I am not going to tell you a story of "_Cheder_" or of the teacher, or
of the teacher's wife. I have told you enough about them. Perhaps you
will allow me, this time, in honour of the feast of "_Purim_," to tell
you a story of the teacher's daughter, Esther.
* * *
If the Esther of the Bible was as beautiful a creature as the Esther of
my story, then it is no wonder she found favour in the eyes of King
Ahasuerus. The Esther of whom I am going to tell you was loved by
everybody, everybody, even by me and by my older brother Mottel,
although he was "_Bar-mitzvah_" long ago, and they were making up a
match for him, and he was wearing a watch and chain this good while. (If
I am not mistaken, he had already started to grow a beard at the time I
speak of.) And that my brother Mottel loves Esther, I am positive. He
thinks I do not know that his going to "_Cheder_" every Sabbath to read
with the teacher is a mere pretext, a yesterday's day! The teacher
snores loudly. The teacher's wife stands on the doorstep talking with
the women. We boys play around the room, and Mottel and Esther are
staring--she at him, and he at her. It sometimes happens that we boys
play at "blind-man's-buff." Do you know what "blind-man's-buff" is?
Well, then I will tell you. You take a boy, bandage his eyes with a
handkerchief, place him in the middle of the floor, and all the boys fly
round him crying: "Blindman, blindman, catch me!"
Mottel and Esther also play at "blind-man's-buff" with us. They like the
game because, when they are playing it, they can chase one another--she
him, and he her.
And I have many more proofs I could give you that--But I am not that
sort.
I once caught them holding hands, he hers, and she his. And it was not
on the Sabbath either, but on a week-day. It was towards evening,
between the afternoon and the evening prayers. He was pretending to go
to the synagogue. He strayed into "_Cheder_." "Where is the teacher?"
"The teacher is not here." And he went and gave her his hand, Esther,
that is. I saw them. He withdrew his hand and gave me a "_groschen_" to
tell no one. I asked two, and he gave me two. I asked three, and he gave
me three. What do you think--if I had asked four, or five, or six, would
he not have given them? But I am not that sort.
Another time, too, something happened. But enough of this. I will rather
tell you the real story--the one I promised you.
* * *
As I told you, my brother Mottel is grown up. He does not go to
"_Cheder_" any more, nor does he wish to learn anything at home. For
this, my father calls him "Man of clay." He has no other name for him.
My mother does not like it. What sort of a habit is it to call a young
man, almost a bridegroom, a man of clay? My father says he is nothing
else but a man of clay. They quarrel about it. I do not know what other
parents do, but my parents are always quarrelling. Day and night they
are quarrelling.
If I were to tell you how my father and mother quarrel, you would split
your sides laughing. But I am not that sort.
In a word, my brother Mottel does not go to "_Cheder_" any more.
Nevertheless, he does not forget to send the teacher a "_Purim_"
present. Having been a pupil of his he sends him a nice poem in Hebrew,
illuminated with a "Shield of David," and two paper "_roubles_." With
whom does he send this "_Purim_" present? With me, of course. My brother
says to me, "Here, hand the teacher this "_Purim_" present. When you
come back, I will give you ten '_groschens_.'" Ten "_groschens_" is
money. But what then? I want the money now. My brother said I was a
heathen. Said I: "It may be I am a heathen. I will not argue about it.
But I want to see the money," said I. Who do you think won?
He gave me the ten "_groschens_," and handed me the teacher's "_Purim_"
present in a sealed envelope. When I was going off, he thrust into my
hand a second envelope and said to me, in a quick whisper: "And this you
will give to Esther." "To Esther?" "To Esther." Any one else in my
place would have asked twice as much for this. But I am not that sort.
* * *
"Father of the Universe," thought I, when I was going off with the
"_Purim_" present, "what can my brother have written to the teacher's
daughter? I must have a peep--only just a peep. I will not take a bite
out of it. I will only look at it."
And I opened Esther's letter and read a whole "Book of Esther." I will
repeat what was there, word for word.
"FROM MORDECAI TO ESTHER,
"And there was a man, a young man in Shushan--our village. His name was
Mordecai and he loved a maiden called Esther. And the maiden was
beautiful, charming. And the maiden found favour in his eyes. The maiden
told this to no one because Mottel had asked her not to. Every day
Mottel passes her house to catch a glimpse of Esther. And when the time
comes for Esther to get married, Mottel will go with her under the
wedding canopy."
* * *
What do you say to my brother--how he translated the "Book of Esther"? I
should like to hear what the teacher will say to such a translation. But
how comes the cat over the water? Hush! There's a way, as I am a Jew! I
will change the letters, give the teacher's poem to Esther, and Esther's
letter to the teacher. Let him rejoice. Afterwards, if there's a fine
to do, will I be to blame? Don't all people make mistakes sometimes?
Does it not happen that even the postmaster of our village himself
forgets to give up letters? No such thing will ever happen to me. I am
not that sort.
* * *
"Good '_Yom-tov_,' teacher," I cried the moment I rushed into
"_Cheder_," in such an excited voice that he jumped. "My brother Mottel
has sent you a '_Purim_' present, and he wishes you to live to next
year."
And I gave the teacher Esther's letter. He opened it, read it, thought a
while, looked at it again, turned it about on all sides, as if in search
of something. "Search, search," I said to myself, "and you will find
something."
The teacher put on his silver spectacles, read the letter, and did not
even make a grimace. He only sighed--no more. Later he said to me:
"Wait. I will write a few lines." And he took the pen and ink and
started to write a few lines. Meanwhile, I turned around in the
"_Cheder_." The teacher's wife gave me a little cake. And when no one
was looking, I put into Esther's hand the poem and the money intended
for her father. She reddened, went into a corner, and opened the
envelope slowly. Her face burnt like fire, and her eyes blazed
dangerously. "She doesn't seem to be satisfied with the '_Purim_'
present," I thought. I took from the teacher the few lines he had
written.
"Good '_Yom-tov_' to you, teacher," I cried in the same excited voice
as when I had come in. "May you live to next year." And I was gone.
When I was on the other side of the door, Esther ran after me. Her eyes
were red with weeping. "Here," she said angrily, "give this to your
brother!"
On the way home I first opened the teacher's letter. He was more
important. This is what was written in it.
"MY DEAR AND FAITHFUL PUPIL, MORDECAI N.
"I thank you many times for your '_Purim_' present that you have sent
me. Last year and the year before, you sent me a real '_Purim_' present.
But this year you sent me a new translation of the 'Book of Esther.' I
thank you for it. But I must tell you, Mottel, that your rendering does
not please me at all. Firstly, the city of Shushan cannot be called 'our
village.' Then I should like to know where it says that Mordecai was a
young man? And why do you call him Mottel? Which Mottel? And where does
it say he loved a maiden? The word referring to Mordecai and Esther
means 'brought up.' And your saying 'he will go with her under the
wedding canopy' is just idiotic nonsense. The phrase you quote refers to
Ahasuerus, not to Mordecai. Then again, it is nowhere mentioned in the
'Book of Esther' that Ahasuerus went with Esther under the wedding
canopy. Does it need brains to turn a passage upside down? Every passage
must have sense in it. Last year, and the year before, you sent me
something different. This year you sent your teacher a translation of
the 'Book of Esther,' and a distorted translation into the bargain.
Well, perhaps it should be so. Anyhow, I am sending you back your
translation, and may the Lord send you a good year, according to the
wishes of your teacher."
* * *
Well, that's what you call a slap in the face. It serves my brother
right. I should think he will never write such a "Book of Esther" again.
Having got through the teacher's letter, I must see what the teacher's
daughter writes. On opening the envelope, the two paper "_roubles_" fell
out. What the devil does this mean? I read the letter--only a few lines.
"Mottel, I thank you for the two '_roubles_.' You may take them back. I
never expected such a '_Purim_' present from you. I want no presents
from you, and certainly no charity."
Ha! ha! What do you say to that? She does not want charity. A nice
story, as I am a Jewish child! Well, what's to be done next? Any one
else in my place would surely have torn up the two letters and put the
money in his pocket. But I am not that sort. I did a better thing than
that. You will hear what. I argued with myself after this fashion: When
all is said and done, I got paid by my brother Mottel for the journey.
Then what do I want him for now? I went and gave the two letters to my
father. I wanted to hear what he would say to them. He would understand
the translation better than the teacher, though he is a father, and the
teacher is a teacher.
* * *
What happened? After my father had read the two letters and the
translation, he took hold of my brother Mottel and demanded an
explanation of him. Do not ask me any more.
You want to know the end--what happened to Esther, the teacher's
daughter, and to my brother Mottel? What could have happened? Esther got
married to a widower. Oh, how she cried. I was at the wedding. Why she
cried so much I do not know. It seemed that her heart told her she would
not live long with her husband. And so it was. She lived with him only
one-half year, and died. I do not know what she died of. I do not know.
No one knows. Her father and mother do not know either. It was said she
took poison--just went and poisoned herself. "But it's a lie. Enemies
have invented that lie," said her mother, the teacher's wife. I heard
her myself.
And my brother Mottel? Oh, he married before Esther was even betrothed.
He went to live with his father-in-law. But he soon returned, and alone.
What had happened? He wanted to divorce his wife. Said my father to him:
"You are a man of clay." My mother would not have this. They quarrelled.
It was lively. But it was useless. He divorced his wife and married
another woman. He now has two children--a boy and a girl. The boy is
called Herzl, after Dr. Herzl, and the girl is called Esther. My father
wanted her to be named Gittel, and my mother was dying for her to be
called Leah, after her mother. There arose a quarrel between my father
and mother. They quarrelled a whole day and a whole night. They decided
the child should be named Leah-Gittel, after their two mothers.
Afterwards my father decided he would not have Leah-Gittel. "What is the
sense of it? Why should her mother's name go first?" My brother Mottel
came in from the synagogue and said he had named the child Esther. Said
my father to him: "Man of clay, where did you get the name Esther from?"
Mottel replied: "Have you forgotten it will soon be '_Purim_'?" Well,
what have you to say now? It's all over. My father never calls Mottel
"man of clay" since then. But both of them--my mother and my
father--exchanged glances and were silent.
What the silence and the exchange of glances meant I do not know.
Perhaps you can tell me?