A "CONSPIRACY TRIP."
Zorki was in a state of joyous excitement. The "Good Jew" of Gornovo,
accompanied by a retinue of beadles, secretaries, "reciters,"
attendants, scribes and hangers on, was pleased to grace the little
community with his annual visit; so the Pietists had left their
workshops and places of business to drink in religious ecstasy and to
scramble for advice, miracles and the blessed leavings from the holy
man's table. The population of the little town was rapidly increasing by
an influx of Pietists from neighbouring hamlets.
Clara, with a kerchief round her head, which gave her the appearance of
an uneducated "daughter of Israel," was watching a group of men and boys
who stood chattering and joking in front of one of the best houses in
town, at the edge of the market place. It was in this house where the
Good Jew made his headquarters every time he came to Zorki and where he
was now resting from his journey. The sun stood high. A peasant woman
was nursing her baby in a waggon, patiently waiting for her husband. Two
elderly peasants in coarse, broad-brimmed straw-hats, one of them with
an interminable drooping moustache, were leaning against the
weight-house, smoking silently. For the rest, the market place, enclosed
by four broken rows of shops, dwellings and two or three government
offices--squatting one-story frame structures--was almost deserted; but
one of the two streets bounding it, the one on which we find Clara at
this minute, was quite alive with people. An opening at one side of the
square showed a sloping stretch of road and a rectangular section of the
river, the same as that which gleamed in Miroslav. The knot of men which
Clara was watching all wore broad flat-topped caps, and, most of them,
long-skirted coats. A man of fifty-five, short and stocky, with massive
head and swarthy face, the image of Makar, was the centre of the crowd.
"If you were a Pietist and a decent man," he said, in subdued accents,
to a red-bearded "oppositionist" with gloomy features, "you would not
wear that long face of yours. Come, cheer up and don't be a kill-joy!"
And he slapped him on the back with all his might.
"Stop!" the Oppositionist said, reddening from the blow. "What's got
into you? What reason have you to be so jolly anyhow?" And addressing
himself to the bystanders: "He has not had a drop of vodka, yet he will
make believe he's in his cups."
"What's that?" the swarthy man protested in a soft, mellow basso, "Can't
a fellow be jolly without filling himself full of vodka? If you were a
respectable man and a Pietist and not a confounded seek-sorrow of an
Oppositionist you would not think so. Drink! Why, open the Pentateuch,
and wherever your eye falls there is drink to make you happy. 'In the
beginning God created heaven and earth!' Isn't that reason enough for a
fellow to be jolly?"
The bystanders smiled, some in partisan approbation, others with amused
superiority, still others with diplomatic ambiguity.
The heavy-set, swarthy man was Makar's father, Yossl Parmet. He bore
striking resemblance to his son. Clara stood aghast. If he were
confronted with the Miroslav prisoner, the identity of the Nihilist
would be betrayed, whether the old man admitted the relationship or not.
The only way out of it was to avoid such a confrontation by getting
Yossl away for a few months. But then, once the Miroslav gendarmerie
learned that a man named Parmet whose home was at Zorki was missing, the
secret could not last for any length of time. In compliance with Makar's
wish, Clara decided to take him into her secret. Accordingly, she
mingled with the men, took part in the joking, and by the time the crowd
dispersed she and Yossl were talking on terms of partial familiarity.
Finding an opportune moment, she said to him, with intentional
mysteriousness:
"There is something I want to speak to you about, Reb Yossl. I have seen
your son."
The old man gave her a startled, scrutinising glance. Then, his face
hardening into a preoccupied business-like expression, he said aloud:
"Where are you stopping?"
She named her inn, and the two started thither together. There were so
many strangers in town, each in quest of an audience with the "Good
Jew," and Yossl was so close to the holy man, or to those near him, that
their conversation attracted scarcely any notice.
"It's a very serious matter, Reb Yossl," she said, as they crossed the
market place. "Nobody is to know anything about it, or it may be bad for
your son."
"Go ahead," he snarled, turning pale. "Never mind spending time on a
woman's prefaces. What is up?"
"You know how the educated young people of these days are. There is
nothing, in fact, the matter. It'll soon be over. But for the present it
would do him good if the gendarmes knew he was in Paris."
"Why, isn't he in Paris?" Yossl asked morosely. "I received a letter
from him from there."
"Of course he is. Only, the gendarmes, in case they look for him, and
they may do so sooner or later, you know, the gendarmes may not believe
he is there. So it would be a good thing if you could convince them of
it. Your son would be benefited by it very much."
Yossl took fire.
"On my part let him go to all the black ghosts!" he burst out. "'The
educated people of these days,' indeed! First he will play with fire and
then he wants me to fight his battles! Would he have his old father go
to prison on account of him? He is not in Paris, then? I am as clever as
you, young woman. I, too, understand a thing or two, though I am not of
'the educated people of these days!' It is not enough that he has got in
trouble himself; he wants to drag me in, too. Is that the kind of
'education' he has got? Is that what he has broken with his wife and
father for? The ghost take him!"
"Don't be excited, Reb Yossl," Clara pleaded, earnestly. "It's a
treasure of a son you have and you know it. As to the education he has
acquired, it is the kind that teaches one to struggle against injustice
and oppression, things which I know you hate as deeply as your son
does." A tremour came into her voice, and a slight blush into her
cheeks, as she added: "Your son is one of those remarkable men who are
willing to die for the suffering people."
"But who are you?" he asked with a frown, "How did you get here? If you,
too, are one of those people you had better leave this town at once. I
don't want to get in trouble on account of you."
They reached the inn, and he paused in front of it, leaning against a
waggon.
"Never mind who I am," she returned.
"But where is he? Has he been arrested? Good God, what has he been doing
to himself? What does he want of my old bones? Is he sorry his father is
still alive?"
"You don't want your son to perish, do you?" she said rather
pugnaciously. "If you don't, you had better get the gendarmes off his
track."
She went on arguing with renewed ardour. As he listened, a questioning
look came into his face. Instead of following her plea he scrutinised
her suspiciously.
"But why should you pray for him so fervently," he asked significantly.
"Why should you run risks for his sake? What do you get out of it?"
"Must one get something 'out of it' to do what is right?"
"Ah, may the ghost take the whole lot of you!" Yossl said, with a wave
of his hand, and walked away. He felt sure that this young woman and his
son were in love, and he was shocked for the sake of Miriam, Makar's
divorced wife, as well as for his own.
He made for a slushy narrow lane, but turned back, retracing his steps
in the direction of the house which was the Good Jew's headquarters, as
also the home of Miriam. It was the house of her uncle, Arye Weinstein,
the richest Pietist in Zorki.
* * * * *
The Good Jew occupied two expensively furnished rooms which were always
kept sacred to his use. They were known as "the rabbi's chambers" and
although the Righteous Man visited Zorki only once a year, nobody was
ever allowed so much as to sit down in his easy chair. One day, when
Weinstein caught his little girl playing in the "rabbi's bed room" with
a skull-cap which the holy man had left there, he flew into one of the
savage fits of temper for which he was dreaded, and slapped the child's
face till it bled. The rabbi's chambers were never swept or dusted until
a day or two before his arrival, and then half a dozen people worked day
and night to make things worthy of the exalted guest. The "rabbi's
parlour" opened into a vast room, by far the largest in the house, which
on Saturdays was usually turned into a synagogue, and was known in town
as "Weinstein's salon."
Miriam was a very bright, quick-witted little woman, but she was not
pretty--a pale, sickly, defenceless-looking creature of the kind who
have no enemies even among their own sex. Her separation from Makar was
only a nominal affair, in fact, the divorce having been brought about
against the will of the young couple by her iron-willed uncle, who had
succeeded in embroiling Yossl with his son as well as with himself soon
after the true character of Makar's visits to Pani Oginska's house had
been discovered; but Makar and Miriam had become reconciled, through a
letter from him, and they had been in secret correspondence ever since.
Yossl never lost hope of seeing them remarried, and, in order to keep
the memory of his son fresh in Miriam's mind, he had obeyed the Good Jew
and made peace with the wealthy Pietist.
Yossl was in charge of the town's weight-house and was commonly known as
"Yossl the weight-house man." When Feivish (Makar's real first name) was
old enough to be started on the Talmud, he left the weight-house to his
wife, devoting himself to the spiritual education of the boy. Every
time they sat down to the huge book he would pin the edge of Feivish's
shirt to his collar, leaving the child's back bare to the strap in his
hand. Whenever his wife protested he would bring her to terms by
threatening to tell the Good Jew that she would have her son brought up
as a dunce. He was going to make a "fattened scholar" of him. He was
going to fatten him on divine Law by main force, even as his wife
fattened her geese for Passover. He was going to show those
fish-blooded, sneering Oppositionists that they had no monopoly of the
Talmud. Often during his lesson a distracted look would come into
Feivish's dark little eyes, and Yossl's words fell on deaf ears. Then it
was that the thong would descend on the bare back. Feivish never cried.
As the blow fell, he would curl himself up with a startled look, that
haunted Yossl for hours after. Feivish turned out to be a most ardent
Pietist. Once, for example, in a very cold wintry night, after the Good
Jew had crossed a snow-covered lawn, Feivish, in a burst of devotion,
took off his boots and "followed in the foot-steps of the man of
righteousness" barefoot.
For four years the young couple lived happily, their only woe being the
death of both children that had been born to them. But the Good Jew said
"God will have mercy," and Feivish "served his Lord with gladness." But
this did not last. Feivish was initiated into the world of free thought,
and gradually the fervent Pietist was transformed into a fervent
atheist. It was during that period that he first met Pavel and that his
wife's despotic uncle extorted a divorce from him.
* * * * *
While Yossl was twitting the red-headed Oppositionist in front of
Weinstein's house, Bathsheba, a daughter-in-law of the man of
substance, a plump, black-eyed beauty of the kind one's mind associates
with a Turkish harem, beckoned Miriam aside, in one of the rooms within,
offering her a piece of cake.
"It's from a chunk the Good Jew has tasted," she said, triumphantly.
"Eat it, and your heart will be lighter."
"It will help me as much as blood-letting helps a dead man," Miriam
answered with a smile.
"Eat it, I say. You'll get letters more often if you do." For a woman to
exchange love letters with the man from whom she has been divorced is
quite a grave sin for a daughter of Israel to commit. The remedy
Bathsheba recommended was therefore something like the prayer of a thief
that the Lord may bless his business. But then Miriam questioned the
power of the rabbi's "leavings" to bring a blessing upon any business.
She smiled.
"How do you know it is nonsense? Maybe it isn't, after all," Bathsheba
urged.
"You're a foolish little dear."
"If I were you I should eat it. What can you lose by it?"
Maria, a Gentile servant who had been longer in the house than
Bathsheba, came in. She spoke Yiddish excellently and was almost like a
member of the family.
"Take a bite and you will be blessed, Maria," Miriam joked, holding out
the cake to her. "It's from a piece the Good Jew has tasted."
"If I was a Jewess I would," Maria retorted reproachfully. "It's a sin
to make mock of a Good Jew."
The other two burst into a laugh.
Left alone, Miriam was about to throw the cake away, but had not the
heart to do so. She sat eyeing it for some minutes and then, making fun
of herself, she bit off a morsel. She acted like the Jewess of the
anecdote, who, to be on the safe side, would kiss the cross and the
Hebrew prayer book at once.
* * * * *
An hour later Yossl was flaunting his son's Paris letter and cursing him
to a new crowd in front of the Good Jew's headquarters.
"The ghost take him!" he said. "Indeed, the ghost is a well-travelled
fellow. He can get to Paris just as readily as he does to Zorki."