“Now see how a clever Jew operates—I mean my grandfather, God bless his memory. He thought the matter over and cooked up a little plan, which is to say, he persuaded the authorities that the sentenced man, Kivke, should take time out to die while still in prison … but why are you all staring at me? Don’t you get it? Do you mean to tell me you think he was poisoned? Relax. That’s not how it’s done in Kaminka. What did happen, then? Something much more elegant: it was simply arranged for the sentenced man to go to bed fit as a fiddle one night and wake up a corpse in the morning … do you follow me now? Or do I have to feed it to you from a bottle?
“In a word, early one morning a messenger arrived from the prison with a message for my grandfather: Whereas notification is hereby given that a Jew named Kivke died in prison last night, and whereas Reb Nissl Shapiro is the president of the Burial Society, he, Reb Nissl, is requested to dispose of the deceased, that is, to see to his interment in the Jewish cemetery … How’s that for a neat piece of work? Not bad, eh? But don’t rush out to celebrate yet; it wasn’t as easy as it sounds. Keep in mind that the departed wasn’t just another dead Jew. There was military brass involved … and a governor … and a gauntlet waiting to be run … do you suppose all that’s a laughing matter? The first order of business was preventing an autopsy, which meant going to the doctor and getting him to sign in black and white that he had examined the dead man and determined that the cause of death was conniptions of the heart, that is to say, general apoplexy, it shouldn’t happen to you—after which there were various other authorities to be taken in hand too, because they all had to sign the same document. Only then was the dead man really dead. Bye-bye Kivke!
“Needless to say, everyone in this car would be glad to make in a month what it all cost the Jews of Kaminka—and if you have any doubts about the wager, I’ll be happy to come in as your partner. And on whose say was the money laid out? On my grandfather’s, may he rest in peace. That was a man you could trust. I tell you, the way he had it worked out down to the tiniest little detail was a masterpiece! That evening the sextons of the Burial Society came with a bier to receive the distinguished corpse in grand style and transport it with the highest honors from the prison to the graveyard—that is, with a detail of two soldiers followed by the entire town. You can well imagine that Kivke never dreamed of such a state funeral in his life. And when they reached the gates of the cemetery, the two soldiers were given some vodka to drink and the late departed was brought inside, where Shimon the coachman (I’m passing on his name to you as my father did to me) was waiting for him with a team of four swift horses. Before the cock crowed, mind you, our dead hero was well across the town line on his merry way to Radivil, and from there lickety-split across the Austrian border to Brody.
“It goes without saying that no one in Kaminka slept a wink that night until Shimon the coachman returned from Radivil. The whole town was beside itself with worry, and my grandfather most of all. What if our dear dead Kivke was apprehended at the border and brought back to Kaminka as alive and well as you and me? Why, an entire community might be banished to Siberia … With God’s help, however, Shimon the coachman and his team of swift horses returned safe and sound from Radivil with a letter from Kivke that said, ‘I wish to inform you all that I have arrived in Brody,’ and there was great joy in Kaminka. A banquet was given at my grandfather’s house, to which the jailkeeper and the constable and the doctor and all the authorities were invited, and a gay time was had by all: a band played music and everyone, mind you, got so drunk that the jailkeeper kissed my grandfather and his whole family as hard and as often as he could and the constable greeted the dawn by taking off his unmentionables and dancing on my grandfather’s roof. After all, ransoming a Jew is nothing to sneeze at—and one saved from a flogging yet! Not bad at all, eh? Well, take a deep breath, my good friends, because the real fun has yet to begin. If you want to hear the rest of it, though, you’ll kindly wait a few minutes, because I have to ask the station-master here how much time we have left to Baranovich. That’s not where I’m going, mind you, but I have to change trains there …”
There was nothing to do but wait. The man from Kaminka went to talk to the Stationmaster while we passengers in the car discussed him and his story.
“What do you think of him?”
“A swell fellow!”
“No nonsense about him!”
“He sure can talk.”
“And no need to be coaxed!”
“What about the story?”
“It’s a damn good one.”
“Let’s hope it’s a long one, too.”
Incidentally, there were even a few passengers who claimed that the same thing had happened in their towns. That is, not the exact same thing, but something more or less like it. And since every one of them was keen on telling it, the car soon turned into a free-for-all—but only until the Jew from Kaminka reappeared. As soon as he did, we all quieted down, crowded together to form a human wall, and gave him our undivided attention.
“Now where was I? We had just, thank God, said goodbye to a Jew named Kivke, hadn’t we? You agree? Well then, you’re wrong, my dear friends. A half year or a whole one went by, I can’t tell you exactly, and our Mr. Kivke, mind you, sat down and wrote a letter and addressed it to my grandfather. ‘In the first place,’ he wrote, ‘I wish to inform you that I am in good health and hope to hear the same from you. And in the second place, I’ve been left high and dry here without a cent to my name and no way of earning one, surrounded by Germans in a foreign land. They don’t understand my talk and I don’t understand theirs. If I can’t make a living, I’ll have to lie down and die. And so,’ wrote Kivke, ‘please be so kind as to send …’ A subtle fellow, no? What he wanted to be sent, of course, was money! Everyone, mind you, had a good laugh, and then that letter was torn up into little pieces and forgotten. Well, before three weeks were up, another letter arrived, again from the late Kivke and again addressed to my grandfather, with an ‘I wish to inform you’ at the beginning and a ‘Please be so kind’ at the end, but this time the end had a postscript. Could it be, Kivke wanted to know, that the Kaminkans had something against him? Better to have been flogged and gotten it over with, because his wounds would have healed long ago and he wouldn’t have been left penniless among Germans with nothing to do but watch his own belly swell from hunger …
“When my grandfather, may he rest in peace, received this letter, he called a meeting in his home. ‘What should we do? We can’t let a Jew die from hunger.’ Well, when you were asked to fork up by Reb Nissl Shapiro, you couldn’t be a pig about it. A fine collection was taken up (the biggest contributor to which, needless to say, was my grandfather himself), the sum was sent to Brody, and once more Kaminka forgot that there was such a person as a Jew named Kivke.
“Kivke, however, didn’t forget that there was such a place as a town called Kaminka. Another half a year passed, or maybe it was a whole one, I can’t tell you exactly, and guess what? Another letter arrived! Once more it was addressed to my grandfather and once more it had an ‘I wish to inform you’ with a ‘Please be so kind’ at the end, this time accompanied by some good news, Insofar and inasmuch, wrote Kivke, as he had recently become betrothed to a fine young lady from the very best of families, would the town kindly send him the two hundred rubles he had pledged as a dowry, because otherwise the match was off. What a tragedy, just imagine: Kivke would be left without a bride! I hardly need to tell you that the letter made the rounds of Kaminka as though it were a pearl of great price, and people laughed at it until their ribs ached. It became a running gag around town. ‘Mazel tov, Kivke is engaged!’ … ‘Have you heard? She’s a steal at two hundred rubles!’ … ‘And from the very best of families too, ha ha ha …’
“The ha-ha-ing, mind you, didn’t last very long, though, because a few weeks later came another letter from Kivke to my grandfather—and this time without the ‘I wish to inform you,’ just with the ‘Please be so kind.’ He fa
iled to understand, Kivke wrote, why the two hundred rubles for the dowry had not yet arrived. If he didn’t receive them at once, the wedding would have to be called off—in which case his disgrace would be so great that only one choice would be left: either to drown himself on the spot or to come hell-bent back to Kaminka …
“Those last words of his, mind you, wiped the laugh off everyone’s face. That same evening the town’s leading Jews got together at my grandfather’s house and decided that the most respected of them, my grandfather too, should go from door to door to raise a dowry for Kivke. What else could they do? And so as not to keep you in suspense, let me tell you that they not only sent him the money, they sent it with a mazel tov and wished the lucky bridegroom, as is the custom, many long years of happiness in which to raise children and grandchildren with his wife-to-be. What were they counting on? They were counting on his being so busy with his new marriage that he’d forget all about Kaminka. But do you think he did? A fat chance of that! Haif a year didn’t go by, or maybe it was a whole one, I can’t tell you exactly, and what do you think came along? Another letter from Kivke! What did he want this time? Insofar and inasmuch as he was now married, he had a God-given wife who would be the envy of any Jew. Nothing was perfect, though—in this case the bride’s father, who was such a liar, such a chiseler, such a gangster, such an out-and-out crook beside whom the biggest sinner could be mistaken for a saint, that he had defrauded our Kivke of his two hundred rubles and thrown him into the street with his wife. And so, he wrote, ‘Please be so kind as to send’—would his fellow townsmen have the goodness to forward another two hundred rubles to make up for what he had lost. If not, he could either throw himself in the river or come hell-bent back to Kaminka …
“This time everyone was good and mad. Two dowries? Why, that was already a swindle! And so it was decided to let the letter go unanswered. Well, Kivke waited a week or two, mind you, or maybe even three, and then sent another letter, addressed once again to my grandfather. What, he wanted to know, did they take him for? Why hadn’t they sent him the two hundred rubles? He would give them, he wrote, another week and a half—and if he still hadn’t received the money by then, they could look forward to having him, God willing, as their guest in Kaminka, Yours Etcetera, amen and amen. He sure was some sheygetz!
“Don’t think that didn’t kick up a storm! What could anyone do, though? Once more there was a meeting at my grandfather’s house, and once more it was decided to send the most respected Jews from door to door. This time, mind you, people made a face, because who wanted to dish out still more money to such a scoundrel—but the fact of the matter was that when Reb Nissl Shapiro said ‘Give,’ being a pig was out of the question. Nevertheless, everyone swore that this was the last time. And my grandfather himself, mind you, didn’t think otherwise, because he wrote Kivke back in no uncertain terms that he wasn’t getting another cent and shouldn’t dream of it.
“No doubt you think that put the fear of God into the rascal, eh? Well, suppose I told you that one morning, and a Jewish holiday it was too, another letter arrived from the fine gentleman, addressed, naturally, to my grandfather! Insofar and inasmuch, he wrote, as he had struck up a friendship in Brody with a German, a most excellent and honorable fellow, and decided to go partners with him in the china business, which was a very good, very solid line that could support a person nicely, ‘Please be so kind as to send’ four hundred and fifty rubles—and for heaven’s sake, be quick and don’t dawdle, because the partner refused to wait, he had ten other candidates lined up, and if he, Kivke, was left without a business, he could either go for a long swim in the river or come hell-bent back to Kaminka … In short, the usual. And he signed off with the gentle hint that if he did not have the money in two weeks’ time, there would be the Devil to pay—or more precisely, his round-trip ticket from Brody to Kaminka and back. He sure was some shyster!
“I don’t have to tell you what kind of upside-down holiday it was—and most of all, mind you, for my grandfather, may he rest in peace, because he bore the brunt of it. At the meeting that was held that night, the whole town was griping and grumbling. ‘Enough! How long do we have to go on shelling out? There’s a limit to everything; even chicken soup with kreplach can get to be too much. This Kivke of yours will make paupers of us all!’ ‘Why is he my Kivke?’ asked my grandfather. ‘Whose Kivke do you think he is?’ was the answer. ‘Whose idea was it in the first place to have the little bastard go die of a stroke while in prison?’
“Well, my grandfather (he was one smart Jew, he was) saw right away that it was a waste of time to hope for more money from the town, so he went to the local authorities—after all, they were in the same boat as he was—and asked them for a donation to the cause. Do you think they gave him a kopeck? Not a chance! Your goy is not your Jew; such things don’t faze him in the least. And so my poor grandfather, mind you, had to swallow his medicine and stake that damned cutthroat to some more cash from his own pocket. You should have seen the letter he sent with it, though! (My grandfather, God rest his soul, could give as good as he got.) Mind you, he gave that sheygetz hell in it. He called him a scoundrel, a degenerate, a know-nothing, a leech, a bloodsucker, a fiend, a traitor, a disgrace to the Jewish people, and whatever-else-have-you. He also told him once and for all not to dare write any more letters or ask for another cent, reminded him that God above sees everything and pays back tit for tat, and ended by begging him (a Jewish heart is still a Jewish heart, after all!) to have pity on an old man like himself and not ruin a town full of Jews, in return for which the Almighty would surely assist him in all his endeavors. That was the letter my grandfather sent, and he signed it with his full name, ‘Nissl Shapiro’—which was, mind you, the biggest mistake he ever made in his life, as you’ll shortly see for yourselves.”
The Jew from Kaminka paused again, reached for his tobacco pouch, slowly rolled himself another cigarette, lit it, and took a few deep puffs without even noticing that the whole car was dying of curiosity. When he had breathed in and coughed out enough smoke, he blew his nose, rolled up his sleeves again, and continued in the same tone as before:
“You must be thinking, my friends, that my grandfather’s letter gave that son-of-a-bitch a good scare. Don’t kid yourselves! Half a year didn’t go by, or maybe it was a whole one, mind you, when along came another letter from that turncoat. ‘In the first place,’ it said, ‘I wish to inform you that my German partner, may his life be one bad dream, has cheated me out of house and home and out of my share of the business. I would have sued him if it hadn’t been clear that I didn’t stand a Chinaman’s chance. Taking a German to court around here means taking your life in your hands. Why, I wouldn’t touch one of those bastards with a ten-foot pole! So I went and opened a store near his, right next door to him, in fact, and went into business for myself. With God’s help I’ll bury that Kraut yet, I’ll see to it he ends up eating dirt! The problem is that I need an advance of at least a thousand rubles, so please be so kind as to send …’
“That’s what Kivke wrote in his letter, which concluded: ‘If you don’t come up with the money in eight days, I’m taking your last letter signed “Nissl Shapiro” and forwarding it straight to the provincial governor with an unabridged account of all that happened: how I died of a stroke in prison, and how I was resurrected in the cemetery, and how Shimon the coachman brought me to Brody, and how you’ve kept sending me hush money. I’ll write him everything, I’ll let him know that we Jews have a great God above who rescued Kivke from the grave …’
“How’s that for a greeting card? Mind you, as soon as my grandfather, God rest his soul, read those sweet sentiments, he had such a fright that he fainted dead away. It shouldn’t happen to anyone, but he lost all control of … Jews, where are we? What station is this?”
“Baranovich station!” cried the conductors, running one after another past the windows of our car. “All out for Baranovich!”
Hearing the name Baranovich, the Kam
inka Jew jumped from his seat, reached for his belongings, which were in a kind of sack stuffed with God only knew what, and, barely able to carry it, headed for the door. In another minute he was standing on the platform with the sweat pouring off him, struggling through the crowd and asking whomever he stumbled into:
“Baranovich?”
“Baranovich!”
He made me think of a Jew blessing the New Moon in the synagogue courtyard, bumping into his fellow Jews in the darkness and inquiring of each:
“Is that you?”
“Yes, it’s me!”
Several passengers from our car, myself included, ran after him and seized him by the coattails. “Hey, there! You can’t do this to us! We won’t let you go. You have to tell us the end of the story!”
“What end? It’s barely begun. Let go of me! Do you want me to miss my train? A strange bunch of Jews you are! Didn’t you hear them say Baranovich?”
And before we knew it, the Jew from Kaminka had vanished into thin air.
I wouldn’t mind if Baranovich station burned to the ground!
(1909)
EIGHTEEN FROM PERESHCHEPENA
“You don’t say! Well, I’ll tell you an even better one. There’s a man in our town called Finkelstein, a rich Jew, but really loaded, with two sons. If I had his money, I could afford to laugh at the whole business. Do you know what it cost him, though? I wish the two of us were worth half as much …”
“I said as much a year ago, damn it all! Just you wait and see, I said, it won’t be long before half the Jews in Russia are baptized.”
“I couldn’t agree with you more! Why, we had a young fellow named Marshak who moved heaven and earth. It didn’t do a bit of good; he actually took poison in the end.”
Tevye the Dairyman and the Railroad Stories Page 24