THE HOPE EXTINCT.
The strike came to an end soon after. To the delight of Melchitsedek
Pinchas, Gideon, M.P., intervened at the eleventh hour, unceremoniously
elbowing Simon Wolf out of his central position. A compromise was
arranged and jubilance and tranquillity reigned for some months, till
the corruptions of competitive human nature brought back the old state
of things--for employers have quite a diplomatic reverence for treaties
and the brotherly love of employees breaks down under the strain of
supporting families. Rather to his own surprise Moses Ansell found
himself in work at least three days a week, the other three being spent
in hanging round the workshop waiting for it. It is an uncertain trade,
is the manufacture of slops, which was all Moses was fitted for, but if
you are not at hand you may miss the "work" when it does come.
It never rains but it pours, and so more luck came to the garret of No.
1 Royal Street. Esther won five pounds at school. It was the Henry
Goldsmith prize, a new annual prize for general knowledge, instituted by
a lady named Mrs. Henry Goldsmith who had just joined the committee, and
the semi-divine person herself--a surpassingly beautiful radiant being,
like a princess in a fairy tale--personally congratulated her upon her
success. The money was not available for a year, but the neighbors
hastened to congratulate the family on its rise to wealth. Even Levi
Jacob's visits became more frequent, though this could scarcely be
ascribed to mercenary motives.
The Belcovitches recognized their improved status so far as to send to
borrow some salt: for the colony of No. 1 Royal Street carried on an
extensive system of mutual accommodation, coals, potatoes, chunks of
bread, saucepans, needles, wood-choppers, all passing daily to and fro.
Even garments and jewelry were lent on great occasions, and when that
dear old soul Mrs. Simons went to a wedding she was decked out in
contributions from a dozen wardrobes. The Ansells themselves were too
proud to borrow though they were not above lending.
It was early morning and Moses in his big phylacteries was droning his
orisons. His mother had had an attack of spasms and so he was praying at
home to be at hand in case of need. Everybody was up, and Moses was
superintending the household even while he was gabbling psalms. He never
minded breaking off his intercourse with Heaven to discuss domestic
affairs, for he was on free and easy terms with the powers that be, and
there was scarce a prayer in the liturgy which he would not interrupt to
reprimand Solomon for lack of absorption in the same. The exception was
the _Amidah_ or eighteen Blessings, so-called because there are
twenty-two. This section must be said standing and inaudibly and when
Moses was engaged upon it, a message from an earthly monarch would have
extorted no reply from him. There were other sacred silences which Moses
would not break save of dire necessity and then only by talking Hebrew;
but the _Amidah_ was the silence of silences. This was why the utterly
unprecedented arrival of a telegraph boy did not move him. Not even
Esther's cry of alarm when she opened the telegram had any visible
effect upon him, though in reality he whispered off his prayer at a
record-beating rate and duly danced three times on his toes with
spasmodic celerity at the finale.
"Father," said Esther, the never before received species of letter
trembling in her hand, "we must go at once to see Benjy. He is very
ill."
"Has he written to say so?"
"No, this is a telegram. I have read of such. Oh! perhaps he is dead.
It is always so in books. They break the news by saying the dead are
still alive." Her tones died away in a sob. The children clustered round
her--Rachel and Solomon fought for the telegram in their anxiety to read
it. Ikey and Sarah stood grave and interested. The sick grandmother sat
up in bed excited.
"He never showed me his 'four corners,'" she moaned. "Perhaps he did not
wear the fringes at all."
"Father, dost thou hear?" said Esther, for Moses Ansell was fingering
the russet envelope with a dazed air. "We must go to the Orphanage at
once."
"Read it! What stands in the letter?" said Moses Ansell.
She took the telegram from the hands of Solomon. "It stands, 'Come up at
once. Your son Benjamin very ill.'"
"Tu! Tu! Tu!" clucked Moses. "The poor child. But how can we go up? Thou
canst not walk there. It will take _me_ more than three hours."
His praying-shawl slid from his shoulders in his agitation.
"Thou must not walk, either!" cried Esther excitedly. "We must get to
him at once! Who knows if he will be alive when we come? We must go by
train from London Bridge the way Benjy came that Sunday. Oh, my poor
Benjy!"
"Give me back the paper, Esther," interrupted Solomon, taking it from
her limp hand. "The boys have never seen a telegram."
"But we cannot spare the money," urged Moses helplessly. "We have just
enough money to get along with to-day. Solomon, go on with thy prayers;
thou seizest every excuse to interrupt them. Rachel, go away from him.
Thou art also a disturbing Satan to him. I do not wonder his teacher
flogged him black and blue yesterday--he is a stubborn and rebellious
son who should be stoned, according to Deuteronomy."
"We must do without dinner," said Esther impulsively.
Sarah sat down on the floor and howled "Woe is me! Woe is me!"
"I didden touch 'er," cried Ikey in indignant bewilderment.
"'Tain't Ikey!" sobbed Sarah. "Little Tharah wants 'er dinner."
"Thou hearest?" said Moses pitifully. "How can we spare the money?"
"How much is it?" asked Esther.
"It will be a shilling each there and back," replied Moses, who from his
long periods of peregrination was a connoisseur in fares. "How can we
afford it when I lose a morning's work into the bargain?"
"No, what talkest thou?" said Esther. "Thou art looking a few months
ahead--thou deemest perhaps, I am already twelve. It will be only
sixpence for me."
Moses did not disclaim the implied compliment to his rigid honesty but
answered:
"Where is my head? Of course thou goest half-price. But even so where is
the eighteenpence to come from?"
"But it is not eighteenpence!" ejaculated Esther with a new inspiration.
Necessity was sharpening her wits to extraordinary acuteness. "We need
not take return tickets. We can walk back."
"But we cannot be so long away from the mother--both of us," said Moses.
"She, too, is ill. And how will the children do without thee? I will go
by myself."
"No, I must see Benjy!" Esther cried.
"Be not so stiff-necked, Esther! Besides, it stands in the letter that I
am to come--they do not ask thee. Who knows that the great people will
not be angry if I bring thee with me? I dare say Benjamin will soon be
better. He cannot have been ill long."
"But, quick, then, father, quick!" cried Esther, yielding to the complex
difficulties of the position. "Go at once."
"Immediately, Esther. Wait only till I have finished my prayers. I am
nearly done."
"No! No!" cried Esther agonized. "Thou prayest so much--God will let
thee off a little bit just for once. Thou must go at once and ride both
ways, else how shall we know what has happened? I will pawn my new prize
and that will give thee money enough."
"Good!" said Moses. "While thou art pledging the book I shall have time
to finish _davening_." He hitched up his _Talith_ and commenced to
gabble off, "Happy are they who dwell in Thy house; ever shall they
praise Thee, Selah," and was already saying, "And a Redeemer shall come
unto Zion," by the time Esther rushed out through the door with the
pledge. It was a gaudily bound volume called "Treasures of Science," and
Esther knew it almost by heart, having read it twice from gilt cover to
gilt cover. All the same, she would miss it sorely. The pawnbroker lived
only round the corner, for like the publican he springs up wherever the
conditions are favorable. He was a Christian; by a curious anomaly the
Ghetto does not supply its own pawnbrokers, but sends them out to the
provinces or the West End. Perhaps the business instinct dreads the
solicitation of the racial.
Esther's pawnbroker was a rubicund portly man. He knew the fortunes of a
hundred families by the things left with him or taken back. It was on
his stuffy shelves that poor Benjamin's coat had lain compressed and
packed away when it might have had a beautiful airing in the grounds of
the Crystal Palace. It was from his stuffy shelves that Esther's mother
had redeemed it--a day after the fair--soon to be herself compressed and
packed away in a pauper's coffin, awaiting in silence whatsoever
Redemption might be. The best coat itself had long since been sold to a
ragman, for Solomon, upon whose back it devolved, when Benjamin was so
happily translated, could never be got to keep a best coat longer than a
year, and when a best coat is degraded to every-day wear its attrition
is much more than six times as rapid.
"Good mornen, my little dear," said the rubicund man. "You're early this
mornen." The apprentice had, indeed, only just taken down the shutters.
"What can I do for you to-day? You look pale, my dear; what's the
matter?"
"I have a bran-new seven and sixpenny book," she answered hurriedly,
passing it to him.
He turned instinctively to the fly-leaf.
"Bran-new book!" he said contemptuously. "'Esther Ansell--For
improvement!' When a book's spiled like that, what can you expect for
it?"
"Why, it's the inscription that makes it valuable," said Esther
tearfully.
"Maybe," said the rubicund man gruffly. "But d'yer suppose I should just
find a buyer named Esther Ansell?" Do you suppose everybody in the
world's named Esther Ansell or is capable of improvement?"
"No," breathed Esther dolefully. "But I shall take it out myself soon."
"In this world," said the rubicund man, shaking his head sceptically,
"there ain't never no knowing. Well, how much d'yer want?"
"I only want a shilling," said Esther, "and threepence," she added as a
happy thought.
"All right," said the rubicund man softened. "I won't 'aggle this
mornen. You look quite knocked up. Here you are!" and Esther darted out
of the shop with the money clasped tightly in her palm.
Moses had folded his phylacteries with pious primness and put them away
in a little bag, and he was hastily swallowing a cup of coffee.
"Here is the shilling," she cried. "And twopence extra for the 'bus to
London Bridge. Quick!" She put the ticket away carefully among its
companions in a discolored leather purse her father had once picked up
in the street, and hurried him off. When his steps ceased on the stairs,
she yearned to run after him and go with him, but Ikey was clamoring for
breakfast and the children had to run off to school. She remained at
home herself, for the grandmother groaned heavily. When the other
children had gone off she tidied up the vacant bed and smoothed the old
woman's pillows. Suddenly Benjamin's reluctance to have his father
exhibited before his new companions recurred to her; she hoped Moses
would not be needlessly obtrusive and felt that if she had gone with him
she might have supplied tact in this direction. She reproached herself
for not having made him a bit more presentable. She should have spared
another halfpenny for a new collar, and seen that he was washed; but in
the rush and alarm all thoughts of propriety had been submerged. Then
her thoughts went off at a tangent and she saw her class-room, where new
things were being taught, and new marks gained. It galled her to think
she was missing both. She felt so lonely in the company of her
grandmother, she could have gone downstairs and cried on Dutch Debby's
musty lap. Then she strove to picture the room where Benjy was lying,
but her imagination lacked the data. She would not let herself think the
brilliant Benjamin was dead, that he would be sewn up in a shroud just
like his poor mother, who had no literary talent whatever, but she
wondered whether he was groaning like the grandmother. And so, half
distracted, pricking up her ears at the slightest creak on the stairs,
Esther waited for news of her Benjy. The hours dragged on and on, and
the children coming home at one found dinner ready but Esther still
waiting. A dusty sunbeam streamed in through the garret window as though
to give her hope.
Benjamin had been beguiled from his books into an unaccustomed game of
ball in the cold March air. He had taken off his jacket and had got very
hot with his unwonted exertions. A reactionary chill followed. Benjamin
had a slight cold, which being ignored, developed rapidly into a heavy
one, still without inducing the energetic lad to ask to be put upon the
sick list. Was not the publishing day of _Our Own_ at hand?
The cold became graver with the same rapidity, and almost as soon as the
boy had made complaint he was in a high fever, and the official doctor
declared that pneumonia had set in. In the night Benjamin was delirious,
and the nurse summoned the doctor, and next morning his condition was so
critical that his father was telegraphed for. There was little to be
done by science--all depended on the patient's constitution. Alas! the
four years of plenty and country breezes had not counteracted the eight
and three-quarter years of privation and foul air, especially in a lad
more intent on emulating Dickens and Thackeray than on profiting by the
advantages of his situation.
When Moses arrived he found his boy tossing restlessly in a little bed,
in a private little room away from the great dormitories. "The
matron"--a sweet-faced young lady--was bending tenderly over him, and a
nurse sat at the bedside. The doctor stood--waiting--at the foot of the
bed. Moses took his boy's hand. The matron silently stepped aside.
Benjamin stared at him with wide, unrecognizing eyes.
"_Nu_, how goes it, Benjamin?" cried Moses in Yiddish, with mock
heartiness.
"Thank you, old Four-Eyes. It's very good of you to come. I always said
there mustn't be any hits at you in the paper. I always told the fellows
you were a very decent chap."
"What says he?" asked Moses, turning to the company. "I cannot
understand English."
They could not understand his own question, but the matron guessed it.
She tapped her forehead and shook her head for reply. Benjamin closed
his eyes and there was silence. Presently he opened them and looked
straight at his father. A deeper crimson mantled on the flushed cheek as
Benjamin beheld the dingy stooping being to whom he owed birth. Moses
wore a dirty red scarf below his untrimmed beard, his clothes were
greasy, his face had not yet been washed, and--for a climax--he had not
removed his hat, which other considerations than those of etiquette
should have impelled him to keep out of sight.
"I thought you were old Four-Eyes," the boy murmured in
confusion--"Wasn't he here just now?"
"Go and fetch Mr. Coleman," said the matron, to the nurse, half-smiling
through tears at her own knowledge of the teacher's nickname and
wondering what endearing term she was herself known by.
"Cheer up, Benjamin," said his father, seeing his boy had become
sensible of his presence. "Thou wilt be all right soon. Thou hast been
much worse than this."
"What does he say?" asked Benjamin, turning his eyes towards the matron.
"He says he is sorry to see you so bad," said the matron, at a venture.
"But I shall be up soon, won't I? I can't have _Our Own_ delayed,"
whispered Benjamin.
"Don't worry about _Our Own_, my poor boy," murmured the matron,
pressing his forehead. Moses respectfully made way for her.
"What says he?" he asked. The matron repeated the words, but Moses could
not understand the English.
Old Four-Eyes arrived--a mild spectacled young man. He looked at the
doctor, and the doctor's eye told him all.
"Ah, Mr. Coleman," said Benjamin, with joyous huskiness, "you'll see
that _Our Own_ comes out this week as usual. Tell Jack Simmonds he must
not forget to rule black lines around the page containing Bruno's
epitaph. Bony-nose--I--I mean Mr. Bernstein, wrote it for us in
dog-Latin. Isn't it a lark? Thick, black lines, tell him. He was a good
dog and only bit one boy in his life."
"All right. I'll see to it," old Four-Eyes assured him with answering
huskiness.
"What says he?" helplessly inquired Moses, addressing himself to the
newcomer.
"Isn't it a sad case, Mr. Coleman?" said the matron, in a low tone.
"They can't understand each other."
"You ought to keep an interpreter on the premises," said the doctor,
blowing his nose. Coleman struggled with himself. He knew the jargon to
perfection, for his parents spoke it still, but he had always posed as
being ignorant of it.
"Tell my father to go home, and not to bother; I'm all right--only a
little weak," whispered Benjamin.
Coleman was deeply perturbed. He was wondering whether he should plead
guilty to a little knowledge, when a change of expression came over the
wan face on the pillow. The doctor came and felt the boy's pulse.
"No, I don't want to hear that _Maaseh_," cried Benjamin. "Tell me about
the Sambatyon, father, which refuses to flow on _Shabbos_."
He spoke Yiddish, grown a child again. Moses's face lit up with joy. His
eldest born had returned to intelligibility. There was hope still then.
A sudden burst of sunshine flooded the room. In London the sun would not
break through the clouds for some hours. Moses leaned over the pillow,
his face working with blended emotions. Me let a hot tear fall on his
boy's upturned face.
"Hush, hush, my little Benjamin, don't cry," said Benjamin, and began to
sing in his mothers jargon:
"Sleep, little father, sleep,
Thy father shall be a Rav,
Thy mother shall bring little apples,
Blessings on thy little head,"
Moses saw his dead Gittel lulling his boy to sleep. Blinded by his
tears, he did not see that they were falling thick upon the little white
face.
"Nay, dry thy tears, I tell thee, my little Benjamin," said Benjamin, in
tones more tender and soothing, and launched into the strange wailing
melody:
"Alas, woe is me!
How wretched to be
Driven away and banished,
Yet so young, from thee."
"And Joseph's mother called to him from the grave: Be comforted, my son,
a great future shall be thine."
"The end is near," old Four-Eyes whispered to the father in jargon.
Moses trembled from head to foot. "My poor lamb! My poor Benjamin," he
wailed. "I thought thou wouldst say _Kaddish_ after me, not I for thee."
Then he began to recite quietly the Hebrew prayers. The hat he should
have removed was appropriate enough now.
Benjamin sat up excitedly in bed: "There's mother, Esther!" he cried in
English. "Coming back with my coat. But what's the use of it now?"
His head fell back again. Presently a look of yearning came over the
face so full of boyish beauty. "Esther," he said. "Wouldn't you like to
be in the green country to-day? Look how the sun shines."
It shone, indeed, with deceptive warmth, bathing in gold the green
country that stretched beyond, and dazzling the eyes of the dying boy.
The birds twittered outside the window. "Esther!" he said, wistfully,
"do you think there'll be another funeral soon?".
The matron burst into tears and turned away.
"Benjamin," cried the father, frantically, thinking the end had come,
"say the _Shemang_."
The boy stared at him, a clearer look in his eyes.
"Say the _Shemang_!" said Moses peremptorily. The word _Shemang_, the
old authoritative tone, penetrated the consciousness of the dying boy.
"Yes, father, I was just going to," he grumbled, submissively.
They repeated the last declaration of the dying Israelite together. It
was in Hebrew. "Hear, O Israel, the Lord our God, the Lord is one." Both
understood that.
Benjamin lingered on a few more minutes, and died in a painless torpor.
"He is dead," said the doctor.
"Blessed be the true Judge," said Moses. He rent his coat, and closed
the staring eyes. Then he went to the toilet table and turned the
looking-glass to the wall, and opened the window and emptied the jug of
water upon the green sunlit grass.