She also became silent; then she laid her hand on me, and said with
her usual merriment:
"They will not beat you."
"How do you know?"
"The sergeant is a good friend of ours."
"But if your mother should complain about me?"
"Then I shall go in your stead, if they should decide to switch
you."
She laughed heartily at her own suggestion. Her laughter made me
laugh too; we both laughed, and laughed without knowing why. And in
a mood completely changed I returned to the house. After that I
felt very near to the girl.
Well, time passed, months and years: I lost track of them. But I do
remember that the time had come when I knew enough Russian to make
myself understood, and fit for any kind of work about the house and
in the field, and could give my patron entire satisfaction.
One day, I remember, I tried very hard to have my work well and
promptly done, so as to earn, for once, the good-will of Anna
herself. I felt a longing for the friendly smile of a mother. But
Anna kept going in and out, and did not pay the least attention to
me. I was sitting on the bench outside the house alone. My dog was
lying at my feet, looking at me very intently. His eyes seemed to
be full of tears. And let me tell you by the way, his lot in the
house was entirely different from mine. When he first entered
Peter's courtyard, the dogs met him with howls. He tried to find
shelter in the kitchen, but was chased out with sticks. "Where did
that tramp come from?" wondered the people. Then my Barker saw that
he could expect no charity from the people, and he put his trust in
his own teeth. He stood up bravely, and fought all the dogs of the
household till blood flowed. Then only did the masters of the house
appreciate his doggish virtues and accomplishments. They befriended
him, and allowed him his rations. So my Barker saved his skin. Yet
his lot did not seem to please him. He recognized, by some peculiar
dog-sense, that I, his fellow in exile, was unhappy myself and sorry
for him too. He felt that somehow his own days of prosperity would
not last long. Whenever I sat about lonely and moping, he would
stretch himself at my feet, and look straight into my eyes, with an
expression of earnestness and wonderment, as if he wanted to ask me,
How is that, why don't you fight for your rights the way I did?
Presently Anna came out, shot a glance at me, and said:
"Well, now, there is the lazy Zhid sitting idle, and I have to work
and prepare meals for him, so that he may find everything ready!" I
got up, and began to look around for something to do.
"Go, catch the little pig and bring it over here," ordered Anna.
The day before I had overheard her say that it was time to kill the
little pig. I did not relish the job by any means. I felt sorry
for the porkling: mere pig though it was, it had after all grown up
in our house. And it was hard on me to have a hand in the affair.
But one angry word of Anna's set me a-going. In a moment my hand
was on the animal, which trusted me and believed in me implicitly.
Then Anna handed me a rope to bind it. I did as she wanted; the pig
started to squeal and squeak horribly. To me it sounded like "Zhid,
Zhid, is that the way to treat _me?"_
Then Anna handed me a knife, and showed me where to make the cut.
. . . The pig began to bleed fearfully, gurgling, and choking with
his own blood. Forthwith Anna ordered wood to be brought, a fire to
be kindled, and the pig to be put upon it. I did all as I had been
ordered. My dog was watching me intently, greatly bewildered; the
pig groaned and groaned; the flames licked his body and embraced
it--and my dog was barking and yelping away up into the sky.
That night I dreamt that my brother the Shohet and I were on trial
in Heaven before the seat of judgment, with various animals
complaining against us. Only clean fowl, such as geese, pigeons,
and the like were complaining against my brother, and they all
pleaded in clear, good Hebrew, saying, "Was it for your own
consumption that you killed us all?" . . . . But it was only the
pig that complained against me, and it pleaded in screeches and
grunts that nobody could understand. . . .
The next morning Anna got up early, and made me stand before the
ikon of the Virgin and recite a certain prayer. At dinner she
seated me alongside of Peter, gave me some roast pork, and looked
sharply at me. I guess, while making all those preparations, Anna
had only one thing in mind: to put Peter up against me while he was
drunk. I took fright, and began to chew away at the pork. But then
the screeches and the grunts of the pig rang in my ears, and I
thought they came right from within my insides; I wondered how they
could listen to all that, and yet eat the pork in perfect comfort.
Suddenly a lump in my throat began to choke me. . . . Nausea,
retching . . . . and something happened to me: I vomited everything
out, right on the table. Everybody jumped away from the table in
disgust and anger. I met Marusya's eye, and was ashamed to look
into it. Anna got up, boiling with rage, and took me by the ear,
and pulled me outside: "Get out of here, you dirty Zhid; and don't
you dare enter my house any more!"
Well, she chased me out. Peter and Marusya kept quiet. Thoroughly
miserable, I dropped down on the bench behind the house; my dog
stretched himself out on the ground at my feet and looked into my
eyes. Then I began to talk to my fellow in misfortune: "Do you
hear, doggie, we have been chased out. . . . What does that mean?
did we come here of our own free will? It is by force that we were
brought here; so what sense is there in chasing us out?"
And I thought my dog understood me; a sound came from the depths of
his throat, and died away there. Then a thought began to haunt me:
Maybe it is really time to run away. If they run after me and
overtake me, I shall simply say that my patron chased me out of his
house. And the thought, Home! to your parents! took possession of
me, and tortured me ceaselessly. Said I to myself: "If they chase
me out, I am certainly free!" But then, just see the power of the
birch-rod: I knew well that much time would pass before my patron
would notice my absence; and before the sergeant was informed, and
people were dispatched to pursue me, more time would pass. Then I
should be far away from the place. By that time I was quite
hardened; I was not afraid to hide in the woods; devils and evil
spirits I did not fear any more. I had learned well enough that no
devil will ever trouble a man as much as one human being can trouble
another. And yet, when I remembered the swish of the rods over the
naked flesh, the spurting blood, the loose flaps of skin, and the
futile outcries, I was paralyzed with fear. No, it was not really
fear: it was a sort of submissive adoration. Had a birch-rod been
lying near me, I should have kissed it with fear and respect. It is
hard for me to explain to you. You youngsters are not capable of
understanding.
And as I was sitting there, full of gloomy thoughts, I did not
notice that the sun had set, and night had come. It got so dark
that I could not see my dog lying at my feet. Suddenly I felt
something touch me and pass lightly over my hair. I thought it was
an ant or a night moth, and I raised my hand to chase it away. Then
it changed its place, and I felt it at the nape of my neck. I tried
to catch the thing that was making my neck itch, and caught a hand,
soft and warm. I shuddered and started back: before me was Marusya,
bending over me. I wanted to get up, but she put her hands on me
heavily, sat down at my side, all the while pressing my hand between
hers.
"Why are you sitting here?" she asked.
"Didn't your mother chase me out?"
"That is nothing. Don't you know her temper? That is her way."
"She keeps nagging at me all the time, and calls me nothing but
Zhid, Zhid."
"And what of it? Aren't you a Jew? Should I feel insulted if some
one were to call me Christian?!"
I had nothing to say. And it dawned upon me at that moment that I
was really insulting myself by objecting to being called Zhid.
True, Anna meant to jeer at me and insult me; but did it depend on
her alone?
"And what are you going to do now?" asked Marusya.
"I want to run away."
"Without telling me?"
She peered into my face, and I felt as if two streams of warmth had
emptied themselves into me. My eyes had become somewhat accustomed
to the darkness, and I could discern every movement of her body. A
delicate smile was playing around her mouth, and my feeling of
despondency was giving way before it. I felt that after all I had a
friend in the house, a good, loving, and beautiful friend.
I shuddered and broke out into tears. Then she began to play
caressingly with my hair and pat me on my neck and face. She did
well to let me have my cry out. By and by I felt relieved. She
wanted to withdraw her hand, but then I held it fast.
"So you were going to run away, and that without my knowledge?" said
she.
"No," I said with a deep sigh.
"And if I should ever call you Zhid, will you be angry with me?"
"No," answered I, thoroughly vanquished.
"Well, then you are a dear boy, and I like you!"
I felt the touch of soft, warm lips on my neck . . . . I closed my
eyes, that the dark night sky and the shining stars might not see
me. And when I recognized what had happened to me, I felt ashamed.
Marusya disappeared, and soon returned with a bag in her hand.
"Papa said you should go out with the horses for the night. Here is
some food in the bag. Take it and go out."
This she shot out quickly, and in a tone of authority, as befits the
daughter of the patron, and as if what had passed between us were
nothing but a dream.
"Going out for the night" was a peculiar custom. You can have no
idea of what it meant. The logic of it was this: The cattle that
had been worked the whole of the day were, to be sure, earning their
fodder for the day. And the owners felt under obligation and
necessity to feed them during their working hours. But how about
the night, when the animals rested, and did no work? Where should
the fodder for the night time come from? So the custom developed of
letting the animals browse in some neighbor's meadow during the
night. That was cheaper. But that neighbor also had cattle; he,
too, had horses that did not earn their feed during the night. Do
you know what the neighbor did? He did the same. He, too, sent out
his horses stealthily, into his neighbor's meadow. So, in the long
run, every one had his cattle browse secretly in some neighbor's
meadow, and all were happy. But when the trespassing shepherd
happened to be caught poaching, he got a whipping. And yet,
strictly speaking, it was not stealing; it was a mere usage. The
land-owners seemed to have agreed beforehand: "If you happen to
catch my shepherd poaching, you may whip him, provided you do not
object if I give a whipping to your shepherd on a similar occasion."
In spite of all this I rather liked "going out for the night." I
loved those nights in the open field. When the moon gave but little
light, and one could see but a few steps away, I forgot my immediate
surroundings, and my imagination was free! I would peer into the
open sky, would bring before my mind's eye father and mother and all
who were dear to me, and would feel near to them; for the sky that
spread over all of us was the very same. I could imagine my father
celebrating the new moon with a prayer. I could imagine my mother
watching for the same star I was looking at; I could imagine that we
were really looking at the same spot. . . . Then tears would come
into my eyes. My mother, I would think, was crying, too. And the
night listened to me, and the stars listened to me. . . . The
crickets chirped, and if I chose, I could believe they shared my
sorrows with me, and were sighing over my fate. . . .
Idle fancy, nonsense, you think; but when one has nothing real to
look up to, dreams are very sweet. A light breeze would steal over
me, refresh me, and bring me new hope; and I trusted I should not be
a prisoner always, the day of my release would surely come. At such
happy moments I would fall asleep gazing at the stars. And if the
sudden whip of the landowner did not put an end to my dreams, I
would dream away, and see things no language could describe.
Well, I took the bag and led the horses out into the open field.
But that time, out of sheer spite or for some other reason, I did
not go into our neighbor's field, but descended right into the
valley that my patron had left lying fallow, and stretched myself
upon the soft grass of the hospitable turf.
That night I longed to bring father and mother before my mind's eye
and have an imaginary talk with them. But I did not succeed.
Instead, the figure of the old rabbi hovered before my eyes. It
seemed to me that he was looking at me angrily, and telling me the
story of Joseph the righteous: how he lived in the house of
Potiphar, and ate nothing but vegetables.
But when I reminded myself of Joseph the righteous, I felt my heart
sink at the thought of what Marusya had done to me. I could not
deny that the good looks of the Gentile girl were endearing her to
me, that out of her hands I would eat pork ten times a day, and that
in fact I myself was trying to put up a defense of her. I took all
the responsibility on myself. I was ready to believe that she did
not seek my company, but that it was I who called her to myself. I
was a sinner in my own estimation, and I could not even cry. Then
it seemed to me that the sky was much darker than usual, and the
stars did not shine at all. With such thought in my mind I fell
asleep.
I awoke at the sound of voices. Some one is crying, I thought. The
sound seemed near enough. It rose and rose and filled the valley.
It made me shudder. The soft, plaintive chant swelled and grew
louder, as if addressed to me. It gripped my very heart. I stood
up all in a shiver, and started to walk in the direction of the
sound. But around me, up and down, on every side, was total
darkness. The moon had set long ago. I moved away only a few steps
from the horses, and could not make them out any more. By and by I
could distinguish some words, and I recognized the heart-gripping
chant of a Hebrew Psalm. . . .
"For the Lord knoweth the path of the righteous,
And the path of the wicked shall perish." . . .
My fears vanished, and gave place to a feeling of surprise.
"Where can that chanting come from," thought I, "and here in exile,
too?"
Then I began to doubt it all, thinking it was but a dream.
"Why do the nations rage,
And the peoples imagine a vain thing?"
The voices were drawing me forward irresistibly, and I decided to
join the chorus, come what might. And I continued the Psalm in a
loud voice:
"The kings of the earth stood up . . . ."
The chanting ceased; I heard steps approaching me.
"Who is there?" asked a voice in Yiddish.
"It is I," answered I, "and who are you?"
"It is we!" shouted many voices in chorus.
"Cantonists?"
"A Cantonist, too?"
Thus exchanging questions, we met. They turned out to be three
Cantonists, who lived in a village at some distance from Peter's
house. I had never met them before. They, too, had "gone out for
the night," and we had happened to use the same valley.
I love to mention their names. The oldest of them was Jacob, whom
you remember from the punishment he underwent. The others were
Simeon and Reuben. But there in the valley they introduced
themselves to me with the names they were called by at home: Yekil,
Shimele, and Ruvek. I found out later that the valley was their
meeting-place. It was a sort of Klaus, "Rabbi Yekil's Klaus" the
boys called it. Yekil was a boy of about fifteen, who was
well-equipped with knowledge of the Torah when he was taken away
from his home.
In the long years of our exile we had forgotten the Jewish calendar
completely. But Yekil prided himself on being able to distinguish
the days "by their color and smell," especially Fridays; and his
friends confirmed his statements. He used to boast that he could
keep track of every day of the year, and never miss a single day of
the Jewish holidays. Every Jewish holiday they met in the valley on
Peter's estate. According to Yekil's calendar, the eve of the Fast
of the Ninth of Av fell on that very day. That is why they had
gathered in the valley that night. "If so," said I, "what is the
use of reciting that Psalm? Were it not more proper to recite
Lamentations?"
"We do not know Lamentations by heart," explained Yekil, with the
authority of a rabbi, "but we do know some Psalms, and these we
recite on every holiday. For, at bottom, are mere words the main
thing? Your real prayer is not what you say with your lips, but
what you feel with the whole of your heart. As long as the words
are in the holy tongue, it all depends on the feelings you wish to
put into them. As my father, may he rest in peace, used to instruct
me, the second Psalm is the same as the festival hymn, 'Thou hast
chosen us from among the nations,' if you feel that way; or it may
be the same as Lamentations. It all depends on the feelings in our
heart, and on the meaning we wish to put into the words!"
Yekil's talk and the sounds of Yiddish speech, which I had not heard
since I left home, impressed me in a wonderful way. Here I found
myself all at once in the company of Jews like father and mother.
But I felt very much below that wonderful boy who could decide
questions of Jewish law like some great rabbi. Indeed, he seemed to
me little short of a rabbi in our small congregation. Then I began
to feel more despondent than ever. I considered myself the sinner
of our little community. I knew I was guilty of eating pork and of
other grave trespasses, and I felt quite unworthy of being a member
of the pious congregation.
Meanwhile little Reuben discovered the contents of my bag.
"Boys, grub!" exclaimed he, excitedly. At the word "grub" the
congregation was thrown into a flutter. That was the way of the
Cantonists. They could not help getting excited at the sight of any
article of food, even when they were not hungry at all. In the long
run our patrons fed us well enough, and on the whole we could not
complain of lack of food. But we were fed according to the
calculations of our patrons, and not according to our own appetites.
So it became our habit to eat whenever victuals were put before us,
even on a full stomach. "Eat whenever you have something to eat, so
as not to go hungry when there may be no rations." That was a
standing rule among the Cantonists. They began fumbling in my bag,
and I was dying with shame at the thought that soon they would
discover the piece of pork, and that my sin would become known to
the pious congregation. Then I broke down, and with tears began to
confess my sins.
"I have sinned," said I, sobbing, "it is pork. I could not
withstand the temptation."
At that moment it seemed to me that Yekil was the judge, and the
boys who had found the pork were the witnesses against me. Yekil
listened to my partial confession, and the two "witnesses" hung
their heads, and hid their faces in shame, as if they were the
accused. But I sobbed and cried bitterly.
"Now, listen, little one," Yekil turned to me. "I do not know
whether you have suffered the horrors of hell that we have suffered.
Did they paint your body with tar, and put you up on the highest
shelf in the steam-bath, and choke you with burning steam? Did they
flog you with birch-rods for having been caught mumbling a Hebrew
prayer? Did they make you kneel for hours on sharp stones for
having refused to kiss the ikon and the crucifix? Did they discover
you secretly kissing the Arba-Kanfos, and give you as many lashes as
there are treads in the Tzitzis? If you have not passed through all
that, uncover our backs, and count the welts that still mark them!
And to this you must add the number of blows I have still to get,
simply because my little body could not take in at once all it was
expected to take in. And yet, not a day passed without our having
recited our Modeh-Ani. As to eating pork, we abstained from it in
spite of the rods. Then they gave up flogging us; but, instead of
that punishment, they gave us nothing but pork to eat. Two days we
held out; we did not touch any food. We did not get even a drink of
water. Do you see little Simeon? Well, he tried to eat the grass
in the courtyard. . . . On the third day of our fast I saw my
father in my dream. He was dressed in his holiday clothes, and
holding the Bible in his hands he quoted the passage, 'Be ye mindful
of your lives.' Suddenly, the earth burst open, and the Angel of
Death appeared. He had rods in one hand and a piece of swine's
flesh in the other. He put the piece of pork into my mouth. I
looked up, terror-stricken, to my father, but he smiled. His smile
filled the place with light. He said to me, 'Eatest thou this of
thy own free will?' Then he began to soar upwards, and called out
to me from afar: 'Tell all thy comrades, the Cantonists: Your
reward is great. Every sigh of yours is a prayer, every good
thought of yours is a good action! Only beware, lest you die of
hunger; then surely you will merit eternal punishment!'
"I awoke. Since then we eat all kinds of forbidden food. The main
thing is that we have remained Jews, and that as Jews we shall
return home to our parents. It is clear to me now that the Holy
One, blessed by He, will not consider all that a sin on our part!"
I felt as if a heavy load had been taken off my shoulders. My eyes
began to flow with tears of gladness. Then, having once started my
confession, I decided to confess to my second sin also. Meanwhile
Simeon had pulled the bread and the meat out of my bag.
"Glutton!" exclaimed Yekil, angrily. "Have you forgotten that it is
the night of the Fast of the Ninth of Av?"
The boy, ashamed, returned the things to the bag, and moved away a
few steps. Then I told Yekil all that had passed between me and
Marusya, and tried unconsciously to defend her in every way. I
think I exaggerated a good deal when I tried to show that Marusya
liked the Jews very much, indeed.
"And what was the end of it?" asked Yekil, with some fear. "Did she
really kiss you?" The other boys echoed the question. I looked
down, and said nothing.
"Is she good-looking?"