“Well, that’s all a lot of ancient history. In the end I found an honest-to-god lawyer, a gentleman of the old school who knew exactly what the score was. He sat there listening with his eyes closed while I told him the whole story and when I was finished he said, ‘It that all? No more? Then go home and forget it, it’s all nonsense. The worst you can get is a three-hundred-ruble fine.’
“ ‘Eh?’ I say. ‘That’s the worst? If only I had known that’s all they can stick me with! And here I was worried sick for my son, it’s my son I was worried for.’
“ ‘What son?’ he asks.
“ ‘What do you mean, what son?’ I say. ‘My Alter — I mean my Itsik!’
“ ‘What had you so worried?’ he asks.
“ ‘What do you mean, what?’ I say. ‘What happens if he’s called up again, then what?’
“ ‘But he has a white card,’ he says.
“ ‘He has three of them!’ I say.
“ ‘Then what more do you want?’
“ ‘What more do I want? I don’t want anything,’ I say. ‘I’m just afraid that since they’re looking for Eisik, and there is no Eisik, and Alter — I mean Itsik — is registered as Avrom-Yitzchok, and Yitzchok, according to that dodo of a rabbi, is Isaac, and Isaac is Eisik, they may try to claim that my Itsik — I mean my Avrom-Yitzchok — that is, my Alter — is really my Eisik!’
“ ‘Well, what if they do?’ he says. ‘So much the better. If Itsik is Eisik, you won’t even have to pay the fine. Didn’t you say he had a white card?’
“ ‘Three of them,’ I say. ‘But the white cards are Itsik’s, not Eisik’s.’
“ ‘But didn’t you just tell me,’ he says, ‘that Itsik is Eisik?’
“ ‘Who says that Itsik is Eisik?’
“ ‘You just told me he was!’
“ ‘I told you?’ I say. ‘How can I have told you such a thing when Itsik is Alter, and Eisik is who knocked over the samovar in Vorotolivke, that is, before I moved to Mezritch, I mean, after I left Mazapevke …’
“Well, that’s when he lost his temper and said, ‘Stupaytye, vi nodoyedlive yevrei!’ Did you get that? He called me a nuisance, that’s what he did. Would you believe it? Me, a nuisance? Me?!!!”
(1902)
IT DOESN’T PAY TO BE GOOD
“It doesn’t pay to be good,” said the quite proper Jew with the mole on his nose as he accepted the cigarette I offered him. “Do you hear me? It doesn’t pay. It was being too good, too much of a soft touch, that made me nourish a viper at home — in fact, two of them. Just listen to what I got myself into.
“God wanted to see how good I could be, so He sent me a pair of orphans, a boy and a girl. Because He punished me with no children, I took two of them into my house. I cared for them, I gave them nothing but the best, I made human beings of them both — and how did they thank me for it? With a knife in the back!
“First let me tell you about the girl. Where did I find a girl orphan? It happened like this. My wife had a younger sister named Perl who was, let me tell you, something special. It ran in the family — my wife is an attractive woman to this day. There were men dying to have Perl and keep her in clover just for her looks alone. And that’s not the half of it, either!
“When my sister-in-law got married, we all thought she had hit the jackpot, that it was a stroke of good luck such as comes a woman’s way once in a blue moon. Her husband was born with a silver spoon in his mouth, the only heir of a rich father, and of a rich grandfather, and even of a rich, childless uncle — there was money wherever you looked. What a windfall! And that wasn’t the half of it, either. There was only one little hitch, which was that he had the Devil in him. I don’t mean to say that he wasn’t a fine fellow: there was nothing stupid or crass about him, and he was as friendly, as likable, as good company as they come. So what was the matter? The boy was a bum! (May he forgive me for being truthful — he’s in the other world now.) What do I mean by a bum? I mean he had a passion for cards. Why, passion isn’t the word for it: cards were his be-all and end-all, he would have walked a hundred miles for a hand of them! At first it was just a round of sixty-six, or, once a month on a long winter night, a harmless game of challenge or klabberjass among friends … except that he began to play more and more — and with all kinds of riffraff, the worst loafers, drifters, and grifters. Take it from me, once a man starts with cards there’s no telling where he’ll end up. Who even thinks then of praying three times a day, or wearing a hat on his head, or observing the Sabbath laws, or anything else that smacks of being a Jew? And as if that wasn’t bad enough, my sister-in-law Perl was a strictly religious woman who couldn’t put up with her husband’s shenanigans. She took to bed for days on end, she cried such buckets over her fate that it actually made her ill. At first it was nothing serious, then it got worse and worse — until one day, I’m sorry to say, poor Perl passed away. And that’s not the half of it, either!
“Perl died and left behind a child, a little girl of six or seven. Her husband was off somewhere in Odessa, the Devil only knew where; he had sunk so low that he had gambled away every cent of the family fortune — a hopeless derelict, that’s all that remained of him. For a while he was even rumored to be in jail. After that he mooched around here and there until he died of God only knows what and was buried in a potter’s field. That’s the family history in a nutshell. And so the poor little orphan, Rayzl was her name, ended up with us. I took the child in, you see, because I had none myself; God wouldn’t give me one of my own, so why not her? I only wanted to be good — the trouble is that being good gets you nowhere. In any other uncle’s house, an orphan girl like her would have grown up in the kitchen; she would have been put to work, made to serve tea, sent on all kinds of errands. I, though, treated her like my own child: I dressed her in clothes as good as my wife’s, I bought her the same shoes, I gave her the same food to eat. She even sat with us at the table like our own flesh and blood — why, flesh and blood isn’t the word for it. And that’s not the half of it, either!
“When Rayzl grew older, I sent her off to a scrivener to learn to read and write. There’s no denying that she was a good, a hardworking, a well-behaved girl … and beautiful too, a real stunner! I really did love her like a daughter. But children, you know, grow like toadstools; before I knew it, the time came to think of a match for her. And on top of all that, my little niece had blossomed: she was as tall, as lovely, as striking as a rose. My wife had begun to lay away a few things for her — clothes, linens, blankets, pillows — and I myself had every intention of putting up a few hundred rubles for a dowry. We even began to discuss possible husbands. Who could an orphan girl whose father, may he forgive me, was not exactly a savory character and whose stepfather was no Rothschild hope to marry? We had to look for someone suitable who would be able to support her. Only, where would we ever find him? A young man of independent means was setting our sights too high, while I myself didn’t want an ordinary working boy — after all, the girl was almost our own, she was my wife’s sister’s daughter. It was a godsend that we came across a salesman, a young fellow in his twenties, who brought home a few rubles, and had put away a few rubles, and was worth a few rubles in the bargain. Well, I had a little talk with him — yes, he was interested, and how! My niece was just his cup of tea. Next I went to have a talk with her — if you can call what I had with her a talk … why, talking to a tree stump would be easier! What seemed to be the problem? Nothing; she just didn’t want him — she didn’t need him — she would thank me to leave her alone. ‘All right,’ I said, ‘if not him, then who else? The Baron de Hirsch’s grandson?’ If you’ve heard a tree stump talk, you’ll know what she answered me. She just gave me a silent stare. And that’s not the half of it, either!..