“What do you think of him?”
“A swell fellow!”
“No nonsense about him!”
“He sure can talk.”
“And no need to be coaxed!”
“What about the story?”
“It’s a damn good one.”
“Let’s hope it’s a long one, too.”
Incidentally, there were even a few passengers who claimed that the same thing had happened in their towns. That is, not the exact same thing, but something more or less like it. And since every one of them was keen on telling it, the car soon turned into a free-for-all — but only until the Jew from Kaminka reappeared. As soon as he did, we all quieted down, crowded together to form a human wall, and gave him our undivided attention.
“Now where was I? We had just, thank God, said goodbye to a Jew named Kivke, hadn’t we? You agree? Well then, you’re wrong, my dear friends. A half year or a whole one went by, I can’t tell you exactly, and our Mr. Kivke, mind you, sat down and wrote a letter and addressed it to my grandfather. ‘In the first place,’ he wrote, ‘I wish to inform you that I am in good health and hope to hear the same from you. And in the second place, I’ve been left high and dry here without a cent to my name and no way of earning one, surrounded by Germans in a foreign land. They don’t understand my talk and I don’t understand theirs. If I can’t make a living, I’ll have to lie down and die. And so,’ wrote Kivke, ‘please be so kind as to send …’ A subtle fellow, no? What he wanted to be sent, of course, was money! Everyone, mind you, had a good laugh, and then that letter was torn up into little pieces and forgotten. Well, before three weeks were up, another letter arrived, again from the late Kivke and again addressed to my grandfather, with an ‘I wish to inform you’ at the beginning and a ‘Please be so kind’ at the end, but this time the end had a postscript. Could it be, Kivke wanted to know, that the Kaminkans had something against him? Better to have been flogged and gotten it over with, because his wounds would have healed long ago and he wouldn’t have been left penniless among Germans with nothing to do but watch his own belly swell from hunger …
“When my grandfather, may he rest in peace, received this letter, he called a meeting in his home. ‘What should we do? We can’t let a Jew die from hunger.’ Well, when you were asked to fork up by Reb Nissl Shapiro, you couldn’t be a pig about it. A fine collection was taken up (the biggest contributor to which, needless to say, was my grandfather himself), the sum was sent to Brody, and once more Kaminka forgot that there was such a person as a Jew named Kivke.
“Kivke, however, didn’t forget that there was such a place as a town called Kaminka. Another half a year passed, or maybe it was a whole one, I can’t tell you exactly, and guess what? Another letter arrived! Once more it was addressed to my grandfather and once more it had an ‘I wish to inform you’ with a ‘Please be so kind’ at the end, this time accompanied by some good news, Insofar and inasmuch, wrote Kivke, as he had recently become betrothed to a fine young lady from the very best of families, would the town kindly send him the two hundred rubles he had pledged as a dowry, because otherwise the match was off. What a tragedy, just imagine: Kivke would be left without a bride! I hardly need to tell you that the letter made the rounds of Kaminka as though it were a pearl of great price, and people laughed at it until their ribs ached. It became a running gag around town. ‘Mazel tov, Kivke is engaged!’ … ‘Have you heard? She’s a steal at two hundred rubles!’ … ‘And from the very best of families too, ha ha ha …’
“The ha-ha-ing, mind you, didn’t last very long, though, because a few weeks later came another letter from Kivke to my grandfather — and this time without the ‘I wish to inform you,’ just with the ‘Please be so kind.’ He failed to understand, Kivke wrote, why the two hundred rubles for the dowry had not yet arrived. If he didn’t receive them at once, the wedding would have to be called off — in which case his disgrace would be so great that only one choice would be left: either to drown himself on the spot or to come hell-bent back to Kaminka …
“Those last words of his, mind you, wiped the laugh off everyone’s face. That same evening the town’s leading Jews got together at my grandfather’s house and decided that the most respected of them, my grandfather too, should go from door to door to raise a dowry for Kivke. What else could they do? And so as not to keep you in suspense, let me tell you that they not only sent him the money, they sent it with a mazel tov and wished the lucky bridegroom, as is the custom, many long years of happiness in which to raise children and grandchildren with his wife-to-be. What were they counting on? They were counting on his being so busy with his new marriage that he’d forget all about Kaminka. But do you think he did? A fat chance of that! Haif a year didn’t go by, or maybe it was a whole one, I can’t tell you exactly, and what do you think came along? Another letter from Kivke! What did he want this time? Insofar and inasmuch as he was now married, he had a God-given wife who would be the envy of any Jew. Nothing was perfect, though — in this case the bride’s father, who was such a liar, such a chiseler, such a gangster, such an out-and-out crook beside whom the biggest sinner could be mistaken for a saint, that he had defrauded our Kivke of his two hundred rubles and thrown him into the street with his wife. And so, he wrote, ‘Please be so kind as to send’—would his fellow townsmen have the goodness to forward another two hundred rubles to make up for what he had lost. If not, he could either throw himself in the river or come hell-bent back to Kaminka …
“This time everyone was good and mad. Two dowries? Why, that was already a swindle! And so it was decided to let the letter go unanswered. Well, Kivke waited a week or two, mind you, or maybe even three, and then sent another letter, addressed once again to my grandfather. What, he wanted to know, did they take him for? Why hadn’t they sent him the two hundred rubles? He would give them, he wrote, another week and a half — and if he still hadn’t received the money by then, they could look forward to having him, God willing, as their guest in Kaminka, Yours Etcetera, amen and amen. He sure was some sheygetz!
“Don’t think that didn’t kick up a storm! What could anyone do, though? Once more there was a meeting at my grandfather’s house, and once more it was decided to send the most respected Jews from door to door. This time, mind you, people made a face, because who wanted to dish out still more money to such a scoundrel — but the fact of the matter was that when Reb Nissl Shapiro said ‘Give,’ being a pig was out of the question. Nevertheless, everyone swore that this was the last time. And my grandfather himself, mind you, didn’t think otherwise, because he wrote Kivke back in no uncertain terms that he wasn’t getting another cent and shouldn’t dream of it.
“No doubt you think that put the fear of God into the rascal, eh? Well, suppose I told you that one morning, and a Jewish holiday it was too, another letter arrived from the fine gentleman, addressed, naturally, to my grandfather! Insofar and inasmuch, he wrote, as he had struck up a friendship in Brody with a German, a most excellent and honorable fellow, and decided to go partners with him in the china business, which was a very good, very solid line that could support a person nicely, ‘Please be so kind as to send’ four hundred and fifty rubles — and for heaven’s sake, be quick and don’t dawdle, because the partner refused to wait, he had ten other candidates lined up, and if he, Kivke, was left without a business, he could either go for a long swim in the river or come hell-bent back to Kaminka … In short, the usual. And he signed off with the gentle hint that if he did not have the money in two weeks’ time, there would be the Devil to pay — or more precisely, his round-trip ticket from Brody to Kaminka and back. He sure was some shyster!