Chapter II: Part 2

"Just look in your pocket, like this."

"There isn't even a sign of one."

"None? Lost all the nuts? Well, what good has it done you? Aren't you a fool?"

"Enough! You have won all my nuts, and now you torment me."

"It's good, it's all right. You wanted to win all my nuts, and I have won yours."

Goyetzel was well satisfied that Getzel had lost, whilst he, Goyetzel had won. He felt it was doing him good to win. He felt equal to winning all the nuts in the whole world. "Where are they now, the '_Cheder_' boys? I would have got my own back from them. I would not have left them the smallest nut, not even for a cure. They would have died here on the ground in front of me."

Getzel grew angry, fierce. He closed his fists, clenched his teeth, and spoke to himself, just as if there was some one beside him.

"Well, try now. Now that I am not by myself. Now that there are two of us. Well, Getzel, why are you sitting there like a bridegroom? Let's play nuts another little while."

"Nuts? Where have I nuts? Didn't I tell you I haven't a single one?"

"Ah, I forgot that you have no more nuts. Do you know what I would advise you, Getzel?"

"For instance?"

"Have you any money?"

"I have. Well, what of that?"

"Buy nuts from me."

"What do you mean by saying I should buy nuts off you?"

"Fool! Don't you know what buying means? Give me money, and I'll give you nuts. Eh?"

"Well, I agree to that."

He took from his purse a silver coin, bargained about the price, counted a score of nuts from the right-hand pocket to the left, and the play began all over again.

An experienced card-player, the story goes, half an hour before his death called his son--also a gambler--to his bedside, and said to him:

"My child, I am going from this world. We shall never meet again. I know you play cards. You have my nature. You may play as much as you like, only take care not to play yourself out."

These words are almost a law. There is nothing worse in the world than playing yourself out. Experienced people say it deprives a man even of his last shirt. It drives a man to desperate acts. And one cannot hope to rise at the Resurrection after that. So people say. And so it happened with our young man. He worked so long, shaking his cap, "odd or even," taking from one pocket and putting into the other, until his left-hand pocket hadn't a single nut in it.

"Well, why don't you play?"

"I have nothing to play with."

"Again you have no nuts, good-for-nothing!"

"You say I am a good-for-nothing. And I say you are a cheat."

"If you call me a cheat again, I will give you a clout in the jaw."

"Let the Lord put it into your head."

Getzel sat quiet for a few minutes, scraping the ground with his fingers, digging a hole, and muttering a song under his breath. Then he said:

"Dirty thing, let us play nuts."

"Where have I nuts?"

"Haven't you money? I will sell you another ten."

"Money? Where have I money?"

"No money and no nuts? Oh, I can't stand it. Ha! ha! ha!"

The laugh echoed over the whole field, and re-echoed in the distant wood. Getzel was convulsed with laughter.

"What are you laughing at, you Goyetzel you?" he asked himself. And he answered himself in a different voice:

"I am laughing at you, good-for-nothing. Isn't it enough that you lost all my nuts on me? Why did you want to go and lose my money as well? Such a lot of money. You fool of fools! Oh, I can't get over it. Ha! ha! ha!"

"You yourself brought me to it. You wicked one of wicked ones! You scamp! You rascal!"

"Fool of the night! If I were to tell you to cut off your nose, must you do it? You idiot! You animal with the horse's face, you! Ha! ha! ha!"

"Be quiet, at any rate, you Goyetzel, you. And let me not see your forbidding countenance."

And he turned away from himself, sat sulky for a few minutes, scraping the earth with his fingers. He covered the hole he had made, as he sang a little song under his breath.

"Do you know what I will tell you, Getzel?" he said to himself a few minutes later. "Let us forgive one another. Let us be friends. The Lord helped me. It was my luck to win so many nuts--may no evil eye harm them! Why should we not enjoy ourselves? Let's crack a few nuts. I should think they are not bad! Well, what do you say, Getzel?"

"Yes, I also think they ought not to be bad," he answered himself. He thrust a nut into his mouth, a second, a third. Each time, he banged his teeth with his fists. The nut was cracked. He took out a fat kernel, cleaned it round, threw it back in his mouth, and chewed it pleasurably with his strong white teeth. He crunched them as a horse crunches oats. He said to himself:

"Would you also like the kernel of a nut, Getzel? Speak out. Do not be ashamed."

"Why not?"

That was how he answered himself. He stretched out his left hand, but only smacked it with his right.

"Will you have a plague?"

"Let it be a plague."

"Then have two."

And he did not cease from cracking the nuts, and crunching them like a horse. It was not enough that he sat eating and gave none to the other, but he said to him:

"Listen, Getzel, to what I will ask you. How, for example, do you feel while I am eating and you are only looking on?"

"How do I feel? May you have such a year!"

"Ah, I see you've got a temper. Here is a kernel for you."

And Getzel's right hand gave the left a kernel. The right turned upside down. The left hand smacked the right. The left hand smacked the right cheek. Then the right hand smacked the left cheek twice. The left hand caught hold of the right lapel of his coat, and the right hand at once tore off the left lapel, from top to bottom. The left hand pulled the right earlock. The right hand gave the left ear a terrible bang.

"Let go of my earlock, Getzel. Take my advice, and let go of my earlock!"

"A plague!"

"Then you'll have no earlock, Getzel."

"Then you, Goyetzel, will have no ear."

"Oh!"

"Oh! Oh!"

* * *

EPILOGUE

For several minutes our Getzel rolled on the ground. Now he lay right side up, and now he lay left side up. He held his pocketful of nuts with both hands.... One minute Goyetzel was victorious. The next it was Getzel, until he got up from the ground covered with dirt, like a pig. He was torn to pieces, had a bleeding ear, and a torn earlock. He took all the nuts from his pocket, and threw them into the mud of the river, far away, behind the mill. He muttered angrily:

"That's right. It's a good deed."

"Neither you--nor me."

A Lost "L'Ag Beomer"

Our teacher, "_Reb_" Nissel the small one--so called on account of his size--allowed himself to be led by the nose by his assistants. Whatever they wanted they got. When the first assistant said the children were to be sent home early that day, he sent them home early. The second assistant said that the boys would turn the world upside down, and ought to be kept at school, and he kept them at school. He could never decide anything for himself. That was why his assistants controlled the school, and not he. At other schools the assistants teach the children to wash their hands and say the blessing. At our school, the assistants would not do this for us, nor fetch us our meals, nor take us to school on their shoulders. No, they liked to go for our meals. They ate them themselves on the road. We did not dare to tell the master of this. The assistants kept us in fear and trembling. If a boy whispered a word of their doings to the teacher, he would be flogged, his skin would be cut. Once, a daring boy told the master something; and the assistant beat him so terribly that he was laid up in bed for months. He warned the boys never to tell the master anything, no matter what the assistants did.

This period of our schooldays might be called the Tyranny of the Assistants.

* * *

And it came to pass that we were under the yoke of the assistants. One year, we had a cold "_L'ag Beomer_." It was a cold, wet May, such as we sometimes had in our town, Mazapevka. The sun barely showed itself. A sharp wind blew, brought us clouds, tore open our coats, and threw us off our feet. It was not pleasant out of doors.

Just then the assistants took it into their heads to take us for a walk outside the town, so that we might play at wars, with swords and pop-guns and bows and arrows.

It is an old custom amongst Jewish children, to become war-like on the "_L'ag Beomer_." They arm themselves from head to foot with wooden swords, pop-guns and bows and arrows. They take food with them, and go off to wage war. Jewish children who are the whole year round closed up in small "_Chedorim_," oppressed by fears of the master, and trembling under the whips of the assistants, when "_L'ag Beomer_" comes round, and they may go out into the open, armed from head to foot, imagine that they are giants who can overcome the strongest foe and reduce the world to ruins. All at once they grow brave. They step forward eagerly, singing songs that are a curious mixture of Yiddish and Russian.

"One, two, three, four!
Jewish children
Learn the '_Torah_,'
Believe in miracles,
Are not afraid.
Hear, O Israel! Nothing matters.
We are not afraid of any one,
Excepting God."

And we carried out the old custom. We took down our swords of last year from the attic, and we made bows from the hoops of old wine barrels. Pop-guns the assistants provided us with, for money, of course--fine guns with which one could shoot flies if they only stood still long enough. In a word, we had all the Jewish weapons to frighten tiny infants to death. And we provided ourselves with food in good earnest, each boy as much as the Lord had blessed him with, and his mother would give him, out of her generosity. We arrived at "_Cheder_" armed from head to foot, and our pockets bulging out with good things--rolls, cakes, boiled eggs, goose-fat, cherry-wine, fruit, fowls, livers, tea and sugar, and preserves and jam, and also many "_groschens_" in money. Each boy tried to show off by bringing the best and the largest quantity. And we wished to please the assistants. They praised us, and said we were very good boys. They took our food and put it into their bags. They placed us in rows, like soldiers, and commanded us.

"Jewish children, take hands, and march across the bridge, straight for Mezritzer fields. There you will meet the sea-cats, and do battle with them."

"Hurrah for the sea-cats!" we shouted in one voice. We took hands and went forward, like giants, strong and courageous.

* * *

We called the Free School boys sea-cats because they were short little children in the A B C class. They appeared to us "_Chumash_" boys like flies, ants. We imagined that with one blow--phew! we would make an end of them. We were certain that when they saw us, how we were armed from head to foot with swords and bows and arrows and pop-guns, they would surely fly away. It was no trifle to encounter such giants. You play with "_Chumash_" boys, warriors with long legs!

We had never fought the sea-cats before. But we had every reason to believe, we were convinced, we would conquer these squirrels with a glance, destroy them, make an end of them. Along with giving them a good licking, we would take spoil from them, that is to say, their food, and let them go hungry.

We were so full of our own courage, and so enthusiastic about the brave deeds we were going to do that we pushed each other forward, clapped each other on the shoulder. Then, too, the assistants urged us forward.

"Why do you crawl like insects?" they asked us. They themselves stopped frequently, opened the bags, and tasted our food and cherry-wine, which they praised highly.

"Excellent cherry-wine," they said, passing round the bottles, and letting the liquid gurgle down their throats. "Splendid liquor. The best I ever tasted."

That was what the assistants said. They actually licked their fingers. They remained in the distance, but indicated with their hands that we must go forward, forward.

We went on and on, over the wide Mezritzer field, though the wind blew stronger and stronger. The sky grew black with clouds, and a cold, thick rain beat into our faces. Our hands were blue with the cold. Our boots squelched in the mud. We had long given up singing songs. We were tired and hungry, very hungry. We decided to sit down and rest, and have something to eat.

"Where are the assistants? Where is the food--where is it?"

The boys began to murmur against the assistants.

"It is a dirty trick to take all our food from us, and our cherry-wine and our few '_groschens_,' and to leave us here in the desert, cold and hungry. May the devil take them!"

"May a bad end come to the assistants!"

"May the cholera strike down all the assistants in the world!"

"May they be the sacrifices for our tiniest nails!"

"Hush. Let there be silence. Here come our foes, our enemies."

"Little squirrels with big sticks."

"The sea-cats--the sea-cats!"

"Hurrah for the sea-cats!"

The moment we saw them, we rushed towards them, like fierce starving wolves. We were ready to tear them to pieces. But there happened to us a misfortune, a great misfortune which no one could possibly have foreseen.

If it is not destined, neither wisdom nor strength nor smartness are of any avail. Listen to what can happen.

* * *

The sea-cats, though they were small, short little squirrels, were evidently no fools. Before going to do battle on the broad Mezritzer field, they had prepared themselves well at home, gone through their drill. Afterwards, they fed up. They also took with them warm clothing and rubber goloshes. They were armed from head to foot no worse than we were, with swords and pop-guns and bows and arrows. They would not wait until we had taken the offensive. They attacked us first, and began to break our bones. And how, do you think? From all sides at once, and so suddenly that we had no time to look about us. Before we realized it, they were upon us. They were not alone, but had their assistants to urge them on and encourage them.

"Pay out the '_Chumash_' boys. Beat them, the boys with the long legs."

Naturally we were not silent either. We stood up against the squirrels, like giants, beat them with our swords, aimed our arrows at them, and shot at them with our pop-guns. But, alas! our swords were dull as wood; and before we could set our bows, they had thrashed us. I say nothing of the guns. What can you do with a pop-gun if the foe will not wait until you have taken aim at him? They rushed forward and knocked the guns out of our hands. What could we do?

We had to throw away our weapons, our swords and pop-guns and bows and arrows, and fight as the Lord has ordained. That is to say, we fought with our fists. But we were hungry and tired and cold, and fought without a plan, because our assistants had remained behind. They let us fight whilst they ate our food and drank our cherry-wine--the devil take them! And they, the little squirrels, well-fed and well-clad, had crept upon us from three sides at once, each moment growing stronger and stronger. They rained down on us blows and thumps and digs. The same blows that we had reckoned on giving them they gave us. And their assistants went in front of them, and never ceased from urging them on.

"Pay back the '_Chumash_' boys. Beat them, beat them, the boys with the long legs."

Who was the first to turn his back on the enemy? It would be hard to say. I only know we ran quickly, helter-skelter, back home, back to Mazapevka. And they, the little squirrels--may they burn!--ran after us, shouting and yelling and laughing at us, right on top of us.

"Hurrah! '_Chumash_' boys! Hurrah! Big boys!"

* * *

We arrived home exhausted, ragged, bruised, beaten. And we giants imagined that our parents would pity us, give us cakes because of the blows we got. But it turned out we were mistaken. No one thought of us. We thanked God we were so fortunate as to escape without beatings from our parents for our torn clothes and twisted boots. But next morning we got a good whipping from our teacher, Nissel the small one, for the bruises we had on our foreheads and the blue marks around our eyes. It is shameful to tell it--we were each whipped in the true style. This was a mere addition, as if we had not had enough.

We were not sorry for anything but that the assistants gave us another share. When a father or a mother beats one, it is out of kindness. When a teacher beats one it is because he is a teacher. And what is his rod for, anyway? But the assistants! Our curses upon them! As if it were not enough that they had eaten all our food, and drunk our cherry-wine--may they suffer for it, Father of the Universe!--as if it were not enough that they had left us to fight alone, in the middle of the field, but when they were whipping us they held our feet, so that we might not kick either.

* * *

And that was how our holiday ended up. It was a dark, dreary, lost "_L'ag Beomer_."

Murderers

"Is he still snoring?"

"And how snoring!"

"May he perish!"

"Wake him up. Wake him up."

"Leib-Dreib-Obderick!"

"Get up, my little bird."

"Open your little eyes."

I barely managed to open my eyes, raise my head, and look about me. I saw a whole crowd of rascals, my school-fellows. The window was open, and along with their sparkling eyes I saw the first rays of the bright, warm early morning sun. I looked about me, on all sides.

"Just see how he looks."

"Like a sinner."

"Did you not recognize us?"

"Have you forgotten that it is '_L'ag Beomer_' today?"

The words darted through all my limbs like a flash of lightning. I was carried out of bed by them. In the twinkling of an eye, I was dressed. I went in search of my mother, who was busy with the breakfast and the younger children.

"Mother, today is '_L'ag Beomer_.'"

"A good '_Yom-tov_' to you. What do you want?"

"I want something for the party."

"What am I to give you? My troubles? Or my aches?"

So said my mother to me. Nevertheless, she was ready to give me something towards the party. We bargained about it. I wanted a lot. She would only give a little. I wanted two eggs. Said she: "A suffering in the bones!" I began to grow angry. She gave me two smacks. I began to cry. She gave me an apple to quieten me. I wanted an orange. Said she: "Greedy boy, what will you want next?" And my friends on the other side of the window were kicking up a row.

"Will you ever come out, or not?"

"Leib-Dreib-Obderick!"

"The day is flying!"

"Quicker! Quicker!"

"Like the wind."

After much arguing, I got round my mother. I snatched up my breakfast and my share of the party, and flew out of the house, fresh, lively, joyful, to my waiting comrades. All together we flew down the hill to the "_Cheder_."

* * *

The "_Cheder_" was full of noise and tumult and shouting that reached to the sky. A score of throats shouted at the one time. The table was covered with delicacies. We had never had such a party as we were going to have that "_L'ag Beomer_." We had wine and brandy, for which we had to thank Berrel Yossel, the wine-merchant's son. He had brought a bottle of brandy and two bottles of wine made by Yossel himself. His father had given him the brandy, but the wine he had taken himself.

"What do you mean by saying he took it himself?"

"Don't you understand, peasant's head? He took it from the shelf when no one was looking."

"Gracious me! That means he stole?"

"Fool of the night! Well, what then?"

"What do you mean? Then he is a thief?"

"For the sake of the party, fool."

"Is it a good deed to steal for that?"

"Certainly. What do you say to the wise one of the 'Four questions'?"

"Where is it written?"

"He wants us to tell him where it is written?"

"Tell him it is written in the Book of Jests."

"In the chapter called 'And he took.'"

"Beginning with the words 'Bim-bom.'"

"Ha! ha! ha!"

"Hush, children, Mazeppa comes."

All at once there was silence. We were sitting around the table quiet as lambs, like angels, golden children who could not count two, and whose souls were innocent.

* * *

Mazeppa was the teacher's name. That is to say, his real name was Baruch-Moshe. He had come to our town from Mazapevka not long before, and the people called him the Mazapevkar. We boys shortened his name to Mazeppa. And when pupils crown their teacher with such a lovely name, he must be worthy of it. Let me introduce him.

He is small, thin, dried-up, hideously ugly. He hasn't even the signs of a moustache or beard or eyebrows. Not because he shaved. God forbid, but simply because they would not grow. But for that again he had a pair of lips and a nose. Oh, what a nose! It was curved like a ram's horn. And he had a voice like a bull. He growled like a lion. Where did such a creature get such a terrible roar? And where did he get so much strength? When he took hold of you by the hand with his cold, bony fingers, you saw the next world. When he boxed your ears, you felt the smart for three days on end. He hated arguing. For the least thing, guilty or not guilty, he had one sentence: "Lie down."

"'_Rebbe_,' Yossel-Yakov-Yossels thumped me."

"Lie down."

"'_Rebbe_,' it's a lie. He first kicked me in the side."

"Lie down."

"'_Rebbe_,' Chayim-Berrel Lippes put out his tongue at me."

"Lie down."

"'_Rebbe_,' it's a lie of lies. He made a noise at me."

"Lie down."

And you had to lie down. Nothing would avail you. Even Elya the red one, who is already "_Bar-mitzvah_," and is engaged to be married, and wears a silver watch--do you think he is never flogged? Oh yes! And how? Elya says he will be avenged for the floggings he gets. Some day or other he will pay back the "_Rebbe_" in such a way that his children's children will remember it. That's what Elya says after each flogging. And we echo his words.

"Amen! May it be so! From your mouth into God's ears!"

* * *

We said our prayers with the teacher, as usual. (He never let us pray by ourselves because he thought we might skip more than half the prayers.) Mazeppa said to us in his lion's roar:

"Now, children, wash your hands and sit down to the party. After grace I will let you go for a walk."

We used to hold our "_L'ag Beomer_" party outside the town, in the open air, on the bare earth, under God's sky. We used to throw crumbs of bread to the birds. Let them also know that it is "_L'ag Beomer_" in the world. But one does not argue with Mazeppa. When he told one to sit down, one sat down, lest he might tell one to lie down.

"Eat in peace," he said to us, after we had pronounced the blessing.

"Come and eat with us," we replied out of politeness.

"Eat in health," he said. "I do not wish to eat yet. But, if you like, I will make a blessing over the wine. What have you in that bottle? Brandy?" he asked, and stretched out his long, dried-up hand with its bony fingers to the bottle of brandy. He poured out a glassful, tasted it, and made such a grimace that we must have been stronger than iron to control ourselves from exploding with laughter.

"Whose is this terrible thing?" he asked, taking another drop. "It's not a bad brandy." He filled a third glass and drank our health.

"Long life to you, children. May God grant that we be alive next year, and--and.... Haven't you anything to bite? Well, in honour of '_L'ag Beomer_' I will wash my hands and eat with you."

What is wrong with our teacher? He's not the same Mazeppa. He is in good humour, and talkative. His cheeks are shining; his nose is red; and his eyes are sparkling. He eats and laughs and points to the bottle of wine.

"What sort of wine have you there? Passover wine?" (He tasted it and pursed up his lips.) "P-s-ss! The best wine in the world." (He drank more.) "It's a long time since I tasted such wine." (To Yossel the wine-merchant's son, with a laugh.) "The devil take your father's cellar. I saw there barrels upon barrels. And of the finest raisins. Ha! ha! To your health, children. May the Lord help you to be honest, pious Jews, and may you--may you open the second bottle. Take glasses and drink to long life. May God grant that--that----" (He licked his lips. His eyes were closing.) "All good to the children of Israel."

* * *

Having eaten and said grace, Mazeppa turned to us, his tongue failing him as he spoke:

"Then we have carried out the duty of eating together on '_L'ag Beomer_.' Well, and what next, eh?"

"Now we will go for the walk."

"For the walk, eh? Excellent. Where do we go?"

"To the black forest."

"Ha? To the black forest? Excellent. I go with you. It is good to walk in a forest, very healthy, because a forest.... Well, I will explain to you what a forest is."

We went off with our teacher, beyond the town. We were not altogether comfortable having him with us. But, shah! The teacher walked in the middle, waving his hands and explaining to us what a forest was.

"The nature of the forest, you must know, is as the Lord has created it. It is full of trees. On the trees are branches; and the branches are covered with leaves that give out a pleasant, pungent odour."

As he spoke, he sniffed the air that was not yet either pleasant or pungent.

"Well, why are you silent?" he asked. "Say something nice. Sing a song. Well, I was also a boy once, and mischievous like you. I also had a teacher. Ha! ha!"

That Mazeppa had once been a mischievous boy and had had a teacher we could not believe. It was curious. Mazeppa playful? We exchanged glances, and giggled softly. We tried to imagine Mazeppa playful and having a teacher. And did his teacher also----? We were afraid to think of such a thing. But Elya stopped to ask a question:

"'_Rebbe_,' did your teacher also flog you as you flog us?"

"What? And what sort of floggings? Ha! ha!"

We looked at the teacher and at each other. We understood one another. We laughed with him, until we were far from the town, in the broad fields, close to the forest.

* * *

The fields were beautiful--a Garden of Eden. Green, fragrant grass, white boughs, yellow flowers, green flies, and above us the blue sky that stretched away endlessly. Facing us was the forest in holiday attire. In the trees the birds hopped, twittering, from branch to branch. They were welcoming us on the dear day of "_L'ag Beomer_." We sought shelter from the burning rays of the sun under a thick tree. We sat down on the ground in a row, the "_Rebbe_" in the middle.

He was worn out. He threw himself on the ground, full-length, his face upwards. His eyes were closing. He could hardly manage to speak.

"You are dear, golden children.... Jewish children.... Saints.... I love you, and you love me.... Oh yes, you l-love me?"

"Like a pain in the eyes," replied Elya.

"Well, I know you l-love me," went on the teacher.

"May the Lord love you as we do," said Elya.

We were frightened, and whispered to Elya:

"The Lord be with you!"

"Fools!" he said with a laugh. "What are you afraid of? Don't you see he is drunk?"

"What?" queried the teacher, one of whose eyes was already closed. "What are you saying? Saints? Of course.... The guardian of Israel. Hal! Hal! Hal! Rrrssss!"

And our teacher fell fast asleep. The snores burst from his nose like the blasts from a ram's horn, sounding far into the forest. We sat around him, and our hearts grew heavy.

Is this our teacher? Is this he whose glances we fear? Is this Mazeppa?

* * *

"Children," said Elya to us, "why are we sitting like lumps of stone? Let us think of a punishment for Mazeppa."

A great fear fell upon us.

"Fools, what are you afraid of?" he went on. "He is now like a dead body, a corpse."

We trembled still more. Elya went on:

"Now we may do with him what we like. He flogged us the whole winter, as if we were sheep. Let us take revenge of him this once, at least."

"What would you do to him?"

"Nothing. I will only frighten him."

"How will you frighten him?"

"You shall soon see." And he got up from the ground. He went over to the teacher, took off his leather strap and said to us:

"See, we will fasten him to the tree with his own belt in such a way that he will not be able to free himself. Then one of us will go over to him and shout in his ear: "'_Rebbe_,' murderers!"

"What will happen?"

"Nothing. We will run away, and he will shout, 'Hear, O Israel!'"

"How long will he shout?"

"Until he gets used to it."

Without another word, Elya tied the "_Rebbe_" to the tree by the hands. We stood looking on, and a shudder passed over our bodies.

Is this our teacher? Is this he whose glances we fear? Is this Mazeppa?

"Why do you stand there like clay images?" said Elya to us. "The Lord has performed a miracle. Mazeppa has fallen into our hands. Let us dance for joy."

We took hands and danced around the sleeping Mazeppa like savages. We danced and leaped and sang like lunatics.

We stopped. Elya bent over the sleeping teacher and shouted into his ear in a voice to waken the dead:

"Help, '_Rebbe_'! Murderers! Murderers! Murderers!"

* * *

We flew off together, like arrows from bows. We were afraid to stop a moment. We were even afraid to look around us. A great dread fell upon us, even upon Elya, although he never ceased from shouting at us:

"Donkeys, fools, animals! Why do you run?"

"Why do you run?"

"When you run I run too."

We got into the town full of excitement, and still shouting:

"Murderers! Murderers!"

When the people saw us running, they ran after us. Seeing them running another crowd ran after them.

"Why are you running?"

"How are we to know? Others run, and we run too."

After some time, one of our boys stopped. And seeing him, we also stopped, but still shouted:

"Murderers! Murderers! Murderers!"

"Where? Where? Where?"

"There, in the black forest, murderers beset us. They bound our teacher to a tree, and God knows if he is still alive."

* * *

If you envy us because we are free, because we do not go to "_Cheder_" (the "_Rebbe_" is lying ill), it is for nothing--for nothing. No one knows whom the shoe pinches--no one. No one knows who the real murderers are. We rarely see one another. When we meet, the first words are: "How is the teacher?" (He is no more Mazeppa.) And when we pray, we ask God to save the teacher. We weep in silence: "Oh, Father of the Universe! Father of the Universe!" And Elya? Don't ask about him. May the devil take him--that same Elya!

* * *

EPILOGUE

When the "_Rebbe_" recovered (he was ill six weeks, in the height of fever, and babbled constantly of murderers) and we went back to "_Cheder_," we hardly recognized him, so greatly had he changed. What had become of his lion's roar? He had put away his strap, and there was no more "Lie down," and no more Mazeppa. On his face there was to be seen a gentle melancholy. A feeling of regret stole into our hearts. And Mazeppa suddenly grew dear to us, dear to our souls. Oh, if he had only scolded us! But it was as if nothing had happened. Suddenly, he stopped us in the middle of the lesson, and asked us to tell him again the story of that "_L'ag Beomer_" day, and of the murderers in the forest. We did not hesitate, but told him again and again the story we knew off by heart--how murderers had come upon us in the forest, how they fell upon him, tied him to the tree, and were going to kill him with a knife, and how we rushed excitedly into the town, and by our shouting and clamours saved him.

The "_Rebbe_" listened to us with closed eyes. Then he sighed, and asked us suddenly:

"Are you quite sure they were murderers?"

"What else were they?"

"Perhaps bandits?"

And the teacher's eyes sought the distance. And we imagined that a curiously cunning smile was hovering around his thick lips.

Three Little Heads

If my pen were an artist's brush, or at the very least a photographic camera, I would create for you, my friend, a picture, for a present in honour of "_Shevuous_," of a rare group of three pretty little heads, of three poor naked, barefoot Jewish children. All three little heads are black, and have curly hair. The eyes are big and shiny and burning. They gaze out in wonder, and seem to be always asking of the world the one question: Wherefore? You look at them, and marvel at them, and feel guilty towards them, just as if you were really responsible for them--for the existence of three little superfluous mortals in the world.

The three pretty little heads are of two brothers and a little sister, Abramtzig, Moshetzig, and Dvairke. They were brought up by their father in the true Russian style, petted and spoiled. Their father was Peisa the box-maker. And if he had not been afraid of his wife, Pessa, and if he had not been such a terribly poor man, he would have changed his Jewish name of Peisa into the Russian name of Petya. But, since he was a little afraid of his wife, Pessa, and since he was extremely poor--may it remain far from us!--he kept to his own name of Peisa the box-maker, until the good time comes, when everything will be different, as Bebel says, as Karl Marx says, and as all the good and wise people say--when everything, everything will be different. But until the good and happy time comes, one must get up at the dawn of day, and work far into the night, cutting out pieces of cardboard and pasting boxes and covers of books. Peisa the box-maker stands at his work all day long. He sings as he works, old and new songs, Jewish and non-Jewish, mostly gay-sorrowful songs, in a gay-sorrowful voice.

"Will you ever give up singing those Gentile songs? Such a man! And how he loves the Gentiles. Since we have come to this big town, he has almost become a Gentile."

All three children, Abramtzig, Moshetzig, and Dvairke, were born and brought up in the same place--between the wall and the stove. They always saw before them the same people and the same things: the gay father who cut cardboards, pasted boxes, and sang songs, and the careworn, hollow-cheeked mother who cooked and baked, and rushed about, and was never finished her work. They were always at work, both of them--the mother at the stove, and the father at the cardboards. What were all the boxes for? Who wanted so many boxes? Is the whole world full of boxes? That was what the three little heads wanted to know. And they waited until their father had a great pile of boxes ready, when he would take them on his head and in his arms--thousands of them--to the market. He came back without the boxes, but with money for the mother, and with cakes and buns for the children. He was a good father--such a good father. He was gold. The mother was also gold, but she was cross. One got a smack from her sometimes, a dig in the ribs, or a twist of an ear. She does not like to have the house untidy. She does not allow the children to play "fathers and mothers." She forbids Abramtzig to pick up the pieces of cardboard that have fallen to the floor, and Moshetzig to steal the paste from his father, and Dvairke to make bread of sand and water. The mother expects her children to sit still and keep quiet. It seems she does not know that young heads will think, and young souls are eager and restless. They want to go. Where? Out of doors, to the light. To the window--to the window.

* * *

There was only one window, and all three heads were stuck against it. What did they see out of it? A wall. A high, big, grey, wet wall. It was always and ever wet, even in summer. Does the sun ever come here? Surely the sun comes here sometimes, that is to say, not the sun itself, but its reflection. Then there is a holiday. The three beautiful heads press against the little window. They look upwards, very high, and see a narrow blue stripe, like a long blue ribbon.

"Do you see, children?" says Abramtzig. He knows. He goes to "_Cheder_." He is learning "_Kometz Aleph_." The "_Cheder_" is not far away, in the next house, that is to say, in the next room. Ah, what stories Abramtzig tells about the "_Cheder_"! He tells how he saw with his own eyes--may he see all that is good!--a big building, with windows from top to bottom. Abramtzig swears that he saw--may he see all that is good!--a chimney--a high chimney from which there came out smoke. Abramtzig tells that he saw with his own eyes--may he see all that is good!--a machine that sewed without hands. Abramtzig tells that he saw with his own eyes--may he see all that is good!--a car that went along without horses. And many more wonderful things Abramtzig tells from the "_Cheder_." And he swears, just as his mother swears--that he may see all that is good. And Moshetzig and Dvairke listen to him and sigh. They envy Abramtzig because he knows everything--everything.

For instance, Abramtzig knows that a tree grows. It is true he never saw a tree growing. There are no trees in the street--none. But he knows--he heard it at "_Cheder_"--that fruit grows on a tree, for which reason one makes the blessing--"Who hast created the fruit of the tree." Abramtzig knows--what does he not know?--that potatoes and cucumbers and onions and garlic grow on the ground. And that's why one says the blessing over them--"Who hast created the fruit of the ground." Abramtzig knows everything. Only he does not know how and by what means things grow, because, like the other children, he never saw them. There is no field in their street, no garden, no tree, no grass--nothing--nothing. There are big buildings in their street, grey walls and high chimneys that belch out smoke. Each building has a lot of windows, thousands and thousands of windows, and machines that go without hands. And in the streets there are cars that go without horses. And beyond these, nothing--nothing.

Even a little bird is seldom seen here. Sometimes an odd sparrow strays in--grey as the grey walls. He picks, picks at the stones. He spreads out his wings and flies away. Fowls? The children sometimes see the quarter of one with a long, pale leg. How many legs has a fowl? "Four, just like a horse," explains Abramtzig. And surely he knows everything. Sometimes their mother brings home from the market a little head with glassy eyes that are covered with a white film. "It's dead," says Abramtzig, and all three children look at each other out of great black eyes; and they sigh.

Born and brought up in the big city, in the huge building, in the congestion, loneliness and poverty, not one of the three children ever saw a living creature, neither a fowl, nor a cow, nor any other animal, excepting the cat. They have a cat of their own--a big, live cat, as grey as the high damp grey wall. The cat is their only play-toy. They play with it for hours on end. They put a shawl on her, call her "the wedding guest," and laugh and laugh without an end. When their mother sees them, she presents them--one with a smack, a second with a dig in the ribs, and the third with a twist of the ear. The children go off to their hiding-place behind the stove. The eldest, Abramtzig, tells a story, and the other two, Moshetzig and Dvairke, listen to him. He says their mother is right. They ought not to play with the cat, because a cat is a wicked animal. Abramtzig knows everything. There is nothing in the world that he does not know.

* * *

Abramtzig knows everything. He knows there is a land far away called America. In America they have a lot of relatives and friends. In that same America the Jews are well-off and happy--may no evil eye rest on them! Next year, if God wills it, they will go off to America--when they get tickets. Without tickets no one can go to America, because there is a sea. And on the sea there is a storm that shakes one to the very soul. Abramtzig knows everything.

He even knows what goes on in the other world. For instance, he knows that in the other world there is a Garden of Eden, for Jews, of course. In the Garden of Eden there are trees with the finest fruits, and rivers of oil. Diamonds and rubies are to be found there in the streets. Stoop down and pick them up and fill your pockets. And there good Jews study the Holy Law day and night, and enjoy the holiness.

That is what Abramtzig tells. And Moshetzig's and Dvairke's eyes are burning. They envy their brother because he knows everything. He knows everything, even to what goes on in the heavens. Abramtzig swears that twice a year, on the nights of "_Hashono Rabo_" and "_Shevuous_," the sky opens. It is true he himself never saw the sky opening, because there is no sky near them. But his comrades saw it. They swore--may they see all that is good!--And they would not swear to a lie. How can one swear to a lie? It's a pity they have no sky in their street, only a long, narrow blue stripe, like a long, narrow blue ribbon. What can one see in such a tiny scrap of sky, beyond a few stars and the reflection of the moon? In order to prove to his little sister and brother that the sky opens, Abramtzig goes over to his mother, and pulls her by the skirt.

"Mother, is it true that in the very middle of '_Shevuous_' night the sky opens?"

"I will open your head for you."

When he got no satisfaction from his mother, Abramtzig waited for his father, who had gone off to the market with a treasure of boxes.

"Children, guess what present father will bring us from the market," said Abramtzig. And the children tried to guess what their father would bring them from the market. They counted on their fingers everything that was in the market--everything that an eye could see, and a heart desire--cakes and buns and sweets. But no one guessed aright. And I am afraid you will not guess aright either. Peisa the box-maker brought from the market this time neither cakes, nor buns nor sweets. He brought the children grass--curious, long, sweet-smelling grass.

And all three children gathered around their father.

"Father, what is it--that?"

"It is grass."

"What is grass?"

"It is a bunch of greens for '_Shevuous_.' Jews need grass for '_Shevuous_.'"

"Where do they get it, father?"

"Where do they get it? H'm! They buy it. They buy it in the market," said their father. And he strewed the green, sweet-smelling grass over the freshly-swept floor. And he was delighted; it was green and smelt sweet. He said to the mother gaily, as is his way:

"Pessa, good '_Yom-tov_' to you!"

"Good luck! A new thing! The young devils will now have something to make a mess with," replied the mother, crossly, as is her way. And she gave one of the children a smack, the second a dig in the ribs, and the third a twist of the ear. She is never satisfied, always cross, and always sour, exactly the opposite of father.

The three pretty heads looked at the mother, and at the father, and at one another. The moment their parents turned away, they threw themselves on the floor, and put their faces to the sweet-smelling grass. They kissed it--the green grass that Jews need for "_Shevuous_" and which is sold at the market.

Everything is to be found at the market, even greens. The father buys everything. Jews want everything, even greens--even greens.

Greens for "Shevuous"

On the eve of "_Shevuous_," I induced my mother--peace be unto her!--to let me go off outside the town, by myself, to gather greens for the Festival.

And my mother let me go off alone to gather the greens for the Festival. May she have a bright Paradise for that!

A real pleasure is a pleasure that one enjoys by one's self, without a companion, and without a single argument. I was alone, free as a bird, in the big cultivated field. Above me was the whole of the blue cap called "the sky." For me alone shone the beautiful queen of the day, the sun. For my sake there came together, here in the big field, all the singers and warblers and dancers. For my sake there was spread before me the row of tall sunflowers, and the delicate growths were scattered all over the field by a benevolent nature. No one bothered me. No one prevented me from doing what I liked. No one saw me but God. And I could do what I liked. If I liked I might sing. If I liked I might shout and scream at the top of my voice. If I liked I might make a horn with my hands, and blow out a melody. If I liked I might roll on the green grass just as I was, curling myself up like a hedgehog. Who was there to give me orders? And whom would I pay heed to? I was free--I was free.

The day was so warm, the sun so beautiful, the sky so clear, the field so green, the grass so fresh, my heart so gay, and my soul so joyful that I forgot completely I was a stranger in the field and had merely come out to cut green boughs for "_Shevuous_." I imagined I was a prince, and the whole field that my eyes rested on, and everything in the field, and even the blue sky above it--all were mine. I owned everything, and could do what I liked with it--I, and no one else. And like an overlord who had complete control of everything, I longed to show my power, my strength, my authority--all that I could and would do.

* * *

First of all I was displeased with the tall giants with the yellow hats--the sunflowers. Suddenly they appeared to me as my enemies. And all the other plants with and without stalks, the beans and beanstalks, were enemies too. They were the Philistines that had settled on my ground. Who had sent for them? And those thick green plants lying on the ground, with huge green heads--the cabbages, what are they doing here? They will only get drunk and bring a misfortune upon me. Let them go into the earth. I do not want them. Angry thoughts and fierce instincts awoke within me. A curious feeling of vengefulness took possession of me. I began to avenge myself of my enemies. And what a vengeance it was!

I had with me all the tools I would need for cutting the green boughs for the Festival--pocket-knife with two blades, and a sword--a wooden sword, but a sharp one.

This sword had remained with me after "_L'ag Beomer_." And although I had carried it with me when I had gone with my comrades to do battle outside the town, yet I could swear to you, though you may believe me without an oath, that the sword had not spilled one drop of blood. It was one of those weapons that are carried about in times of peace. There was not a sign of war. It was quiet and peaceful around and about. I carried the sword because I wanted to. For the sake of peace, one must have in readiness swords and guns and rifles and cannon, horses and soldiers. May they never be needed for ill, as my mother used to say when she was making preserves.

* * *

It is the same all the world over. In a war, one aims first at the leaders, the officers. It is better still if one can hit the general. After that the soldiers fall like chaff, in any event. Therefore you will not be surprised to hear that, first of all, I fell upon Goliath the Philistine. I gave him a good blow on the head with my sword, and a few good blows from the back. And the wicked one was stretched at my feet, full length. After that I knocked over a good many more wicked ones. I pulled the stalks out of the ground, and threw them to the devil. The short, fat green enemies I attacked in a different manner. Wherever I could, I took the green heads off. The others I trampled down with my feet. I made a heap of ashes of them.