From that day I visited Tchitchick regularly every Sabbath afternoon, to
hear him playing the fiddle. I went straight to the house. I was afraid
of no one; and I even became such good friends with the black dog that,
when he saw me, he wagged his tail, and wanted to fall upon me to lick
my hands. I would not let him do this. "Let us rather be good friends
from the distance."
At home not even a bird knew where I spent the Sabbath afternoons. I was
a bridegroom-elect, after all. And no one would have known of my visits
to Tchitchick to this day, if a new misfortune had not befallen me--a
great misfortune, of which I will now tell you.
* * *
Surely it is no one's affair if a Jewish young man goes for a walk on
the Sabbath afternoon a little beyond the town? Have people really got
nothing better to do than to think of others and look after them to see
where they are going? But of what use are such questions as these? It
lies in our nature, in the Jewish nature, I mean, to look well after
every one else, to criticize others and advise them. For example, a Jew
will go over to his neighbour, at prayers, and straighten out the
"Frontispiece" of his phylacteries. Or he will stop his neighbour, who
is running with the greatest haste and excitement, to tell him that the
leg of his trouser is turned up. Or he will point his finger at his
neighbour, so that the other shall not know what is amiss with him,
whether it is his nose, or his beard, or what the deuce is wrong with
him. Or a Jew will take a thing out of his neighbour's hand, when the
other is struggling to open it, and will say to him: "You don't know
how. Let me." Or should he see his neighbour building a house, he will
come over to look for a fault in it. He says he believes the ceiling is
too high, the rooms are too small, or the windows are awkwardly large.
And there seems nothing else left the builder to do but scatter the
house to pieces, and start it all over again.... We Jews have been
distinguished by this habit of interfering from time immemorial--from
the very first day on which the world was created. And you and I between
us will never alter the world full of Jews. It is not our duty to even
attempt it....
After this long introduction, it will be easy for you to understand how
Ephraim Log-of-wood--a Jew who was a black stranger to me, and who did
not care a button for any of us--should poke his nose into my affairs.
He sniffed and smelled my tracks, and found out where I went on Sabbath
afternoons, and got me into trouble. He swore that he himself saw me
eating forbidden food at the house of "Mr. Sergeant," and that I was
smoking a cigarette on the Sabbath. "May I see myself enjoying all that
is good!" he cried. "If it is not as I say, may I never get to the
place where I am going," he said. "And if I am uttering the least word
of falsehood, may my mouth be twisted to one side, and may my two eyes
drop out of my head," he added.
"Amen! May it be so," I cried.
And I caught from my father another smack in the face. I must not be
insolent, he told me....
But I imagine I am rushing along too quickly with my story. I am giving
you the soup before the fish. I was forgetting entirely to tell you who
Ephraim Log-of-wood was, and what he was, and how the incident happened.
At the end of the town, on the other side of the bridge, there lived a
Jew named Ephraim Log-of-wood. Why was he called Log-of-wood? Because he
had once dealt in timber. And today he is not dealing in timber because
something happened to him. He said it was libel, a false accusation.
People found at his place a strange log of wood with a strange name
branded on it. And he had a fine lot of trouble after that. He had a
case, and he had appeals, and he had to send petitions. He just managed
to escape from being put into prison. From that time, he threw away all
trading, and betook himself to looking after public matters. He pushed
himself into all institutions, the tax-collecting, and the work done at
the House of Learning. Generally speaking, he was not so well off. He
was often put to shame publicly. But as time went on, he insinuated
himself into everybody's bones. He gave people to understand that "He
knew where a door was opening." And in the course of time, Ephraim
became a useful person, a person it was hard to do without. That is how
a worm manages to crawl into an apple. He makes himself comfortable,
makes a soft bed for himself, makes himself a home, and in time becomes
the real master of the house.
In person, Ephraim was a tiny little man. He had short little legs, and
small little hands, and red little cheeks, and a quick walk which was a
sort of a little dance. And he tossed his little head about. His speech
was rapid, and his voice squeaky. And he laughed with a curious little
laugh which sounded like the rattling of dried peas. I could not bear to
look at him, I don't know why. Every Sabbath afternoon, when I was going
to Tchitchick's, I used to meet Ephraim on the bridge, walking along, in
a black, patched cloak, the sleeves of which hung loosely over his
shoulders. His hands were folded in front of him, and he was singing in
his thin little voice. And the ends of his long cloak kept dangling at
his heels.
"A good Sabbath," I said to him.
"A good Sabbath," he replied. "And where is a boy going?"
"Just for a walk," I said.
"For a walk? All alone?" he asked. And he looked straight into my eyes
with such a little smile that it was hard to guess what he meant by
it--whether he thought that it was very brave of me to be walking all
alone or not. Was it, in his opinion, a wise thing to do, or a foolish?
* * *
On one occasion, when I was going to Tchitchick's house, I noticed that
Ephraim Log-of-wood was looking at me very curiously. I stopped on the
bridge and gazed into the water. Ephraim also stopped on the bridge, and
he also gazed into the water. I started to go back. He followed me. I
turned round again, to go forward, and he also turned round in the same
direction. A few minutes later, he was lost to me. When I was sitting at
Tchitchick's table, drinking tea, we heard the black dog barking loudly
at some one, and tearing at his rope. We looked out of the window, and I
imagined I saw a low-sized, black figure with short little legs,
running, running. Then it disappeared from view. From his manner of
running, I could have sworn the little creature was Ephraim Log-of-wood.