surprised that his mother had been appointed a clerk, Mishka wanted to know why they needed to earn more money, and David counted seven days, one day at a time, and demanded an explanation when a week had elapsed. Not to mention little Elisheva, who every now and again sees her mother’s apron hanging on the kitchen chair and screams, “Mamme!”, and Gavriellah, the eldest, who picks up her baby sister and comforts her, an impenetrable expression on her face. Rivkah’s heart is in pieces. What can she, their grandmother, tell them? She stares at the floor and says nothing.

  And what about Natan-Berl? Well, this is simply heart-breaking. People say that nothing can penetrate her son’s armour-
like skin, because he accepts the world’s wonders and afflictions with equanimity. People say that Natan-Berl ascribes any dif-ference between what a man wants and the way the world is – a difference for which most people tend to blame the world – to his excessive wants and witless head. Would he not prefer people to care for their animals as well as he does? There’s no question. Of course he would. But who is he? What is he? One of many. There is so much of everything, and so little of him, so why should everything align itself with his will?

  But the truth is, as Rivkah Keismann permits herself to say, no-one knows a man’s soul like his mother. Natan-Berl walks around the house as if lightning has struck him. He doesn’t say a single word at supper, goes to bed early and leaves the house before first light.

  People say: but this is how Natan-Berl has always been. He wakes up before sunrise to milk the goats, then he churns the milk and herds the flock, and before evening returns home to his family. The truth is, one can perform the same actions either with joy, searching for the sublime in one’s daily life, or one can miserably go through the motions. No-one would detect a difference in Natan-Berl’s gestures, of course. His face confronts each day without giving away any sign of crisis. His thick, hairy hands continue to milk the animals with their magical tenderness. But deep down, oh dear, deep down, only Mother knows how his soul is rent and his heart is paralysed.

  The name “Zizek”, which is yet to be uttered in Natan-Berl’s home, is on everyone else’s lips. In an uncanny coincidence that even the Devil couldn’t outdo, both Fanny and Zizek disappeared on the same night. Of all the men in the world, her daughter-in-law has gone off with a good-for-nothing goy, a man who turned his back on his Jewish faith for a bowl of pork soup, a man who sits alone in his rowing boat like the village idiot.

  Rivkah Keismann has been forced to swallow her pride and start sleeping inside a house where she is not welcome. She had to take the initiative, moving her belongings herself and laying down a mattress next to her grandchildren. Without asking for anyone’s permission, she also sent an urgent missive to Hamagid. Let anyone say a word. Let anyone say that Rivkah is meddlesome, that Rivkah interferes. And what is the truth? That Rivkah is right! Rivkah knew all along. Rivkah suspected. Rivkah doubted. She is terribly sorry if you do not agree with her actions, but at times like these, she must choose between bad and worse for her family.

  And if anyone still wants to bask in their scepticism, let them lie all night, wide awake, like her. Let them listen to her son wheezing in the next room and have their nights disturbed by the children’s nightmares. People tell Rivkah Keismann that children have bad dreams, that this is how it has always been. And that Natan-Berl is famous for his stentorian snoring. Rivkah replies that a stranger listening in would certainly believe that this is a mere snoring sound. But deep down, my God, deep down, her son’s battered heart is palpitating in agony.

  IV

  * * *

  On Friday morning, as her son Natan-Berl is discussing the problem of wolves with his herdsmen, worried about the sounds of their howls being heard ever closer to his flock and wondering whether they should increase the height of their fencing, Rivkah wakes up in a panic. Her bones are on fire. The Sabbath is almost here. Her head spins with the number of tasks that await her. She doesn’t know where to start. At her age, she should be the guest of honour at her family’s Sabbath dinner. A moment before Queen Sabbath’s arrival, she should enter a room filled with loving grandchildren surrounding a table laden with delicacies. But instead of this restful existence, she finds herself raising her son’s family. And now, as she looks out of the window, she sees a disturbing sight. A large woman and two scrawny children are approaching the house, pushing a wooden cart loaded with sacks. They must be expecting some sort of alms from the Keismann household. If she had money to spare, would she not help? Of course she would, she is not a cruel woman. But these are hard times. When things get rough, there is no room for the smug generosity by which one seems to say: “I have, and you have not” – a meanness that only the rich can think charitable.

  Judging by the beggarwoman’s fancy dress, (despite its atrocious turquoise colour), this Jewess is no ordinary mendicant. It is obviously tailor-made, the collar is very elegant and the fabric is a linen of excellent quality, so this woman must be a lady only recently down on her luck. At this point fear creeps in, but also curiosity. Who can she be?

  A knock on the door is followed by two quick, syncopated knocks. Is this how it is these days – strangers knocking on people’s doors with such insouciance?

  Three more knocks of the same rhythmic pattern follow, and Rivkah opens the door a crack and grumpily peers out.

  “What do you want, madam?”

  “Grandma!” exclaims the jovial beggarwoman with outstretched arms.

  “Grandma?” Rivkah is taken aback and tries to close the door.

  “Grandma!” The beggar pushes past her and strides into the house. “Don’t you recognise me? I am Mende Speismann, Fanny’s sister, and these are my children, Yankele and Mirl. We have heard of your great disaster, and have come to help Natan-Berl and the children.”

  Rivkah knows all about Mende Speismann. She has always been the better half of the pair of Schechter sisters. A well-mannered and humble woman, a model housewife and a fine mother. Her husband is useless, of course, a mere good-for-nothing, but Mende copes with the shame with dignity. She does not so much as hint that anything is wrong, never com-plains, keeps the pain to herself, as a daughter of Israel should. She’s always had a certain inspiring grace to her, something pleasant and serene about her face. So who is this standing so boldly before Rivkah? A bloated vagabond. And judging by her outburst, a very rude one at that. She has a broad, flabby belly, and her face is cushioned with baby-like folds of fat; her cheeks almost swallow her eyes, her chin is sunken and her lips overstuffed. She just might be Mende Speismann, but even if she is, Rivkah Keismann does not need her help, and right now she is seriously considering driving her away from the house, even though the Sabbath is almost here and she is family.

  “I have brought fine food,” Mende Speismann declares and turns back to her cart to bring in the sacks. The grandmother stays the execution of her sentence as she sees the bags of vegetables and potatoes, and children’s shoes, and fabric for new clothes.

  “We need none of these things,” Rivkah mutters, rummaging through the vegetables and plucking out the choicest radishes.

  “So be it,” Mende says blithely, as she spreads the fabrics on a chair. “As you wish.”

  “Not like that,” says Rivkah, rearranging the cloths and smoothing out their creases. “Don’t do it that way.”

  This strange new gang of four sits down to take a slice of bread with a little of the onion and cucumber Mende has brought. Rivkah Keismann tells Mende about the disappearance of her sister, and the guest tut-tuts all through the story.

  “It’s simply horrendous,” Mende slaps her own face. “What a tragedy. My poor, miserable sister.”

  She nods sympathetically when Rivkah says, “Do you really think she is poor and miserable? What about Natan-Berl? What about the children? What about me?”

  Mende tut-tuts again. “God help the lot of you, you are all miserable.”

  The grandmother replies, “Not everyone is miserable, Mrs Speismann, not everyone! There are shades and grades in these matters!”

  Amid this scene, however, the grandmother notices a strange smile stretching across Mende Speismann’s face. What can possibly be amusing about such a calamity, Rivkah would like to know, and she begins to wonder if, just like her sister, Mende may not be of sound mind.

  Mende gets up to slice some of the sausage from her sacks, and Rivkah’s eyes dart towards the door in alarm. She has not seen meat in this household for years, and ever since she became a Keismann she has been eating mostly cheese. The Keismanns have abhorred meat since the dawn of t
ime. She barely remembers the taste of sausage.

  But now, as Mende puts a slice of sausage on her plate, Rivkah Keismann does not protest. She covers up the delightful spasm that the meat’s sharp spiciness sends through her body with reprimands for Yankele and Mirl – their backs aren’t straight and they mustn’t eat with their mouths open or kick the table and they should ask for things politely – and they, in turn, eye her calmly and keep at it, completely unheeding her authority. To Rivkah’s surprise, Mende joins her critical chorus, telling her children to obey Rivkah’s instructions (all of which should have been obvious to them in the first place). Now that Rivkah Keismann has support, she continues; not only telling the children to be quiet but also forbidding them to communicate by their secret sign language. “Gestures are just like words,” the grandmother says, and their mother agrees. In the end, Rivkah orders the children to leave the table and clear the dishes.

  Mende obeys this command too, which is disconcerting for Rivkah. Evidently, Mende has none of her sister’s spiteful temper. She has even taken up a twig broom and started sweeping the floor, with a smile even more foolish than the one she had before. What if she allowed them to stay? Rivkah could help this poor family after all, she could put them back on their feet and give meaning to their fatherless, husbandless life. They have been wandering hither and thither with a pedlar’s cart, and now they are sitting in a decent household with an abundance of delicacies for the Sabbath. Much remains to be done before the Queen arrives, but Rivkah will fulfil an important mitzvah if she lets them enjoy a festive meal surrounded by family.