Your husband,
Menakhem-Mendl
P.S. If with God’s help I get ahead with my writing — that is, if I acquire the literary reputation I soon hope to — I’ll ask the editors to advance you a few rubles. I wish you, my dear wife, to benefit equally from my new line of work. It’s more honorable than business, which is why it pays an honorarium and not a commission. It’s an easy way to make a decent living.
To my dear, learned, & illustrious husband Menakhem Mendl, may your light shine!
First, we’re all well, thank God. I hope to hear no worse from you.
Second, my precious darling, what can I say? Bullets couldn’t stop you, much less words. One might as well shoot at a stone. My mother, bless her, was a wise woman when she said: “A sick man will recover and a black one will turn white before a fool stops being a fool.” You can’t tell me she wasn’t right! I weep to think of all the tricks you’ve played on me since I’ve had you for a husband …and now, as if all that weren’t enough, you decide to become a circus clown. A penny-a-liner! And to think there are even worse fools than you who will pay to read what you write! Who knows what new trouble your scribbling, God forbid, may get us into? From you, I’ve learned to expect the worst. As my mother says, there’s no need to show the beaten dog a stick…. Not that this will stop his lordship from chasing wild geese and dreaming of easy street. Far from it! He sits writing in his Yehupetz boarding house and leaves the children and me with the grippe in Kasrilevke. Every one of us is down with it, we’ve been sick for the past three weeks…. And as for the advances that I’ll get, I’m much obliged, but you’ll be lucky if that honorarity of yours is enough to buy your fine gang a hot meal. You’re one rarity of a nincompoop yourself! If you don’t want a wife who dies young with a clutch of orphans, give up your littleture and pipe dreams and come home. You’ll be a welcome guest. “Better to foul your own nest than another’s,” my mother says. As always, I wish you the best.
Your truly faithful wife,
Sheyne-Sheyndl
Do you remember Moyshe-Dovid the bill collector? He’s been wanting to dump his wife for some time and couldn’t think of a way, and so he finally took off for America. Well, she caught up with him at the border and taught him a lesson he’ll never forget. I wish he’d get the grippe himself.
To my wise, esteemed, & virtuous wife Sheyne-Sheyndl, may you have a long life!
Firstly, rest assured that I am, praise God, in the best of health. God grant that we hear from each other only good and pleasing news, amen.
Secondly, I’m taking literature by storm, praise God. I’ve already appeared in the papers with all the writers and feel like a new man. The first time I saw my name in print—Menakhem-Mendl—I was moved to tears. What for? For there being such fine, honest people in the world! I’m speaking of the editorial board. After all, I’m not the only writer around, there are plenty of others besides me — and yet not only did it read every word that I wrote, it answered me in writing itself, in a letter delivered to my own mailbox, saying it liked my piece very much. It was just a bit on the long side — that was number one. And number two was, it doesn’t want me making things up. It wants a literary description—its very words — of life in Yehupetz with all its types. That means it wants to know everything.
You couldn’t ask for nicer people! And as I wasn’t about to be outdone, I rolled up my sleeves and sat down to write and have been writ-ing ever since. This is the third day I’m at it and I’m still going strong. And since I’m busy with my writing, I’ll be brief. God willing, I’ll write more in my next letter. Meanwhile, may He grant you health and success. My fondest greetings to the children and your parents,
Your husband,
Menakhem-Mendl
P.S. Please let me know whether you’ve received an advance from the board. I asked it to send you some money. What’s a few smackers to it? It can deduct them from my pay.
To my dear, learned, & illustrious husband Menakhem-Mendl, may your light shine!
First, we’re all well, thank God. I hope to hear no worse from you.
Second, your lovely letters are making me spit blood. Money from boards I’ll be sent! Are you working for a newspaper or a lumber yard? You can put a match to your board and all its money! I need it like last year’s snow. To quote my mother: “Spare me your sting and you can keep your honey.”
Believe me, your board will turn to sawdust before I see an advance from it. An advanced case of heartburn I’ll get! If it’s my fate to have a scribbler for a husband, why must you scribble in Yehupetz? Isn’t there enough ink in Kasrilevke? There’s something fishy going on here. Bite into the apple, says my mother, and you’ll find the worm.
No, my dear husband, stop making excuses! Pack up your littleture and come home, because I can’t bear the children’s sorrow any longer. All they ever ask is, when will papa be here? On Passover I tell them Sukkes and on Sukkes I tell them Passover. And Moyshe-Hirshele misses you most of all. As smart as a whip he is — a lot smarter than his father, that’s for sure. I wish you all the best.
Your truly faithful wife,
Sheyne-Sheyndl
What do you say about my Nekhameh-Breindl? She’s now on her second divorce. No one knows why. Her husband showed me in secret an arm full of black-and-blue marks. He’s willing, he says, to let her keep the dowry and the wedding jewelry — anything to get rid of such a curse. My mother says an ounce of luck is worth a pound of gold, but luck in men is the one thing we lack.
To my wise, esteemed, & virtuous wife Sheyne-Sheyndl, may you have a long life!
Firstly, rest assured that I am, praise God, in the best of health. God grant that we hear from each other only good and pleasing news, amen.
Secondly, I’ve already gone through two bottles of ink and am now on my third. Describing a city like Yehupetz is no mean task. I decided to begin with my boarding house, and first of all with my landlady. Why with her? On account of her husband. He was a soldier, and he’s been dead for thirteen years, and she was his second wife. She married him, she says, for the right to live in Yehupetz and she wouldn’t wish such a life on her worst enemies. She was, she says, twenty years younger than him and as pretty as a picture. All the men, Jews and Christians, were wild about her …and now she’s reduced to bringing Menakhem-Mendl a bowl of borscht or meat with horseradish each time he snaps his fingers. She has a son and daughter to support, too, both in high school, neither of whom lifts a finger to help. They sit and wait for her to serve them. She brings them coffee in bed every morning, and they expect to find lunch on the table when they come home from school whether there’s food in the house or not. And you should hear the racket they make if it isn’t waiting for them! But that’s the sort of children they are. One morning the daughter, the high-school girl, woke up and hollered for some soap. She actually ran half-naked with her neck showing into the dining room where we boarders were having breakfast and shouted at her mother in Russian: “What kind of flophouse is this?” Naturally, we gave her a scolding. Did she mean to tell us, we asked, that she was taught to behave that way in high school? “You should be grateful,” I said, “that your mother slaves for you. She even shines your shoes while you sleep!” Those were my very words. I was about to give her another piece of my mind when her brother butts in and says: “Mind your own business!” The nerve of him opening his trap at me! I was so annoyed that I wrote it up for the papers, the poor woman and her darling children and the whole scene. I hope he learns his lesson when it’s published! Well, it’s a big world. You can bet there are plenty of other widows being driven to distraction by their children. Do you see now, my dear wife, what I’m paid to do? And being busy and in a hurry, I’ll be brief. God willing, I’ll write more in my next letter. Meanwhile, may He grant you health and success. Give my fondest greetings to your parents and the children, God bless them, each and every single one.