by Ezra Glinter
The older sister was not home alone for long, since her cousin introduced her to one of his friends. The friend was a kind, gentle bachelor, and the woman would have fallen in love with him if her cousin had not already warned her against it. “Doraleh,” he said to her after the man’s first visit, “you must know that you should not fall for him, he can only be a teacher and a dear friend to you, and nothing more.”
The older sister smiled a lonely smile. She already knew this, because she and the friend had discussed it a while ago. It had taken him a long time until he was willing to come into her home. He was an exceptional man, with wealthy parents. Yet he hated wealthy and idle society, and the tumult of married life. He bought and read many books. Among many other things, he believed that a man and a woman should only be dear friends and that they should not arouse in one another any other feelings. “Maybe he is right,” the girl thought. She was quiet and serious and became withdrawn with her dear friend, the bachelor. He began to come to her several evenings a week. In this way she was saved from her loneliness.
The bachelor was very interesting. His father was a rich businessman. He had two brothers and two sisters, all older than him. They were all married, bourgeois, rich people. He did not like them and did not see them often. He was the youngest son and his father loved him very much, but he felt more affection for his mother. She was an old, gray, simple woman. She had a lonely smile and her voice was weak and filled with motherly gentleness.
His father was entirely different. At one time he had been a Russian student and had dreamed of high ideals. But his success made him just like all other businessmen. He played cards, drank wine, and the rest of it. But he did not like these rich, morally loose people. He probably still had a desire for higher living. You could tell because of his deep love and devotion to his youngest son. He loved and doted on him because he buried himself in books and engaged with another world.
The bachelor himself dabbled with books. He wanted to be a poet. If he had been a painter, he would have known the meaning of his existence. He thought about this often, and worried that he was living without purpose. There was no subject that he needed to study. He hated business, and he could not become a teacher or a leader because he was afraid of being in front of a large crowd of people. He often walked around with his head bowed, thinking. His greatest pleasure was to buy a new book, and he hoped it would explain to him the hidden secret of his being.
His few friends had until now been intellectual men like himself. Now he also began to count the gentle, lonely young woman among his friends. He was happy that she aroused in him no other feelings. He spoke with her like he would speak to a good friend. She listened to his every word and this made him even more pleased. He was simply happy. The only pity was that she knew so little. Every now and again he brought her another book, but she didn’t read very much. She did not have much free time.
THE COUSIN AND his friend never considered getting married, and this was no secret to the women. The women did expect to get married, and this was no secret to the men. When the men were alone together, they would speak about the women’s futures. One would worry out loud: “They should get married! How long can a woman remain single? No more than thirty years. After that she has to have children. It would be a sin if all women decided to do what we have done and let the world collapse without a future.” He thought to himself and then added, “It is also better for an elderly lady to be the wife of an honorable older gentleman, the mother of married children and a grandmother to beautiful grandchildren, ha-ha! How would my mother look if she were still unmarried? An old maid!”
The cousin agreed that his friend was right, the sisters needed to get married, it was already time. But until someone proposed, the two men would stay by their sides. The older sister would be lonely without his friend and the younger sister might stray from the right path if he left her alone even for a minute.
The cousin thought for some time. After that he began to worry: he had a difficult mission, but he felt called upon to make it work. The way he behaved with the younger sister, he felt that she forgot sometimes that he was her cousin and almost old enough to be her father. She flirted with him, kissed him, threw her arms around his neck. How could he let her go on in this way?
His friend understood his difficulties. His face burned with embarrassment, his eyes glimmered and grew damp with sympathy, he warmly pressed the cousin’s hands and, moved, said quietly, “my pure, idealistic friend!”
THE WOMEN ALWAYS went to bed late and got up early in the morning, so they had to cut their conversations short in order to get to sleep. This time, though, the younger sister had more to say. As usual, she began her conversation like this:
“Doraleh, are you sleeping?” she asked in a gentle, singsong voice. Her voice was a gentle, soft, sunny monotone, and her older sister awoke.
“Don’t say anything, Lucy, we have to sleep. It’s late!”
“So what if it’s late? We can sleep in, we can get up when half the day is already gone, your boyfriend will take care of the damage!”
“Leave me alone!” the older sister said angrily. “He has never offered me money and I would never take any from him!”
“Then why do you accept books from him?”
“It’s permissible to take books. They are for the human spirit.”
“Leave me alone with your human spirit!” the younger sister responded petulantly. Both were silent, but this didn’t last long. She asked again, worriedly, “Doraleh, what will come of this? When will we get married? We already have gray hairs.”
“Who knows when? It will happen.”
“When will it happen? Year after year goes by just the same.”
The older sister stifled her own worry and anxiety. It seemed to her that her sister was just a little child and that she must come to her aid, calm her, and drive away her fear and worry. She began to tell her that they had plenty of time, that even women less attractive than they would not be concerned that a good, attractive, respectable man would come along.
They were quiet for a while longer and it seemed as though the younger sister might have fallen asleep, but all of a sudden she blurted out: “Doraleh, why should they not marry us?”
“You know, Lucy, that they do not ever want to get married, so why would you bring up such a useless idea?”
“Why would some other man want to marry us if they don’t?” The girl was getting riled up.
“It is a matter of taste. Some men prefer to remain free and others don’t mind chaining themselves up.”
“Tastes can change,” said the younger sister, almost to herself.
They were quiet again for a while, each thinking to herself of all the possibilities. The older sister imagined herself in a wealthy home. A servant did all the hard work, and her husband, a beloved man, a fine and honorable man, was always by her side. They read books together, they had a beautiful, rich life, and eventually there would be children—a little boy . . . a little girl . . . and more and more.
The younger sister saw herself in almost the same picture. He, the cousin, became a wealthy businessman: there was a wealthy home, silk clothes, jewelry, dances, and after a time a child, a little boy with blue eyes and curly hair . . .
The younger sister’s mind worked quickly, and she came quickly to the realization that all of these good things did not depend on her, but on him. It made her angry and uncomfortable, and it made her think of all kinds of plans as to how she could make him bend to her desires.
A while later she turned suddenly to her sister and said, “Doraleh, don’t be mad at me, tomorrow I am going to look for a new room to stay in. I don’t want to live in the same room as you anymore!”
She waited to hear her sister’s surprised outcry, her angry words, her curses, but to her surprise the older sister put her hands over her head and smoothed her hair. In the quiet of the night they had both arrived at the same thought.
They did not go through wit
h it because the cousin saw the danger in their plan to have separate rooms and did not allow it. “Such a young, lighthearted girl should not live alone!” he said to the other bachelor. The man agreed with him and shook hands with him heartily.
The Young Widow
(AUGUST 1, 1921)
Translated by Jessica Kirzane
SHE WAS THE wife of an enlightened worker. They lived modestly and peacefully. They loved one another and they loved their only child fiercely. They never dreamed of other loves, other joys, as dissatisfied enlightened people from the Jewish quarter often do. He had eyes for no woman aside from his wife, and she never so much as looked at another man. But the devil lurked behind this peaceful life and waited for his chance to steal it all away. He did not have to wait long. A trifling incident occurred: the husband caught a chill and was laid up in bed. A week later he was carried away from his house for his eternal rest.
The young wife was saddened but did not become distraught. After all, was she alone in the world? She must live and hold herself together for the sake of their son. In a few months she had already arranged everything: she sold her home and sent her son to boarding school. She found a room to rent for herself and went to work in the same position she had held before she was married. She worked in a small shop where they made women’s clothing to order. The proprietress of the shop was a middle-aged woman. She had a troubled past that had caused her hair to go prematurely gray and her brow to wrinkle. Now she was rich, but she did not want to give up her work. In the noise of the machines she could more easily forget the difficult experiences of years gone by.
When the young woman returned, the proprietress took her in with a spark in her eye and quickly gave her a position. It seemed as though she had been waiting for her, and maybe she had been. Many women who left the shop in order to marry later returned when bitter fates forced them to share in the woman’s solitude—and there they remained for many, many years.
The young woman was happy to be offered work in her former position, but she was sure that she wouldn’t stay too long: she was young, pretty, genteel, and frugal. A real treasure for a man who wanted to marry and have a quiet and comfortable life. She could not be expected to mourn her husband forever, and if the right man should come along, she would go with him.
When several months had passed and the “right man” had not speedily appeared, she did not despair. She never spoke of it and it seemed as though she wasn’t thinking about it, either. With a clear head and with a clear, calm mind, she conducted her life with the mechanical regularity of clockwork: she spent her days at work and spent the few free hours after work in her room sewing clothes for herself and for her child. She went to bed early so that she would rise refreshed, with a spring in her step, a healthy body and a clear head. Even on Sundays she had a regular way she spent her time: this was a path that led to a small town outside of New York. There, among the trees and flowers, was a bright white house. Attached to the house was a large veranda decorated with colorful flowers and before it was a large front lawn strewn with toys and cradles for children’s exercise and play. Blond women in white dresses with quiet movements and motherly smiles on their faces watched over a few dozen children. The children were clean, well behaved, and attractive, and their happy voices filled the blue, quiet air with joy.
One of the children waited for her every Sunday. He ran to her with arms stretched wide: “Mama dear! Mama darling!” She kissed him quietly. His cries upon seeing her died down and he played with his toys. She looked around and saw how quickly the day was passing. On the way home she thought that her child seemed even more beautiful than before, and that he was living a better life than children who are raised by their parents in a poverty-stricken home. The peace she felt about her child dissipated as she sorrowed over her husband’s passing. But her mind told her that she must be content to work to support herself and her child. She followed this logic, went to bed early and awoke the next day ready to work. Her hands flew, and the needle glimmered in the sun like a thin shimmer of light refracted through a diamond.
IN THE HEAT of summer the proprietress would close her shop for several weeks to go away somewhere. This way the workers had a bit of rest, although they weren’t paid for it. The first summer the young woman waited impatiently for this break because she had decided to go to the mountains. As a girl, she used to travel almost every summer and would have a happy time, but after her wedding she stopped going because there was no money to spare. Now she had sewn beautiful summer clothes and bought colorful accessories with great care. She often found herself blushing: she hoped that something would come of her efforts . . .
Instead of the four weeks she had anticipated, she spent only one week away. She returned because she was sure that she could not relax away as well as she could at home. She had a huge room and a comfortable bed all to herself. In the morning there was no need to hurry to get up: it seemed an insult to obey the alarm clock that summoned her to eat. All she wanted to do was lie in bed and look out the window at the blue sky and the green mountains and listen to the birdsongs; to doze off and to weave a sun-soaked dream.
From her room at home she could also see the blue sky because she lived on the highest floor in the back. The sun streamed in through the windows, and she had to let down the green curtains in order to shield herself from a flood of golden sunlight. Golden flecks of light pierced the curtains and covered the furniture and the walls. The fine linens seemed bleached in the sun-flecks and looked as though they were woven with gold. The idea that she did not need to get up to work caused a sweet sleepiness to pour over her body. She lay with half-open eyes and in her half-sleep her dreams were sweet, peaceful and filled with a rosy glow.
She hardly noticed at all how the weeks passed. Afterwards she returned to work, and her life proceeded like clockwork, day after day, week after week. At the beginning of the next summer, a little tired out from her year of constant labor, she often thought about the few weeks of rest that were approaching. This time she didn’t even consider going to the mountains. She only dreamed about the early mornings during which she wouldn’t have to get up early to work and could sleep and dream to her heart’s content.
That time did come, but this summer she was not fated to enjoy peaceful sleep and carefree mornings. She had begun to suffer, because on her lonely, difficult, but peaceful life’s path she encountered not a wolf, not a bear, not any other kind of animal, but a man.
THE PROPRIETRESS DID not treat her workers well. She paid them low wages for long hours of work. And she was also very strict. There was no one who would rebel because the married women whose misfortunes had brought them back to work were content to have a stable position where they felt at home, and the young female workers hoped to leave the shop soon. They expected no help from anyone. Then the eyes of justice looked down on the exhausted workers and the union sent one of their clerks to organize the shop.
The young man considered the workers as he spoke to the proprietress. His experienced eye landed on the young woman. He decided that he would speak to her and she would help him with his work, which did not promise to be easy.
He had not made a mistake. He didn’t have to speak with her long. She understood everything related to work and capital, but she advised him to wait before acting, because in a few weeks the shop would be closed and it would be easier to organize the workers when they were back in full force. They had to meet several times in order to talk it all through. By then they were already drawn to one another: she as a person who suffered and he as a person who had become used to caring for the oppressed and the suffering. They had plenty to talk about aside from the shop. It is easier to conduct difficult, complicated conversations in quiet surroundings, and since it was spring, they began taking walks together in the park.
The rest happened by itself. The two young people fell in love. But she, despite the strong temptation, had not allowed him to come to her room. She always parted ways with him bef
ore it was too late at night. Her mind told her that she must do this, and she always obeyed this thought.
The young man had a wife and children, but this did not prevent him from frequently falling in love with other women. He did not hide it from the young widow. According to his reasoning, he had done nothing wrong, and the more he spoke with her about it, the more justified he felt: he must have a home where he could rest, a wife to care for who would love him unconditionally, and children who would love him all his life and keep his strivings and ideals alive after he was gone. His love for other women was the holiday of his life, the inspiration behind his daring work for the sake of the masses. The perfume of other women drove away the pessimistic thoughts that buried themselves under his contentment and dwelt there.
And what about her? Would the romance also bring inspiration and joy to her life? He was sure of this: she was exactly the type who must live the life of a free and independent woman. Not all women have to be housewives, just like not all hens and birds should sit day after day in their nests watching over their eggs. She had already had a husband, a house, a child. Now she should lead the life of a free songbird, bringing joy to herself and others.
He described for her the life of free, independent, intelligent women: they think a lot about their work, become artists of their craft, earn a lot of money, go to the opera, to concerts, and spend time in cafés having intellectual conversations with knowledgeable men who relate to them as they would to close friends; they enjoy all of the luxuries they could possibly have, and even those who are not as beautiful as she is wield power in affairs of love.