Chapter 9

That was what one of the boys asked us on one of those melancholy moments already described. His name was Velvel Leib Aryas. He was a young heathen. When he was speaking his eyes gleamed in the darkness like those of a wolf. And the whole school of boys crowded around Velvel to hear the plan by which we might get rid of our Gog-Magog. Velvel began his explanation by giving us a lecture--how impossible it was to stand Boaz any longer, how the Ashmodai was bathing in our blood, how he regarded us as dogs--worse than dogs, because when a dog is beaten with a stick it may, at any rate, howl. And we may not do that either. And so on, and so on. After this Velvel said to us:

"Listen, children, to what I will ask you. I am going to ask you something."

"Ask it," we all cried in one voice.

"What is the law in a case where, for example, one of us suddenly becomes ill?"

"It is not good," we replied.

"No, I don't mean that. I mean something else. I mean, if one of us is ill does he go to '_Cheder_,' or does he stay at home?"

"Of course he stays at home," we all answered together.

"Well, what is the law if two of us get ill?"

"Two remain at home."

"Well, and if three get ill?" Velvel went on asking us, and we went on answering him.

"Three stay at home."

"What would happen if, for example, we all took ill?"

"We should all stay at home."

"Then let a sickness come upon us all," he cried joyfully. We replied angrily:

"The Lord forbid! Are you mad, or have you lost your reason?"

"I am not mad, and I have not lost my reason. Only you are fools, yes. Do I mean that we are to be really ill? I mean that we are to pretend to be ill, so that we shall not have to go to '_Cheder_.' Do you understand me now?"

When Velvel had explained his plan to us, we began to understand it, and to like it. And we began to ask ourselves what sort of an illness we should suffer from. One suggested toothache, another headache, a third stomach-ache, a fourth worms. But we decided that it was not going to be toothache, nor headache, nor stomach-ache, nor worms. What then? We must all together complain of pains in our feet, because the doctor could decide whether we really suffered from any of the other illnesses or not. But if we told him we had pains in our feet, and were unable to move them, he could do nothing.

"Remember, children, you are not to get out of bed tomorrow morning. And so that we may all be certain that not one of us will come to '_Cheder_' tomorrow, let us promise one another, take an oath."

So said our comrade Velvel. And we gave each other our promise, and took an oath that we would not be at "_Cheder_" next morning. We went home from "_Cheder_" that evening lively, joyful, and singing. We felt like giants who knew how to overcome the enemy and win the battle.

The Spinning-Top

More than any of the boys at "_Cheder_," more than any boy of the town, and more than any person in the world, I loved my friend, Benny "_Polkovoi_." The feeling I had for him was a peculiar combination of love, devotion, and fear. I loved him because he was handsomer, cleverer and smarter than any other boy. He was kind and faithful to me. He took my part, fought for me, and pulled the ears of those boys who annoyed me.

And I was afraid of him because he was big and quarrelsome. He could beat whom he liked, and when he liked. He was the biggest, oldest, and wealthiest boy in the "_Cheder_." His father, Mayer "_Polkovoi_," though he was only a regimental tailor, was nevertheless a rich man, and played an important part in public affairs. He had a fine house, a seat in the synagogue beside the ark. At the Passover, his "_Matzo_" was baked first. At the feast of Tabernacles his citron was the best. On the Sabbath he always had a poor man to meals. He gave away large sums of money in charity. And he himself went to the house of another to lend him money as a favour. He engaged the best teachers for his children. In a word, Mayer "_Polkovoi_" tried to refine himself--to be a man amongst men. He wanted to get his name inscribed in the books of the best society, but did not succeed. In our town, Mazapevka, it was not easy to get into the best society. We did not forget readily a man's antecedents. A tailor may try to refine himself for twenty years in succession, but he will still remain a tailor to us. I do not think there is a soap in the world that will wash out this stain. How much do you think Mayer "_Polkovoi_" would have given to have us blot out the name bestowed upon him, "_Polkovoi_"? His misfortune was that his family was a thousand times worse than his name. Just imagine! In his passport he was called Mayor Mofsovitch Heifer.

It is a remarkable thing. May Mayer's great-great-grandfather have a bright Paradise! He also must have been a tailor. When it came to giving himself a family name, he could not find a better one than Heifer. He might have called himself Thimble, Lining, Buttonhole, Bigpatch, Longfigure. These are not family names either, it is true, but they are in some way connected with tailoring. But Heifer? What did he like in the name of Heifer? You may ask why not Goat? Are there not people in the world called Goat? You may say what you like, Heifer and Goat are equally nice. Still, they are not the same. A Heifer is not a Goat.

But we will return to my friend Benny.

* * *

Benny was a nice boy, with yellow tousled hair, white puffed-out cheeks, scattered teeth, and peculiar red, bulging, fishy eyes. These red, fishy eyes were always smiling and roguish. He had a turned-up nose. His whole face had an expression of impudence. Nevertheless, I liked his face, and we became friends the first hour we met.

We met for the first time at "_Cheder_," at the teachers' table. When my mother took me to "_Cheder_," the teacher was sitting at his table with the boys, teaching them the book of Genesis. He was a man with thick eyebrows and a pointed cap. He made no fuss of me. He asked me no questions, neither did he take my measurements, but said to me--

"Get over there, on that bench, between those two boys."

I got on the bench, between the boys, and was already a pupil. There was no talk between my mother and the teacher. They had made all arrangements beforehand.

"Remember to learn as you ought," said my mother from the doorway. She turned to look at me again, lovingly, joyfully. I understood her look very well. She was pleased that I was sitting with nice children, and learning the "_Torah_." And she was pained because she had to part with me.

I must confess I felt much happier than my mother. I was amongst a crowd of new friends--may no evil eye harm them! They looked at me, and I looked at them. But the teacher did not let us idle for long. He shook himself, and shouted aloud the lesson we had to repeat after him at the top of our voices.

"Now the serpent was more subtil than any beast of the field."

Boys who sit so close together, though they shake and shout aloud, cannot help getting to know one another, or exchange a few words. And so it was.

Benny "_Polkovoi_," who sat crushing me, pinched my leg, and looked into my eyes. He went on shaking himself, and shouting out the lesson with the teacher and the other boys. But he threw his own words into the middle of the sentence we were translating.

"And Adam knew (here are buttons for you) Eve his wife. (Give me a locust-bean and I will give you a pull of my cigarette.)"

I felt a warm hand in mine, and I had some smooth buttons. I confess I did not want the buttons, and I had no locust-beans, neither did I smoke cigarettes. But I liked the idea of the thing. And I replied in the same tones in which the lesson was being recited:

"And she conceived and bare Cain. (Who told you I have locust-beans?)"

That is how we conversed the whole time, until the teacher suspected that though I shook myself to and fro, my mind was far from the lesson. He suddenly put me through an examination.

"Listen, you, whatever your name is, you surely know whose son Cain was, and the name of his brother?"

This question was as strange to me as if he had asked me when there would be a fair in the sky, or how to make cream-cheese from snow, so that they should not melt. In reality my mind was elsewhere, I don't know where.

"Why do you look at me so?" asked the teacher. "Don't you hear me? I want you to tell me the name of the first man, and the story of Cain and his brother Abel."

The boys were smiling, smothering their laughter. I did not know why.

"Fool, say you do not know, because we have not learnt it," whispered Benny in my ear, digging me with his elbow. I repeated his words, like a parrot. And the "_Cheder_" was filled with loud laughter.

"What are they laughing at?" I asked myself. I looked at them, and at the teacher. All were rolling with laughter. And, at that moment, I counted the buttons from one hand into the other. There were exactly half a dozen.

"Well, little boy, show me your hands. What are you doing with them?" And the teacher bent down and looked under the table.

You are clever boys, and you will understand yourselves what I had from the teacher, for the buttons, on my first day at "_Cheder_."

* * *

Whippings heal up; shame is forgotten. Benny and I became good friends. We were one soul. This is how it came about:--

Next morning I arrived at "_Cheder_" with my Bible in one hand and my dinner in the other. The boys were excited, jolly. Why? The teacher was not there. What had happened? He had gone off to a Circumcision with his wife. That is to say, not with her, God forbid! A teacher never walks with his wife. The teacher walks before, and his wife after him.

"Let us make a bet," cried a boy with a blue nose. His name was Hosea Hessel.

"How much shall we bet?" asked another boy, Koppel Bunnas. He had a torn sleeve out of which peeped the point of a dirty elbow.

"A quarter of the locust-beans."

"Let it be a quarter of the locust-beans. What for? Let us hear."

"I say he will not stand more than twenty-five."

"And I say thirty-six."

"Thirty-six. We shall soon see. Boys, take hold of him."

This was the order of Hosea Hessel, of the blue nose. And several boys took hold of me, all together, turned me over on the bench, face upwards. Two sat on my legs, two on my arms, and one held my head, so that I should not be able to wriggle. And another placed his left forefinger and thumb at my nose. (It seemed he was left-handed.) He curled up his finger and thumb, closed his eye, and began to fillip me on the nose. And how, do you think? Each time I saw my father in the other world. Murderers, slaughterers! What had they against my nose? What had it done to them? Whom had it bothered? What had they seen on it--a nose like all noses.

"Boys, count," commanded Hosea Hessel. "One, two, three--"

But suddenly....

Nearly always, since ever the world began, when a misfortune happens to a man--when robbers surround him in a wood, bind his hands, sharpen their knives, tell him to say his prayers, and are about to finish him off, there comes a woodman with a bell. The robbers run away, and the man lifts his hands on high and praises the Lord for his deliverance.

It was just like that with me and my nose. I don't remember whether it was at the fifth or sixth blow that the door opened, and Benny "_Polkovoi_" came in. The boys freed me at once, and remained standing like blocks of wood. Benny took them in hand, one by one. He caught each boy by the ear, twisted it round, and said:

"Well, now you will know what it means to meddle with a widow's boy."

From that day the boys did not touch either me or my nose. They were afraid to begin with the widow's boy whom Benny had taken under his wing, into his guardianship, under his protection.

* * *

"The widow's boy"--- I had no other name at "_Cheder_." This was because my mother was a widow. She supported herself by her own work. She had a little shop in which were, for the most part, so far as I can remember, chalk and locust-beans--the two things that sell best in Mazapevka. Chalk is wanted for white-washing the houses, and locust-beans are a luxury. They are sweet, and they are light in weight, and they are cheap. Schoolboys spend on them all the money they get for breakfast and dinner. And the shopkeepers make a good profit out of them. I could never understand why my mother was always complaining that she could hardly make enough to pay the rent and my school-fees. Why school-fees? What about the other things a human being needs, food and clothes and boots, for example? She thought of nothing but the school-fees. "When the Lord punished me," she wailed, "and took my husband from me--and such a husband!--and left me all alone, I want my son to be a scholar, at any rate." What do you say to that? Do you think she did not come frequently to the "_Cheder_" to find out how I was getting on? I say nothing of the prayers she took good care I should recite every morning. She was always lecturing me to be even half as good as my father--peace be unto him! And whenever she looked at me, she said I was exactly like him--may I have longer years than he! And her eyes grew moist. Her face grew curiously careworn, and had a mournful expression.

I hope he will forgive me, I mean my father, from the other world, but I could not understand what sort of a man he had been. From what my mother told of him, he was always either praying or studying. Had he never been drawn, like me, out into the open, on summer mornings, when the sun was not burning yet, but was just beginning to show in the sky, marching rapidly onwards, a fiery angel, in a fiery chariot, drawn by fiery horses, into whose brilliant, burning, guinea-gold faces it was impossible to look? I ask you what taste have the week-day prayers on such a morning? What sort of a pleasure is it to sit and read in a stuffy room, when the golden sun is burning, and the air is hot as an iron frying-pan? At such a time, you are tempted to run down the hill, to the river--the beautiful river that is covered with a green slime. A peculiar odour, as of a warm bath, comes from the distance. You want to undress and jump into the warm water. Under the trees it is cool and the mud is soft and slippery. And the curious insects that live at the bottom of the river whirl around and about before your eyes. And curious, long-legged flies slip and slide on the surface of the water. At such a time one desires to swim over to the other side--over to where the green flags grow, their yellow and white stalks shimmering in the sun. A green, fresh fern looks up at you, and you go after it, plash-plash into the water, hands down, and feet up, so that people might think you were swimming. I ask you again, what pleasure is it to sit in a little room on a summer's evening, when the great dome of the sky is dropping over the other side of the town, lighting up the spire of the church, the shingle roofs of the baths, and the big windows of the synagogue. And on the other side of the town, on the common, the goats are bleating, and the lambs are frisking, the dust rising to the heavens, the frogs croaking. There is a tearing and a shrieking and a tumult as at a regular fair. Who thinks of praying at such a time? But if you talk to my mother, she will tell you that her husband--peace be unto him!--did not succumb to temptations. He was a different sort of a man. What sort of a man he was I do not know--asking his pardon. I only know that my mother annoys me very much. She reminds me every minute that I had a father; and throws it into my teeth that she has to pay my school-fees for me. For this she asks only two things of me--that I should learn diligently, and say my prayers willingly.

* * *

It could not be said that the widow's boy did not learn well. He was not in any way behind his comrades. But I cannot guarantee that he said his prayers willingly. All children are alike. And he was as mischievous as any other boy. He, like the rest, was fond of running away and playing, though there is not much to be said of the play of Jewish children. They tie a paper bag to a cat's tail so that she may run through the house like mad, smashing everything in her way. They lock the women's portion of the synagogue from the outside on Friday nights, so that the women may have to be rescued. They nail the teacher's shoes to the floor, or seal his beard to the table with wax when he is asleep. But oh, how many thrashings do they get when their tricks are found out! It may be gathered that everything must have an originator, a commander, a head, a leader who shows the way.

Our leader, our commander was Benny "_Polkovoi_." From him all things originated; and on our heads were the consequences. Benny, of the fat face and red, fishy eyes, always managed to escape scot free from the scrapes. He was always innocent as a dove. Whatever tricks or mischief we did, we always got the idea from Benny. Who taught us to smoke cigarettes in secret, letting the smoke out through our nostrils? Benny. Who told us to slide on the ice, in winter, with the peasant-boys? Benny. Who taught us to gamble with buttons--to play "odd or even," and lose our breakfasts and dinners? Benny. He was up to every trick, and taught us them all. He won our last "_groschens_" from us. And when it came to anything, Benny had disappeared. Playing was to us the finest thing in the world. And for playing we got the severest thrashings from our teacher. He said he would tear out of us the desire to play.

"Play in my house? You will play with the Angel of Death," said the teacher. And he used to empty our pockets of everything, and thrash us most liberally.

But there was one week of the year when we were allowed to play. Why do I say allowed? It was a righteous thing to play then.

And that week was the week of "Chanukah." And we played with spinning-tops.

* * *

It is true that the games of cards--bridge and whist, for example--which are played at "_Chanukah_" nowadays have more sense in them than the old game of spinning-tops. But when the play is for money, it makes no difference what it is. I once saw two peasant-boys beating one another's heads against the wall. When I asked them why they were doing this, if they were out of their minds, they told me to go my road. They were playing a game, for money, which of them would get tired the soonest of having his head banged on the wall.

The game of spinning-tops that have four corners, each marked with a letter of the alphabet, and are like dice, is very exciting. One can lose one's soul playing it. It is not so much the loss of the money as the annoyance of losing. Why should the other win? Why should the top fall on the letter G for him, and on the N for you? I suppose you know what the four letters stand for? N means no use. H means half. B means bad. And G means good. The top is a sort of lottery. Whoever is fortunate wins. Take, for example, Benny "_Polkovoi_." No matter how often he spins the top, it always falls on the letter G.

The boys said it was curious how Benny won. They kept putting down their money. He took on their bets. What did he care? He was a rich boy.

"G again. It's curious," they cried, and again opened their purses and staked their money. Benny whirled the top. It spun round and round, and wobbled from side to side, like a drunkard, and fell down.

"G," said Benny.

"G, G. Again G. It's extraordinary," said the boys, scratching their heads and again opening their purses.

The game grew more exciting. The players grew hot, staked their money, crushed one another, and dug one another in the ribs to get nearer the table, and called each other peculiar names--"Black Tom-cat! Creased Cap! Split Coat!" and the like. They did not see the teacher standing behind them, in his woollen cap and coat, and carrying his "_Tallis_" and "_Tephilin_" under his arm. He was going to the synagogue to say his prayers, and seeing the crowd of excited boys, he drew near to watch the play. This day he does not interfere. It is "_Chanukah_." We are free for eight days on end, and may play as much as we like. But we must not fight, nor pull one another by the nose. The teacher's wife took her sickly child in her arms, and stood at her husband's shoulder, watching the boys risk their money, and how Benny took on all the bets. Benny was excited, burning, aflame, ablaze. He twirled the top. It spun round and round, wobbled and fell down.

"G all over again. It's a regular pantomime."

Benny showed us his smartness and his quick-wittedness so long, until our pockets were empty. He thrust his hands in his pockets, as if challenging us--"Well, who wants more?"

We all went home. We carried away with us the heartache and the shame of our losses. When we got home, we had to tell lies to account for the loss of the money we had been given in honour of "_Chanukah_." One boy confessed he had spent his on locust-beans. Another said the money had been stolen out of his pocket the previous night. A third came home crying. He said he had bought himself a pocket-knife. Well, why was he crying? He had lost the knife on his way home.

I told my mother a fine story--a regular "Arabian Nights" tale, and got out of her a second "_Chanukah_" present of ten "_groschens_." I ran off with them to Benny, played for five minutes, lost to him, and flew back home, and told my mother another tale. In a word, brains were at work and heads were busy inventing lies. Lies flew about like chaff in the wind. And all our "_Chanukah_" money went into Benny's pockets, and was lost to us for ever.

One of the boys became so absorbed in the play that he was not satisfied to lose only his "_Chanukah_" money, but went on gambling through the whole eight days of the festival.

And that boy was no other than myself, "the widow's son."

* * *

You must not ask where the widow's boy got the money to play with. The great gamblers of the world who have lost and won fortunes, estates and inheritances--they will know and understand. Woe is me! May the hour never be known on which the evil spirit of gambling takes hold of one! There is nothing too hard for him. He breaks into houses, gets through iron walls, and does the most terrible thing imaginable. It's a name to conjure with--the spirit of gambling.