“What happened in Boiberik?” they all wanted to know. “What did they want there?”
“Where’s Shprintze?” I asked again.
“What happened in Boiberik?” they said again.
“What happened in Boiberik?” I said. “What should have happened there? Everything is quiet, thank God, there isn’t a sign of a pogrom yet …”
Just then Shprintze walked in. She glanced at me and sat quietly-down at the table as if none of this concerned her in the least. You couldn’t tell a thing from looking at her, but that silence of hers was too much, there was something unnatural about it … And in the days that followed I didn’t like it one bit, either, the way she went through the motions of things without seeming to have a will of her own. If she was told to sit, she sat; if she was told to eat, she ate; if she was told to go, she went; if she was told to come back, back she came. It made my heart ache to see her. I was burning up inside without knowing at whom … ah, dear God, I thought, Master of the Universe, whose sins are You punishing me for?
Well, would you like to hear the end? It’s one that I wouldn’t curse my worst enemy with, that I wouldn’t curse anyone with, because there’s no curse in the whole Bible like a curse on your own child. For all I know, in fact, someone may have put one on me … You say you don’t believe in such things? Then maybe you’ll explain to me why it happened. Go ahead, I’m listening …
But what good will all the philosophy do us? You may as well hear the end of it. One evening I was driving home from Boiberik in my usual grand mood: the shame, the humiliation of it all, to say nothing of my feelings for my daughter!… (Whatever happened, you ask, to the widow and her son? Just go try finding them! They skipped town without so much as an adieu. I’m embarrassed to tell you, but they even stuck me with an unpaid dairy bill. It wasn’t that that riled me, though—no doubt they simply forgot; it was their not having bothered to let me know. Why, to think of their picking up and leaving like that without even saying goodbye!) … What she, my daughter, went through, no one knew but me, because I was her father and a father knows in his heart. Don’t imagine, though, that she ever said a word to me about it. Do you think she complained? Do you think she cried even once? If you do, you don’t know Tevye’s daughters! She just flickered out like a candle, without a word of protest, keeping it all to herself except for a sigh now and then—but such a sigh, I tell you, as could break a heart of iron …
In short, I was driving home with my horse, thinking about the whole miserable business and asking God all kinds of questions that He kindly let me answer for myself. My problem wasn’t God, though—with Him I had somehow made my peace. My problem was men. Why did they have to be so bad when they could just as well have been good? Why did they have to ruin their own and other people’s lives instead of being happy with what they had? Could God have created them on purpose to make them miserable? But what good could that possibly do Him …?
Just then I drove into our village and saw a crowd of people down by the dam on the river, men, women, and lots of children. What could have happened? There wasn’t any sign of a fire—it must be a drowning, I thought. Someone went for a swim in the river and didn’t come out. You never know where the Angel of Death will make a date with you …
And then all of a sudden I saw my Golde running toward the river, her arms waving in the air and her kerchief falling off, and after her Teibl and Beilke, all three screaming, shrieking, “Shprintze!” I jumped out of that wagon so fast it’s a wonder I’m still in one piece and ran to the river myself, but it was too late to help my Shprintze anymore …
What was it I wanted to ask you? Oh, yes: have you ever seen a drowned man? Never? Well, mostly one dies with one’s eyes shut, but a drowned man’s eyes are always open. I just thought you might know why that was …
I hope you’ll forgive me for taking so much of your time. It’s not as if I had nothing better to do myself, because I have a horse and some merchandise waiting. The world hasn’t changed any. You still have to think of the next ruble and put the past behind you. What was, is dead and buried, and a living man doesn’t spit out his soul because it hurts. You can’t outsmart fate. There’s no getting around what it says in the morning prayer: koyl zman shehaneshomoh bekirbi—whatever breathes has to eat, so giddyap, Tevye!
Be well, and if you should ever happen to think of me, I only hope it isn’t too badly.
(1907)
TEVYE LEAVES FOR THE LAND OF ISRAEL
Why, if it isn’t Reb Sholem Aleichem! How on earth are you? What a surprise, of all places! I never would have dreamed it, would you? How I’ve wondered why I haven’t seen you in ages, neither in Boiberik nor in Yehupetz. I even thought you might have cashed in your chips and left us for that world where we’ll never hunger or eat again, not even a radish with chicken fat … except that then I said to myself, “Since when would someone like Sholem Aleichem go do a dumb thing like that? He’s an intelligent man, after all, if nothing else …” And now here you are, alive and well, thank God! How does the saying go? Turo beturo—two mountains never meet, but a man and a man sometimes do … Only, why are you looking at me as if you didn’t know me, Pani? It’s me, your good old friend Tevye! Al tistakeyl bahankan—don’t let my new coat fool you: I’m still the same old schlimazel, there’s not a hair more or less of me. It’s just that a man seems more of a somebody when he’s dressed in his Sabbath best, he can even make you think he’s in the money—and one has to look presentable when traveling, especially on a long journey like mine, all the way to the Land of Israel. That’s not an outing to sneeze at, is it? I suppose you must be wondering how a small-timer like Tevye who spent his whole life selling dairy can afford to travel like a Brodsky in his old age. Well, if you don’t mind moving your suitcase a bit, I’ll sit myself down beside you and tell you a story about what the good Lord can do.
The first first of all, it should never happen to you, is that I’m a widower now. My Golde, God rest her, is dead. She was a simple soul, subtle you couldn’t call her; but you won’t find a greater saint anywhere. I only hope she puts in a good word for her daughters where she is, because the Lord knows she went through enough for them. In fact, they may be the reason she’s there now, because she couldn’t stand their being scattered from east of the sun to west of the moon a minute longer. “So tell me,” she would say to me, “what will I have left to live for one day when there won’t be a mouse in the house? Why, even a cow grieves when her calves are taken away …”
Those were her very words, my Golde’s, and you should have heard her cry when she said them. I felt so sorry to see her pining away in front of me that I said to her, “Eh, Golde, my dearest. It says in the prayer book, im kevonim im ka’avodim—it’s no different without children than with them. Either way there’s a great, kind, merciful God above. I only wish I had a ruble for every dirty trick He’s played on us …”
But my wife, may she forgive me, was a female through and through. “It’s a sin to talk that way, Tevye,” she said. “You mustn’t be sinful.”
“What did I say wrong?” I asked her. “Did I say anything against God? I’m sure that if He chose to make a wonderful world like this in which children aren’t children anymore and parents are nothing at all, He knew exactly what He was doing …”
She didn’t follow a word of that, though, because she only said to me in a whisper, looking at me with two eyes that could have crumbled a stone, “Oh, Tevye, I’m dying. Who’ll cook your supper when I’m gone?”
Well, Tevye is no woman. I came right back at her with a saying, then with a verse from the Bible, then with a midrash, then with my own two cents. “Golde,” I said, “you’ve been a good wife to me all these years. Please don’t go playing jokes on me now that I’m old.”
Just then I took a look at her—uh-oh! I didn’t like what I saw.
“Golde,” I said, “what’s the matter?”
“Nothing,” she says to me, barely able to talk. But she didn’
t look long for this world, so I harnessed the horse, drove to town, and came back with the best doctor I could find. We entered the house … oh, lordy! My Golde was lying on the floor with a candle burning by her head, looking like a pile of dirt that had been covered with a black cloth. I stood there thinking, ki zeh koyl ha’odom—so this is all a human being is! Dear God, what have You done to Your Tevye this time? How is an old ruin like me going to live out his years now?
Well, I threw myself down on the floor beside her—and a fat lot lot of good it did. Do you hear me, Pan? Once you’ve looked death in the eye the way I have, it’s hard to have faith anymore. You can’t help wondering, mah onu umeh khayeynu—what’s the point of the whole circus, this whole big yackety racket of a world on wheels? Why, it’s nothing but vanity, one big zero with a hole in it!
In short, I hired a Jew to say the mourner’s prayer every day in the synagogue and paid him the whole year in advance. What else could I do if God had punished me with no sons, only daughters, one female after another—it shouldn’t happen to a living soul! I don’t know if everyone goes through hell with his daughters or if it’s just been my own rotten luck, but you can’t really blame either, because the luck came from God and my daughters meant me no harm. In fact, I’d gladly settle for half of all the good things they’ve wished me. If anything, they were too devoted to me, and too much is as bad as not enough …
For example, take my youngest, Beilke. You simply have no idea what a gem she is! You’ve known me since before the Flood, as they say, and you know I’m not a father who goes around bragging about his kids—but on the subject of Beilke there’s a thing or two, or even three, that I have to tell you, because while God may have made a lot of Beilkes in His time, He never made another Beilke like mine. And I’m not even talking about her looks, though if each of my daughters is a famous beauty, Beilke can put them all in her little pocket. Still, beauty isn’t the word for her, because King Solomon had it right when he said that Charm is a liar and Beauty a cheat—no, what I’m talking about is character, pure and simple … and when it comes to character, my Beilke is pure gold! She’s always thought the world of me, but ever since her poor mother passed away I’ve been the apple of her eye. Why, she wouldn’t let a speck of dust fall on me! I’ve often thought that God is just like He’s said to be in the Rosh Hashanah prayer, a makdim rakhamim leroygez—He never hits a man over the head without first sending him the right medicine for it. The problem is that it’s not always clear which is worse, the blow or the medicine. How was I to know that Beilke would sell herself down the river so that I could live out the rest of my life in the Land of Israel? Mind you, that’s only a manner of speaking, because she’s no more to blame for it than you are. It’s all his fault, her Prince Charming! Far be it from me to wish him ill, but I wouldn’t mind it one bit if a whole armory blew up beneath his feet. And yet to tell you the truth, when I think the matter over, the real guilty party may be me. Why, there’s even a saying in the Talmud … but it’s a pretty pass we’ve come to, Reb Sholem Aleichem, when I have to quote the Talmud to you!
In short, I’ll try not to make it a long story. A couple of years went by and my Beilke grew into a young woman, while I carried on with my business as usual, taking my cheese, cream, and butter to Boiberik in the summer and, in the winter, to Yehupetz—may it end up like Sodom beneath a sea of salt! I can’t even bear to think of that town anymore … that is, I don’t mean the town, I mean the Jews who live in it … that is, I don’t mean them either, I mean Efrayim the Matchmaker, may his grandfather break a leg in the grave! Just listen to what a Jew, and a matchmaker yet, can do to you.
Vayehi hayoym, one day after the summer season I’m on my way to Yehupetz with some merchandise, when who do I see but Haman in person—I mean Efrayim the Matchmaker. I believe I once told you about him. He’s the sort of terrible pest you can’t help stopping to talk to, that’s the strange power he has over you. And so I said to my horse, “Whoaa, there, old fellow, pull over and I’ll give you a snack,” waved to Efrayim, said hello to him, and straightaway began to gab. “How’s business?” I asked.
“Business,” he says, letting out a juicy sigh, “is terrible.”
“How come?” I ask.
“No customers,” he says.
“None at all?” I ask.
“Not one,” he says.
“But how can that be?” I ask.
“That can be,” he says, “because matches aren’t made around here any more.”
“Where are they made, then?” I ask.
“Abroad,” he says.
“And what happens,” I ask, “to a Jew like me whose great-grandmother can’t afford to travel?”
“For a Jew like you, Reb Tevye,” says Efrayim, handing me a pinch of snuff, “I have a special offer, local goods.”
“Which is?” I say.
“Which is,” he says, “a childless widow, a cook in the best houses, net worth five hundred rubles.”
“Reb Efrayim,” I say, staring at him, “who do you think this match is for?”
“Who do I think it’s for?” he says. “Why, for you!”
“The Devil take you!” I say, flicking the whip at my horse to start him up again. “May my enemies have as bad dreams all year long as I’ll have of your widow tonight.”
“No offense meant, Reb Tevye,” says Efrayim. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. Who were you thinking of?”
“Who?” I say. “Of my youngest daughter, who else?”
“Why, of course!” he says, jumping a foot in the air while giving himself a box in the ear. “What luck you’ve reminded me of her! She should live to be one hundred and twenty, Reb Tevye.”
“Amen,” I say. “So should you. In fact, you should live till the Messiah comes. But what’s all the excitement about?”
“Reb Tevye,” he says, “do I have something good for you! Do I have something sensational! Do I have something you won’t find better anywhere!”
“And just who might this gift from God be?” I ask.
“Do I have,” says Efrayim, “the perfect match for your youngest daughter! He’s a steal, a catch, a rare find, a colossus, a prince among men, a millionaire, a second Brodsky, a contractor named Podhotzur!”
“Podhotzur?” I say. “The name rings a bell from the Bible.”
“What Bible?” he says. “Leave the Bible out of it for once. He’s a contractor! He builds houses, bridges, factories! He was out near Japan during the war and came back from there with a fortune!
He rides around in a droshky with two horses faster than greased lightning! He has more doormen in front of his house than you have buttons on your shirt! He has his own private bathtub! He has furniture from Paris! He wears a diamond on his pinky!… And he’s still a spring chicken, a bachelor, straight off the shelf, the genuine article! All he’s looking for is someone with looks. He’s willing to take her barefoot and naked, but she’s got to be a raving beauty.”
“Whoaa!” I say to him. “If you don’t stop for breath, we’ll end up in Hotzenklotz. If I’m not mistaken, you once offered me the same bill of goods for my second daughter, Hodl …”
Well, when he heard that the man hugged his ribs and began to laugh so hard that I was sure he would get a stroke. “Good Lord,” he finally managed to wheeze, “that’s such ancient history that my grandma was in diapers when it happened. The fellow you’re thinking of went bust during the war and ran away to America.”
“May his memory be a blessing,” I say. “And suppose this contractor of yours should decide to follow in his footsteps?”
That got his dander up. “What are you talking about, Reb Tevye?” he says. “That first case was a crook, a swindler, a bankrupt! My man Podhotzur is a builder. He has army contracts, companies, an office, a staff, a …”
What can I tell you? Efrayim pulled me out of the wagon in his enthusiasm, grabbed me by the collar, and began to shake me so hard that a policeman came along and almost jugged u
s both for disorderly conduct. It’s a good thing I remembered my Bible. Lanokhri toshikh, it says. Why are some palms like bridges? Because they have to be crossed when you come to them …
In a word, I don’t want to bore you. This Podhotzur was engaged to my Beilke and loy orkhu hayomim—after a while the wedding was held. What makes me say after a while? Because Beilke would sooner have died than had Podhotzur for a husband. The more he showered her with presents, gold watches, diamond rings, the less she could stomach him. There was no need to put it in writing—it was written all over her face, which was wet with the silent tears she cried. Finally, I made up my mind to talk to her. I tried to be casual. “Listen, Beilke,” I said to her, “I’m beginning to think that you’re as much in love with this Podhotzur of yours as I am.”
“Why do you say that?” she says, turning red as fire.
“Because you’re certainly not crying for your health every night,” I say.
“I’m crying?” she says.
“Well, I wouldn’t exactly call it crying,” I say. “It’s actually more like weeping. Do you think that sticking your head under the pillow is enough to hide your tears from me? Do you think your father was born yesterday, or that his brains are so addled he can’t see that you’re doing all this for his sake? Do you suppose it’s your job to see to it he has a place to lay his head in his old age so that he needn’t go begging from door to door? You’re a fool if you do! God’s still in His heaven, and Tevye is no charity case and no sponger. Money is a lot of hooey anyway, just like the Bible says. Why, look at your sister Hodl! She hasn’t a penny to her name, she lives in a hole in the wall at the far end of nowhere—and yet she keeps writing us how happy she is with her schlimazel of a Peppercorn …”
Shall I give you three guesses what my Beilke answered me? “Don’t go comparing me to Hodl,” she says. “In Hodl’s day the world was on the brink. There was going to be a revolution and everyone cared about everyone. Now the world is its own self again, and it’s everyone for his own self again, too.” That’s what she said, my Beilke—just go figure out what she meant!
Tevye the Dairyman and the Railroad Stories Page 17