Chapter 3

"Again even. May you be my father! Good-for-nothing, hand over five more nuts, and guess again. Maybe you will guess right for once. Odd or even? Why are you silent--eh?"

"I have no more nuts."

"It's a lie, you have!"

"As I am a Jew, I haven't."

"Just look in your pocket, like this."

"There isn't even a sign of one."

"None? Lost all the nuts? Well, what good has it done you? Aren't you a fool?"

"Enough! You have won all my nuts, and now you torment me."

"It's good, it's all right. You wanted to win all my nuts, and I have won yours."

Goyetzel was well satisfied that Getzel had lost, whilst he, Goyetzel had won. He felt it was doing him good to win. He felt equal to winning all the nuts in the whole world. "Where are they now, the '_Cheder_' boys? I would have got my own back from them. I would not have left them the smallest nut, not even for a cure. They would have died here on the ground in front of me."

Getzel grew angry, fierce. He closed his fists, clenched his teeth, and spoke to himself, just as if there was some one beside him.

"Well, try now. Now that I am not by myself. Now that there are two of us. Well, Getzel, why are you sitting there like a bridegroom? Let's play nuts another little while."

"Nuts? Where have I nuts? Didn't I tell you I haven't a single one?"

"Ah, I forgot that you have no more nuts. Do you know what I would advise you, Getzel?"

"For instance?"

"Have you any money?"

"I have. Well, what of that?"

"Buy nuts from me."

"What do you mean by saying I should buy nuts off you?"

"Fool! Don't you know what buying means? Give me money, and I'll give you nuts. Eh?"

"Well, I agree to that."

He took from his purse a silver coin, bargained about the price, counted a score of nuts from the right-hand pocket to the left, and the play began all over again.

An experienced card-player, the story goes, half an hour before his death called his son--also a gambler--to his bedside, and said to him:

"My child, I am going from this world. We shall never meet again. I know you play cards. You have my nature. You may play as much as you like, only take care not to play yourself out."

These words are almost a law. There is nothing worse in the world than playing yourself out. Experienced people say it deprives a man even of his last shirt. It drives a man to desperate acts. And one cannot hope to rise at the Resurrection after that. So people say. And so it happened with our young man. He worked so long, shaking his cap, "odd or even," taking from one pocket and putting into the other, until his left-hand pocket hadn't a single nut in it.

"Well, why don't you play?"

"I have nothing to play with."

"Again you have no nuts, good-for-nothing!"

"You say I am a good-for-nothing. And I say you are a cheat."

"If you call me a cheat again, I will give you a clout in the jaw."

"Let the Lord put it into your head."

Getzel sat quiet for a few minutes, scraping the ground with his fingers, digging a hole, and muttering a song under his breath. Then he said:

"Dirty thing, let us play nuts."

"Where have I nuts?"

"Haven't you money? I will sell you another ten."

"Money? Where have I money?"

"No money and no nuts? Oh, I can't stand it. Ha! ha! ha!"

The laugh echoed over the whole field, and re-echoed in the distant wood. Getzel was convulsed with laughter.

"What are you laughing at, you Goyetzel you?" he asked himself. And he answered himself in a different voice:

"I am laughing at you, good-for-nothing. Isn't it enough that you lost all my nuts on me? Why did you want to go and lose my money as well? Such a lot of money. You fool of fools! Oh, I can't get over it. Ha! ha! ha!"

"You yourself brought me to it. You wicked one of wicked ones! You scamp! You rascal!"

"Fool of the night! If I were to tell you to cut off your nose, must you do it? You idiot! You animal with the horse's face, you! Ha! ha! ha!"

"Be quiet, at any rate, you Goyetzel, you. And let me not see your forbidding countenance."

And he turned away from himself, sat sulky for a few minutes, scraping the earth with his fingers. He covered the hole he had made, as he sang a little song under his breath.

"Do you know what I will tell you, Getzel?" he said to himself a few minutes later. "Let us forgive one another. Let us be friends. The Lord helped me. It was my luck to win so many nuts--may no evil eye harm them! Why should we not enjoy ourselves? Let's crack a few nuts. I should think they are not bad! Well, what do you say, Getzel?"

"Yes, I also think they ought not to be bad," he answered himself. He thrust a nut into his mouth, a second, a third. Each time, he banged his teeth with his fists. The nut was cracked. He took out a fat kernel, cleaned it round, threw it back in his mouth, and chewed it pleasurably with his strong white teeth. He crunched them as a horse crunches oats. He said to himself:

"Would you also like the kernel of a nut, Getzel? Speak out. Do not be ashamed."

"Why not?"

That was how he answered himself. He stretched out his left hand, but only smacked it with his right.

"Will you have a plague?"

"Let it be a plague."

"Then have two."

And he did not cease from cracking the nuts, and crunching them like a horse. It was not enough that he sat eating and gave none to the other, but he said to him:

"Listen, Getzel, to what I will ask you. How, for example, do you feel while I am eating and you are only looking on?"

"How do I feel? May you have such a year!"

"Ah, I see you've got a temper. Here is a kernel for you."

And Getzel's right hand gave the left a kernel. The right turned upside down. The left hand smacked the right. The left hand smacked the right cheek. Then the right hand smacked the left cheek twice. The left hand caught hold of the right lapel of his coat, and the right hand at once tore off the left lapel, from top to bottom. The left hand pulled the right earlock. The right hand gave the left ear a terrible bang.

"Let go of my earlock, Getzel. Take my advice, and let go of my earlock!"

"A plague!"

"Then you'll have no earlock, Getzel."

"Then you, Goyetzel, will have no ear."

"Oh!"

"Oh! Oh!"

* * *

EPILOGUE

For several minutes our Getzel rolled on the ground. Now he lay right side up, and now he lay left side up. He held his pocketful of nuts with both hands.... One minute Goyetzel was victorious. The next it was Getzel, until he got up from the ground covered with dirt, like a pig. He was torn to pieces, had a bleeding ear, and a torn earlock. He took all the nuts from his pocket, and threw them into the mud of the river, far away, behind the mill. He muttered angrily:

"That's right. It's a good deed."

"Neither you--nor me."

A Lost "L'Ag Beomer"

Our teacher, "_Reb_" Nissel the small one--so called on account of his size--allowed himself to be led by the nose by his assistants. Whatever they wanted they got. When the first assistant said the children were to be sent home early that day, he sent them home early. The second assistant said that the boys would turn the world upside down, and ought to be kept at school, and he kept them at school. He could never decide anything for himself. That was why his assistants controlled the school, and not he. At other schools the assistants teach the children to wash their hands and say the blessing. At our school, the assistants would not do this for us, nor fetch us our meals, nor take us to school on their shoulders. No, they liked to go for our meals. They ate them themselves on the road. We did not dare to tell the master of this. The assistants kept us in fear and trembling. If a boy whispered a word of their doings to the teacher, he would be flogged, his skin would be cut. Once, a daring boy told the master something; and the assistant beat him so terribly that he was laid up in bed for months. He warned the boys never to tell the master anything, no matter what the assistants did.

This period of our schooldays might be called the Tyranny of the Assistants.

* * *

And it came to pass that we were under the yoke of the assistants. One year, we had a cold "_L'ag Beomer_." It was a cold, wet May, such as we sometimes had in our town, Mazapevka. The sun barely showed itself. A sharp wind blew, brought us clouds, tore open our coats, and threw us off our feet. It was not pleasant out of doors.

Just then the assistants took it into their heads to take us for a walk outside the town, so that we might play at wars, with swords and pop-guns and bows and arrows.

It is an old custom amongst Jewish children, to become war-like on the "_L'ag Beomer_." They arm themselves from head to foot with wooden swords, pop-guns and bows and arrows. They take food with them, and go off to wage war. Jewish children who are the whole year round closed up in small "_Chedorim_," oppressed by fears of the master, and trembling under the whips of the assistants, when "_L'ag Beomer_" comes round, and they may go out into the open, armed from head to foot, imagine that they are giants who can overcome the strongest foe and reduce the world to ruins. All at once they grow brave. They step forward eagerly, singing songs that are a curious mixture of Yiddish and Russian.

"One, two, three, four! Jewish children Learn the '_Torah_,' Believe in miracles, Are not afraid. Hear, O Israel! Nothing matters. We are not afraid of any one, Excepting God."

And we carried out the old custom. We took down our swords of last year from the attic, and we made bows from the hoops of old wine barrels. Pop-guns the assistants provided us with, for money, of course--fine guns with which one could shoot flies if they only stood still long enough. In a word, we had all the Jewish weapons to frighten tiny infants to death. And we provided ourselves with food in good earnest, each boy as much as the Lord had blessed him with, and his mother would give him, out of her generosity. We arrived at "_Cheder_" armed from head to foot, and our pockets bulging out with good things--rolls, cakes, boiled eggs, goose-fat, cherry-wine, fruit, fowls, livers, tea and sugar, and preserves and jam, and also many "_groschens_" in money. Each boy tried to show off by bringing the best and the largest quantity. And we wished to please the assistants. They praised us, and said we were very good boys. They took our food and put it into their bags. They placed us in rows, like soldiers, and commanded us.

"Jewish children, take hands, and march across the bridge, straight for Mezritzer fields. There you will meet the sea-cats, and do battle with them."

"Hurrah for the sea-cats!" we shouted in one voice. We took hands and went forward, like giants, strong and courageous.

* * *

We called the Free School boys sea-cats because they were short little children in the A B C class. They appeared to us "_Chumash_" boys like flies, ants. We imagined that with one blow--phew! we would make an end of them. We were certain that when they saw us, how we were armed from head to foot with swords and bows and arrows and pop-guns, they would surely fly away. It was no trifle to encounter such giants. You play with "_Chumash_" boys, warriors with long legs!

We had never fought the sea-cats before. But we had every reason to believe, we were convinced, we would conquer these squirrels with a glance, destroy them, make an end of them. Along with giving them a good licking, we would take spoil from them, that is to say, their food, and let them go hungry.

We were so full of our own courage, and so enthusiastic about the brave deeds we were going to do that we pushed each other forward, clapped each other on the shoulder. Then, too, the assistants urged us forward.

"Why do you crawl like insects?" they asked us. They themselves stopped frequently, opened the bags, and tasted our food and cherry-wine, which they praised highly.

"Excellent cherry-wine," they said, passing round the bottles, and letting the liquid gurgle down their throats. "Splendid liquor. The best I ever tasted."

That was what the assistants said. They actually licked their fingers. They remained in the distance, but indicated with their hands that we must go forward, forward.

We went on and on, over the wide Mezritzer field, though the wind blew stronger and stronger. The sky grew black with clouds, and a cold, thick rain beat into our faces. Our hands were blue with the cold. Our boots squelched in the mud. We had long given up singing songs. We were tired and hungry, very hungry. We decided to sit down and rest, and have something to eat.

"Where are the assistants? Where is the food--where is it?"

The boys began to murmur against the assistants.

"It is a dirty trick to take all our food from us, and our cherry-wine and our few '_groschens_,' and to leave us here in the desert, cold and hungry. May the devil take them!"

"May a bad end come to the assistants!"

"May the cholera strike down all the assistants in the world!"

"May they be the sacrifices for our tiniest nails!"

"Hush. Let there be silence. Here come our foes, our enemies."

"Little squirrels with big sticks."

"The sea-cats--the sea-cats!"

"Hurrah for the sea-cats!"

The moment we saw them, we rushed towards them, like fierce starving wolves. We were ready to tear them to pieces. But there happened to us a misfortune, a great misfortune which no one could possibly have foreseen.

If it is not destined, neither wisdom nor strength nor smartness are of any avail. Listen to what can happen.

* * *

The sea-cats, though they were small, short little squirrels, were evidently no fools. Before going to do battle on the broad Mezritzer field, they had prepared themselves well at home, gone through their drill. Afterwards, they fed up. They also took with them warm clothing and rubber goloshes. They were armed from head to foot no worse than we were, with swords and pop-guns and bows and arrows. They would not wait until we had taken the offensive. They attacked us first, and began to break our bones. And how, do you think? From all sides at once, and so suddenly that we had no time to look about us. Before we realized it, they were upon us. They were not alone, but had their assistants to urge them on and encourage them.

"Pay out the '_Chumash_' boys. Beat them, the boys with the long legs."

Naturally we were not silent either. We stood up against the squirrels, like giants, beat them with our swords, aimed our arrows at them, and shot at them with our pop-guns. But, alas! our swords were dull as wood; and before we could set our bows, they had thrashed us. I say nothing of the guns. What can you do with a pop-gun if the foe will not wait until you have taken aim at him? They rushed forward and knocked the guns out of our hands. What could we do?

We had to throw away our weapons, our swords and pop-guns and bows and arrows, and fight as the Lord has ordained. That is to say, we fought with our fists. But we were hungry and tired and cold, and fought without a plan, because our assistants had remained behind. They let us fight whilst they ate our food and drank our cherry-wine--the devil take them! And they, the little squirrels, well-fed and well-clad, had crept upon us from three sides at once, each moment growing stronger and stronger. They rained down on us blows and thumps and digs. The same blows that we had reckoned on giving them they gave us. And their assistants went in front of them, and never ceased from urging them on.

"Pay back the '_Chumash_' boys. Beat them, beat them, the boys with the long legs."

Who was the first to turn his back on the enemy? It would be hard to say. I only know we ran quickly, helter-skelter, back home, back to Mazapevka. And they, the little squirrels--may they burn!--ran after us, shouting and yelling and laughing at us, right on top of us.

"Hurrah! '_Chumash_' boys! Hurrah! Big boys!"

* * *

We arrived home exhausted, ragged, bruised, beaten. And we giants imagined that our parents would pity us, give us cakes because of the blows we got. But it turned out we were mistaken. No one thought of us. We thanked God we were so fortunate as to escape without beatings from our parents for our torn clothes and twisted boots. But next morning we got a good whipping from our teacher, Nissel the small one, for the bruises we had on our foreheads and the blue marks around our eyes. It is shameful to tell it--we were each whipped in the true style. This was a mere addition, as if we had not had enough.

We were not sorry for anything but that the assistants gave us another share. When a father or a mother beats one, it is out of kindness. When a teacher beats one it is because he is a teacher. And what is his rod for, anyway? But the assistants! Our curses upon them! As if it were not enough that they had eaten all our food, and drunk our cherry-wine--may they suffer for it, Father of the Universe!--as if it were not enough that they had left us to fight alone, in the middle of the field, but when they were whipping us they held our feet, so that we might not kick either.

* * *

And that was how our holiday ended up. It was a dark, dreary, lost "_L'ag Beomer_."

Murderers

"Is he still snoring?"

"And how snoring!"

"May he perish!"

"Wake him up. Wake him up."

"Leib-Dreib-Obderick!"

"Get up, my little bird."

"Open your little eyes."

I barely managed to open my eyes, raise my head, and look about me. I saw a whole crowd of rascals, my school-fellows. The window was open, and along with their sparkling eyes I saw the first rays of the bright, warm early morning sun. I looked about me, on all sides.

"Just see how he looks."

"Like a sinner."

"Did you not recognize us?"

"Have you forgotten that it is '_L'ag Beomer_' today?"

The words darted through all my limbs like a flash of lightning. I was carried out of bed by them. In the twinkling of an eye, I was dressed. I went in search of my mother, who was busy with the breakfast and the younger children.

"Mother, today is '_L'ag Beomer_.'"

"A good '_Yom-tov_' to you. What do you want?"

"I want something for the party."

"What am I to give you? My troubles? Or my aches?"

So said my mother to me. Nevertheless, she was ready to give me something towards the party. We bargained about it. I wanted a lot. She would only give a little. I wanted two eggs. Said she: "A suffering in the bones!" I began to grow angry. She gave me two smacks. I began to cry. She gave me an apple to quieten me. I wanted an orange. Said she: "Greedy boy, what will you want next?" And my friends on the other side of the window were kicking up a row.

"Will you ever come out, or not?"

"Leib-Dreib-Obderick!"

"The day is flying!"

"Quicker! Quicker!"

"Like the wind."

After much arguing, I got round my mother. I snatched up my breakfast and my share of the party, and flew out of the house, fresh, lively, joyful, to my waiting comrades. All together we flew down the hill to the "_Cheder_."

* * *

The "_Cheder_" was full of noise and tumult and shouting that reached to the sky. A score of throats shouted at the one time. The table was covered with delicacies. We had never had such a party as we were going to have that "_L'ag Beomer_." We had wine and brandy, for which we had to thank Berrel Yossel, the wine-merchant's son. He had brought a bottle of brandy and two bottles of wine made by Yossel himself. His father had given him the brandy, but the wine he had taken himself.

"What do you mean by saying he took it himself?"

"Don't you understand, peasant's head? He took it from the shelf when no one was looking."

"Gracious me! That means he stole?"

"Fool of the night! Well, what then?"

"What do you mean? Then he is a thief?"

"For the sake of the party, fool."

"Is it a good deed to steal for that?"

"Certainly. What do you say to the wise one of the 'Four questions'?"

"Where is it written?"

"He wants us to tell him where it is written?"

"Tell him it is written in the Book of Jests."

"In the chapter called 'And he took.'"

"Beginning with the words 'Bim-bom.'"

"Ha! ha! ha!"

"Hush, children, Mazeppa comes."

All at once there was silence. We were sitting around the table quiet as lambs, like angels, golden children who could not count two, and whose souls were innocent.

* * *

Mazeppa was the teacher's name. That is to say, his real name was Baruch-Moshe. He had come to our town from Mazapevka not long before, and the people called him the Mazapevkar. We boys shortened his name to Mazeppa. And when pupils crown their teacher with such a lovely name, he must be worthy of it. Let me introduce him.

He is small, thin, dried-up, hideously ugly. He hasn't even the signs of a moustache or beard or eyebrows. Not because he shaved. God forbid, but simply because they would not grow. But for that again he had a pair of lips and a nose. Oh, what a nose! It was curved like a ram's horn. And he had a voice like a bull. He growled like a lion. Where did such a creature get such a terrible roar? And where did he get so much strength? When he took hold of you by the hand with his cold, bony fingers, you saw the next world. When he boxed your ears, you felt the smart for three days on end. He hated arguing. For the least thing, guilty or not guilty, he had one sentence: "Lie down."

"'_Rebbe_,' Yossel-Yakov-Yossels thumped me."

"Lie down."

"'_Rebbe_,' it's a lie. He first kicked me in the side."

"Lie down."

"'_Rebbe_,' Chayim-Berrel Lippes put out his tongue at me."

"Lie down."

"'_Rebbe_,' it's a lie of lies. He made a noise at me."

"Lie down."

And you had to lie down. Nothing would avail you. Even Elya the red one, who is already "_Bar-mitzvah_," and is engaged to be married, and wears a silver watch--do you think he is never flogged? Oh yes! And how? Elya says he will be avenged for the floggings he gets. Some day or other he will pay back the "_Rebbe_" in such a way that his children's children will remember it. That's what Elya says after each flogging. And we echo his words.

"Amen! May it be so! From your mouth into God's ears!"

* * *

We said our prayers with the teacher, as usual. (He never let us pray by ourselves because he thought we might skip more than half the prayers.) Mazeppa said to us in his lion's roar:

"Now, children, wash your hands and sit down to the party. After grace I will let you go for a walk."

We used to hold our "_L'ag Beomer_" party outside the town, in the open air, on the bare earth, under God's sky. We used to throw crumbs of bread to the birds. Let them also know that it is "_L'ag Beomer_" in the world. But one does not argue with Mazeppa. When he told one to sit down, one sat down, lest he might tell one to lie down.

"Eat in peace," he said to us, after we had pronounced the blessing.

"Come and eat with us," we replied out of politeness.

"Eat in health," he said. "I do not wish to eat yet. But, if you like, I will make a blessing over the wine. What have you in that bottle? Brandy?" he asked, and stretched out his long, dried-up hand with its bony fingers to the bottle of brandy. He poured out a glassful, tasted it, and made such a grimace that we must have been stronger than iron to control ourselves from exploding with laughter.

"Whose is this terrible thing?" he asked, taking another drop. "It's not a bad brandy." He filled a third glass and drank our health.

"Long life to you, children. May God grant that we be alive next year, and--and.... Haven't you anything to bite? Well, in honour of '_L'ag Beomer_' I will wash my hands and eat with you."

What is wrong with our teacher? He's not the same Mazeppa. He is in good humour, and talkative. His cheeks are shining; his nose is red; and his eyes are sparkling. He eats and laughs and points to the bottle of wine.