Tevye the Dairyman and the Railroad Stories

by Sholem Aleichem

  “I certainly do,” I say. “For my part, I won’t stand in your way. But I’ll have to talk it over with the missus, because such things are her department. One doesn’t give away one’s eldest daughter every day. You know what Rashi says about it: Rokheyl mevakoh al boneho—that means there’s no one like a mother. And we’ll have to ask Tsaytl too, of course. You don’t want this to be the sort of wedding where everyone turns up but the bride …”

  “What kind of a man are you!” he says. “Who asks? Go home and tell them, Reb Tevye, tell them it’s all been decided and that I’ll be waiting beneath the wedding canopy.”

  “You musn’t talk like that, Reb Layzer Wolf,” I say. “A young girl isn’t a widow, to be married off at the drop of a hat.”

  “Of course she’s not,” he says. “A girl is a girl and a hat is a hat. That’s why I want it settled quickly, because there’s still a whole lot to talk about, pots, pans, and petticoats. But first, Reb Tevye, what say we drink to it, eh?”

  “Why not?” I say. “I never turn down a drink. Among friends it’s always appropriate. A man is only a man, as they say, but brandy is still brandy. You’ll find that in the Talmud too.” And with that I began spouting whole passages of Gemara, mixed in with some prayers and a bit of the Haggadah, such as no one ever dreamed of before …

  In a word, we put a few drops of brandy beneath our belts without keeping count of how many and then, when old Pug Nose brought the samovar, switched to tea-and-brandy punch, jabbering away all the while in the friendliest of fashions about the wedding, and God knows what else, and the wedding again, until I said, “I hope you realize, Reb Layzer Wolf, what a diamond it is that you’re getting.”

  “You hope I realize?” he says. “Do you think I would have asked for her if I didn’t?”

  “A diamond,” I say, raising my voice, “and twenty-four carats too! You better take good care of her and not act like the butcher you are …”

  “Don’t you worry about that, Reb Tevye,” he says. “She’ll eat better by me every day of the week than by you at your Passover seder!”

  “Eat!” I say. “How much can a person eat? A rich man can’t eat the gold in his safe, nor a poor man the stones in his shoes. Just how do you think a Jew as crude as yourself is even going to appreciate her cooking? Why, the hallahs she bakes, her gefillte fish … good Lord, Reb Layzer Wolf, her gefillte fish … lucky is the man who gets to taste it …”

  “Reb Tevye,” he says, “you’ll forgive me for saying so, but what does an old prune like you know about it? You don’t know the first thing about anything, Reb Tevye, you don’t even know the first thing about me!”

  “If you were to give me all the rice in China,” I say, “I wouldn’t take it for my Tsaytl. Listen here, Reb Layzer Wolf, I don’t care if you have two hundred thousand to your name, you aren’t worth the little toe of her left foot!”

  “Believe you me, Reb Tevye,” he says, “if you didn’t happen to be older than me, I’d tell you to your face what a fool you are.”

  Well, we must have gone at it hammer and tongs until we were good and sozzled, because when I arrived home it was late at night and my feet felt made out of lead. My wife, may her life be a long one, saw right away how pie-eyed I was and gave me the welcome I deserved.

  “Ssshhh, don’t be angry with me, Golde,” I said, feeling so merry that I could have broken right into a jig. “Stop screaming at me, light of my life, and wish me a mazel tov instead!”

  “A mazel tov?” she says. “I’ll wish you a mazel tov you’ll never forget! I’ll bet you went and sold our poor brown cow to Layzer Wolf, after all.”

  “Oh, it’s worse than that,” I say.

  “What?” she says. “You swapped her for a cow of his? Just wait till the poor devil finds out how you cheated him!”

  “You’re not even warm yet,” I say.

  “For God’s sake,” she says, “out with it! Do I have to pay you money for each word?”

  “Mazel tov to you, Golde!” I said again. “Mazel tov to us both. Our Tsaytl is engaged.”

  “My God, are you ever potted!” she says. “It’s no joke, the man’s hallucinating! How many drinks did you say you had?”

  “Layzer Wolf and I had more than one between us,” I say, “and a bit of punch to wash it down with, but I swear I’m as sober as can be. It’s my pleasure to inform you, my dear brother Golde, that our Tsaytl has had the good fortune to be betrothed to Layzer Wolf himself!”

  And with that I told her the whole story from beginning to end, the who, where, when, and all the rest of it, not leaving out an iota. “So help me God now and forever, Tevye,” she said when I was done, “if something didn’t tell me all along that’s what Layzer Wolf wanted. You know what, though? I was frightened to think that maybe nothing would come of it … Oh, thank You, dear God, thank You, thank You, merciful Father! It should only be for the best. Tsaytl should live to grow old and be happy with him, because Frume Soreh, rest her soul, didn’t have such a wonderful time of it; but then she was, God forgive me, an impossible woman who couldn’t get along with a soul, not at all like our Tsaytl. Oh, thank You, thank You, God! What did I tell you, Tevye, you dummy! What’s the use of worrying? If it’s written in the stars, it will walk right in without knocking …”

  “There’s no doubt about that,” I said. “It even says in the Bible—”

  “Spare us your Bible!” she says. “We have to start planning for the wedding. First we should make a list for Layzer Wolf of all the things that Tsaytl will need. Linen goes without saying. And she doesn’t have a spare set of underthings, not even an extra pair of socks. And then there’s dresses—a silk one for the wedding and two woolen ones, one for summer and one for winter—and house frocks, and lingerie, and a fur coat … no, I want two: a plain cat fur for everyday and a good fox fur for Sabbaths and holidays. She’ll need high-heeled boots too, and a corset, and gloves, and handkerchiefs, and a parasol, and all kinds of other things that a young lady can’t do without …”

  “Golde, my dearest,” I said to her, “since when are you such an expert on high fashion?”

  “And why shouldn’t I be?” she says. “Don’t you suppose I have eyes? Don’t you think I’ve seen what they wear back home when they step out in Kasrilevke? Just you leave it to Layzer Wolf and me. He’s no pauper, and you can bet he won’t want the whole world calling him cheap. If you have to eat pork, you might as well eat it till it’s running down your chin …”

  In short, we talked all night long until I said, “Round up what cheese and butter there is, my wife, and I’ll take it to Boiberik. Not that everything isn’t fine and dandy right here, but we can’t just forget about the business. Haneshomoh lokh, it says—our souls may be God’s but someone better look after our bodies.”

  And so at the crack of dawn, before it was light out, I harnessed my horse and wagon and set out for Boiberik. I arrived at the marketplace—oho! (is there any place in the world where a Jew can keep a secret?)—everyone knows all about it and is congratulating me from all sides.

  “Mazel tov, Reb Tevye,” they say. “When will the wedding be?”

  “Mazel tov to you too,” I say. “But I’m afraid it’s a case of the son growing up before the father has been born.”

  “There’s no use trying to pull our leg, Reb Tevye,” they say. “You’ll have to stand us all drinks, you lucky devil. Why, the man is a gold mine!”

  “When the gold gives out,” I say, “a mine’s just a hole in the ground. Which is no reason, of course, to be piggish with one’s friends. As soon as I’ve finished my route, the food and drinks are on me. We’ll live it up and to hell with it! Tsoholoh vesomeykhoh, my friends—if beggars can’t be choosers, they may as well be boozers.”

  In a word, I finished my rounds in a jiffy as usual and went off to drink a toast with my dear brothers. We wished each other the happiness we all deserved and I started out for home, a bit tipsy and as merry as a lark. I rode through the forest,
the summer sun shining down, the trees casting their shadows on either side of the path, a good smell of pine needles all around—this is the life, I thought! I even let go of my horse’s reins and stretched out like a count in a carriage. “Run along without me,” I told the old boy, “it’s time you knew the way yourself”—and with that I threw back my head and broke into a little tune. I had such a holiday feeling in my heart that I even began to sing melodies from the prayer book. There I sat, staring up at the sky and thinking of the words of the hallel prayer. Hashomayim shomayim ladoynai—the heavens belong to God … veha’orets nosan livney odom—but the earth He’s given to us, the human race, so that we can bury each other six feet deep in it and fight for the honor of crying by the grave … Loy hameysim yehallelu yoh—the dead don’t praise God, and why should they?… Ve’anakhnu nevoreykh yoh—yet we poor folk who are still barely alive can’t thank Him enough if He does us a single favor … Ohavti ki yishma—of course I love Him; wouldn’t you if He had cupped a hand to His ear just to listen to your prayers?… Ofafuni khevley moves—there I was, a poor wretch surrounded by worries: one day a cow dies on me out of the blue, the next it’s my luck to run into a schlimazel of a cousin, a Mr. Menachem Mendl of Yehupetz, who walks off with my last cent … Ani omarti bekhofzi—why, I thought the sky had fallen in … Koyl ha’odom koyzev—and that I couldn’t trust a living soul anymore … So what does God do? Oydkho ki anisoni—He taps Layzer Wolf on the shoulder and tells him to marry my Tsaytl, all expenses paid … Which is why I thank You, dear Lord, for having looked down on Your Tevye and decided to lend him a hand. At last I’ll have some pleasure from my children! When I’ll come to visit my Tsaytl in her new home, God willing, I’ll find a grand lady with everything a person could ask for, closets full of fine linen, cupboards full of jam and schmaltz, cages full of chickens, ducks, and geese …

  Well, at that very moment my horse took a notion to practice his downhill gallop. Before I could even look around, I was flat on my back with all my jugs and milk cans, staring up at my wagon on top of me. It was all I could do to crawl out from under it, more dead than alive, and chew the idiot out. “You should sink to the bottom of the sea and be eaten by vultures! Who asked you, you moron, to prove you could be a racehorse? You almost did me in for good, you Satan, you!” I gave it to him for all he was worth—and the old fellow must have realized what a dirty trick he had played, because he stood there with his head bowed as though waiting to be milked. “The Devil take you and keep you!” I said a last time, righting and reloading the wagon. “Giddyap!” I cried—and we were off again. I knew it wasn’t a good omen, though. Suppose, I thought, something has gone wrong at home …

  And so it had. I had traveled another mile or so and wasn’t far from our village when I saw the figure of a woman coming toward me. I drove a little nearer—it was Tsaytl! I don’t know why, but I felt a twinge when I saw her. I jumped to the ground and called, “Tsaytl, is that you? What are you doing here?”

  Her only answer was to throw herself on me and sob.

  “For the love of God, Daughter,” I said, “what are you crying for?”

  “Oh, Papa,” she said, the tears running down her cheeks. “Oh, Papa.”

  I had a black feeling. My heart sank. “Tsaytl,” I said, taking her in my arms to hug and kiss her, “what is it?”

  “Oh, Papa,” she said, “oh, dearest, darling Papa, I don’t care if I have to live on bread and water, just have pity on me and my youth …”

  She was crying so hard that she couldn’t say any more. God help us, I thought, for by now I had guessed what it was. The Devil himself had made me go to Boiberik that morning!

  “But what is there to cry about, you silly?” I said, stroking her hair. “Why cry? You have no call to: if you say no, it’s no; we won’t marry you off with a shotgun. We meant well. We thought it was all for the best. But if your heart tells you not to, what more can we do? It simply wasn’t meant to be in the first place …”

  “Oh, Papa,” she says, “oh, thank you, thank you so much!”—and she throws herself on me again, crying and kissing me until we’re both wet all over.

  “Come,” I say, “enough is enough. Hakoyl hevel—even chicken soup with kreplach gets to be tiresome after a while. Into the wagon with you and home you go! Your mother must be good and worried.”

  Once the two of us were aboard, I did my best to calm her. “Look, it’s like this,” I said. “Your mother and I meant no harm. God knows our only thought was of you. If it didn’t work out, God musn’t have wanted it to. You, Tsaytl, just weren’t meant to be a fine lady with a house full of grand things and two old parents who could finally enjoy themselves a bit after keeping their nose to the grindstone all their poor, luckless, miserable, penniless lives …”

  “Oh, Papa,” she said, starting to cry again. “I’ll hire myself out, I’ll get down on my knees and scrub floors, I’ll shovel dirt if I have to …”

  “But why are you still crying, you little ninny?” I said. “I was talking to God, not to you. I’m feeling so low that I have to have it out with someone—and considering all He’s done for me, it might as well be with Him. He’s supposed to be our merciful Father; well, He’s had such mercy on me that I hope I’ve seen the last of it—and He better not charge me extra for saying that. A lot of good it does to complain to God about God! I suppose, though, that that’s how it’s meant to be: He’s up in His heaven and I’m down below, with one foot already in the grave—which still leaves me the other to stand on while I tell the world about His justice … Only come to think of it, I really must be a big fool to carry on like this. What am I talking about? Where does a little worm like me crawling about on the earth get off telling God, who can blow me away to kingdom come with one puff of His breath, how to manage His affairs? If this is how He’s arranged them, who am I to say otherwise? Forty days before a child is a twinkle in its mother’s eyes, forty days beforehand, so it says in our holy books, an angel comes along and proclaims: ‘Tsaytl the daughter of Tevye to Berl the son of Shmerl’—and Layzer Wolf the butcher, if he doesn’t mind my saying so, can go look for his intended up another tree. I can promise him she won’t fly away … I only hope, Tsaytl, that God sends you a proper young man, the sooner the better, amen. And now pray for me that your mother doesn’t scream bloody murder, because something tells me that I’m in for it …”

  In short, as soon as we got home I unhitched the horse and sat down outside to have myself a think what fairy tale to tell the wife—anything to keep me out of trouble. It was evening and the sun was going down; from far away came the croaking of the frogs; my fettered horse stood nibbling grass; the cows, back from pasture, were waiting with their feedbags to be milked; all around me the greenery gave off a smell like Paradise. And as I sat there thinking about things, it struck me how cleverly the good Lord had made His world, so that every creature, from man to beast, could earn its keep. Only there were no free lunches! You want to eat, Mrs. Cow? Then let’s have some milk, help a poor Jew support his wife and kids! You want some grass, Mr. Horse? Then please be so kind as to trot over to Boiberik with these milk cans! And you too, Mr. Man, you want some bread for your belly? Then off your butt and milk the cows, carry the cans, churn the butter, make the cheese, harness the horse, go early each morning to the dachas in Boiberik, scrape and bow to the rich Jews there, smile at them, fawn on them, make them feel special, be sure they’re satisfied—and whatever you do, don’t step on anyone’s toes … Except that here we come to one of the Four Questions: ma nishtanoh—where does it say in the Bible that Tevye has to work his bottom off and be up at the crack of dawn every day when even God is still snoozing away in bed? Where does it say that the rich Jews of Yehupetz must have fresh cheese and butter each morning for the rolls they eat with their coffee? Where does it say that I have to be dead on my feet to deserve a plate of grits and some soup that’s more water than barley, while they, the same Jews, can stretch and yawn without lifting a finger and be
served with roast duck, juicy knishes, varnishkes, and blintzes? Am I less of a Jew than they are? When will justice be done, so that Tevye too can spend a summer vacation in a dacha in Boiberik!… Who, though, you ask, would bring him his cheese and butter? Who would milk the cows? Why, the Yehupetz tycoons, of course!… But I have to admit that was such a weird thought that it made me laugh out loud. How does the proverb go? If God were to listen to what each fool has to say, He would have to create a new world every day …

  “Good evening, Reb Tevye!” I heard someone greet me.

  I turned around and saw a familiar face, Motl Komzoyl, a tailor boy from Anatevka.

  “Well, well, well, look who’s here!” I said. “If I sat here long enough, I bet even the Messiah would turn up. Have a seat on God’s earth, Motl. What brought you here of all places?”

  “What brought me here? Why, my feet,” he says, sitting down on the grass and glancing at my girls, who were busy with the jugs and cans. “I’ve been meaning to drop by for a while, Reb Tevye, but I haven’t had a free moment. As soon as I finish one piece of work, it’s time to start on another. I’m in business for myself now and thank God there’s plenty of it—in fact, all we tailors are swamped. There’s been nothing but weddings all summer long. First Berl Fonfatsh married off his daughter; then Yosl Sheygetz; then Yankl Piskatsh; then Moyshe Gorgel; then Meir Kropeve; then Chayim Lushik; why, even Trihobikhe the Widow has gone and gotten herself hitched.”

  “It certainly looks like the whole world is marrying,” I said. “I must be the only one not throwing a wedding this summer. I suppose God is too busy for one more.”

  “Not at all, Reb Tevye,” he says, eyeing my girls again. “You’re wrong there. You can have a wedding whenever you want. It’s entirely up to you.”

  “Just what are you trying to tell me?” I asked. “You don’t happen to have a match for my Tsaytl, do you?”

  “One just her size!” he says in tailor talk.

  “A serious proposal?” I say, thinking: bless my soul if he isn’t about to offer me Layzer Wolf the butcher!