Part 11

"Keep it dark, little friend, wait till after Passover, then we shall manage it!"

IV

I dreamt all night long. I dreamt of a desert, a temple, a high priest, and a tall mountain. I climb the mountain. Diamonds and pearls grow on the trees, and my comrades sit on the boughs, and shake the jewels down onto the ground, whole showers of them, and I stand and gather them, and stuff them into my pockets, and, strange to say, however many I stuff in, there is still room! I stuff and stuff, and still there is room! I put my hand into my pocket, and draw out--not pearls and brilliants, but fruits of all kinds--apples, pears, oranges, olives, dates, nuts, and figs. This makes me very unhappy, and I toss from side to side. Then I dream of the temple, I hear the priests chant, and the Levites sing, and the organ play. I want to go inside and I cannot--Rikel the maid has hold of me, and will not let me go. I beg of her and scream and cry, and again I am very unhappy, and toss from side to side. I wake--and see my father and mother standing there, half dressed, both pale, my father hanging his head, and my mother wringing her hands, and with her soft eyes full of tears. I feel at once that something has gone very wrong, very wrong indeed, but my childish head is incapable of imagining the greatness of the disaster.

The fact is this: our guest from beyond the desert and the seven seas has disappeared, and a lot of things have disappeared with him: all the silver wine-cups, all the silver spoons, knives, and forks; all my mother's ornaments, all the money that happened to be in the house, and also Rikel the maid!

A pang goes through my heart. Not on account of the silver cups, the silver spoons, knives, and forks that have vanished; not on account of mother's ornaments or of the money, still less on account of Rikel the maid, a good riddance! But because of the happy, happy land whose roads were strewn with brilliants, pearls, and diamonds; because of the temple with the priests, the Levites, and the organ; because of the altar and the sacrifices; because of all the other beautiful things that have been taken from me, taken, taken, taken!

I turn my face to the wall, and cry quietly to myself.

GYMNASIYE

A man's worst enemy, I tell you, will never do him the harm he does himself, especially when a woman interferes, that is, a wife. Whom do you think I have in mind when I say that? My own self! Look at me and think. What would you take me for? Just an ordinary Jew. It doesn't say on my nose whether I have money, or not, or whether I am very low indeed, does it?

It may be that I once _had_ money, and not only that--money in itself is nothing--but I can tell you, I earned a living, and that respectably and quietly, without worry and flurry, not like some people who like to live in a whirl.

No, my motto is, "More haste, less speed."

I traded quietly, went bankrupt a time or two quietly, and quietly went to work again. But there is a God in the world, and He blessed me with a wife--as she isn't here, we can speak openly--a wife like any other, that is, at first glance she isn't so bad--not at all! In person, (no evil eye!) twice my height; not an ugly woman, quite a beauty, you may say; an intelligent woman, quite a man--and that's the whole trouble! Oi, it isn't good when the wife is a man! The Almighty knew what He was about when, at the creation, he formed Adam first and then Eve. But what's the use of telling her that, when _she_ says, "If the Almighty created Adam first and then Eve, that's _His_ affair, but if he put more sense into my heel than into your head, no more am I to blame for that!"

"What is all this about?" say I.--"It's about that which should be first and foremost with you," says she.--"But I have to be the one to think of everything--even about sending the boy to the Gymnasiye!"--"Where," say I, "is it 'written' that my boy should go to the Gymnasiye? Can I not afford to have him taught Torah at home?"--"I've told you a hundred and fifty times," says she, "that you won't persuade me to go against the world! And the world," says she, "has decided that children should go to the Gymnasiye."--"In my opinion," say I, "the world is mad!"--"And you," says she, "are the only sane person in it? A pretty thing it would be," says she, "if the world were to follow you!"--"Every man," say I, "should decide on his own course."--"If my enemies," says she, "and my friends' enemies, had as little in pocket and bag, in box and chest, as you have in your head, the world would be a different place."--"Woe to the man," say I, "who needs to be advised by his wife!"--"And woe to the wife," says she, "who has that man to her husband!"--Now if you can argue with a woman who, when you say one thing, maintains the contrary, when you give her one word, treats you to a dozen, and who, if you bid her shut up, cries, or even, I beg of you, faints--well, I envy you, that's all! In short, up and down, this way and that way, she got the best of it--she, not I, because the fact is, when she wants a thing, it has to be!

Well, what next? Gymnasiye! The first thing was to prepare the boy for the elementary class in the Junior Preparatory. I must say, I did not see anything very alarming in that. It seemed to me that anyone of our Cheder boys, an Alef-Bes scholar, could tuck it all into his belt, especially a boy like mine, for whose equal you might search an empire, and not find him. I am a father, not of you be it said! but that boy has a memory that beats everything! To cut a long story short, he went up for examination and--did _not_ pass! You ask the reason? He only got a two in arithmetic; they said he was weak at calculation, in the science of mathematics. What do you think of that? He has a memory that beats everything! I tell you, you might search an empire for his like--and they come talking to me about mathematics! Well, he failed to pass, and it vexed me very much. If he _was_ to go up for examination, let him succeed. However, being a man and not a woman, I made up my mind to it--it's a misfortune, but a Jew is used to that. Only what was the use of talking to _her_ with that bee in her bonnet? Once for all, Gymnasiye! I reason with her. "Tell me," say I, "(may you be well!) what is the good of it? He's safe," say I, "from military service, being an only son, and as for Parnosseh, devil I need it for Parnosseh! What do I care if he _does_ become a trader like his father, a merchant like the rest of the Jews? If he is destined to become a rich man, a banker, I don't see that I'm to be pitied."

Thus do I reason with her as with the wall. "So much the better," says she, "if he has _not_ been entered for the Junior Preparatory."--"What now?" say I.

"Now," says she, "he can go direct to the Senior Preparatory."

Well, Senior Preparatory, there's nothing so terrible in that, for the boy has a head, I tell you! You might search an empire.... And what was the result? Well, what do you suppose? Another two instead of a five, not in mathematics this time--a fresh calamity! His spelling is not what it should be. That is, he can spell all right, but he gets a bit mixed with the two Russian e's. That is, he puts them in right enough, why shouldn't he? only not in their proper places. Well, there's a misfortune for you! I guess I won't find the way to Poltava fair if the child cannot put the e's where they belong! When they brought the good news, _she_ turned the town inside out; ran to the director, declared that the boy _could_ do it; to prove it, let him be had up again! They paid her as much attention as if she were last year's snow, put a two, and another sort of two, and a two with a dash! Call me nut-crackers, but there was a commotion. "Failed again!" say I to her. "And if so," say I, "what is to be done? Are we to commit suicide? A Jew," say I, "is used to that sort of thing," upon which she fired up and blazed away and stormed and scolded as only she can. But I let you off! He, poor child, was in a pitiable state. Talk of cruelty to animals! Just think: the other boys in little white buttons, and not he! I reason with him: "You little fool! What does it matter? Who ever heard of an examination at which everyone passed? Somebody must stay at home, mustn't they? Then why not you? There's really nothing to make such a fuss about." My wife, overhearing, goes off into a fresh fury, and falls upon me. "A fine comforter _you_ are," says she, "who asked you to console him with that sort of nonsense? You'd better see about getting him a proper teacher," says she, "a private teacher, a Russian, for grammar!"

You hear that? Now I must have two teachers for him--one teacher and a Rebbe are not enough. Up and down, this way and that way, she got the best of it, as usual.

What next? We engaged a second teacher, a Russian this time, not a Jew, preserve us, but a real Gentile, because grammar in the first class, let me tell you, is no trifle, no shredded horseradish! Gra-ma-ti-ke, indeed! The two e's! Well, I was telling about the teacher that God sent us for our sins. It's enough to make one blush to remember the way he treated us, as though we had been the mud under his feet. Laughed at us to our face, he did, devil take him, and the one and only thing he could teach him was: tshasnok, tshasnoka, tshasnoku, tshasnokom. If it hadn't been for _her_, I should have had him by the throat, and out into the street with his blessed grammar. But to _her_ it was all right and as it should be. Now the boy will know which e to put. If you'll believe me, they tormented him through that whole winter, for he was not to be had up for slaughter till about Pentecost. Pentecost over, he went up for examination, and this time he brought home no more two's, but a four and a five. There was great joy--we congratulate! we congratulate! Wait a bit, don't be in such a hurry with your congratulations! We don't know yet for certain whether he has got in or not. We shall not know till August. Why not till August? Why not before? Go and ask _them_. What is to be done? A Jew is used to that sort of thing.

August--and I gave a glance out of the corner of my eye. She was up and doing! From the director to the inspector, from the inspector to the director! "Why are you running from Shmunin to Bunin," say I, "like a poisoned mouse?"

"You asking why?" says she. "Aren't you a native of this place? You don't seem to know how it is nowadays with the Gymnasiyes and the percentages?" And what came of it? He did _not_ pass! You ask why? Because he hadn't two fives. If he had had two fives, then, they say, perhaps he would have got in. You hear--perhaps! How do you like that _perhaps_? Well, I'll let you off what I had to bear from her. As for him, the little boy, it was pitiful. Lay with his face in the cushion, and never stopped crying till we promised him another teacher. And we got him a student from the Gymnasiye itself, to prepare him for the second class, but after quite another fashion, because the second class is no joke. In the second, besides mathematics and grammar, they require geography, penmanship, and I couldn't for the life of me say what else. I should have thought a bit of the Maharsho was a more difficult thing than all their studies put together, and very likely had more sense in it, too. But what would you have? A Jew learns to put up with things.

In fine, there commenced a series of "lessons," of ourokki. We rose early--the ourokki! Prayers and breakfast over--the ourokki. A whole day--ourokki. One heard him late at night drumming it over and over: Nominative--dative--instrumental--vocative! It grated so on my ears! I could hardly bear it. Eat? Sleep? Not he! Taking a poor creature and tormenting it like that, all for nothing, I call it cruelty to animals! "The child," say I, "will be ill!" "Bite off your tongue," says she. I was nowhere, and he went up a second time to the slaughter, and brought home nothing but fives! And why not? I tell you, he has a head--there isn't his like! And such a boy for study as never was, always at it, day and night, and repeating to himself between whiles! That's all right then, is it? Was it all right? When it came to the point, and they hung out the names of all the children who were really entered, we looked--mine wasn't there! Then there was a screaming and a commotion. What a shame! And nothing but fives! _Now_ look at her, now see her go, see her run, see her do this and that! In short, she went and she ran and she did this and that and the other--until at last they begged her not to worry them any longer, that is, to tell you the truth, between ourselves, they turned her out, yes! And after they had turned her out, then it was she burst into the house, and showed for the first time, as it were, what she was worth. "Pray," said she, "what sort of a father are you? If you were a good father, an affectionate father, like other fathers, you would have found favor with the director, patronage, recommendations, this--that!" Like a woman, wasn't it? It's not enough, apparently, for me to have my head full of terms and seasons and fairs and notes and bills of exchange and "protests" and all the rest of it. "Do you want me," say I, "to take over your Gymnasiye and your classes, things I'm sick of already?" Do you suppose she listened to what I said? She? Listen? She just kept at it, she sawed and filed and gnawed away like a worm, day and night, day and night! "If your wife," says she, "_were_ a wife, and your child, a child--if I were only of _so_ much account in this house!"--"Well," say I, "what would happen?"--"You would lie," says she, "nine ells deep in the earth. I," says she, "would bury you three times a day, so that you should never rise again!"

How do you like that? Kind, wasn't it? That (how goes the saying?) was pouring a pailful of water over a husband for the sake of peace. Of course, you'll understand that I was not silent, either, because, after all, I'm no more than a man, and every man has his feelings. I assure you, you needn't envy me, and in the end _she_ carried the day, as usual.

Well, what next? I began currying favor, getting up an acquaintance, trying this and that; I had to lower myself in people's eyes and swallow slights, for every one asked questions, and they had every right to do so. "You, no evil eye, Reb Aaron," say they, "are a householder, and inherited a little something from your father. What good year is taking you about to places where a Jew had better not be seen?" Was I to go and tell them I had a wife (may she live one hundred and twenty years!) with this on the brain: Gymnasiye, Gymnasiye, and Gym-na-si-ye? I (much good may it do you!) am, as you see me, no more unlucky than most people, and with God's help I made my way, and got where I wanted, right up to the nobleman, into his cabinet, yes! And sat down with him there to talk it over. I thank Heaven, I can talk to any nobleman, I don't need to have my tongue loosened for me. "What can I do for you?" he asks, and bids me be seated. Say I, and whisper into his ear, "My lord," say I, "we," say I, "are not rich people, but we have," say I, "a boy, and he wishes to study, and I," say I, "wish it, too, but my wife wishes it very much!" Says he to me again, "What is it you want?" Say I to him, and edge a bit closer, "My dear lord," say I, "we," say I, "are not rich people, but we have," say I, "a small fortune, and one remarkably clever boy, who," say I, "wishes to study; and I," say I, "also wish it, but my wife wishes it _very much_!" and I squeeze that "very much" so that he may understand. But he's a Gentile and slow-witted, and he doesn't twig, and this time he asks angrily, "Then, whatever is it you want?!" I quietly put my hand into my pocket and quietly take it out again, and I say quietly: "Pardon me, we," say I, "are not rich people, but we have a little," say I, "fortune, and one remarkably clever boy, who," say I, "wishes to study; and I," say I, "wish it also, but my wife," say I, "wishes it very much indeed!" and I take and press into his hand----and this time, yes! he understood, and went and got a note-book, and asked my name and my son's name, and which class I wanted him entered for.

"Oho, lies the wind that way?" think I to myself, and I give him to understand that I am called Katz, Aaron Katz, and my son, Moisheh, Moshke we call him, and I want to get him into the third class. Says he to me, if I am Katz, and my son is Moisheh, Moshke we call him, and he wants to get into class three, I am to bring him in January, and he will certainly be passed. You hear and understand? Quite another thing! Apparently the horse trots as we shoe him. The worst is having to wait. But what is to be done? When they say, Wait! one waits. A Jew is used to waiting.

January--a fresh commotion, a scampering to and fro. To-morrow there will be a consultation. The director and the inspector and all the teachers of the Gymnasiye will come together, and it's only after the consultation that we shall know if he is entered or not. The time for

## action has come, and my wife is anywhere but at home. No hot meals, no

samovar, no nothing! She is in the Gymnasiye, that is, not _in_ the Gymnasiye, but _at_ it, walking round and round it in the frost, from first thing in the morning, waiting for them to begin coming away from the consultation. The frost bites, there is a tearing east wind, and she paces round and round the building, and waits. Once a woman, always a woman! It seemed to me, that when people have made a promise, it is surely sacred, especially--you understand? But who would reason with a woman? Well, she waited one hour, she waited two, waited three, waited four; the children were all home long ago, and she waited on. She waited (much good may it do you!) till she got what she was waiting for. A door opens, and out comes one of the teachers. She springs and seizes hold on him. Does he know the result of the consultation? Why, says he, should he not? They have passed altogether twenty-five children, twenty-three Christian and two Jewish. Says she, "Who are they?" Says he, "One a Shefselsohn and one a Katz." At the name Katz, my wife shoots home like an arrow from the bow, and bursts into the room in triumph: "Good news! good news! Passed, passed!" and there are tears in her eyes. Of course, I am pleased, too, but I don't feel called upon to go dancing, being a man and not a woman. "It's evidently not much _you_ care?" says she to me. "What makes you think that?" say I.--"This," says she, "you sit there cold as a stone! If you knew how impatient the child is, you would have taken him long ago to the tailor's, and ordered his little uniform," says she, "and a cap and a satchel," says she, "and made a little banquet for our friends."--"Why a banquet, all of a sudden?" say I. "Is there a Bar-Mitzveh? Is there an engagement?" I say all this quite quietly, for, after all, I am a man, not a woman. She grew so angry that she stopped talking. And when a woman stops talking, it's a thousand times worse than when she scolds, because so long as she is scolding at least you hear the sound of the human voice. Otherwise it's talk to the wall! To put it briefly, she got her way--she, not I--as usual.