“Yes, that is he,” replied Rochalle, walking off from him without ceremony, as if she were offended. And, she felt dimly that he had offended her, though she could not exactly define how, or after what fashion.
Stempenyu fluttered around her still; but she showed him that she had grown tired of him — the same Stempenyu whose glances were so magnetic, and whose personality was so irresistible. She thought that it was wrong for any young woman to so much as stay in the same room with him.
She went back to her place beside the bride, and was ready to forget hat there existed such a person as Stempenyu.
A moment later, a hush fell upon the guests. Stempenyu was again playing a pathetic melody accompanied by the orchestra. Every one was breathless. Every single individual was filled with anxiety lest he or she should lose a note of Stempenyu’s playing. Isaac-Naphtali’s head drooped to one side, as he listened with the rapt air of a connoisseur. Dvossa-Malka was like rooted to the spot on which she was standing, holding a plate in her hand. And, even the waiters and waitresses were compelled to stand stock-still, enraptured.
And, Stempenyu went on pouring out his soul in the saddest, gloomiest melodies, so that a profound melancholy fell upon everyone who listened to him. They were breathless with the pathos of it all. Their hearts were full, and their tears gushed to their eyes. They wept, and moaned, and sobbed quietly. And Stempenyu? Who was Stempenyu at that moment? What was he? There was no such person as he. There was only a little fiddle, and sweet, yet sad sounds — divine singing that seemed to full the house from roof to cellar.
And, Rochalle the beautiful, who had never before heard Stempenyu playing — she stood now and listened to the enchanting strains — the golden notes the likes of which she had never imagined, much less heard, in all her life. She knew nothing, and understood nothing of what was going on around her. She only knew that her heart was melting within her. She lifted her eyes, and looked up to where the wonderful melody was coming from. And, her eyes encountered Stempenyu’s black eyes fixed on her face, piercing her to the core, like dagger thrusts. At the same time, the piercing eyes were pleading with her, beckoning to her, speaking to her in seductive terms.
Rochalle dropped her eyes; but, she knew that the burning eyes were still fixed on her. She felt uncomfortable and hot, and tried to turn out of the way of the burning eyes; but, they were still following her with their haunting expression, their supplications, their pleadings.
VI AFTER THE SUPPER
The wedding supper was long over. The people were making merry, dancing and laughing, and eating and drinking. Each of the guests took it in turn to pay for a dance; but, it was always the liveliest dance. Yontel the Butcher called for a Cossak’s dance, and the brides’ mother stepped out in front of him, quickly and bravely. A loud applause went up. And, Yontel was so hot and excited that he did not see he was really dancing opposite to a woman, and not a man as he imagined; for, he never suspected that any woman would be so immodest as to step out, and dance in front of him.
The bride’s mother was smiling at him — a broad, good-natured smile that covered the whole of her broad face, so that she looked like the full moon.
The dancing soon became general. Isaac-Naphtali had taken off his long coat, and was in his shirt-sleeves. He had been laughed at the whole evening because of the way he kept his coat tucked up, until he felt compelled to take it off. Someone pushed a big hat over his nose, and the whole roomful of people roared at him, boisterously and carelessly, having tasted freely of the strong liquor which had been provided. Even his own son, Moshe-Mendel, Roshalle’s husband, was pulling his father by the sleeve into the corner, as he cried: “Jump to the ceiling, jump to the ceiling, everybody!”
The musicians were now playing by themselves. Stempenyu had left them to go and mingle with the crowd. He was as gay and as noisy as any of them.
The leadership of the orchestra was in the hands of one of the young men with the long teeth. Shneyer-Meyer, the second fiddle, had dozed off, and Yekel Double-bass was fast asleep. But, the younger men were playing for all they were worth, Michsa Drummer working like a galley-slave to make up the deficiency of the instruments. He felt like a murderer, vicious towards his drum as if it were the most hateful thing in the whole world. He hid his yellow head behind the drum. He seemed to have vanished out of sight, excepting for his shoulders, which showed out above the drum, and his feet, which beat time on the floor.
Meanwhile, Stempenyu was fluttering around the young women, keeping near to Rochalle most of the time.
“Let us go home,” said Rochalle to her mother-in-law, who was staring at her husband with the big hat on his nose, and his arms in his shirt-sleeves.
“Come, my daughter, come,” she replied. “You are right. It is time to go home. To-morrow is market-day, and we must rise early. See how they are enjoying themselves!”
Dvossa-Malka went home with Rochalle.
The dark blue sky had a patch of lighter shade on one side. It was the dawn breaking through the clouds of night. A cock crowed somewhere, and a dozen others took up the cry. Far away in the distance, a dog was barking. But, not a soul was yet astir. Even the field laborers were still fast asleep in their tiny huts. The only house that showed signs of life was the one which was inhabited by an old Jew who was in the habit of reading for an hour before he set out on his daily tasks.
“What do you say to Nathan’s daughter, Rochalle? Has she not grown in the width? Do you like her?” But, Rochalle was silent. She had not heard what was said. She was deeply engrossed in her own reflections. Who can say what or about whom she was thinking?
“Aunt,” she said, addressing her mother-in-law, to whom she sometimes gave that name, “I heard Stempenyu playing for the first time in my life to-night!”
“Go away, child! For the first time in your life?” was the answer. “Didn’t he play at Reb Leib-Abram’s? And what about the wedding of Sarah Benzion’s daughter? And what about the wedding of Reb himself?”
“I do not remember,” said Rochalle. “I only remember hearing people repeat the name of Stempenyu again and again; but, I do not think I ever saw him before.”
“Nu, that’s to be understood. At the time I speak of you were no more than — let me see — how old could you have been then? You were only a tiny child when Stempenyu played at the Rebbe’s wedding in the village of Skvirro. Oh, what a wedding that was! May all my best friends get married after the same grand fashion, with the help of the Almighty! That was before my poor twins were born. But where are you going to, Rochalle? Here is our house, and you passed it by, in the moment when I did not notice where you were taking me.”
“Did you ever see the like?” cried Rochalle, looking about her in some confusion. “Did you ever hear the like?” she repeated, and burst out laughing.
And, she was still laughing when they entered the house.
They both went to bed without the least delay, anxious to get a few hours sleep before having to get up to go to the market on the morrow. This market was one of the few big ones which took place ion Tasapevka during the year. It was almost a fair.
VII ROCHALLE CANNOT FALL ASLEEP
Did you ever hear the likes? Without having the least cause to account for it, Rochalle cannot fall asleep. She keeps twisting, and turning, and covering herself, and uncovering herself; but, no sleep comes to her. She tries her best to drive him out of her mind — Stempenyu, I mean, of course. But, he still stood before her eyes, goodness alone knew why. She closed her eyes tightly, but, she saw him just as clearly. She found herself compelled to haze back into the burning eyes that were staring at her out of the darkness, beckoning to her, and pleading with her.