A Simple Story

by S. Y. Agnon

  Hirshl was left sitting by himself until he was discovered by Sophia, who told him how happy she was that he had come and asked when his parents would arrive. Before he could answer her, though, she was gone, for she had left the pirogen on the stove and had to keep an eye on them. Left alone again, Hirshl sat looking at Yitzchok Gildenhorn, who always made him feel of no account. Gildenhorn was the sort of man who put you in your place whether you wanted to be there or not. It was not that he was so clever—in fact, there were far cleverer people than he; it was because, unlike most Szybuszians, who ate so much starch that they grew sideways rather than up, he was exceedingly tall. The good Lord was parsimonious: if one would rather be round, He gave the height to others.

  Thinking about the card players made Hirshl wonder about their names. You would imagine that someone named Tshortkover, for example, would come from a family of Tshortkov Hasidim, whereas Leibush was in fact a Bobov Hasid. A man’s name could even be his opposite. True, plump Gimpel Kurtz, whose last name meant “short,” was just that, but Mottshi Shaynbart, whose name meant “fine beard,” had no hair on his chin at all, while Leibush Tshortkover, who was named after the wrong city, should have been called Shaynbart instead. The fact was that names and people rarely went together. Take Balaban, for instance, who was chain-smoking next to Eisy Heller. What in the world did a name like that mean?

  Watching Balaban smoke made Hirshl want to smoke too. He took out a cigarette and searched his pants in vain for a match. Though Hirshl did not particularly relish smoking, a young man his age was expected to smoke whether he relished it or not. Indeed, the reason he never went anywhere with matches was that the nuisance of having to borrow them kept him from smoking more.

  Hirshl went over to ask Balaban for a light. Balaban, who was absorbed in his cards, took the cigarette from his mouth and tossed it to Hirshl like a coin to a bothersome beggar. Hirshl blushed and took an angry puff of smoke, which only made him even angrier. As soon as the cigarette was finished he lit another. The more he smoked the stupider he felt, and the stupider he felt the more he smoked. The befuddling odor and taste of the tobacco mingling with the heavy smell of grease coming from the kitchen made him gasp for air. He was afraid that he would disgrace himself by throwing up or fainting. The cards jumped so quickly from hand to hand that, strangely enough, the hands themselves had disappeared. Then the cards vanished too and there was nothing but little red and black faces dancing mockingly in front of him.

  Hirshl rose bewilderedly to his feet. He knew that such small people did not exist anywhere. He must have been looking at the pictures on the cards. He glanced about the room. The cardplayers were still puffing away at the table, and their smoke was making him dizzy. He was about to step outside when he remembered a story he had once heard about a man who left a party without informing his host and was accused the next day of stealing an object of value. Though he knew he would be accused of no such thing, Hirshl removed his hands from his pockets as if to protest his innocence.

  Just then the door opened and in stepped Mina. Hirshl collected himself and gladly went over to shake her hand and help her out of her coat and gloves.

  A moment later they were talking like old friends.

  Hirshl kept up a steady stream of conversation and took care that it did not flag, for he was afraid that Mina would abandon him for the card table and leave him alone once more. He talked to her about everything under the sun. Never in his life had he said so much at one time. Before he had finished with one topic he had already gone on to the next.

  Mina had never heard such things discussed in her life. She stood rooted to one spot, hanging on every word, her large, heavy earrings at rest in her little ears, which, Hirshl noticed, were flushed. He looked over his shoulder, and, seeing that no one engrossed in the card game was paying him any attention, pulled up two chairs to sit down on. Then he resumed talking while Mina went on listening in silence. And though her silence made no great impression on him, the fact that she was listening did.

  Apart from four or five teachers in her boarding school, some of them bachelors and some of them married men who carried on like bachelors, Mina did not know many young men. Unlike other girls in the school, she had never been the favorite of any of her teachers, much less gone walking with one in the park or been kissed by him, and she was for the male staff simply one more student whose tuition helped pay their salaries. Even her tutorials were kept to a minimum, so that now, sitting with Hirshl, she felt doubly amazed: at him for not tiring of her company, and at herself for being so interesting. At first she wondered whether any of the men her girlfriends were always running after could be as charming as Hirshl. Then she stopped making comparisons and simply concentrated on him.

  Hirshl sensed her thoughts and strove not to disappoint her. Whatever he could think of, he said. He spoke in a well-modulated voice, nor did he stammer, as when talking to Blume. In this he was aided by Mina’s eyes, which did not regard him suspiciously like Blume’s.

  Hirshl sat and talked. He did not seek to impress Mina as he would have had she been Blume. The two of them were different, and so was talking to them; yet having talked to no one at all for the last several days, he would gladly have talked now to either.

  All at once Hirshl felt that they were being stared at. He turned red, forgot what he was saying, and broke off in the middle of a sentence.

  Gildenhorn, who was holding a hand of cards, chose that exact moment to laugh and exclaim, “Just look at the two lovebirds cooing to each other!”

  Hirshl was embarrassed. In fact, he was mortified. Not only had he been publicly insulted, Mina had been too. The slight to their honor, which he saw no way of defending, enraged him. He felt too shamefaced to look up. And yet when he returned the stares in the end, each one of them was friendly. Indeed, he had never seen so many pairs of eyes looking alike, each more doting than the next. Before he could absorb what was happening, Gimpel Kurtz stepped up to him, took his hand, and murmured some lines of poetry about a young man in a beauteous garden who was urged to pluck its fruits. His wink left no room for doubt that the young man was Hirshl, the garden Mina, etcetera, etcetera.

  What must Mina think of him, Hirshl wondered, for having disgraced her so? He could not bring himself to look at her. He was so immobilized that it seemed as though nothing short of a fire or a war could ever get him to move again.

  Yet Providence had other plans. Indeed, when Hirshl was still a twinkle in his mother’s eye an angel in heaven had proclaimed, “Hirshl the son of Boruch Meir to Mina the daughter of Gedalia.” And so, when Hirshl finally stood up, he was holding Mina’s hand. It clung to his. Her eyes were bright with the light that had been waiting to shine forth from the day of that angelic proclamation.

  What made Hirshl take Mina’s hand? He had only wanted to say to her, Please do not think I am to blame. Before he could say it, however, Yitzchok Gildenhorn came over, clapped him on the shoulder, and said, “That’s the brave fellow! Now you’re a man among men.”

  Aghast, Hirshl withdrew his hand from Mina’s. Gildenhorn seized it and declared, “Ich gratuliere.”

  Saying ich gratuliere, to be sure, was not quite the same as saying mazel tov to a groom. It was more like something one might say to the winner of a card game. Yet as the same angel who had announced Hirshl’s betrothal in heaven now chose to speak on earth in Gildenhorn’s voice, not a single guest doubted that Hirshl had been congratulated on his engagement.

  Sophia ran over to Mina, hugged her as hard as she could, and kissed her loudly on the mouth. Then she smiled at her and said, “I’ve never been so thrilled in my life. You absolutely must tell me how Mr. Hurvitz proposed to you. And him playing the innocent, you’d never have guessed that he was after you! Doesn’t still water run deep!”

  She grabbed Hirshl’s hand as she spoke and pumped it until she was red. Everyone gaily crowded around the couple to shake hands and wish them good luck.

  Leibush Tshortkover rose, too
k the money from the card table, and sent someone out with it to buy champagne. Then he took the bowl the money had been in and smashed it against a wall.

  Mottshi Shaynbart rapped his crutch on the floor and shouted, “Mazel tov, mazel tov!”

  “You had better go tell the parents of the bride and groom,” said Eisy Heller to Gimpel Kurtz. Before Gimpel could go for them, however, they arrived on their own. A sixth sense must have told them what was happening.

  Gedalia Ziemlich laid a hand on the breast pocket where his money was kept, as if meaning to present the dowry then and there. Boruch Meir rubbed his hands with pleasure and kept repeating, “Friends, friends,” as though to make clear that he held everyone responsible. Tsirl held out her hand to Gedalia. He took it with his left hand, since his right hand was still on his left pocket.

  “Why don’t you hold your heart with your left hand,” said Bertha. “It’s nearer to it.”

  Ziemlich noticed his faux pas and switched hands. “Where—” he started to ask.

  “—is the groom?” interrupted his wife.

  Gedalia nodded like an invalid who managed to be understood. “And Mina?” he asked. Although he had just been informed of her engagement, he still found it hard to believe.

  Chapter ten

  The proceeds of Sophia’s lottery ticket stood ready to eat on the table. Although her winnings had been small, one would never have guessed it from the amount of food and drink served.

  After the appetizer Yitzchok Gildenhorn got to his feet, raised his glass, toasted his guests and the two families newly joined in wedlock, and proposed drinking as well to the health of his wife, whose pirogen with their hidden filling of meat were the perfect symbol of Hirshl’s love, which too had been hidden until now. He was followed by Kurtz, who gave a speech that started with Schiller, ended with Heine, and avowed that all poets were agreed that the highest theme of poetry was young love. “And so,” Kurtz concluded, “I invite you to rise and drink with me to the charming young couple that is making great poetry here tonight.”

  Leibush Tshortkover poured himself another drink and said to Kurtz, “In case you’re wondering why I’m staying seated, it’s because it says in the Bible, ‘Stand not in the way of the great.’”

  Mottshi Shaynbart rapped his crutch on the floor and exclaimed, “Ai, just listen to the old peg laugh.”

  Hirshl sat wondering what he was doing there. He felt dazed and dejected. Several times he tried thinking things through and gave up. His mind kept jumping until it settled on a story he once was told as a child about a man who, finding himself at a wedding, suddenly noticed that the bride and groom were made of straw, that the guests were all trolls, and that everything in the house was an enchantment. Just as he was about to flee for dear life he saw that the wedding ring was real gold and decided to take it. No sooner had he done so than the bride stuck out a finger and he slipped the golden ring onto it. The trolls roared with laughter and so did he. His new wife seized him by his jacket tails and never let go of him again.

  Tsirl caught her son’s eye and ran a hand over her forehead. Hirshl, however, did not take the hint to smooth the frown from his brow. Though he was being stubborn, Tsirl simply curled her lip in a smile as if to say, If that’s how he wants it, let it be.

  When the guests could stuff themselves no more they began to sing folderol to the tune of old Passover songs. It seemed odd to Mina that anyone could laugh so hard at words that had no meaning. Gedalia Ziemlich was troubled at first that the Passover service should be spoofed by young men so unregenerate that they did not even cover their heads when they ate; yet seeing his new in-law enjoying himself, he felt reassured: Boruch Meir was a God-fearing Jew and never would laugh at anything improper.

  Boruch Meir put an arm around Hirshl and beamed at him. The fact that Hirshl was sitting next to Mina, that he and Tsirl were sitting next to the Ziemlichs, and that the table was piled with good food that was heartily being devoured made him feel indebted to his son, for he had been worried all along that the dowry negotiations would prove a waste of time.

  As for Tsirl, she kept her eyes on Boruch Meir. Other wives might not have spent their son’s engagement party looking at their husbands, but Boruch Meir was no ordinary husband. At the age of forty-seven he was still young in body and mind.

  Tsirl was every bit as spry. Her forty-eight years did not show on her. Her face looked washed with virgin rainwater and her eyes bathed with fresh egg whites. Indeed, how can we have mentioned Tsirl so often without having mentioned her eyes? Although she had only two of them, their power was great—and never so much as now that she kept them fixed on Boruch Meir while never taking them off Mina, for whom she felt a special affection for having agreed to become her daughter-in-law, thus saving Hirshl from the clutches of Blume.

  All along, thought Hirshl, I was sure that the matchmakers could never lay hands on me, and here I am with my head in their noose. How will I ever talk to or look at Blume again? If only he could slip away home now, bury his face in his hands, and quietly sit listening to her footsteps as she made the bed in the next room. Of course, she was no longer there, yet thinking of her made it seem as if she were.

  The party grew gayer and gayer. Boruch Meir sent to his shop for some almond and raisin cordials. The drinkers kept drinking, and the non-drinkers kept eating. Few of the guests could remember anymore why they had been invited in the first place.

  Gimpel Kurtz stared at his glass. “You know,” he said to Sophia, “I wouldn’t mind if it were bigger.”

  “But you only have to fill it again,” said Sophia. “Why should you want it to be bigger?”

  Kurtz nodded as if his faith in human reason had been restored and replied, “That is the question, Sophia.”

  “The point is, Sophia,” said Leibush Tshortkover, “that if his glass were bigger it could double as a bathtub.”

  “I already have a bathtub,” said Kurtz. “What I need is a birch rod for after my bath.”

  Mottshi Shaynbart rapped his crutch on the floor and said, “Watch out for your beard, Leibush.”

  “Let him bathe his own beard,” said Leibush, clutching his chin.

  “He doesn’t want to bathe your beard,” said Mottshi. “He wants to make a birch rod out of it.”

  “The Devil rot your crutch, Mottshi,” said Leibush, “if Gimpel’s mustache isn’t birch rod enough for ten men his size.”

  “Leave my crutch out of this,” said Mottshi. “The Devil has greater things in mind for it. He’s going to stoke the fires of hell with it for saints like you.”

  “Drink up, gentlemen. Down the hatch!” called Gildenhorn, tapping the wine pitcher in front of him.

  “Here’s to you, Gimpy!” cried Leibush, raising his glass.

  “And to you, Leibush!” answered Kurtz. “May it be granted that—”

  “That…” declared Leibush, “…that we drink the wine of paradise without spilling a single drop.”

  “Amen in the name of all Jews!” said Eisy Heller.

  “Amen and amen,” repeated Mottshi Shaynbart.

  “Here’s to you, Reb Gedalia!” said Kurtz. “May it be granted that—”

  “That…” said Leibush, “…that…”

  “That God have mercy on us sinners,” said Mottshi.

  “And on our dear Hirshl,” said Gildenhorn.

  “Hirshl, pour yourself a drink,” said Leibush. “Or are you afraid of ending up like the fellow in the story who got pie-eyed at his father-in-law’s house?”

  “At his own father-in-law’s?” said Eisy Heller. “My, my! What did he do then?”

  “Puked his guts out,” said Balaban.

  “In the old man’s chamber pot,” said Leibush.

  “Hear, hear!” cried Gildenhorn.

  “And when his wife saw it in the morning,” said Leibush, “she said to her husband, ‘Why, you old rascal, you, I’ve a good mind to go tell your son-in-law.’”

  “You see, Hirshl,” said Kurtz, “
you have nothing to be afraid of. Pour yourself a drink and take your medicine.”

  There is nothing to be done, thought Hirshl. I’ll just have to sit it out to the end. Maybe my mother’s brother wasn’t crazy after all when he ran away to the woods. Maybe he knew what he was doing.

  Balaban looked Hirshl over and said, “I can read your thoughts, Mr. Hurvitz. I know every one of them as if they were written on the palm of my hand.”

  Hirshl turned crimson.

  “And I know, Mr. Hurvitz,” continued Balaban, “that this day on which you have plighted your true love is the happiest of your life. I felt the same way when I was engaged to my late wife. So does everyone. But I tell you, today is nothing compared to how you’ll feel on your wedding day. Just look at him turning red, he’s the picture of innocence! Well, I’m all for innocence. It becomes a young man the way…the way…what a pity I can’t find a good comparison. But why look for comparisons when we already have one ready-made? Yes, innocence becomes a young man as a bridal gown becomes a bride! And so I say it’s the wedding day that matters, not the engagement or anything else. Believe me, gentlemen, all our toasts tonight are just a rehearsal for then. Here’s to the day when Mr. Hurvitz and Miss Ziemlich stand together beneath the wedding canopy!”

  Balaban looked lovingly at Hirshl. Who would have thought that this gallant mind reader was the same man who had tossed him a cigarette as though he were a beggar! But such is human nature: when things go our way even our minds interest others, while when they do not no one will give us the time of day.

  “To your health, groom, to your health!” Numerous hands reached out to shake Hirshl’s and to congratulate him. One by one he had to clasp each of them and say thank you. Glasses clinked and the room kept getting hotter. Tsirl, flushed from the meal, smiled at Bertha, and Bertha smiled back at her.

  Boruch Meir refilled his glass and said, “And now let’s drink to the bride.”

  “Fair is fair,” said Kurtz.